Table of Contents
A New Chapter Begins: Moving North Amid Family Changes
When my father was reassigned from Lagos State to his company’s newly opened branch in Northern Nigeria, it coincided with a difficult period in our family. My parents divorced around the same time, and custody was divided-my mother took my eldest sister and youngest brother, while my elder brother and I stayed with my father.
With no one else to care for us, my brother and I had no choice but to accompany our dad on this unexpected journey.
Adjusting to Maiduguri: Initial Reactions and Emotions
“Think of this as a fresh start. Just the three of us, a new beginning!” Dad said cheerfully as we traveled north by bus.
I frowned, arms crossed. “A fresh start? In Maiduguri of all places?” Outside the window, dark clouds gathered over vast fields dotted with wind turbines, and the scent of damp earth from a recent drizzle filled the air.
“What’s wrong with Maiduguri? It’s a place just like any other,” Dad replied, puzzled.
“It’s so remote! We should have stayed with Mom!” I protested.
My brother Haneef nudged me gently. Dad’s face fell, and I felt a pang of guilt creeping in.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s alright,” he said, forcing a smile. “I know you miss your mom…”
“I don’t miss her! She left us!” I snapped, hurt and confused. I had always believed I was Mom’s favorite, so why didn’t she choose me?
Dad squeezed my hands. “Your mom loves-”
“Daddy, I want to sleep,” I interrupted, blinking back tears.
He wrapped me in a blanket from his bag. “Sleep well, my love.”
“Sleepyhead!” Haneef teased, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
Arrival and Life in Maiduguri: New Surroundings and Traditions
We reached Maiduguri at dawn, greeted by the call to Fajr prayer and a gentle morning mist. The journey had lasted nearly 24 hours, leaving me groggy and disoriented.
The bus driver helped us unload our bags, and soon I heard a familiar, high-pitched voice calling, “Barka da zuwa!” It was my paternal grandmother, her torchlight cutting through the early morning haze.
Though I had only seen her on video calls, her voice was warm and comforting, reminiscent of Dad’s gentler side. She embraced me tightly, her scent of fragrant incense filling the air-a smell that reminded me of home, as Mom often lit similar incense in Lagos.
“Esther, taimaka musu ɗaukar kaya,” Grandma instructed a helper, and we made our way to her house on the second street.
The gardener greeted us at the gate and assisted with the luggage. Over the next few days, we settled into a new rhythm. Grandma’s cooking was a highlight-delicious local dishes like miyan geda, masa, and dan wanke filled our plates, though I often struggled to enjoy them and was teased for being a “true Lagosian.”
Evenings were divided: the men gathered to watch football in the small living room, while the women enjoyed Africa Magic channels in the inner room.
New Responsibilities and Friendships
Grandma’s only request was that I feed her chicks each morning. Sometimes, I stayed in the kitchen with Sister Esther, a distant relative who had fled Jos after a terrorist attack. Sister Esther was learning tailoring at a neighbor’s house and shared stories of resilience and hope.
After a week, Dad had started work, and Haneef helped the gardener on Grandma’s farm behind the house. I often felt the urge to call Mom, to hear her voice and be reassured, but she never reached out. When Dad called my other siblings, she was always “busy.” I convinced myself she didn’t deserve to be missed.
Eventually, Haneef and I enrolled in a high school four streets away.
School Days in Maiduguri: Challenges and New Bonds
My first day at school was overwhelming. The Hausa language and other local dialects swirled around me, unfamiliar and fast. Though I was ethnically Hausa, I barely spoke the language. Thankfully, classes were conducted in English, which offered some relief.
While sitting on a swing beneath a baobab tree, a cheerful voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hello, new girl! I’m Binta!” she said, flashing a bright smile.
I didn’t smile back, instead looking away and sighing, missing my Lagos friends. After a pause, I muttered, “Thank you.”
Binta was fair-skinned with round cheeks that puffed when she smiled. “You don’t like it here, do you?” she asked.
“Huhn?” I replied.
“The teacher said you’re from Lagos. How is Lagos? Big?”
A small smile crept onto my face. “Borno is actually bigger than Lagos. Lagos is Nigeria’s largest city and the most populous in Africa. It’s where everything happens, unlike this rural place.”
“Ouch!” Binta gasped. “We may not be as developed, but Borno, especially Maiduguri, is beautiful. Give it a chance-you might love it here!”
“I doubt it,” I said.
“I can show you around. We can explore together…”
The bell rang, ending lunch break.
“Okay, let’s make a deal,” she said.
“A deal?” I echoed.
“Yes! Every day, learn the name of something new you see. In thirty days, we’ll revisit this. Deal?”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
Growing Friendship and Shared Dreams
Binta was persistent, eager to know my likes and dislikes, and taught me words in Hausa and Kanuri. Gradually, I looked forward to school and our lessons. She was bright, always answering questions and smiling. She dreamed of becoming a doctor to build a hospital and provide free care in her community-a noble goal that warmed my heart.
It took weeks before I learned there was no school in her village, so she traveled three miles daily to attend ours, always punctual unlike me.
Binta’s enthusiasm was infectious. She excelled in math and often tutored me after school. She had never seen a flat-screen TV before visiting my home; standing before our 65-inch 4K smart TV, she was awestruck.
“I’m going to be successful and buy a TV like this!” she declared.
“By then, it won’t be trendy,” I teased.
“Then I’ll buy whatever is in style,” she replied confidently.
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
Worry and Loss: Binta’s Sudden Disappearance
When Binta first missed school, the teacher said she was ill. Concerned, I asked a boy from her village to guide me to her home, but he claimed ignorance, which puzzled me since Binta had mentioned his grandmother was her hairdresser.
Days passed without any sign of her. Grandma suggested we get her address from the teacher to visit, but the teacher refused to share it.
Binta missed exams too-something she would never do. My heart sank with worry.
Moments of Joy Amid Uncertainty
One lunch break, Binta shared a joke under the baobab tree: “Do you know a group of owls is called a parliament?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?” she asked.
I gave her a skeptical look.
“Because they don’t have the guts!” she laughed.
I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not laughing at your own joke.”
She shrugged and pointed to the sky. “Look, a rainbow!”
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted.
“Don’t be a spoilsport. Learn to appreciate life’s beauty,” she said.
“Yes, yes,” I yawned.
Unexpected Reunion and Heartbreaking Reality
Days before school resumed, Grandma and I were at the market when two people approached. Grandma froze, and I followed her gaze to see Binta standing there, her face pale, eyes sunken, and energy drained.
“Binta!” I exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “You missed exams! I missed you! Are you better now?”
She shook her head weakly. “I’m fine, thank you.”
She introduced the man beside her as her husband-a much older man with grey hair and wrinkles. He spoke in Kanuri, and Grandma quickly led me away.
At the time, I couldn’t understand. Wasn’t marriage for adults? That night, I couldn’t sleep, haunted by her tired face and dark aura. I woke Grandma, who sighed and held me close.
“Will Binta come back to school?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“But she wants to be a doctor. She wants to help people. She was so sad today-Binta was never sad.”
Grandma said nothing, just hugged me. That was the last time I saw Binta.
Dreams That Live On
One night, I dreamed we were in a mansion. Binta wore a stethoscope and smiled brightly. She pointed to a large flat-screen TV and said, “See, Salimat, I told you I’d buy the big TV.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
She laughed and hugged me.
