Her name is Amina.
She sat for a long while staring at the big round clock which hung off-centre above the doorway of the zaure or entrance-hut. The clock was really old. Its cracked, cloudy face spoke volumes of its age, wear, and character. Tacitly though, these defects staked a claim to some form of resilience over the harsh Harmattan (dry season) conditions which had constantly barraged the mud hut every year. The doorway only had a weathered straw curtain as screen so the elements found their way into the zaure regularly. If she looked hard enough, Amina could just about make out the seconds hand ticking away jerkily. Just barely.
Thank goodness, the clock was still working. At least the ticking sound suggested a pulse.
The time was 6.45 am. Amina was getting ready to go to school and take an exam at 8.30 am – the Health Science ‘Alternative-to-Practicals’ exam. It was an alternative to the practicals paper because her school could not afford the equipment required for an actual practicals exam. She also had two other exams to take in the afternoon. As a final year science student at the Community Secondary School, Amina should be relieved that this was the last day of her gruelling WAEC examinations. It had been a long, arduous battle with many obstacles. She had sat for eight papers over one month. On a good day, after today’s papers, she would have celebrated with her friends on successful completion of high school. Mama would have spoiled her with fura da nunu, her favourite drink, and a divine supper of tuwon shikafa and miyan kuka. Baba would have bought her a present from the Friday market to reward her for her efforts. As his only child out of eight with formal education, the occasion was worth his painting the town red.
Ah, but today was not a good day, was it? The chance of such things ever happening today had quickly faded with the morning news, had it not?
Everywhere was dead silent. Not even a morning cockerel could be heard. There was tension in the air. It was almost palpable. Disturbing news had trickled in from neighbouring villages of the terrorist attacks by Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’Awati Wal-Jihad, also knownas ‘Boko Haram’, on Gamboru and Ngala towns the night before. Hundreds were feared dead. The grotesque nature of this massacre had left a lot of villagers appalled and petrified. It was said to have started from Gamboru’s night market where gunmen had opened fire on the fleeing crowd. Amina could not understand it at all. Why was this happening? Baba, who was the most intelligent man she knew, did not have a ready answer. Of recent, his answers had become more unconvincing and fatigued. He had also been silent over the Chibok abduction, where over two hundred female students, like her, had been kidnapped. This happened about a month ago while the girls prepared for their WAEC exams. He had also been dumbfounded at the news of twenty-nine schoolboys killed in cold-blood at Federal Government College, Buni Yadi, a few weeks earlier. Why were students and pupils being killed? What did they do to deserve such death? These terrorists believed Western education was an abomination- well, couldn’t we just agree to disagree? The recent news brought her study for today’s papers to an abrupt end and so began fervent prayers to Allah for her family’s protection.
Amina barely slept a wink that night and had sprung up at the crack of dawn to get ready for school. What else was there to do? She had little choice in the matter. WAEC was a multi-national educational body and the exams were done on the same dates across West Africa. A fat chance these papers would be postponed at her district’s behest! She had to go. A breakfast of kosai (bean-cake) and koko (pap) was left untouched on the floor mat. Hunger was an alien feeling to her at the moment. Anxiety left little room for any other sensation. After a brisk bath, she had dressed up in her checked purple-and-white uniform and, draped in purple hijab, stood there gazing at the clock until it became a blur and her eyes watered.
A tiny hand clutched hers gently and an even tinier voice broke the silence. “Don’t go, iyan uwa na. Don’t go, sister! It’s too risky!”
Her younger sister’s voice was unmistakable. Amina turned and stared down at Hadiza’s round, terrified eyes for a moment then drew her close. “Don’t worry, little sister. I will be fine.” She was surprised at how shaky her voice was. “We are all in Allah’s hands.”
Baba’s concerned head appeared at the inner doorway of the zaure, leading into the family compound. The fifty-year-old man had aged overnight and his eyes were swollen from nights of forfeited sleep. The facial scars of labour were accentuated by a deep apprehension for his favourite child.
“My daughter, are you ready to go?”
Amina nodded. She was nervous. “Yes, Baba.”
Baba had been left in a quandary all night. Should he let his dear daughter go to school on a day like this when ‘Boko Haram’ could storm the village? Ngala had fallen and it was just a few kilometres away. But what could he do? His daughter has gone through a lot to get to this stage of her education. She had endured criticisms and mockery from both friends and family. Initially, he too had been unsupportive of her interest to be literate. But the zeal of his eight-year-old daughter at the time to read and write against all odds became a source of inspiration for him. None of his other children, including the boys, had ever shown any interest in getting an education. Now she helps him take inventory of goods in his shop and audit his accounts. He was now the envy of his mates who had laughed at him initially. Why waste money? they had said. Put it to better use, mutumina. This is a poor investment. He could not then find it in him to deny her the opportunity to realize her dreams based on his anxiety. What if nothing happened? Would she ever forgive him?
He limped towards the entrance with Mama’s assistance. The wound he had sustained from a motorcycle accident had not yet healed but it would not deter him from bidding his daughter godspeed.
“Take the main path and get to Bilkisu’s house as we discussed,” he winced. “Together you both can set out for school. It is much safer.”
“Yes, Baba. Take good care of yourself.”
