SOKOTO SILENCE (Dust That Never Settles)
Sokoto has a quietness that Lagos would misunderstand.
Not empty, quiet. The kind of quiet that carries history, prayer, and watching eyes. The wind moves slowly here, as if even air respects elders.
Amina arrives without announcements. No Instagram. No loud reunion. She tells only Sola and Imran. Her reason is simple: if the Order is watching her, she won’t gift them her mother.
Her mother’s Sokoto compound smells like dust, henna, and warmth. The walls hold family stories. The courtyard holds silence. Mama usually comes to Sokoto at the start of the year, but this February, she stayed back longer, as if sensing the air was about to turn.
Mama meets her at the entrance, face calm, too calm.
“My daughter,” Mama says, pulling her into an embrace. “You came.”
Amina nods, pressing her forehead gently against her mother’s shoulder. “I needed to see you.”
Mama studies her face. “You seem troubled.”
Amina tries to smile. “Lagos stress.”
Mama shakes her head. “This is not Lagos stress.”
They sit with tea. Amina listens to the sound of distant children, a radio somewhere playing an Imam’s teaching. The world feels slower here, but her heart is not.
She wants to tell Mama everything. She wants to pour the fear out like hot water.
Instead, she asks softly, “Did anyone call you recently? Unknown numbers?”
Mama pauses. “A woman called. She asked if you were home.”
Amina’s stomach tightens. “What did you say?”
“I asked her who wanted to know,” Mama replies. “When there was silence on the other end, I ended the call.”
Amina exhales, a mix of pride and dread.
Later, Amina walks to the small market with Mama, simple purchases, small greetings, respectful nods. Sokoto people don’t stare unnecessarily, but they notice everything.
On their way back, an elderly man in white steps forward. His beard is full, his eyes sharp like someone who has outlived many storms.
“Hajiya Rahma,” he greets.
Mama’s posture changes slightly. “Mallam.”
The man’s gaze shifts to Amina. “So this is the daughter.”
Amina lowers her head respectfully. “Yes, Mallam.”
He studies her for a moment longer than comfort allows. Then speaks quietly.
“Your knowledge can save people,” he says. “Or make people want to destroy you.”
Amina’s throat tightens. “What knowledge?”
The elder’s eyes do not blink, he just continues to look at her.
Amina feels cold in the Sokoto heat.
Mama’s hand tightens on her arm. “Mallam…”
The elder’s voice softens and lowers to almost a whisper as he steps a little closer. “Your father once refused a deal. They offered him money that grew on the suffering of others. He refused.”
Amina’s breath catches. “My father…?”
Mama’s eyes shift away. Amina has never seen her mother avoid a gaze like this.
The elder continues, “Your father paid for that refusal.”
Amina’s heart begins to hammer. “What are you saying?”
The elder’s expression is gentle. “I am saying, the Ledger has long fingers.”
Amina’s blood runs cold.
She turns to Mama. “Mama… what is he talking about?”
Mama’s lips press together. “Not here,” she whispers.
That evening, in the privacy of her room, Mama finally speaks.
“Your father died with peace,” Mama says, voice steady. “But not because his enemies were asleep.”
Amina’s chest burns. “Mama, tell me.”
Mama inhales slowly. “He was offered a structure that looked clean on paper but was poison. Interest that multiplied. Penalties that trapped people. He said no. He said money should not become chains.”
Amina’s eyes sting. “And they… punished him?”
Mama nods once. “He received threats. He refused. Then his death came quickly. Too quickly.”
Amina’s hands tremble. “You always said it was an illness.”
Mama’s gaze is heavy. “Sometimes, to survive, a family keeps certain truths quiet.”
Amina sits back, dizzy. Abuja flashes in her mind. The folder. The surveillance. The messages.
This isn’t new. It’s inherited.
Her phone vibrates.
Unknown number.
She doesn’t want to open it, but her fingers move anyway.
Sokoto is quiet. Don’t force us to disturb it.
Amina’s throat dries.
Outside, the wind moves gently.
Inside, her world shakes.
Then another message enters, this one from a saved contact.
Imran.
They’re watching your locations.
Don’t stay long.
And Amina… we need to talk. Urgent.
Amina looks at Mama. Mama looks back, calm but afraid.
Amina rises, feeling something harden inside her.
If they want silence, she will give them something else.
She whispers, almost to herself, “Then we stop running.”
The compound lights flicker.
Amina moves towards the window and sees it; a small red dot sliding briefly across the courtyard wall. Like a laser sight. Gone as quickly as it appeared.
Amina’s breath catches.
Mama’s voice is tight now. “Amina… inside. Now.”
Amina steps back from the window, heart pounding.
Sokoto remains quiet.
But the silence has teeth.
