AI Generated Image
The morning that followed the storm felt unreal.
A sudden crowd gathered but this time they were louder as if they were celebrating. The air still retained the smell of wet earth as a result of the concluded rain fall. Little children ran carelessly through the puddles, splashing water into the air. The sound of their laughter echoed across the village.
But it was a different day for the adults, one that carried a different weight — the kind of weight that reflected inspection of finding out what the storm had spared and what it had taken along.
Rukayat got up from bed quite early, her clothes still damped from being drenched in the rain. She took few steps outside and paused with her hands on her waist. The universe appeared softer, as though someone took out time to wipe off the dust in the sky. Even down to the trees that once drooped under the intense heat began to stand brighter, the leaves that hung on the branches were cleansed, thanks to the rainfall.
Mama was busy sweeping the compound as she hummed melodiously under her breath.
“Did you get some sleep?” Mama asked with her eyes still fixed to the ground she was sweeping.
“For about a couple of hours” Rukayat replied as she stretched.
Mama huffed. “Sleep? Even with that loud and heavy thunder that sounded like the ancestors had come knocking on the roof? No. But the storm eventually passed. That is enough”
Baba appeared from behind the house as he approached us with a shovel. “Let's get moving,”he said to us.
“Right now?” Rukayat asked.
“Rain waits for no one,” he replied.
They walked along the riverbank together. In the middle of the walk, some neighbours joined them — Hassan, Pamela, old baba Abdul leaning on his cane, and about half of the youths who were found working at the trenches. It felt more like a silent procession, everyone anxious on the inside but also at the same time hopeful.
When they finally approached the river bank, they made a stop. The trenches still looked intact — more depth, occupied by soft mud and darkened soil. The seedlings were firmly rooted, a little shaken but had life in them. And the riverbed had taken a new look overnight.
Yesterday, it was cracked earth.
Today, a faint stream of water passed through it like silver threads — not enough to still call it a river, but quiet enough to feel the same as a heartbeat.
Rukayat inhaled deeply. "There it is...”
One of the youths, Dolapo, got down on his knees and stretched out his hand into the stream. “Look at it move,” he whispered. “It’s actually moving.”
Others joined, touching the water as though they were having a reunion with an old friend.
Hassan cleared his throat. “This is actually a good start,” he said. "But don't fail to forget — recently rain comes fast just as it goes fast. We must not stop working.
Nobody argued.
Instead, people felt more strengthened than they felt earlier.
That morning they were fully dedicated to reinforcing the trenches with rocks and went on to digging new ones while the soil remained soft. They did more planting of seedlings and had them tied up to wooden sticks so that the wind won't snap them. Women in the village prepared food of different types — boiled yam, porridge beans, jollof rice — from their houses and brought to them so that they won't have any reason to abandon the work.
By noon, the sun made its way in front of the clouds, but the heat wasn't as intense as before. The surface of the ground felt cool. Even the air felt much lighter around this time.
But when the real surprised surfaced was when the Chief showed up.
Chief Bashir hardly made visits to the river. At nearly 70, he walked at a slow pace, but the weight of his presence could not be ignored. When the villagers sighted him in his royal blue attire, they momentarily seized from their work.
He looked at the ground and nodded at them and turned straight to Rukayat.
”Take a walk with me,” he said.
She walked along with with him, feeling nervous. There were many reasons as to why chiefs called individuals aside — it could be for good, or for correction purposes.
He stood without uttering a word, just observing carefully the riverbed.
“I remember when I was still a boy,” he began, “the level of this river you're seeing reached my waist. The fishes were way too many, by just scooping with your hands you could get hold of one. But as years passed by people began to change, and it affected the land. We cut down too many trees. Dug too much sand. Collected far more than we planted.
He stood quietly, studying the riverbed.
He turned towards her with his eyes compounded with memory.
“Sometimes the reason why the land leaves is because people fail to listen anymore.”
Rukayat gulped down. “Is there a slightest chance that it can come back?”
Chief Bashir smiled faintly. “The land behaves like a person, you know. If you neglect it, it will eventually grow cold. But if you pay attention to it, it will respond slowly and cautious, but certainly.
He put his right hand on her shoulder.
“You are the reason the land remembered us.”
She was full of emotion. She lack words to say at that point.
But the chief wasn't done.
“I've had a word with the elders,” he spoke on. “If the government should delay, we are not going to. We've agreed on forming a formal community committee. And you'll be the one leading it.”
Rukayat eyes widened. “Me? But I’m—"
“Young?” he cut in, raising his eyebrow. “Perfect. It's often young people that have the potential of seeing futures that old people later end up forgetting.”
Her heart beat faster. It was a mix of fear, pride, and lack of belief in herself.
“I... I will try and do my best,” she replied quietly.
“And that is why entrusted you with the position,” he said.
When they returned back to the others, Baba saw the expression all over her face, “What was the Chief telling you back there?”
Rukayat smiled absently minded. “He wants us to go ahead with the work. The whole of us.”
Baba nodded. “Then we'll do just that.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon celebrating without any music playing. They were more committed to the work now because they had a renewed sense of purpose. They talked and encouraged each other, sharing the tools they used to work with one another. Even those who had doubts now spoke with hope and plans for the future:
“We should build up barriers around this side.”
“We can even go on to plant more trees over that area.”
“I think we should get the next village involved — they might also need this.”
“But what if the river collides again the following season?”
Each idea that sprung up like a thread succeeded in weaving the village together.
As the sun set, giving the riverbed a shade of gold, Rukayat stood still on a small rise, glancing at her people — her community — as they united into shaping their land with their own hands.
Baba came close to where she stood. “Do you hear it? The river is speaking.”
“What does it say, Baba?” she asked.
He gave her a soft smile. “It says... it's not too late.”
Rukayat looked down at the thin ribbon of water pushing through the valley. She could feel hope surge from within her, steady and warm.
The land finally spoke back — not really with words, but with the river.
The message wasn't any more clearer:
KEEP MOVING. I’M STILL HERE.
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Another situation I've read that things will last if you take care of them, and I love their idea of unity for future's hope.💙