The Return of Aisha's First Love

The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the mud-brick walls of Aisha's home.The rooster's call reverberated through the village, blending with the faint rustling of leaves caused by the harmattan breeze. Aisha sat cross-legged on a woven mat in their single-room, skillfully braiding her youngest sister Fatima's hair. The little girl squirmed impatiently. "Sit still, Fatima," Aisha gently admonished. "But it hurts, Aisha," Fatima said, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading. "It'll hurt more if you go outside with your hair looking like a bird's nest," she teased, coaxing a reluctant giggle from Fatima despite her complaints. Their shared laughter was quickly replaced by the day's pressing demands. Aisha's eyes strayed to the dim corner of the room, where their mother lay on a thin, tattered mattress, her frail body wrapped in a faded cloth. Each shallow, labored breath her mother took seemed like an unspoken plea. Beside her lay an empty calabash bowl, a silent reminder of their constant struggle. Medicine was a rarity, and food was even scarcer. What little they had, Aisha reserved for the children, often going to bed with an empty stomach herself. But she couldn't afford self-pity. Not in a place like this. At just seventeen, she bore responsibilities that felt like heavy chains tethered to her every step. She wasn't merely a daughter or an older sister, she was the caretaker, the provider, and the glue that held her family together. She was born in Bogu, a village encircled by rolling hills and endless farmland. Life in Bogu revolved around planting and harvesting, dictated by the rhythm of the seasons. The air carried the earthy scent of damp soil and wood smoke, while birdsong filled the quiet moments. But beneath its idyllic veneer lay a harsh existence, something she knew too well. The rains had been late, leaving the land dry and barren. The millet fields promised little, and each morning she walked the winding path to the village stream, balancing a clay pot on her head. The journey, though exhausting, gave her a rare moment of solitude, a chance to momentarily escape the weight of her burdens. On her return, she often passed the small schoolhouse, its chipped paint and cracked windows testaments to years of neglect. Yet, to her, it stood as a beacon of longing and lost opportunity. She would pause briefly, watching her peers gather outside, their laughter echoing as they prepared for lessons. Her chest tightened with a yearning she couldn't suppress. Once, she had a dream where she was standing before a chalkboard, teaching children to read and write. But dreams were a luxury she could no longer afford. Her father's death had marked the end of her schooling. Once a promising student, praised for her quick mind and insatiable curiosity, she had been forced to abandon her education to shoulder her family's survival. "You're needed here," her mother had said with a sorrowful finality. "Your siblings can't manage without you."

When she got home from the stream she gently set the water pot on the ground, wiping the sweat from her forehead. The long, grueling walk from the stream had left her drained, and all she wanted now was to prepare breakfast for her mother and siblings. But as she moved toward the door, her heart stopped. Near the entrance lay an ominous object: a dead lizard bound tightly with a strip of red cloth.

Her stomach turned, and her hands shook as she crouched to examine it. This was the third disturbing item she had discovered in just two weeks. The first was a small calabash filled with charred chicken feathers. The second, a clay doll smeared with white chalk and pierced with needles. And now this.

"Who's doing this?" she whispered, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and anger. She straightened, her eyes darting around anxiously. "Who keeps coming here to torment my family?"

Her siblings peeked nervously from the window, their frightened eyes meeting hers. Forcing a reassuring smile, she fought to calm her racing heart.

Unknown to her, Mama Udoka stood hidden behind a mango tree, her sly smile betraying her satisfaction as she observed her reaction. Her hatred for the young woman burned brighter than the midday sun. This wasn't mere dislike, it was a toxic mix of envy, bitterness, and anger.

Mama Udoka had never forgiven Aisha for dating Daniel, a man she had secretly loved for years. To her, Aisha's quiet strength and delicate beauty had bewitched him, stealing the future she believed should have been hers. Even though Daniel had left the village in search of a better life, Mama Udoka was determined to make Aisha's life unbearable.

"Let her suffer," she muttered to herself, clutching the shawl around her shoulders with gnarled fingers. "Let her feel my wrath."

But as she watched Aisha lift the lizard with a stick and hurl it far into the bushes, unease crept into her chest. She hadn't screamed or cried as she had hoped. Instead, she stood tall, her chin raised in quiet defiance.

Inside the house, Aisha murmured a silent prayer. She did not know who was behind these malicious acts, but she refused to let fear rule her. Her family depend on her, and if someone wants a fight, they would soon learn she wouldn't back down.

Mama Udoka's eyes narrowed. This was not the reaction she had expected. "She's stronger than I thought," she muttered under her breath. "But strength can be broken "

Soon, Aisha started preparing breakfast. Supplies were meager, just a handful of maize flour and a pinch of salt. She stirred the watery porridge over the open flame, the weak aroma teasing her empty stomach. Her siblings, Fatima and her younger brothers, Musa and Karim sat patiently in a row, their faces and eyes a painful reminder of their struggles. She divided the portions carefully, ensuring they had enough before keeping the smallest share for herself. "Eat quickly," she urged. "You don't want to be late for school." The children ate quietly, their eyes fixed on their bowls. She watched them, guilt gnawing at her. She wanted so much more for them. But wishes don't put food on the table.Once the children left for school, the house grew silent, an emptiness that pressed heavily on her. She swiftly tidied up and grabbed the woven basket she used to carry goods to the market. Today, she will sell the last of her groundnuts. The midday sun blazed fiercely as she trudged along the dusty path to the marketplace. The heat was oppressive, but she pushed forward, each step kicking up small clouds of red dust. The market buzzed with activity, traders loudly advertising their goods and customers bargaining intently. "Aisha! Over here!" She turned to see Mariam, her closest friend, waving from a small stall piled high with shea butter. Mariam understood her struggles better than anyone. She, too, bore the weight of a family that depends on her. "How's your mother?" She asked as Aisha approached. "She's no better," Aisha admitted, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "But I'll find a way to get her medicine. I have to." Mariam's eyes softened. "You know I'm here if you need help." Aisha forced a small smile. "Thank you, Mariam. But you've got enough on your plate already." Mariam reached out, gripping her hand tightly. "That doesn't mean I can't help." A lump formed in Aisha's throat, but she swallowed hard, refusing to cry. There was no time for tears, not now. By the time she returned home, the sky had begun its transformation into a canvas of oranges and pinks. Her basket was empty, save for a few precious coins tucked away in her pocket, enough to buy a small loaf of bread and a handful of dried fish. Her mother was awake, her weary eyes glinting faintly with recognition. "How are you feeling, Mama?" Aisha asked, kneeling beside her. "Tired," her mother whispered. "But you, you're strong, my child. I'm so proud of you." Aisha blinked back the sting of tears. "I'm only strong because you showed me how to be." A faint smile played on her mother's lips. "You'll do great things, Aisha. I know it." Though her heart ached with doubt, she held on to her mother's words. She sat by her side as darkness fell, the stars emerging one by one in the quiet night sky. Later, as she lay on the mat, staring at the thatched roof above her, Aisha allowed herself one small glimmer of hope. Someday, she thought. Someday, life will be different. Until then, she would endure, she would fight, and she would keep dreaming, for herself and for the family she loved more than life itself. That night, Mama Udoka dropped another fetish charm at Aisha's family home. " This one will kill her," she said.