Fatima's hands are caked with dust, her fingertips roughened from the day's work of lifting bricks and steadying beams. She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, glancing up at the structure they've been working on. Where there were once only ruins, walls now stand, solid and strong. She can't help but feel a spark of hope, though it's tinged with the knowledge of all they've lost to get here.
As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the town, Fatima looks around at the people of Chibok. Children run barefoot through the streets, their laughter a stark contrast to the silence that once ruled this place. The hum of life is returning, slowly but surely. She turns her gaze toward Zainab, who is directing a group of women as they stack bricks. There is a quiet determination in her sister's posture, an echo of the strength Fatima sees reflected in herself.
"Zainab," she calls out, her voice soft but steady. Zainab turns, her lips curving into a small, tired smile as she approaches.
"We dey build again, small small," (We're rebuilding, little by little,) Zainab says, resting a hand on Fatima's shoulder. The gesture is familiar, a grounding force between them.
Fatima nods, feeling the weight of those words. "Yes, but e still dey feel like dream," (Yes, but it still feels like a dream,) she replies, her voice thick with emotion she can't fully express. There's a lingering hesitation within her, a reluctance to believe that this peace will last.
Zainab's gaze follows Fatima's line of sight, observing the ongoing efforts around them. "We don survive worse. This one go pass too," (We've survived worse. This will pass too,) she says with quiet conviction. But Fatima notices the brief flicker of doubt in her sister's eyes before she turns away to continue her work.
As the day fades, the community gathers in the square. The energy is both celebratory and cautious. Alhaji Suleiman stands on a makeshift stage, his voice ringing out over the crowd. "We have faced darkness, but today, we rise from it!" His words are met with cheers, though Fatima catches the faintest edge of calculation in his tone. She watches him closely, a subtle unease curling in her gut.
Zainab stands beside her, listening intently but with a distant look in her eyes. Fatima can sense her sister's wariness, though Zainab remains stoic. The crowd's energy swells with each word of encouragement, yet Fatima's thoughts drift, pulled toward the shadows at the edges of the square.
As Alhaji Suleiman wraps up his speech and the crowd begins to disperse, Fatima lingers behind. She watches as families embrace, their faces lit with cautious smiles. But as she turns to leave, a movement in the periphery of her vision catches her attention.
A figure, half-hidden in the deepening shadows, stands just beyond the edge of the gathering. Fatima's breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding. There's something disturbingly familiar about the silhouette, something that sends a chill down her spine. She takes a hesitant step forward, her mind racing with questions.
Before she can get close enough to discern more, the figure vanishes into the darkness. Fatima stands frozen for a moment, her eyes scanning the empty space where the figure once stood. She shakes her head, trying to push away the creeping sense of dread that wraps itself around her.
With a deep breath, she forces herself to walk away, whispering to herself, "No be now we go let fear win." (This isn't the time to let fear win.) Yet, even as she repeats the words like a mantra, the feeling lingers, the shadows clinging to the edges of her thoughts.
The evening air feels cooler as Fatima walks through the streets of Chibok, her footsteps slow and deliberate. The earlier encounter lingers in her mind, refusing to fade as the night deepens. She finds herself at the doorstep of Aisha Kamara's home, needing the comfort of a familiar face. Aisha welcomes her in with a warm smile, the soft glow of lantern light spilling out from the doorway.
"Fatima, you dey okay?" (Fatima, are you okay?) Aisha asks, her brow furrowed with concern as they settle into the small, cozy living room. The scent of spiced tea fills the air, offering a momentary respite from Fatima's restless thoughts.
"I dey," (I'm fine,) Fatima responds, though her voice lacks conviction. She takes a sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through her, but it does little to soothe the knot of unease in her chest. She glances at Aisha, wondering how to put her fears into words.
"I see something tonight," she begins hesitantly. "A shadow… like say person dey watch us." (I saw something tonight… A shadow, like someone was watching us.)
Aisha's eyes narrow slightly, her expression shifting to one of quiet seriousness. "You sure say no be fear dey talk?" (Are you sure it's not just fear talking?)
Fatima shrugs, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "I no sabi," (I don't know,) she admits. "But something no feel right. This peace wey we dey enjoy… e dey fragile." (But something doesn't feel right. This peace we're enjoying… it feels fragile.)
Aisha leans back, her gaze thoughtful. "We don see plenty wahala, but we still dey stand. Whatever dey come, we go face am together." (We've faced plenty of trouble, but we're still standing. Whatever comes, we'll face it together.)
Fatima nods, taking strength from her friend's calm confidence. They sit in companionable silence for a while, their shared experiences and hopes for the future hanging between them like an unspoken bond. But even as they part ways later, Fatima can't shake the feeling that something is shifting, something they can't yet see.
As she walks home, the quiet of the night presses in around her. She glances over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see that shadowy figure again. The peace they've fought so hard to reclaim feels precarious, like a delicate balance that could tip at any moment.
Standing at her door, Fatima pauses before stepping inside, taking one last look at the darkened streets. She can feel the weight of Chibok's secrets, still lingering in the air. But as she closes the door behind her, she makes a silent vow—whatever challenges come, she will face them head-on, just as she has faced everything before.
The wind whispers against the windows, carrying with it the faintest hint of something yet to be revealed. Fatima's heart quickens, but she steadies herself. The battle isn't over yet, and she knows that the shadows of Chibok still hold secrets that have yet to see the light of day.