Sarki Sameer 2 Wasa Farin Girki By Yaya Azeema

With great difficulty, I managed to find a spot under a tree where no one could see me. That was where I spent the night, and then a second night there—without food, without water, overwhelmed by worry. There was no kind of hardship I didn’t go through. Ameesha cried constantly because the little milk I had for her was almost finished. I gave it to her little by little, because once it was gone, I had no idea where I would find another one for her. She didn’t even drink water. That was how we lived for two days and one afternoon.

I began to feel like I was about to die, because the hunger had completely overtaken me. I could barely lift my legs to walk, and my eyes kept closing from lack of sleep and hunger. That was how I came out of the small forest, with Ameesha crying behind me. I reached the roadside, but I covered my face with the edge of my veil so that no one would recognize me.

I walked for some distance, searching desperately for water to drink, but I found none. I kept walking until I saw a tricycle (keke). I stopped the rider and begged him to help me—I told him I had no money and asked him to drop me at the police station, but he refused. I had to stop about five of them before I finally found one who pitied me and agreed to take me.

When we arrived and I saw a place with a tap, I rushed to drink water. I put Ameesha down and gave her some as well. I felt a little relief, then I went inside. I met a policeman who directed me to his superior’s office. I explained everything that had happened.

But he told me there was nothing he could do. He said I had already been told the options: either we pay, or he would remain in prison. I begged and pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t listen. When I asked to be allowed to see him because I wanted to talk to him, he said I wouldn’t be given the chance to see him.

I continued begging, but in the end he ordered that I be taken out of his office. Some female police officers came and dragged me outside. I held onto one of them and begged her to please talk to him on my behalf and allow me to see him, because I really needed to speak with him. She told me to be patient—it wouldn’t be possible.

As she turned to leave, she suddenly turned back and said in a low voice, “My sister, let me tell you the truth. Your son is not here. They took him out of this town since yesterday morning.”

My heart jumped. I asked her where they took him. She said she honestly didn’t know, but she suspected Kano, because she had overheard whispers about it—though she wasn’t certain. She advised me to go there and ask. I told her I didn’t know anywhere in Kano, and that I had never even been there before. She said if I went and asked for the newly opened prison, people would show me the way.

I thanked her, and she left me there.

I sat down, thinking about how I would get money to travel to Kano, but I saw no solution. I remained there, refusing to leave, because I knew that if I moved away from that place, those people might see me again. I pulled my bag closer and searched through it, as if I had money inside, but I didn’t even find five naira. I already knew that would be the case.

Then I opened the inner zip—and that was when I discovered something I had completely forgotten. I suddenly came across the ATM card that the Mallam had given me when I was leaving. The shock made me realize I had forgotten about it entirely.

Immediately, I jumped up and rushed out, looking around to see if I could find somewhere to withdraw money, but I didn’t find any nearby. I had to walk some distance before I spotted a POS stand. I went there, handed the card to the man, and asked him to check how much was inside.

When he checked, he told me there was eighty‑seven thousand naira in the account. I told him to withdraw seventeen thousand for me. I gave him the PIN, he withdrew it, and handed it to me. I paid him five hundred naira as charges and left.

I went to look for food. I bought some and ate until I was full—five hundred naira was enough to satisfy me and restore my strength. After that, I went shopping for Ameesha. I bought her food, clothes, and everything I knew she would need before our journey. I spent about five thousand naira on her.

Then I headed to the motor park to board a vehicle to Kano. I didn’t face any difficulty—I got a seat quickly. As soon as I entered the vehicle, it set off, and we began our journey to Kano.

We traveled for a long time, and it was around Maghrib time when we arrived. As soon as we entered Kano, a black vehicle suddenly blocked our way. The moment I saw it, my heart sank. I began praying silently that they were not armed robbers and that they wouldn’t seize my money.

They hit our vehicle hard. The driver came down and asked if everything was okay and what they wanted. One of them said, “We are here to take a woman—open up.”

When I heard that and recognized their voices, I was shocked. I wondered how they had followed me and how they knew I was heading to Kano—who informed them?

I quickly ducked under the seat and begged the women sitting beside me to please cover me and not let those people see me. I told them that those men were looking for me and that, by Allah, they were dangerous people who would kill me. I begged them to help me.

They said, “Okay…”