Captain Fatimata's Log: Year 711 of the Hegira
Entry the Third
The dawn was just peeking through when we all came together, the coolness of the early morning still lingering as we finished our Salat al-Fajr. The prayer left a calm in the air, a sort of quiet hope that seemed to spread out over the land as we got to work.We were planting seeds today—Qahwa and Sukkar—and it felt like more than just putting sprouts into the ground. It was like we were laying down roots of our own, right here in this strange new place that was slowly becoming ours.The women were all grace and care, treating every little seed like it was precious, while the men took to the heavier work with a steady determination. There was a rhythm to it, almost like a dance, with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of unknown birds as our music.By the time the sun was high, painting everything gold, we stepped back and took it all in—the neat little lines of green, so full of promise. It wasn't just about survival anymore; it was about making something, building something together.And as the day ends, I can't help but feel a swell of pride. Not the loud, boasting kind, but the deep, quiet sort that comes from knowing you've started something good. So here's to the seeds we've planted, and here's to us—may we grow as strong and as sweet as the Qahwa and Sukkar we're tending to.May Allah watch over us and our little patch of earth. We're a long way from Mali, but in some ways, it feels like we've brought a piece of it with us, right here, to bloom under a new sun.
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