With our clothes already off, we are racing each other to the river; Yasin and Salim and Khalif and Gambo and me. Yasin is bigger than all of us but a slow runner. He uses his strength to fall anyone on his way to get to the water first. I do not like to struggle so I let him pass me. Gambo is the fastest among us and Yasin cannot overtake him. So he kicks his legs against each other and Gambo falls terribly. I see Gambo's eyes red with tears. He doesn't even dust the sand off the bruises at the back of his arms and elbow. He stands, wishing death on yasin with his eyes.
We can not complain. We can not tell on Yasin, cause then we would have to explain what we were doing in the river when I am meant to be attending my Quranic classes, when Khalif and Gambo are meant to be hawking their groundnut. We are here now, there is nothing we could do other than quietly hate Yasin and try to enjoy the water.
Yasin is dark, very dark. His face is stiff and scary because one eye has a scar over it and so it's always twitching and never as open as the other eye. His ears are like they are about to leave the sides of his head. He is bulky and has an amulet wrapped around his arm. The scars on his body tell stories about violence that none of us have ever seen . He doesn't like to talk about them so we never asked.
Sometimes we hate Yasin, sometimes we like him. He is always slapping us. No one ever complained in front of him. His palm is like sandpaper. Still, he beats up anyone who tries to beat or bully anyone of us.
The water is refreshing as always. It was here and I had my first swim. Yasin taught me. He is a better swimmer than all of us so when we come to the river together, we don't leave his side.
The water is soft, I'm still learning. I splash and blow bubbles around but I never go far into the river. My arms and legs are moving in funny directions but I do not care. This is my way of flying like the birds do in the sky. The water is my cloud and it caresses me. After a while, I move to the sand to sit and watch the bigger boys perform acrobatic moves.
There's this lanky boy whose moves always make everyone stop and watch. His arms are long and he walks like he is sixty-five years old, his back all bent. Each day has its own routine move. He goes into the water chest first and goes quiet. Next, he comes out and do a somersault. Other times he does a back stroke and other maneuvers I enjoy but cannot fully describe. You need to be there to see it and fall in love.
Today he climbs a rock and has done a lot of somersaults. I look at him with envy. I will be this good someday, I promise myself. He attempts a back flip and goes into the water with finesse. We all grow silent waiting for his return. It takes longer than usual. Everyone is standing and watching, and waiting. My heart is beating fast in a bad way. Nothing. No more whooshing sound. Peace is returning to the river now. Someone brave enough goes after him. I watched as he is dragged out of water. He isn't moving and his neck dangling like it doesn't want to be part of his body again.
There is someone else smaller in form than him, standing at the river bank screaming his name.
"Sani!"
"Sani!"
"Sani!"
I catch Sani's eyes. He is looking at me and there is no expression in it, his eyes are clear and peaceful . I try to swallow sliver and it's difficult, my stomach twists in knots. I grab my plastic kettle. The water is cold. I pour it over my face and grit my teeth as I feel a chill run from my head through my body. My mind returns to Sani. I close my eyes again and see him; his neck and lifeless body. I hear his name running through my head. I want to scream. I wish I never heard his name because now he would be harder to forget. Thoughts are speeding through my mind and I am getting dizzy. I wonder what it feels like dying. "Alfa says everyone has a road to go on after death". I am thinking of good and evil. And about me and Sani and on which road I will meet him. I wonder if he attended all his Quranic lessons or he skipped them like me. I wonder if he did well before his life left him, if he stood well with Allah, if he fasted or perform salat. I hope he wasn't like all those big boys in the motor park that smoke weed and drank haram. Even if he did out of ignorance, Allah would know and show mercy .Allah knows the intentions of the heart, and that's all he judges. The muezzin calls for prayers.
"Allahu Akbar..."
We walked quietly as we have been doing for the past three weeks. The sun is at its peak. We walk pass the river, and, as if it was planned, we all stopped to stare. The sun is shining over the water. I do not know what the other boys are thinking but I want to run and jump and make whooshing sound in the cold, shimmering beauty. I want to feel its chill all over my skin once more. I inhale deeply. It still has that calm and sweet smell. The breeze is sweet. There are goosebumps al over my arms. I smile. My heart is beating fast. I want to run. I glance at Gambo and Khalif and Salim and there faces are saying things that I like. We all turn to look at Yasin with our talking eyes, as if we were asking him for permission. He stares back. Slowly, his eyes widen and we see a half-smile growing on that dark face. In that moment, we do not remember the dead boy. Yasin's smile is the only thing we see, the only thing that floods our mind, we forget we still have our clothes on and we are rushing to the water, running and laughing and runnin
