The night had fallen thick and fast over Kano, cloaking the city in a darkness as heavy as the day’s events. The echoes of the protest still hung in the air, like smoke from a fire that had yet to fully extinguish. Aminu sat in the dim light of their living room, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline that had coursed through his veins earlier that day. Across from him, Zara paced the room like a caged animal, her movements sharp and restless.
“You saw them, didn’t you?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. “They’re afraid of us.”
Aminu nodded, though his thoughts were scattered. The image of the riot police—faces hidden behind visors, batons raised—flashed in his mind. The crowd had surged, the air thick with tension, and for a brief moment, it felt like anything could happen. But it hadn’t. The police held their line, and the protesters, too, held back, unwilling to provoke the violence that loomed like a shadow over the confrontation.
“They’re afraid,” Zara repeated, her voice quieter now, almost to herself. “And that’s why we can’t stop.”
Halima stood by the door, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face pale with worry. She had watched them come home, dusty and tired, but unhurt. Still, the fear had never fully left her eyes.
“Aminu,” she called softly, breaking into his thoughts. “Are you all right?”
He blinked, looking up at her. “I’m fine, Mama. Just... tired.”
It was a half-truth. His body ached, but it was his mind that felt most worn out. The events of the day swirled in his head—Zara’s fiery speeches, the chants, the clash of wills between the protesters and the authorities. And underneath it all, the nagging doubt that had haunted him since the beginning: Was any of this enough? Would their voices ever truly be heard?
Zara stopped her pacing and flopped into the chair across from him, staring at the ceiling. “Tomorrow, we go again,” she muttered, almost as if talking to herself. “We can’t lose momentum.”
“Tomorrow?” Aminu asked, surprised. “Already?”
She turned her head, her expression hardening. “We can’t give them time to regroup. Every day we wait, they’ll get stronger and more organized. We have to keep pushing.”
Aminu didn’t respond. The thought of going back out there, to face the same uncertainty, the same tension—it weighed heavily on him. He knew Zara was right. He knew that change didn’t come easily and that it demanded persistence and sacrifice. But part of him wondered if he had the strength to keep going.
“Zara,” Halima said gently, stepping closer, “you’ve done enough for today. Both of you have. Maybe it’s time to rest, to think.”
“There’s nothing to think about, Mama,” Zara replied sharply. “This isn’t a game. We don’t have time to sit and ‘think.’ The people need us now. If we hesitate, if we slow down, they’ll crush us.”
Halima looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with sadness. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Zara’s face softened for a moment, and she reached out to squeeze her mother’s hand. “I know, Mama. But this fight—it’s bigger than us. It’s bigger than Kano. It’s the whole country. If we don’t stand up now, who will?”
Halima didn’t answer. Instead, she moved to the window, peering out into the darkness. The streets were quiet now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day. But that silence was deceptive. Beneath it, something was building—anger, fear, hope. All of it simmering just below the surface, waiting for the next spark.
Aminu’s phone buzzed on the table, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picked it up and frowned at the screen. A message from one of the other organizers of the protest.
“We need to talk. Meet at the warehouse tomorrow at 10.”
He showed the message to Zara, who nodded grimly. “Looks like tomorrow’s going to be busy.”
Aminu sighed, rubbing his temples. “What do you think they want?”
“Strategy,” Zara said, standing up again. “The police won’t just stand by forever. We need to be prepared for whatever comes next.”
Aminu nodded, though the thought of more planning, more confrontation, weighed heavily on him. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. The protest had been peaceful today, but the tension in the air had been palpable. It wouldn’t take much to tip things into violence, and Aminu wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.
As if sensing his unease, Zara walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did good today,” she said softly. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but you stood with us. That matters.”
Aminu looked up at her, the weight of the day pressing down on him. “Do you ever get scared?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Zara’s eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe, or doubt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Every day,” she admitted. “But that’s why we have to keep going. Fear can either paralyze you, or it can push you forward. I choose to move.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Aminu wanted to believe her, wanted to take comfort in her certainty. But all he felt was exhaustion.
The next morning came with a thick haze hanging over the city. Aminu rose early, though he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. The house was quiet as he dressed, the familiar weight of dread settling in his chest. Today would be another day of decisions, of confrontations, of stepping into the unknown.
Zara was already up, her face set in the same determined expression she always wore before a protest. She had a notebook in her hand, scribbling down ideas for slogans, chants, and strategies.
“Ready?” she asked without looking up.
Aminu nodded, though he wasn’t sure if “ready” was the right word.
They left the house together, walking in silence through the streets. The city felt different today, more on edge. People moved quickly, their heads down as if trying to avoid being noticed. There was a heaviness in the air, a tension that made the hairs on the back of Aminu’s neck stand up.
When they reached the warehouse, a small group had already gathered. The organizers—men and women of all ages—were deep in discussion, their faces serious.
“We need to escalate,” one of the leaders said as soon as they walked in. “The government’s not listening. We have to make them listen.”
Aminu’s stomach turned. Escalate? What did that mean? He glanced at Zara, who was listening intently, her arms crossed.
“The peaceful protests are good,” the man continued, “but we need more visibility. We need to shut things down. Disrupt the flow of the city.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.
“We can block the roads,” someone suggested. “Stop traffic. Make it impossible for them to ignore us.”
“Or we could target the businesses that support the government,” another voice chimed in. “Hit them where it hurts.”
Aminu’s chest tightened. This wasn’t what he had signed up for. He believed in the cause, believed in fighting for a better future. But disrupting people’s lives and shutting down the city—was that the way forward?
Zara caught his eye and gave him a small nod. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “Trust me.”
But trust was a fragile thing, and as Aminu listened to the plans being laid out, he couldn’t help but feel that the line between protest and chaos was becoming dangerously thin.
End of Chapter Ten