By Nyame Yie
There is something sacred about silence.
But not all silence is holy.
Some silence is heavy. It carries lies we inherit, wars we never witnessed, grudges we never understood, and judgments we never stopped to examine. It teaches us obedience before it teaches us truth.
I was raised to believe that loyalty meant standing by your friend—even when you didn’t understand the fight.
Especially then.
They told us, “Your friend’s enemy is your enemy.”
And like most of us, I believed it without question. Believed it because questioning felt dangerous. Because loyalty, as I understood it, meant silence.
Until the day I finally asked.
And everything I thought I knew began to crumble.
Adwoa and I were sisters in all the ways that mattered. Not by blood, but by choice. By secrets shared on dormitory bunks. By prayers whispered under mosquito nets when the lights went out. By fingers patiently braiding each other’s hair before church, laughing softly so we wouldn’t wake anyone.
We were girls learning how to be women. Together.
So when she came to me that night, her eyes swollen, her voice trembling, and said,
“Don’t talk to Aseda. Ever.”
I nodded.
No questions.
No hesitation.
I was loyal, wasn’t I?
From that moment, I obeyed. I crossed the road when I saw Aseda coming. I avoided her laughter. I hardened my heart without knowing why. I learned how to dislike someone I had never spoken to. Not loudly. Not cruelly. Just quietly enough to feel justified.
It was easy. Silence makes cruelty feel clean.
But something about it stayed with me. A discomfort I couldn’t name. A feeling that I was guarding a wound I had never seen. Each time I saw Aseda sitting alone, each time our eyes almost met, something inside me asked a question I kept pushing away.
What did she do?
For a long time, I buried that question under loyalty. Until one day, loyalty started to feel heavier than truth.
And that was the day I finally asked.
Not loudly.
Not bravely.
Just honestly.
And in that moment, silence lost its power.
Because sometimes, the most courageous thing a person can do is not to fight,
but to ask.
