LIKE FLOWING WATER

I was hungry and bored. I was done with classes for the day and even though I had prompts in my head, hunger would not let me write. My easy foods- cornflakes and milk- had run out and I didn’t feel much like taking garri. In addition, the snacks I am used to are not readily available within the school premises. After thinking of what I could possibly eat without undergoing much stress, I decided to go out of the school to get boiled corn and take a walk too.

 
I walked to a nearby ATM first to withdraw and stood there for minutes while the people around me conversed in Hausa, and I had no idea that they were discussing how the machines were fluctuating and might soon stop dispensing. After a while of waiting under the sun, I heard the girl in front of me hiss, slap her forehead and say, “Babu” as the man at the ATM shook his head to signify that the machine had stopped dispensing and everyone began to leave.

 
I got money from another bank ATM nearby and then went to get the boiled corn. While I discussed the softness of the boiled corn with the woman as she bent over the pot and picked out steaming corn for me, she suddenly paused, looked up at me and asked,
“Aunty, you be Igbo?”
“No ma,” I replied.
“Chai. You resemble Igbo o. Too much!”
“Well, people say that a lot.” I smiled.
“Na true, gaskiya.” I wanted to reply that she sounded Hausa herself. She went back to picking corn cobs out of the pot and then looked up again and asked me, “You fit marry Igbo man?” I laughed as I considered how best to answer her.
“Igbo sabi how to take care of woman o!” As she faced her children who were manning the roast corn, and shouted instructions in Igbo, I wondered what she was doing in Sokoto. What brought her here? What made her stay? Did her family know her whereabouts? Did she go back to the east during Christmas and other ceremonies? Did her relatives know she sold corn by the roadside? What was her story?

 
Later, as I walked back to the lodge with my nylon bag of boiled corn in my hands, I thought of the Yoruba saying, “Omi l’èèyàn,” which literally means people are like water, flowing in many different directions to unexpected places. I got into the school premises as the call to 4pm Asr prayer was being made in the school mosque and realised how much I have missed hearing a Muezzin call people to prayer. Did the Muezzin know, I wondered, how a girl who had journeyed from Ibadan to Sokoto like water, was being affected by his voice? Do I know where else I will flow to when I leave Sokoto?…

 

What about you? Where has your water flowed to recently? I would love to hear from you. Let’s talk in the comments!