A Path to Safety

The air in Elder Obi’s compound felt different today, thicker with a shared purpose. Sunlight dappled through the ancient mango tree, painting shifting patterns on the earth floor where we sat. Elder Obi, his face a roadmap of kindness and wisdom, looked at each of us in turn. There was Mrs. Nwosu, whose stall was always piled high with the juiciest yams, and Mr. Okoro, the weaver whose colorful cloths adorned many homes in Oraifite. And then there was me, Emefiona, my heart thrumming with a mixture of nervousness and fierce determination. We were here to talk about Chika.

“We have all seen the shadows that follow that child,” Elder Obi began, his voice a gentle rumble. “The way her eyes hold a sadness no child should carry, the way she flinches at a raised voice. We cannot stand by and let this darkness consume her.”

Mrs. Nwosu nodded, her brow furrowed with concern. “I see her sometimes, fetching water before the sun is even awake. Her arms are so thin, Elder. And her clothes… always ragged, even when the other children have new ones for market day.”