“We are all proud of you,” her mother said, trying to be strong. “Allah ya ke mu.” (God be with us.) Her voice wavered slightly but her eyes remained resolute. Amina tapped from her mother’s strength and managed a weak smile.
“Ameen, Mama. Ameen. I will be back in the afternoon after our final paper, insha Allah. Greetings to all when they wake up.”
Amina walked out the door and down the deserted road swiftly but nervously. She didn’t look back so that they wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes and beg her to stay home. She had to do this. Her future and her family’s depended on it. She looked around for support and solidarity but found none. So far, she had only seen two goats and a dog. There was not a single soul outside. Not even signs of life like cooking pots and remains of charcoal fires. No voices. As she walked past the third house, Amina began to doubt whether leaving home had been a good idea. It now looked more obvious to her that the exams would not hold today. Who was crazy enough to come out at this time? Her schoolmates would laugh at her when they hear that she had. That is if she could make it back home alive. Should she turn back and go home? At least, she had made an effort.
Amina kept going. She could not explain why.
Some hundred yards later, she saw someone! Finally! A middle-aged man from the look of it. He was walking along the path with his back to her, clutching a bundle of firewood. From his slight hunchback and slender frame, it was Mallam Yinusa on his way back home- most likely from the forest. His house was not very far off now- just beyond the huge, gnarled kapok by the marketplace. Amina had never been happier to see anyone in her entire life!
“Ina kwana, mallam! Good morning!”
He whirled round in astonishment to see Amina walking right behind him. His mouth fell open.
“Amina! Kai, kai, kai! Where are you going this morning? Do your parents know you are out? Don’t they know what is going on? Boko Haram attacked Ngala last night! We may be next!”
Amina squirmed, “I know, Mallam. But I need to be in school this morning for my exams.”
Mallam Yinusa frowned. “You children and this school madness! The village is not safe. Stay indoors! Go home! School can wait!” Seeing that he was not having any luck dissuading her, he added with a sigh, “Alright! If you still insist on going to school, I wouldn’t advise you to follow this path. It is a major path and you are far too exposed. Anything can happen. I advise you follow the narrow one through Mallam Jibril’s millet farm. You would be shielded from sight until you get close to the school.”
Amina thanked him for the advice and watched as he disappeared behind some cracked mud huts with weatherworn thatch roofs- probably taking a shortcut home. So she was alone once again. Every man and child to themselves, it seemed.
She stood there, contemplating Mallam Yinusa’s advice for a while but finally settling on her father’s and staying on the main dusty road through the village. Anything could happen along that narrow path through the farm too. It was far from everything else.
She trudged on warily down the long, straight road. Her school was now only thirty minutes away. Thirty minutes seemed like an eternity. From what she had heard, it only took a second for something bad to happen. A stray arrow or a bullet or a bomb… Amina shuddered. The road was silent and windy. She held on to her hijab tightly.
Allah protect me.
Suddenly, she made out two figures ahead of her. Her heart lurched. They were about sixty metres away and heading in her direction. As they slowly approached, she realized that they were wielding machetes menacingly. One man was shorter and stockier than the other. She heard their angry voices despite the distance between them. Sound travelled faster in graveyard silence. When they realized that they were not alone they stopped talking but maintained their pace albeit more cautiously, staring at her as they approached.
Amina’s heart pounded loudly. There was no detour possible. She could not turn and run. That would be foolhardy as it would raise suspicion and they would catch her easily. She would just have to pray that they were not ‘Boko Haram’ fighters and would just walk on by. The alternative was almost certain death. Her school uniform would draw ire. She thought of the Chibok girls for a minute and almost passed out from fear.
The two looked more menacing as they approached. One carried a Dane gun and the other a bow and quiver of arrows strapped around their chests. Both also wore charms and amulets on their arms and around their waists. They had on dirty, brown clothes with sprinkles of dark blood red. As they drew closer, she noticed that they were both glaring at her with deep-set eyes.
Amina’s throat went dry, lips parched. She went blank as her heart thumped maddeningly against her rib cage. It wanted out! She clutched her writing materials tightly till her palms turned red. Death was just a few metres away. Was it too late for her to run? Without a doubt. Her legs wouldn’t take her very far as they were almost giving way. Nevertheless, for some reason, she found them still ambling on. The men were just a few metres away from her now. Their eyes were even more discernible and bloodshot. Amina was certain that someone had died by their hands much earlier that morning. Perhaps, it was her turn to suffer the same fate?
They scowled at her.
Claude Opara
Claude is a Nigerian author, artist, architect and project manager. An avid movie watcher, history buff and football fan, he also has a penchant for travel and adventure. Claude has authored a few books ...And the Night Hissed being his first novel, a historical thriller about a slave raid gone awry. He has also written and published two lighthearted comics and a children's storybook under his An African Legend series. Claude is also the co-founder of Teambooktu.com.
Captivating and spell binding. This first part make me yearn for the next part.
This comment is coming after I already finished the two parts and commented at the end of the whole story.
I guess I was too impatient to get on with the 2nd part, hence I skipped commenting here.
So, now you know what I think of this 1st part. Kudos.
Looking forward to part 2. I love the build up…
I love the sense of suspense…
Looking forward to the continuation.
The writer leaves you yearning for more.
What a beautiful story and can’t wait for more.
What a beautiful story and can’t wait for more.