Soon all this will be over, all this talk and whisper. This is my time and I will not spend another day in wait. The streets are clear as we move through them. No police, no traders, no beggars or tourists. The streets are empty for us. There is nothing in our way except for the stray goats and local birds who judge us with their melodious chirps as we make our way out into the town. Soon it will all be over. Mercy and Grace are both behind me. I cannot see them but I know that they are there. Baba is in front of me. He will be most pleased when all this is over. He says it all the time. This is what needs to happen for Goodness sake.
A year ago I came here afraid but I don't know the meaning of fear anymore. It came some nights in the form of loud explosions and some nights it was a silent shadow. Some days it was the thought of going home, on other days it was the dread of forgetting where home is. This morning it is nothing. One year later and the world still carries on, like Baba said it would. He was right. He is always right. Baba is a wise man, a man of God. He knows this world in all its treachery and that is what he has showed us…those of us who agreed to see. He has taught us that fear is death and death is nothing. Time is the only thing that matters and this is my time. As I enter the van I feel something tighten in my stomach. I haven't eaten anything except a ball of Fura and water which Baba was so kind to offer me. I am not hungry. Hunger is weakness. What I feel in my stomach is anxiety. He said this would happen. Baba knows everything. I want to turn and say goodbye to mercy and Grace but Baba grabs my hand and I realize that I have no time to be sentimental. Their time will come.
The drive into the city is long and I am anxious to see the place I once called home but before long I am fast asleep. I dream of my childhood, I see mami and little Bilikisu sitting in front of our house drying millets, an empty chair beside them with my favorite skirt carefully laid on it. Before I can reach them, I am awoken to the sound of the screeching break pads as we pulled into a compound. It looked deserted. Baba led me into a room at the far end of the unpainted building. He entered the room and held the door for me to enter. The room was engulfed in darkness after he shut the door. A torchlight came on followed by Baba’s voice. He made me take off my blouse while a second man whose face I could not make out, strapped a belt across my chest with a block of metal resting on my breasts. It was cold. Heavy. Baba made me lay on my back on the counter while the second man put the finishing touches to the contraption. Baba helped me up and I put my hijab back on. “let’s go” he says as we make our way out of the dark room, back into the van. The belt is a bit uncomfortable, I am not sure where the buckle is because it has been wrapped with plastic tape.
On the streets I see posters of politicians with different party logos and promises of restoration, transformation, change and hope. Our van is approaching a crowd when the driver stops. Baba looks me in the eye, just as he has been for the past year. He tells me to be brave and to repeatedly recite the prayer he taught me. I begin “The world is truly full of evil and lies. Blessed am I for I have known the truth. This day I bring the truth to the world. May God be praised” I repeat it as I disembark from the van and walk toward the people standing in queues. Policemen are positioned all around so I walk directly to the crowd and pick my spot in their midst like Baba instructed. The tightening in my stomach is back. I look over my back to find a woman starring at me, lost. It is Mama, beside her is Bilikisu, my sister. Just before I can turn to run from them, I feel a slight tingle in my chest and everything was blank.
I am not afraid.
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