From a distance, you can hear the sound of drums echoing through almost every part of the neighborhood. When you finally reach the street, you see a crowd of young men and women enjoying life and dancing. Some are in the center of the open space set aside for dancing, while others are dancing on the sidelines. Most of them are well-dressed and appear to be living comfortably. Many of them are beautiful Tuaregs, known as Abzinawa, and occasionally you can spot people with lighter skin tones, including some from various ethnic groups in Niger.
A sleek white Yaris car slowly approaches. At first glance, you might think it's running out of fuel, but that's not the case. The handsome young Tuareg man driving the car has chosen to drive it this way. His face is calm, and he drives with a regal demeanor. He appears to be around 24 or 25 years old, but his confident and majestic appearance makes him seem like someone of high status.
As soon as he hears the music from a distance, he becomes irritated. If there's one thing he despises about his culture and wishes he could change, it's this. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. This road is the easiest way for him to get home, but the way the crowd has blocked it makes it difficult for him to pass.
He clicks his tongue again, bites his lower lip, and runs his fingers through his soft, full hair. He parks the car on the side of the road, deciding to leave it there while he runs an errand for his father.
He turns off the car, takes the key, grabs a black bag, and steps out. His military-style boots and pants immediately give away his identity.
The car's presence catches the attention of many people around, even though it's not his car. Whenever he drives it, it adds to his already impressive presence, which he doesn't like because it draws too much attention. He rarely drives it unless it's for an urgent errand, like this one.
He keeps a stern face as he walks through the crowd, mostly made up of men. His anger grows whenever he sees a woman among them. What kind of corruption is this? Why do they act like they're in France? He doesn't understand why they can't stop this behavior.
He composes himself as he prepares to pass through the area designated for dancing. Despite his efforts to look away, his eyes are drawn to a girl dancing skillfully in the center. Her body moves fluidly, and although she's still developing, she's on her way. Her legs move back and forth as if controlled by a remote.
A terrible feeling hits him, and he feels a sound like a silver plate being struck in his head.
"SULTANA!" he calls out her name in a mix of anger and shock.
She doesn't notice his presence or hear his call. One of the girls standing nearby, who had been watching him intently, nudges her. After several attempts, she finally turns around, and her eyes meet his.
Fear grips her, but she doesn't show it. She turns away, planning her escape before he can reach her.
She reads his thoughts correctly and uses the crowd to slip away. He pushes through the crowd, determined to catch her. When did she become like this? How did she change so much? These questions haunt him as he rushes towards their house.
He angrily pushes open the small gate, making a loud noise. A fair-skinned woman in her mid-forties turns to look at him. Everyone in the house knows his temper and fears it.
She starts to speak but stops, clicking her tongue in frustration. She knows who he's after.
"Should I call him, ma'am?" the driver asks, knowing she's the only one who can calm him down.
She glares at him and says, "I didn't ask you to." He opens the car door for her, and she gets in, muttering a prayer for peace.
"Maina..." an elderly woman's voice calls out as he enters the decorated living room. He turns, holding the curtain. She can see the anger and worry on his face.
"Where is Sultana?" he asks.
"She's in her room, not feeling well. She didn't even go to school..." He doesn't wait for her to finish and rushes towards the corridor leading to their rooms.
Sultana pulls the blanket over herself, clicking her tongue softly. She hears their conversation and knows this isn't the Maina she used to know. She knows he's strict with everyone except her. She's his favorite, and he never lets anyone hurt her.
As she thinks this, the door opens forcefully, making a loud noise. She clenches the blanket in fear, but her stubborn heart gives her strength.
"You!" he calls her harshly, using a tone he's never used before.
