A black Highlander jeep was speeding on the asphalt, as though the road itself was made only for its driver.
On both sides of the road, there was nothing but desert sand, with dry trees scattered here and there. Since it was night, the moon—at its fourteenth day—shone brightly, lighting up everywhere, while the stars decorated the sky.
The road cut straight through the middle of the Sahara, and the coolness of the desert air was evident.
“How many kilometers do we have left?”
The driver glanced back at the speaker, whose face was wrapped in a turban, and replied, “Not more than 95 kilometers.”
“Dans quelques minutes?? (In a short while?)”
“Not more than an hour left.”
“We must arrive exactly at the time we were ordered. I fear he might wake up.”
He spoke while shining a light on the face of a young man lying across his lap, drenched in sweat, in a strange state between sleep and unconsciousness. His sweat showed the struggle of his rest. He wasn’t moving at all, except for his chest, rising and falling weakly as his breathing came with difficulty.
He placed his hand on the young man’s chest. Each heartbeat took a long time before the next came, but every beat was so strong it felt as if his chest would burst open with a thump!
Worried, he said, “Lauwalli, increase the speed! Don’t let him die on us. His heartbeat is slowing down!”
Lauwalli nodded and pressed harder on the accelerator.
---
Around 6:15 on Saturday morning, inside a well-built underground room, the decoration revealed its value despite being beneath the ground.
In a corner of the room, a young woman was lying on a medium-sized mattress, asleep. A wrapper barely covered her nudity. With even a little movement, she would have been naked.
She tried with all her strength to wake up, but she couldn’t, struck by sleep paralysis, which people often believed was a spirit called dannau pressing them down. Her eyes were wide open, seeing everything around her as if awake, yet her body refused to move.
As if something heavy was suddenly lifted off her, she jolted upright, panting from the struggle she endured before she could break free from that deathlike sleep.
She opened her eyes wide. Morning light filled the room. She hadn’t prayed Fajr yet.
As she tried to get down from the mattress, her joints ached terribly, as though she had been beaten. Her wrapper had slipped off her body.
She sat quietly, trying to recall what happened the night before. As far as she remembered, she had been folding clothes. She never recalled lying down. She was sure she was fully clothed, but the state she found herself in raised troubling doubts.
She got up slowly, fixed her wrapper, and walked to the bathroom inside the room to clean herself up and perform the Fajr prayer.
---
Slowly, he opened his eyes, a sharp sting pricking them from the brightness filling them, as if the light was some strange, foreign thing. It felt as though he was waking in another world.
Gradually, the pain subsided, and he opened his eyes fully, scanning his surroundings to figure out where he was.
A tall, dark-skinned man entered the tent, his face wrapped in a red turban, holding a small cup. He tossed the cup aside and hurried toward the young man lying there.
He helped him sit up. His skin was fair but not pale, with a slight yellowish tint. His nose was narrow, matching his slim face. A small moustache connected to a neat beard framed his mouth, while his large eyes were bloodshot, as though they could spill tears of blood. His long hair fell down to his shoulders like that of a woman.
The turbaned man removed the cloth covering his face and said, “How are you feeling?”
Instead of answering, the young man just stared at him.
“Are you in pain?”
With effort, he moved his lips and asked, “Where am I?”
The dark man looked around and then back at him. “We’ve just entered Nigeria.”
“Nigeria?” he repeated.
“Yes, Nigeria,” he replied.
The young man fell silent, trying hard to recall if he had ever heard that name before.
“You’re so quiet. Do you recognize me at all?”
He slowly shook his head.
“Innalillahi wa innalillahi raji’un! You mean you don’t know me?”
He nodded again.
“Do you at least know your own name?”
The young man was silent, struggling to think, but no memory came. Instead, a painful rumble shook his head like thunder, forcing him to hold his head tight and shut his eyes.
“That’s enough. No need to remember. Do you at least know ablution and prayer?”
He nodded yes.
“How many rak’ahs in Fajr?”
He held up two fingers.
“Zuhr?”
He showed four.
“So you know the prayer, but nothing else?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Alright, go perform ablution and make up the prayers you’ve missed. Shorten them, since we’ve traveled far from Niger.”
The young man obediently prayed exactly as he was told. Afterward, he was given food and tea.
When he finished, the man tied up his long hair and wrapped a turban on his head before taking his hand and leading him outside.
He paused, staring around. It was wilderness, full of trees, with a camel tied nearby, chewing steadily.
The man led the camel forward. “Do you know what this is?”
The young man nodded.
“What is it?”
“Le chameau (A camel).”
Relieved, the man said, “Good. Mount it.” He helped him climb onto the camel’s back, then held its rope and led the way.
---
She walked slowly through a cluster of houses forming part of the neighborhood. The heavy rain earlier had washed dirt and debris everywhere, and because of poor drainage, the water had flooded homes, leaving pools in the streets until road and compound became indistinguishable.
Her heart sank. The disaster she had feared had come true. Since the storm began, she had been restless.
From a distance, she saw the wall of her family’s house had collapsed halfway.
As she came closer, she found an even worse scene: the well had collapsed into the toilet, the two being side by side without space between.
A tall man stepped out of the toilet, looked at her, and asked, “Nana, you’re back?”
“Yes, Baba,” she answered weakly.
“You see what happened, don’t you?”
“Yes, Baba. Since the rain began, I’ve been worried.”
“We’re being tested. Now, bring whatever you have so we can at least start rebuilding the wall.”
Nana stared at him, shocked but not surprised. Summoning courage, she said, “Baba, my salary is only seven thousand naira, and today is the 11th. I have nothing left. Don’t forget, you already took five thousand from me, leaving me with only two.”
“Ah, Nana! Where do you take all your money? Always claiming you have nothing. Well, then, we’ll just have to live like this. When nature calls, you can go beg the neighbors or head into the bush. I have no other way.”
A woman nearby, silent until now, finally spoke up, “You’d better find a way! Will we continue living like this, disgraced and disturbing neighbors? Nana works hard and gives you her salary, seven thousand naira, and you waste it away. You must fix this wall!”
Nana kept quiet, heading toward her room as she heard one of the younger children muttering, “It’s simple. We just need a big bucket. Everyone can use it, and we’ll sell the waste as fertilizer. In no time, we’ll raise the money to rebuild.”
“Shut your mouth before I beat you, you foolish child!”
Baba, unable to handle his wife’s rebuke, stepped out as neighbors gathered to sympathize over the damage.
Nana entered a small room, quietly giving salaam.
Two girls lay on their beds, busy with their phones. One lazily returned her greeting; the other didn’t bother looking up.
Nana dropped her bag and said, “Jamila, so the rain gave us this disaster?”
Jamila replied, “Exactly, and it’s no small damage. I’m just calculating how I’ll survive this mess.”
---
