- POOR AMINA ~the village dreamer ~CHAPTER 4
- POOR AMINA ~the village dreamer ~CHAPTER 5
- Amina: the village dreamer Chapter 7
- Amina the village dreamer Chapter 8
- Poor Amina :the village dreamer Chapter 9
- Poor Amina: the village dreamer Chapter 2
- Poor Amina:the village dreamer Chapter 3
- Poor amina:the village dreamer Chapter 1
Amina knelt beside the river, her hands dipping into the cool water as she scrubbed a colorful piece of cloth. The sun above her village, Mugumo, cast golden hues over the thatched rooftops and the towering baobab trees. Around her, the chatter of women echoed as they worked, their laughter blending with the rhythmic sound of water sloshing against the banks.
At 22, Amina was known for her beauty, but her heart was what truly captured the admiration of the villagers. She was always willing to help, whether it was fetching water for an elder or lending a hand during harvest season. For her, life revolved around love, family, and hard work.Her heart belonged to Musa, a young farmer she had grown up with.
He was charming, quick to smile, and ambitious—or so she believed. Musa spoke often of the dreams they would achieve together: a large farm, a home filled with children’s laughter, and prosperity that would elevate them both. Amina believed every word, pouring her energy into their shared vision.This morning, she hummed a song as she worked, her thoughts drifting to Musa. He had promised to meet her later to discuss their plans for planting season.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought of his voice, always filled with excitement.“Amina!” a voice called out, breaking her reverie. It was her younger brother, Kito, running toward her. “Musa’s looking for you. He’s at the marketplace!”Smiling, Amina gathered her cloth and hurried home to change. She didn’t know that the cracks in her perfect world were already beginning to show.
The marketplace in Mugumo was alive with energy—traders shouting to advertise their goods, children running through the dusty paths, and the scent of fresh produce mingling with roasted maize. Amina spotted Musa near a stall selling tools, his tall frame leaning casually against a wooden post.He grinned as she approached, his white teeth flashing. “There’s my hardworking girl,” he said, pulling her into a quick embrace. “Have you thought about what I told you? Expanding the farm will take effort, but together, we can make it happen.”Amina nodded eagerly. “I’ve been saving from the baskets I sell.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.”Musa’s eyes flickered, a strange mix of appreciation and something else she couldn’t name. “You’re amazing, Amina,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”The words warmed her heart, but she noticed he seemed distracted. His gaze wandered across the market, landing on a group of women laughing by a fruit stall. Amina pushed the unease away. Musa loved her, she told herself. He had always said so.“I’ll meet you later by the river,” Musa said suddenly, his tone dismissive. “There’s something I need to take care of.”Before she could respond, he was gone, his figure disappearing into the crowd. Amina watched him leave, a faint unease settling over her.
That evening, Amina sat with her mother, weaving a basket under the light of an oil lamp. Her mother’s hands worked swiftly, the reeds twisting into intricate patterns. “You’re quiet tonight,” her mother said, not looking up.“I’m fine, Mama,” Amina replied, though her voice lacked conviction. She had told herself not to dwell on Musa’s distracted behavior, but the feeling lingered.Her mother paused, her wise eyes meeting Amina’s. “A woman’s heart knows when something is wrong. Trust that feeling, my child.
Amina shook her head. “Musa loves me. He’s just busy with the farm.”Her mother didn’t respond, but her silence spoke volumes. The conversation left Amina unsettled, and that night, as she lay in bed, she couldn’t shake the unease that had taken root in her heart.**TWO WEEKS LATER *Days turned into weeks, and Amina noticed a change in Musa. He no longer sought her company as eagerly as before, often excusing himself with vague explanations. She tried to ignore it, convincing herself that the demands of the farm were weighing on him. Yet, deep down, she felt the distance growing.
One afternoon, as she carried a basket of freshly woven mats to the market, she overheard two women gossiping by the well.“Did you see Musa with Zuri yesterday?” one whispered.“Yes! He was carrying her baskets like she was a queen,” the other replied. “Poor Amina doesn’t know, does she?”Amina froze. Her grip on the basket tightened, her heart pounding. She wanted to confront the women, to defend Musa, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she hurried away, her thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and confusion.
