Across Sahara: African Love Story

Chapter 1: The Departure The harmattan morning in Galan City was cloaked in a golden haze, dusting rooftops and whispering through the trees. But inside Mallam Musa Etsu’s sitting room, the warmth of the sun couldn’t chase away the cold tension. Heavy velvet curtains dimmed the room, casting long shadows across the ornate furniture and polished floor. The smell of incense mingled with that of old books, clinging to the air like memory. "You’re not going." His words cracked the silence like thunder. Mallam Musa stood tall, arms folded tightly across his chest, his kaftan crisp, his brows furrowed in a familiar look of disapproval. Amina stood by the doorway, dressed in a simple milk-colored jalabiya, her white veil draped neatly over her head and shoulders. Her suitcase stood beside her—zipped, upright, waiting like a silent accomplice. She had rehearsed this moment a dozen times, practicing the words in her mirror late into the night. But now, standing in front of the man who had raised her, her voice trembled. “Baba, it’s just two months. It’s a university exchange program, not a rebellion.” Her father’s eyes hardened. “You think crossing into Zayra Republic to live among strangers is honorable for a Nura girl? You’re my only daughter, Amina.” His voice, low but firm, carried centuries of tradition. Amina’s chest tightened. She had heard these arguments all her life—what a daughter should do, who she should be, and most importantly, where she should stay. But this time was different. This time, her heart refused to obey. “I’m twenty-three,” she said quietly. “I’m not running away. I’m chasing something that belongs to me—my dream.” Mallam Musa’s gaze flicked to the framed photo on the wall: Amina in her convocation gown, her smile bright and hopeful. A moment frozen in time. The little girl who had always tried to please him. The woman now daring to step out of his shadow. He turned back to her slowly. “After all the schooling, you want to disappear into the desert and lose yourself?” “No, Baba.” Her voice softened. “Maybe... I’ll find something.” A long silence fell between them. She could almost hear his heart breaking. And yet, it was her own that cracked a little too. Finally, his arms dropped to his sides. “You can go,” he said, voice low with warning. “But always remember who you are.” The words hit harder than a slap. They weren’t a blessing, but a burden—a reminder that she still belonged to something bigger than herself. Amina swallowed, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “I will, Baba.” Behind her, Fatima stood quietly. Her cousin, dressed in a light brown gown and grey veil, had been a silent witness to the storm. She stepped forward, yellow bangles clinking as she gently touched Amina’s arm. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered. Amina managed a soft smile. “No. But I need this.” Fatima gave a small, knowing nod. “Don’t forget to call me when you get there. Don’t forget about home.” “I won’t,” Amina promised. “You’ll be the first person I call.” The two embraced, their goodbye wrapped in unspoken fears. When they pulled apart, Amina gripped her suitcase with fresh resolve. Outside, the Keke (Tricycle )rumbled impatiently. Its sputtering engine cut through the morning calm like a warning bell. She stepped outside, the rising heat wrapping around her like a second skin. The streets of Lanlemi bustled—children ran barefoot, women balanced baskets of yams and peppers on their heads, and sellers called out prices in loud, eager voices. Galan City—the place that had raised her, shaped her—was fading behind her with every step. As she climbed into the Keke, her bag safely tucked into the back compartment, the driver shot her a hurried glance. “Madam, you late o! That Tadem bus no dey wait for person!” She barely heard him. Her mind was far away already. She took one last look at her father’s compound. Her childhood. Her cage. The Keke jolted forward, weaving through the dusty roads as Amina stared out the window, unsure if she felt liberated or terrified. Maybe both. Her phone buzzed. Professor Daniel Kolo. Have a safe journey, Amina. Trust your instincts. And write everything down. Her fingers hovered for a second before replying. I will, Professor. Thank you. She smiled faintly, then tucked the phone into her handbag. That smile didn’t last. Her heart was too heavy. The motor park was alive with chaos—men yelling over each other, hawkers pushing steaming meat pies, egg rolls, loaves of bread and sachet water through bus windows, women calling children to stay close. Amina weaved through the crowd, dragging her suitcase, her eyes scanning for the right vehicle. “Looking for something?” The voice came from behind. She turned. A tall man stood a few feet away, wrapped in a long dark robe. A turban covered most of his face, but his eyes—dark, sharp—met hers. She blinked. Before she could speak, he tilted his head toward the line of buses. “The one you need is at the end.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the crowd. She stared after him, her heart thudding strangely. Who was he? A Tarik tribesman? A traveler like her? Or just a passing ghost? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the bus to Tadem Desert City was waiting. And her future lay with it. The air was dry and unforgiving, the sun now fully risen and ruthless in its heat. She could already taste the desert wind in her mouth, feel its mystery brushing against her soul. As she approached the bus, something in her shifted. This was real. No turning back. She boarded quietly, choosing a window seat. As the engine roared to life, her fingers clutched the strap of her bag tightly. The city of Galan shrank behind her, swallowed by dust and distance. Tadem called. The desert stretched beyond the horizon. And Amina Etsu—daughter of tradition, seeker of truth—was finally answering its call.