CHAPTER 7

Within the camp, shadows danced ominously as flames flickered in the night. The children, frail and haunted, stood at the forefront of this eerie assembly. The fire's faint glow painted their gaunt faces, and the scent of roasting meat lingered, a cruel juxtaposition to their dire predicament. Laughter and merriment among the captors formed a disquieting backdrop to the children's silent torment.

The leader's gravelly voice sliced through the celebration like a knife through the night air, demanding a singer to step forward. A hush fell upon the assembly, and all eyes turned toward the trembling children, their faces etched with fear.

Amidst this harrowing moment, Aminu, a cunning and menacing figure among the captors, seized an opportunity. He emerged from the shadows, casting elongated, sinister silhouettes that whispered of dark intentions. His gaze met the leaders, and with a malevolent glint in his eyes, he declared, "Leader, we have a talented musician among us." The leader, intrigued, granted a subtle nod of approval.

The tension in the air grew palpable as Aminu pointed an accusatory finger at Hamza, his voice unwavering as he affirmed, "Leader, it's him." The leader shifted his unwavering gaze to Hamza, subjecting him to an unsettling scrutiny. The air thickened with anticipation, and Hamza felt the weight of countless eyes bearing down on him.

Hamza, thrust into the spotlight, felt his heart race like a frantic drumbeat. Aminu's relentless gaze bore into him, and he longed to disappear, knowing that his fate hung by a fragile thread.

Summoning his courage, Hamza scanned the surroundings, and his eyes landed on a kontigi, a one-stringed African lute, within arm's reach. He approached it, acutely aware of the expectant audience that had engulfed him. Taking the kontigi into his trembling hands, he closed his eyes and let his fingers dance across the strings.

Imagine Hamza, standing close to the burn fire, surrounded by the haunting silence of the night. He clutches a weathered kontigi, its strings whispering secrets of sorrow and longing. With a deep breath, he begins to play, his fingers dancing across the frets, creating a melancholic melody that echoes through the stillness of the camp.

As the first chords fill the air, Hamza's eyes glisten with unshed tears, each note resonating with the memories of his distant home. His voice, though soft, carries the weight of his longing as he sings:

"Far away from home,

My heart aches for home,

As I think of the days,

When I was at home.

The time when I was happy,

When I was close to family,

Those days when my heart was full,

Those days when I was at peace."

The flickering campfire casts dancing shadows on Hamza's face, highlighting the weariness etched into his young features. His fingers continue their gentle dance on the kontongi strings, each chord an expression of his profound grief.

"I miss home so much,

My heart is full of longing,

My heart is full of grief,

My heart cannot be consoled.

I miss my friends,

I miss everything,

But nothing can console me,

Nothing can ease my heart."

As the melody flows, Hamza's voice quivers with emotion. The other children in the camp, huddled together in the darkness, listen in silent solidarity, their own hearts heavy with longing for the homes they were torn from.

"The longing for home,

It consumes me, body and soul,

It's hard to find peace,

When you're longing for home.

It's like a fire in my heart,

An unquenchable desire,

Like a raging storm inside me,

Nothing can put it out."

With each word, Hamza's voice grows stronger, his determination to hold onto his memories evident. The camp's usual noises seem to fade, leaving only the haunting melody and Hamza's heartfelt lyrics.

"Time passes so slowly,

When your heart is far away,

As if the seconds drag on,

When you're missing home.

The pain is hard to bear,

The longing is so strong,

All I can do is wait,

And hope that time will pass."

Hamza's song becomes a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, a beacon of hope amid the darkness of their captivity. And as the final note lingers in the night air, his fellow captives find solace in the shared experience of their collective yearning for home.

His voice, filled with longing and sorrow, resonated through the camp, momentarily thawing the hearts of the captors. Even the enigmatic leader, Sani, watched and listened intently. For a fleeting moment, a trace of nostalgia and yearning crossed Sani's face before vanishing into the shadows. His typically stoic demeanor betrayed a flicker of vulnerability.

As Hamza's performance drew to a close, he opened his eyes to meet the leader's unreadable gaze. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, if only briefly. Sani, breaking his silence, spoke with unexpected gentleness, "You have a very nice voice. You will work with me now." The declaration left everyone stunned, for Sani was not known for compliments or extended conversations.

Amid the assembly, Aminu's expression remained inscrutable, concealing the turmoil of his thwarted plans. He had envisioned Hamza's downfall, but now he faced an unforeseen turn of events. His ambition to see Hamza suffer had taken an unexpected detour, leaving him to recalibrate his strategies within the confines of the camp.

Hamza, still reeling from the shock, stood there, grappling with the sudden shift in his fate. As Sani beckoned for food and approached him, Hamza approached the leader, his heart a complex mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

Sani, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence, inquired about Hamza's name. Fearfully, Hamza stammered, "Hamza," in response. Sani acknowledged the name with a nod, then turned to a man at his side, instructing him to keep Hamza close.

In the kitchen, a veiled woman observed the girls as they hastily completed their tasks. Once their duties were fulfilled, she selected a few girls, including Zara. With a sweeping gesture, she directed them to carry trays laden with food and signaled for them to follow her.