Cracks in the Armor

Yusuf moved silently through the narrow streets of Chibok, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as he made his way to Zainab's hiding place. The weight of responsibility sat heavily on his shoulders, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked around every corner. The loyalists were getting bolder, their attacks more frequent. It felt like they were always one step behind, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As he rounded the corner to Zainab's temporary safe house, Yusuf's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen—it was his younger brother, Isa. Yusuf stared at the name for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh and silencing the call. Isa had been trying to reach him for days, but Yusuf couldn't afford distractions. Protecting Zainab was all that mattered now, even if it meant cutting ties with his family.

Zainab greeted him at the door, her eyes tired but alert. "You dey okay?" she asked, her voice soft with concern. (Are you okay?)

Yusuf forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I dey," he replied simply. (I'm fine.) But the truth was, he was far from okay. The constant vigilance, the endless fear of failing her—it was wearing him down in ways he hadn't anticipated.

They sat together in the dimly lit room, the silence between them thick with unspoken worries. Yusuf's mind wandered to the sacrifices he had made over the past weeks. Opportunities that once excited him now felt distant and irrelevant. Conversations with friends had grown infrequent, replaced by tense exchanges about security and escape routes. He had even stopped visiting his mother, afraid that staying close to his family would put them in danger.

"You no go answer am?" Zainab's voice cut through his thoughts, her eyes flicking to his phone. (Aren't you going to answer it?)

Yusuf shook his head, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "No be now. I fit talk later." (Not now. I can talk later.)

Zainab studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Yusuf, you dey carry too much for your head," she said quietly. "You no fit do everything by yourself." (Yusuf, you're carrying too much. You can't do everything on your own.)

Yusuf's jaw tightened, and he looked away. "I no get choice," (I don't have a choice,) he muttered, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "If I no protect you, who go do am?" (If I don't protect you, who will?)

The room fell into silence again, but this time, it felt heavier, almost suffocating. Yusuf's mind raced with thoughts of their enemies—how close they might be, how little time they had. He knew he was reaching his limit, but the idea of stepping back, of letting someone else take the lead, felt impossible.

Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering cut through the quiet. Yusuf shot to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into his waistband. He motioned for Zainab to stay behind him as he approached the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he peeked out into the street, his eyes scanned for movement. Nothing. Just the wind and the distant sounds of the town. He slowly stepped outside, his senses on high alert. It wasn't until he reached the back of the building that he found the source of the noise—a broken bottle, its shattered pieces glittering in the moonlight. There was no sign of anyone nearby, but the message was clear: they were being watched.

Yusuf crouched down, examining the bottle. A scrap of paper was attached to one of the shards, fluttering in the breeze. He carefully unfolded it, his blood running cold as he read the words scrawled in rough handwriting: You can't protect her forever.

He crumpled the note in his fist, anger and fear warring within him. The loyalists were closer than they had realized, and their threats were no longer just shadows in the distance. They were here, in Chibok, and they were coming for Zainab.

Yusuf hurried back inside, his mind racing with plans and contingencies. But as he locked the door behind him, he couldn't shake the gnawing doubt that had taken root deep inside him. No matter how hard he tried, how vigilant he was, could he really keep her safe?

The silence between them returned, but now it was charged with a new sense of urgency. Yusuf glanced at Zainab, who was watching him with a mixture of fear and determination. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that he had it under control. But the words wouldn't come. Not this time.

The tension in the room was palpable. Zainab paced back and forth, her movements sharp and agitated. Yusuf stood by the door, arms crossed, trying to keep his emotions in check. But the frustration had been building for days, and now, it was threatening to spill over.

"You no fit continue like this, Yusuf!" Zainab's voice was laced with exasperation. "I no be small pikin. I sabi protect myself!" (You can't keep doing this, Yusuf! I'm not a child. I know how to protect myself!)

Yusuf's jaw tightened. He had heard this argument before, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. "Zainab, no be say I no trust you," he began, choosing his words carefully. "But the danger dey increase every day. I no fit just stand by and watch." (Zainab, it's not that I don't trust you. But the danger is growing every day. I can't just stand by and watch.)

Zainab stopped pacing and turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "Na wetin you go do then? Follow me everywhere? Watch my every move?" (So what are you going to do then? Follow me everywhere? Watch my every move?)

Yusuf clenched his fists at his sides, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I dey try protect you, Zainab. That na my job." (I'm trying to protect you, Zainab. That's my job.)

"But at wetin cost?" she shot back, her tone softer now but no less intense. "You dey lose yourself in this, Yusuf. You dey push everybody away. You dey sacrifice everything." (But at what cost? You're losing yourself in this, Yusuf. You're pushing everyone away. You're sacrificing everything.)

Her words hit him harder than he expected. Deep down, he knew she was right. He had sacrificed so much—his family, his opportunities, his sense of normalcy—all for the sake of keeping her safe. But the idea of stepping back, of letting her face these threats alone, was something he couldn't reconcile.

Before he could respond, a soft knock echoed through the room. Both of them froze, their argument forgotten in an instant. Yusuf moved quickly to the door, peering through the small window. No one was there, but something had been slipped under the door—a small, folded piece of paper.

Yusuf picked it up, his heart pounding as he unfolded it. The message was brief, but the meaning was clear: You think you can hide her forever? We know where to find you.

He felt Zainab's presence behind him, her breath catching as she read over his shoulder. The reality of their situation came crashing down on them once again. The loyalists were closing in, and there was no more time for arguments.

Zainab's hand touched his arm, and when he looked at her, the fire in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a quiet resolve. "We go handle this together," she said, her voice steady. (We'll handle this together.)

Yusuf nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The argument could wait. For now, all that mattered was survival. But as they prepared for whatever came next, Yusuf couldn't shake the fear that no matter what they did, they were always one step behind.

The shadows were closing in, and the cracks in their armor were starting to show.