She looked around the compound carefully — there was someone she had to report to whenever she returned home. It was a rule, and breaking it meant trouble, even punishment, and days of unease. If she failed to greet that person upon her return, she would be mocked and called by the one name she despised most in the world.

“Miwarti Inna!” she called out loudly, using the sharp, melodious voice God had given her. “Inna Miwarti!” she repeated, but there was no response — not even an echo.

Turning to her left, she saw a little boy, about eight years old, sitting and playing in the dirt. He looked scruffy, as if he had just come from a refugee camp. She tilted her head slightly, thinking to speak to him, but hesitated, afraid he might respond rudely. With no other choice, she called to him:

“Laulo, go and call Inna for me.”

He looked up, frowned, and replied carelessly, “Owalad’o! (She’s not here),” before turning back to his game.

Maimunatu lifted her eyes to the sky. Clouds were gathering — thick, dark, and heavy — promising rain very soon. She disliked this time of day, especially when returning from grazing, weary, hungry, and thirsty. She still had to tie up the cattle, report to Inna, and perhaps find something to eat. She leaned against a post, whispering a prayer that Inna would return soon.

She felt uneasy — though not well-schooled, she knew it was risky to linger among the cattle at such an hour, especially with the storm approaching. Lost in thought, she didn’t even notice when Laulo slipped away or when the clouds fully gathered and began to roar. It wasn’t until dust blew sharply into her eyes that she realized the storm had arrived — and with it, rain began to pour.

Startled, she jumped up, fear gripping her — both from the rain drenching her body and from seeing the animals scattering in all directions. She had no choice but to gather them again.

Just then, a tall Fulani woman appeared — fair-skinned, graceful, dressed in spotless white saqi cloth and a green shawl over her head. She was hurrying too, clearly trying to escape the rain.

“Maimunatu!” she called sharply, stopping when she spotted her among the animals.

“Yes, Inna!”

“You foolish girl! Just because I wasn’t here, you let the animals roam wild? You want to anger me again, eh? Gather them, and make sure they’re tied properly!”

With that, she turned and hurried toward the huts as the rain fell harder and darkness deepened around them.