AMINA: THE LIONESS OF ZAZZAU
1303 Words
Interlude — The Night of Palm Wine and Mud
The road to the next village was longer than anyone expected.
Not because of distance.
Because of Zainab.
“Why are we walking so fast?” she complained for the tenth time that day.
“We are being hunted,” Amina replied.
“Yes, but must we be uncomfortable while being hunted?”
Amina ignored her.
Queen Bakwa continued walking without reacting.
Zainab sighed dramatically.
“I miss normal problems.”
“What normal problems?” Amina asked.
Zainab counted on her fingers.
“Food.”
“Sleep.”
“People owing me money.”
“People I owe money.”
“Mostly money.”
By sunset they reached a small village tucked between rocky hills.
The place wasn’t important enough to appear on royal maps.
Which was exactly why they needed it.
Smoke rose from cooking fires.
Goats wandered freely through narrow paths.
Children chased one another with sticks pretending to be warriors.
And somewhere in the distance came the unmistakable sound of laughter.
Lots of it.
Zainab immediately smiled.
“I hear happiness.”
Amina frowned.
“You hear trouble.”
“Same thing.”
The source of the noise was impossible to miss.
At the center of the village stood a large open shelter.
Lanterns hung from wooden beams.
Drums played softly in one corner.
Men and women sat on benches drinking palm wine from calabashes.
The smell of roasted meat filled the air.
A wooden sign hung above the entrance.
MAMA JATAU’S PLACE
The moment they entered, a powerful voice boomed across the shelter.
“If you came here to fight, leave.”
A pause.
“If you came here to drink, sit down.”
A bigger pause.
“If you came here to owe me money, die first.”
The entire shelter burst into laughter.
The owner emerged from behind a table.
A large woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.
She carried three calabashes in one hand and looked capable of throwing all three at someone’s head if necessary.
Mama Jatau.
She looked at the newcomers.
Then at their dusty clothes.
Then at Zainab.
Then back at the others.
“You look hungry.”
Zainab pointed immediately.
“I like her.”
Minutes later they were seated.
Food arrived.
Palm wine arrived.
Peace arrived.
For the first time in what felt like forever, nobody was trying to kill them.
⸻
Amina sat quietly observing the villagers.
People laughed freely here.
Life continued despite everything happening in the world.
A farmer complained about goats.
A hunter exaggerated a story nobody believed.
An old man insisted he had once wrestled a lion.
Nobody believed that either.
Then something unexpected happened.
A small boy approached their table.
He couldn’t have been older than ten.
He stared directly at Amina.
Not afraid.
Just curious.
“Are you a warrior?”
Amina blinked.
“A little.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
“My sister says only men become warriors.”
Before Amina could answer, Zainab leaned forward.
“Your sister is wrong.”
The boy looked impressed immediately.
Zainab pointed at herself.
“I became a problem for free.”
The child laughed.
Soon other children gathered around.
As children always do when something interesting appears.
Questions came rapidly.
“How many battles have you fought?”
“Did you ever kill a lion?”
“Can you ride two horses at once?”
“Why does your friend talk so much?”
Amina pointed toward Zainab.
“Nobody knows.”
Even Queen Bakwa smiled.
Unfortunately peace never lasts.
Especially around Zainab.
The entrance suddenly became crowded.
A group of warriors entered.
Big men.
Loud men.
Men who clearly enjoyed being noticed.
At their center walked a broad-shouldered fighter named Barde.
The villagers greeted him politely.
But not warmly.
Amina noticed that.
People respected him.
Few seemed to like him.
Barde spotted Zainab immediately.
Which was unfortunate.
Because Zainab was currently explaining battle strategy to three children using pieces of roasted meat.
⸻
Barde approached their table.
His friends followed.
The shelter gradually became quieter.
Mama Jatau rolled her eyes.
Clearly this wasn’t the first time.
Barde folded his arms.
“A woman carrying a sword.”
Zainab looked up.
“Oh no.”
Barde frowned.
“What?”
“I’ve heard this conversation before.”
She sighed.
“It never improves.”
Several villagers covered their mouths.
Trying not to laugh.
Barde wasn’t amused.
“You think you’re funny?”
“No.”
Zainab took another bite of food.
“I think you’re predictable.”
A few people snorted.
Amina already knew where this was going.
And honestly?
She was curious.
Barde placed both hands on the table.
“You should show respect when speaking to warriors.”
Zainab looked around.
“Which warrior?”
The entire shelter froze.
Then a loud laugh escaped from somewhere near the back.
Barde’s face darkened.
His friends looked uncomfortable.
Mama Jatau quietly moved a few valuable items out of throwing range.
Experience.
The warrior leaned closer.
“Stand up.”
Zainab looked at her food.
Then at him.
Then at her food again.
“No.”
A child giggled.
That somehow made everything worse.
Barde reached for her shoulder.
A terrible decision.
A legendary decision.
A decision people would discuss for years.
The moment his hand touched her
Zainab moved.
Quick.
Effortless.
Like she’d done it a thousand times.
One twist.
One shift of weight.
One very surprised warrior.
And suddenly Barde was flying.
He crashed through two benches.
Knocked over a calabash.
Rolled across the floor.
And landed flat on his back.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then one old woman started laughing.
The kind of laugh that cannot be stopped.
That was enough.
The shelter exploded.
⸻
People doubled over.
Farmers slapped tables.
Children screamed with delight.
Even the drummers stopped playing because they were laughing too hard.
Barde jumped to his feet.
Humiliated.
Angry.
Covered in spilled palm wine.
He charged.
Zainab sighed.
“Again?”
This time she stepped aside.
Barde missed completely.
His own momentum carried him forward.
Straight through the entrance.
Straight outside.
Straight into a muddy puddle left by recent rain.
SPLASH.
The entire village heard it.
For a second nobody moved.
Then the laughter returned.
Louder.
Much louder.
Children immediately began shouting nicknames.
“General Mud!”
“Commander of Puddles!”
“Chief of Swamps!”
One elderly man stood dramatically.
“Behold!”
He pointed toward Barde.
“The Hero of Wet Soil!”
Even Amina lost control.
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Not polite.
Not restrained.
A laugh that left tears in her eyes.
Barde looked around.
Everyone was laughing.
Even his own companions.
Especially his own companions.
⸻
Mama Jatau stepped forward carrying a calabash.
She handed it to him.
“Drink.”
Barde stared.
She smiled.
“It won’t help.”
The shelter erupted again.
Meanwhile Zainab calmly returned to her seat.
Picked up her food.
And continued eating.
As though nothing had happened.
A child approached her.
Wide-eyed.
“How did you do that?”
Zainab swallowed.
“Simple.”
She pointed toward Barde.
“Never interrupt a hungry woman.”
The child nodded seriously.
As if receiving sacred wisdom.
For a few precious hours, the world felt normal.
No Keepers.
No Broken Circle.
No Hunters.
No prophecies.
Just villagers.
Stories.
Laughter.
And palm wine.
⸻
But as the night deepened, Amina noticed something.
An old storyteller sitting alone near the fire.
Watching her.
Not staring.
Watching.
Patiently.
Knowingly.
When their eyes met, the old man slowly raised his cup.
Then spoke words that immediately stole the warmth from the night.
“The Lioness has finally returned.”
And suddenly the laughter around her felt very far away.
TO BE CONTINUED…
- Writer
