Kemi had not yet gone down to the river in her bare feet, a fact, however, which did not imply that the sun had not yet risen. It was cool in the morning, with the scent of wet earth and trampled foliage.
Birds were also singing in a low voice, they were also welcoming the first light. Kemi was carrying a clay pot, which was empty, on her head with her little hands.
"Good morning, river," I said smiling at the gleaming water, Smith. Her grandmother always claimed that the river could hear her which she never explained.
The village was quiet. The vast majority of the population was still asleep, save only for the goats and the chickens as they were busy making their noise.
Kemi arrived at the riverbank and her feet have sunk slightly into the wet sand. She dropped on her knees and plunged the pot into the water. It actually fell a bit and she laughed. "Nearly lost you, eh?" said she.
As she was filling the pot, Kemi heard a sound. It was not the sound of rustling leaves, it was humming, as of a song on the water. She froze, looking around. The river appeared lifeless, but living.
“Who’s there?” she called. The water was the only thing responding rippling in small waves across stones. Kemi shrugged and returned to filling her pot though some sort of fear had crept into her chest.
The sun had come up by the time she came to an end. Its rays moved on the water so that it appeared as made of silver. Kemi took the pot on her head and began the often used walk home. That humming pursued her, low, but undying.
Her grandmother was already cooking at home. In the kitchen, there was the smell of pepper soup and yam. “Ah, Kemi! You have come early today," her grandmother said.
Her eyes were shrewd and, it would seem, scintillated and caught everything. "And did you encounter anybody at the river?"
Kemi shook her head. "Very well, the river is talking to itself."
The laugh of her grandmother was as rolling thunder in the hills. “You have imagination, child. You wait till you see the river in the rain."
Days went by and the humming lasted in the mind of Kemi. She went down to the river every morning in the hope that she might hear it again.
One afternoon the village said that the rains were impending. The elders told us that the river may overpower, and children are to be very near the house. Kemi felt a strange pull. She had a wish to see it, to hear the river entirely.
This time the sky grew grey and the rain fell, at first light at first, then heavy. Kemi dropped on her way to the river and her pot of clay fell in pieces. She didn’t care.
Until the water touched her feet she ran. The river now was alive and more powerful than ever, and ran swiftly and broad.
And then she heard it with clearly increased distinctness--the humming, the singing, which increased in volume. It was a voice, deep and warm, and enclosing her heart. “Do not fear,” it seemed to say. “I am here.”
Kemi closed her eyes. She could feel the water go around her ankles, cool and constant. Never before had she experienced water as it could feel now, with the ability not only to hold memories and secrets but also comfort simultaneously.
It was the very first time that she experienced that the river was not merely a place to collect water, but a friend that had been waiting to see her.
The following morning, the rain had ceased. The river was now running in its usual breadth, smooth and shinning.
Kemi walked home slowly, again barefooted, forgetting the pieces of the broken clay in the mud. She smiled and remembered the evening when she had been listening.
Her grandmother stared at her through the door. “You look… different,” she said. "As you have seen as no one."
Kemi nodded. “I think I have,” she said softly. And she did not know, but she knew that she would go back to the river every morning because the river had told her its secret, and it was there awaiting her, always.
