Daughter Of Retribution

"Papa, watch me!" A young girl's laughter filled the crisp morning air, echoing through the peaceful forest.

"Careful, Safiya," her father cautioned, his strong arms extended towards his daughter who was attempting to lift the sword he had planted firmly on the ground.

Safiya's eyes sparkled mischievously as she caught sight of her father approaching. With a playful grin, she made a dash to grab the sword, but her small frame struggled against its weight.

Safiya had smooth, warm brown skin and a thick mop of ebony afro hair. She exuded youthful energy and joy, her vibrant lips curved into a contagious smile. Her deep, expressive dark brown eyes glowed with innocent excitement. She wore a colorful wrapper with pink patterns secured around her waist and chest, adding a touch of vibrant charm to her petite form. At just seven years old, she was filled with a spirit of boundless curiosity and wonder.

Her father, adorned In a sturdy warrior's suit, worn around his waist, displayed his bare chest and strong muscles.

"Safiya," her father chuckled as he settled down beside her, his voice carrying a hint of warmth, "it can be dangerous to hold this sword. Come here."

Shaking her head stubbornly, Safiya pouted, her grip tightening on the hilt, "I saw you hold it, Papa! Why can't I?"

"Listen, Safi," her father gently coaxed, tenderly taking the sword from her hand, "I am holding this sword to protect you. You don't have to protect anyone just yet."

Safiya's round eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of understanding lighting up her young face. "Really, Papa?"

He nodded, his rough hands cradling the heavy sword with care. "Indeed, my dear. I will always be here to protect you." With a reassuring smile, he added, "Now, let me have it."

Finally , Safiya released her hold on the weapon, allowing her father to hold it. "Now, let's go home. Your mother and your sister are waiting for us," he said, sweeping her up with one arm while clutching an axe in the other.

Together, they made their way back through the forest, the scent of pine mingling with the songs of birds above. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly on the fallen leaves, accompanied by the occasional rustling of dried leafs. Along the way, they gathered wood.

Safiya had persistently followed her father, despite his refusal. She was always captivated by the way he carried his sword and wore his armor. Even when her mother would yell at her for attempting to touch them, Safiya remained determined.

Her father, as the head warrior of their land, possessed so many weapons.

On their journey into the village, Safiya sat comfortably upon her father's shoulder, feeling the comforting embrace. As they reached, a row of huts greeted them, standing tall and proud.

The huts were made of dried mud and thatch, their rounded roofs gleaming in the sun.

The sight of a big mango tree caught their attention, its branches swaying gently in the breeeze

The earthy scent of the mud filled Safiya's nose, mingling with the sweet fragrance of ripe mango. Laughter filled the air as children danced around its shade, their joy echoing through the village. The village was a lively, colorful place, full of life and activity.

As they reached the village square, they are greeted with the rhythmic beating of drums. Several women were dancing to the beat of the drum.

Beads clinked together, a joyful tinkle that matched the sound of the drums. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, the heat of the sun beat down on them.

Her father would often recount how he fell in love with her mother amidst these very festivities, pointing towards the village square where their paths first crossed.

Dakar, rich not only in culture but also in their foods that tantalized Safiya's senses. The aroma of palm fruits, cassava, and maize filed the air, teasing her taste buds and igniting a hunger deep within.

As they walked further into the heart of the village, the distant sound of drums gradually faded into the background.

Safiya couldn't help but notice the genuine smiles and friendly waves directed toward her father from the women and young girls they passed along the way.

Innocently, she reciprocated these gestures, waving back with a smile of her own. Unbeknown to her, the attention was meant for her father.

Finally, they arrived at their humble home, which consisted of three huts nestled within the compound.

The first hut, constructed with mud and sticks, belonged to her father's trusted men and servants. Its mud walls sturdy and thick. The thatched roof was topped with branches and leaves.

The air around the hut was heavy with the scent of sweat and wood smoke, the result of the hard labor of the men who called it home. In the distance, Safiya could hear the clanging of metal tools.

The second hut was designated for his family – his mother and sisters. It radiated a sense of warmth and shelter.

The largest hut, situated In the middle, housed Safiya, her sister, mother, and father. Its grandeur was evident, boasting multiple rooms that provided space for their intimate family life.

Upon entering the compound, Safiya's ten year old sister was the first to rush towards them. Her hair braided into two elegant braid with delicate cowries, she possessed a slender figure just like their mother.

Her pointed nose and brown skin added to her beauty. Her eyes, a captivating shade of brown, sparkled with joy, while Soft, brown lips curved into a smile.

