The Bitter Road from her Kwauye
Visiting Days...
They had visitors that day. If you lived there, you would know without being told which days visitors were being expected. Their few hostels were cleaner than usual, the makeshift classrooms too and everyone made sure to look clean. It was not all for the purpose of keeping up appearances, the officials there were doing the best they could with what was being provided or donated, well, except for the few she did not like and for good reasons too.
Many of the officials had taken a liking to her; they thought she was smart and very helpful for her age. She was a quick learner who had started understanding English from the lessons they were taught few weeks after their arrival. She wasn’t adept at it, so for the purpose of this occasion, Mrs Yakubu stood next to her as a translator. She had been chosen to speak to the small group of visitors. Not that she had much to say but she was expected to answer as many questions as she could.
Someone currently pushed a microphone in front of her, close to her mouth, directing a question at her. Mrs Yakubu translated, "They want to know how you came to be here."
How could she ever forget?
How It All Began...
Since arriving here about five months ago, she had not answered this question every time she was asked. Her voice always failed her but not this time. She needed to answer the question more than the person asking it needed the answer. Her mind revisited the events of that day as she began to speak. All eyes were focused on her as Mrs Yakubu translated.
The big tree in front of their hut provided shade for Fatima and her friends -
_ Hauwa_ and Zainab each time they played.
source
It was a late afternoon but the sun was still high in the sky, one would wonder if it did not know it should be getting ready to set. The girls did not mind at all. It was mango season, so asides playing their favourite game of suwe, they were also hoping a slight wind would bring down ripe mango fruits for them. Soon, it would be time to go help their respective mothers prepare dinner, as such they were making the most of the little time they had to play.
“Iskan zai zo”, The wind will soon come, Hauwa said in their native Hausa language. She seemed more interested in waiting for mangoes than in the game. You could not blame her much: too many failed attempts to win often made some people lose interest in a game. Fatima was the unrivalled champion at suwe as Hauwa was at their race games. Even now, Fatima was well on her way to yet another victory.
Suwe...
Suwe was an easy game. They would begin by drawing a large rectangle in the sand and then divide it into about six to ten smaller boxes ensuring an equal number on both sides. A cashew seed or small stone is used as a dice which each player would take turns in throwing into the boxes, one box at a time, starting from the first to the last.