Chapter 2: The Awakening

The night was still. Too still.

I lay on my mat, eyes fixed on the thatched ceiling above me, tracing the woven patterns in the dim light. The room smelled of earth and firewood smoke, the kind that clung to our skin no matter how many times we bathed. Outside, the wind whispered through the neem trees, stirring the dry leaves, but even the crickets were silent tonight.

Then the dream came.

The air thickened. My body felt weightless, as though I had been plucked from the earth and thrown into the sky. When I opened my eyes, I stood in the middle of a vast desert—endless, golden sand stretching far beyond my sight. The sun burned overhead, but there was no warmth. Only a chilling emptiness.

I turned, searching for something, someone.

Then I saw it.

A storm—not of dust, but of shadows—churning on the horizon. It roared like a living beast, rolling towards me with terrifying speed. The sky cracked open with a sound like splitting wood, and from the heart of the storm, figures emerged.

Some of them glowed like burning coal, their faces hidden beneath flowing robes of light. Others… others crawled from the darkness, twisted and hollow, their eyes black pits that swallowed everything.

My throat went dry. My feet refused to move.

Then one of them—a figure neither in light nor darkness—stretched out a hand toward me.

"Nasir."

The voice was not a voice. It was a pulse in the air, something that shivered inside my bones.

"It is time."

My breath hitched. Time for what?

I tried to step back, but my feet sank into the sand like it had turned to water. The figure moved closer.

I opened my mouth to scream—

And woke up.

---

My body was damp with sweat, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would wake the whole compound. The lantern in the corner flickered weakly, casting shadows that danced along the walls. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing.

Outside, the faintest call of the first adhan drifted through the air, signaling the arrival of dawn. The muezzin's voice, carried by the wind, was soft yet commanding.

"Hayya 'ala-s-salah… Come to prayer…"

I sat up slowly, rubbing my face with trembling hands. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But deep in my chest, I knew that was a lie.

The air still felt thick, as though something had followed me back from the desert of my mind. I could still hear the echo of that voice, whispering through my skin.

"It is time."

Time for what?

I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. There was work to be done, and in my father's house, no one had the luxury of sleeping past dawn.

---

By midmorning, the sun had burned away the chill of dawn, leaving only the kind of heat that pressed down on the skin like a second layer. The air smelled of roasted groundnuts, dust, and fried kosai, the deep-fried bean cakes sizzling in iron pans along the roadside.

I made my way through the crowded market, a basket tucked under my arm, beads of sweat forming at my temple. The calls of traders wove together in a song of commerce:

"Fresh tomatoes! Sweet as honey!"

"Fine slippers, from Kano! Only the best!"

"Young man, buy suya for your wife! Ah, you don't have one? Then buy and she will come!"

I chuckled at that last one, shaking my head. The market women always had a joke ready.

But then—I saw him.

Malam Gambo.

A wealthy merchant. Well-dressed, well-respected. He moved through the market like a man who belonged there, greeting traders with the ease of one accustomed to power.

And yet… something was wrong.

At first, I couldn't place it. But as he passed under the shade of a neem tree, my breath caught in my throat.

His shadow did not move.

It clung to him like something alive, twisting unnaturally against the ground. For a split second, I swore I saw it rise—a dark, curling mist stretching toward the sky.

I blinked. And it was gone.

Just a normal shadow beneath a normal man.

I stood frozen, my basket growing heavier in my hands.

"Allah ya kiyaye," I whispered. "God forbid."

Was I seeing things?

---

That evening, I found Musa by the well, his sleeves rolled up as he splashed water on his face.

"Kai, Nasir, you look like a man who has seen a ghost," he said, shaking water from his hands.

I hesitated. Then, in a low voice, I told him about Malam Gambo. The shadow that moved when it shouldn't.

Musa's smile faded. He stared at me for a long time, then exhaled.

"You're sure?"

"Wallahi, I saw it."

He glanced around, lowering his voice. "Nasir… if what you saw is real, then you must be careful."

My stomach tightened. "Careful of what?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking unsure. "I don't know. But my grandmother used to say—'The eyes that see beyond the world are the ones the world tries to shut.'"

A cold wind whispered through the trees, making the water in the well shiver.

I swallowed hard.

What was happening to me?

---

That night, the dream came again.

Only this time, the storm was closer.

And I heard two voices arguing.

"He is not ready."

"He must be."

Then, just as before, a hand reached for me—grabbing my wrist, pulling me forward.

I woke up gasping. My wrist burned, as if someone had truly touched it.

I stared at my skin. No marks. No burns. But the feeling… the feeling remained.

I couldn't ignore this anymore.

So the next morning, as my mother stirred the pot of kunu, I took a deep breath and spoke.

"Mama… why did the midwife say I was not of this world?"

The ladle froze mid-stir.

For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she set the pot aside and turned to me.

Her eyes held something I had never seen before.

"Nasir," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "There are things about your birth that you do not know."