I looked up and down the rain-swept village where I live in,the wind-blown breeze hitting the trees bringing with it frigid temperatures,remembering the bodies of people riddled with bullets whilst people running helter-skelter, screams of children here and there, properties's of people burning fiery.
I trudged to the bus leaving everything behind,the words ringing God bless you daughter.I have become a honey broken girl at an early age.
letting my tears stream down my cheek as the thought of the moribund incident kept coming back,then I quickly wiped my tears because I don't want people to think I am weak and I have also being a spunky lady and will always be.
The drive's phone was ringing,then he picked.
"wa'ailkum mu salam mun kan hanyan Adamawa neh; we are on our way to Adamawa—he sprawled on his seat after throwing his cigarette butt.
The driver has a broad swarthy face,his voice is squeaky and he looks in his early thirties.
After ending the phone call, he asked me to pass him the squindg pillow which was under my chair,it was extremely dusty then I used my hands to dust it.
I rested my back on the squishy leather chair,my head is spinning and I was uncomfortable with the way the driver is impishly looking at me.
"What is your name young lady?"
he asked scratching his nose with his pinkie.
"my name is Fatima,"I replied in agony.
"You have a nice tribal marks,"he complimented teasingly.
Thank you—I don't know if it's an insult or a compliment because back at home people made fun of me,I got this tribal marks when I was 3years old.
I lost both my parents during boko haram horrendous attack,it is devastating and it's something I can never forget,my father is from Maiduguri bama local government while my mum is from Adamawa.
I don't know my father's relatives but my mum still as hers, before she passed away she told me where she had kept some amount of money for me to travel to Adamawa and also wrote her uncle's address on a piece of paper.
Few hours later— we stopped to pray,eat at a local food place which had a mosque beside,at the other side of the road there was a market which looked busy with crowds of people.
"Zaki ki sha ruwa;will you take some water?"I nodded in confirmation. I swigged down two pure water which was satisfying.
"Have you been married before," the young lady who offered me water asked.my eyes narrowed as I processed her question.
"No I haven't," I replied casually.
"Few days to my wedding,the groom eloped with his first love although it was a forced marriage," she apprised me pouting her lips.
"Hmmm Allah rainu,"I mumbled.
"I beg your pardon?" She giggled.
"oh sorry about that,everything happens for a reason," I replied nonchalantly as I could—she also nodded in agreement.
"By the way my name is jamila,what about you?
"I'm Fatima," I replied shyly.
"nice to meet you,"she said smiling.
"Same to you," I replied her.
I tried to ahold my mum's uncle but he isn't picking up.
"hey is something wrong?,you look agitated,"she asked.
