Chapter Nine: The journey Back to The Village
462 Words
Ayaan sat by the window of the dusty old bus, gripping the edge of her hijab as the wheels rolled over the rough, uneven road.
Misky sat beside her, calm but alert, scanning the empty landscape of northeastern Kenya. The vast, dry land stretched endlessly, scattered with thorny acacia trees and small villages hidden behind low hills.
This was a journey back to danger—back to the village that once nearly killed Ayaan.
“Maxaad dareemaysaa?” Misky asked softly.
(How do you feel?)
Ayaan swallowed, her heart pounding. “Cabsi iyo carar waan ka daalay. Waan dagaalamayaa hadda.”
(I’m tired of fear and running. This time, I will fight.)
Misky nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ha iloobin, dagaalku caqli buu u baahan yahay. Haddii aad caro keliya adeegsato, way ku dili doonaan.”
(Don’t forget, a fight needs wisdom. If you only use anger, they will kill you.)
Ayaan understood the risk—if they were caught, they would not be forgiven.
The villagers had already killed people who helped girls escape.
But she couldn't turn back now.
---
A Dangerous Road
The bus rattled violently, the engine groaning as it climbed a small hill.
Ayaan noticed a group of armed men standing by the roadside, clutching old AK-47s.
Bandits.
Misky stiffened. “Haddii ay buska istaajiyaan, si xasilloon ah u dhaqaaq. Ha hadlin.”
(If they stop the bus, stay calm. Don’t speak.)
The bus slowed down, and Ayaan held her breath.
One of the men walked up to the driver’s window, exchanging a few words before scanning the passengers. His dark eyes lingered on Ayaan and Misky, as if sensing they didn’t belong.
Misky looked away, her body language controlled, emotionless.
The man grunted, then waved the bus forward.
Ayaan let out the breath she had been holding.
“Dhulkaan waa halis. Waa inaad had iyo jeer feejignaataa.” Misky whispered.
(This land is dangerous. You must always be alert.)
They weren’t even in the village yet.
And already, death was close.
---
Entering the Village
As the bus approached Ashabito, Ayaan’s heart pounded harder.
The place looked unchanged—the same low huts made of mud and sticks, the same dusty roads filled with boys playing with tires and women carrying water jugs on their heads.
But this wasn’t home anymore.
This was enemy territory.
Misky leaned closer, her voice low and firm.
“Halkan laga bilaabo, waa inaan isku ekaano dad caadi ah. Waa inaanan qofna ka shakisin.”
(From here, we must blend in. We cannot make anyone suspicious.)
Ayaan nodded, pulling her shawl tighter around her face.
The wedding was set for tomorrow.
They had one night to find Safiyo.
And only one chance to get her out alive.
- Writer