"Meka!" Their father scooped her up into his loving embrace, with Safiya still on his shoulder. Excited Safiya beamed and said, "Meka, daddy is going to protect us!"

"Daddy will always protect us." Meka's smile widened, cupping her father's face with her tiny hands.

The father released the children to go play with their cousins, they raced off, their laughter filling the air.

Finally, their mother emerged from the entrance of their hut. A warm, inviting smile adorned her face as her eyes met her husband's.

It spoke of their loving bond, silently assuring him of her support and devotion. She wore a traditional wrapper, tied from her chest down to her legs, just as the elderly did.

"My lord," she greeted with a warm smile.

He enveloped her into his arms. "How are you?", his hand gently grazing her cheek, causing a blush to spread across her face. She smiled shyly up at him, her heart fluttering at his touch. Even after all these years, he still had the power to make her feel like a young girl again.

"I'm good. How is your arm?" she asked, softly touching it, only to see him wince in pain. "I'm sorry."

He smiled instead. "Don't worry, my love. Everything will be alright."

A slight frown etched onto her face. Her voice trembled with worry as she spoke, "How can you say that when the king wants you to go to war again? You're not well, my Lord. You need to rest."

"My people need me. I have to go. I must save our land," he whispered.

She shook her head, tears welled in her eyes. "But you're not the only one. The other warriors can go," she pleaded.

"My love, as their leader, I have to go," he said firmly.

Realizing that persuading him was futile, she fell silent, knowing his mind was set.

That night, the family gathered around the dinner table in a dimly lit room, enjoying a meal of roasted yam, dried fish, and palm oil. The husband and wife sat side by side, while their daughters, Safiya and Meka, giggled softly across from them.

"What are you beautiful angels laughing at?" their father asked, a smile gracing his face.

Meka spoke up with her high-pitched voice, "Safiya said she wants to be like you when she grows up, but I told her no, she can't carry a sword. I said she would be like mama."

"But I want to be like daddy," Safiya chimed in, her voice a touch deeper, her smile bright.

Their father laughed . "Oh, Safiya, you can be whatever you want to be."

"My lord," their mother interrupted, concern in her voice. "Please don't say that."

But he only laughed off her worries, his gaze fixed on his daughters.

"Mama said we'll grow up wearing beads on our necks and cowries on our heads, but Safiya isn't wearing any," Meka said.

"I don't like cowries," Safiya calmly stated, remembering her father's words. "Daddy said I can be what I want."

"Safiya, Meka, that's enough. Now, eat your food," their mother warned.

The dinner table fell into silence as they all focused on their meal.

Shortly after, a knock came from the door, causing both girls to turn their heads, wondering who it could be. Their mother glanced at their father, worry etched on her face.

"I have to go," he said suddenly.

The two girls looked at their father and their face fell.

"Daddy, are you going away for a long time again?" Safiya asked, her eyes on the verge of tears.

"Come here, child," he said, lifting her onto his lap and gently playing with her full hair. "I will always come back for you, your sister, and your mother. Stay strong until I return, okay?"

"Okay," Safiya nodded, her tears held back by her father's reassurance.

"Papa, we will miss you," Meka stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

He embraced his children, one by one, before enveloping his wife in a loving embrace.

"Please be safe and come back home," she whispered to him. He nodded, releasing his hold on them.

"Take care of yourself and the children" he said to his wife, then turned to Safiya, presenting her with a wooden sword.

"Take care of the family while I'm away," he instructed.

Safiya beamed, thanking her father. " I will papa"

He walked towards the door and turned to take one last look at his family before he departed.

Safiya watched as the door closed, the wooden sword tightening in her grip. They stood there for a long time, simply staring at the closed door. The room was silent until her mother insisted it was time for them to go to sleep.

The following night, Safiya found herself once again standing by the closed door, clutching the wooden sword her father had given her. At first, she had been filled with excitement when he presented it to her, but now worry crept into her thoughts.

Why is he not back yet?

Night after night, Safiya waited, hoping for her father's return. However, the door remained closed, and he never came back.

Eleven long years had passed since he had walked out of that door, leaving behind a promise he could not fulfill.

Now, Safiya stood there all grown, holding both the wooden sword of her childhood and a real sword secured at her waist. Her brown eyes remained fixed on the closed door, and her hair had grown even fuller over the years.

Her father, he did not return from the war. The other warriors returned but her father didn't, He never came back, as he had promised he would, eleven year ago.