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–Halima Ahmad He laid the long pipe to his lips and blew such sweet, commanding notes. We clapped, we danced, and ran like children after the wondrous sound. Alo alo, mu ci dadi! Like fowls in farmyards when the scattered barley hits the ground, Ku zo ga daula wa zai ki, Alo alo, mu ci dadi! Kowa ya bari, ta gota shi. Alo alo, mu ci dadi! And step for step we followed, dancing with a hopeful, laughing heart, … Continue reading The Pied PiperÂ
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-Halima Ahmad Image CrĂ©dit: Julissa Santana Once upon a moonlit night,a whisper on her tongue, a wish, a fleeting fancy, sweet and young. In chambers draped with moonlit silk, she lies, Takitse, with fire in her eyes. To hold her breath, a captive of the night, and steal a moment, bathe in silver light. A harem’s secrets, her only shield, as dawn’s first light threatened … Continue reading A One Thousand and One Moonlit Night
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Image Credit: Prince Akachi Ah, ah! So na she be your goddess now?I don see am well-well.That her skin wey shine like ebony and shea butter,E dey make my heart dey do yama-yama. Her mouth sweet like crimson flower,She dey waka like Queen of Savannah,She dey dance to music wey only she dey hear,And dey use am wound my heart. That her voice, wey sweet like honey,E dey mock my poor heart wey dey beat like drum.That her eye, deep like river for inside storm,E dey laugh as my hope con scatter finish. … Continue reading Na So She Be Your Goddess Now
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-Halima Ahmad Matazu Image Credit: Eduardo Barrios I wasn’t sure what love was, exactly. But in the gentle rocking, the muffled laughter that sometimes vibrated through me, I felt cherished, and protected. It was a feeling so profound, so all-encompassing, that it filled the entirety of my tiny world. Mama. The word itself sent a warmth blooming in my chest, a feeling unlike anything else. It was … Continue reading It Spoke of Love
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-Halima Ahmad The Kano sun beat down on my weathered face, its harsh glare meaningless to my sightless eyes. The ceaseless hum of the marketplace was my symphony, the rhythmic clatter of carts, the staccato shouts of vendors, the melodic lilt of Hausa greetings. Yet, amidst this symphony, I was often deemed a discordant note. I, Malam Idi, sat here every day, beneath the skeletal branches of a … Continue reading Gatangatanaku
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