Crossed Worlds

reaching fingers, and the air turned thick and dry, full of that dusty, heat-baked stillness that settled over the savannah a

icle loomed beside her, glossy black and inert, an expensive monument to her current helplessness. She che

of movement. Just dry brush on either side and a two-lane road stretching end

hey'd be "with her shortly," which in Nigeria was code for: "Eventually. Possibly today. Possibly

een that shimmered slightly in the light. A reflex, really. Trying to

-systems, networks, precision-and here she was, stranded, powerl

ing on gravel, then turned back toward the car, thinking maybe

w, distant.

ried on the wind like a rumble of distant thunder

eyes narrowing again

torc

kably functional. The rider slowed as he approached, scanning the situation with the alertness of someone used to reading trouble from

t, and for a second,

den and strength without complaint. His skin was deep brown, sun-warmed and luminous in the dying light. His beard

the unmistakable cadence of a Yoruba accent-soft, rounded syllables, the

n about an hour ago. I managed to call someone from Zuba, but-" she gestured

dding once. "Nigeria. If it's

laughed-a soft, surpr

live in a village near Suleja. I'm not a real mechanic, bu

h instinct against caution. But there was something ab

"I'm Suraiya

work, not theory. His hands moved with confidence, checking terminals, hoses, tapping

And the pump... might be the fuel line. Hard to say withou

hat's what I thought. Just ne

at his bike. "You said y

ech conference center. Was supp

or a moment, then nod

ked. "Ex

s not far. My bike isn't new, but it runs. And when your

d do

rother-or in this case, a sister. And my mother would n

again. "Your mothe

t

apped to the bike's side an

en at the bike. Then-at h

dusty jeans and boots worn thin. The woman from Maitama and th

ok the

, dry, and rushing against her face. Her hands clung to Femi's shoulders as the motorcycle carved a path through the

, traffic reappearing. Civilization returned like a tide. When they reached the conf

here," he s

ay through removing the he

he said. "

he

r heels clicking tiredly across the pavement, he was still there. Sitting

moment, then wa

sta

id I

was heading to a small garage not far from where she'd broken down. Femi nodde

under the flickering lights of the garage

igitize operations, how frustrating it was to be taken seriously as a woman in

t someday. He spoke of soil cycles and water shortages, of local market politics and dreams of mechanization. And he spoke wit

him as he helped load her suitcase into the

d maybe build something my children can inhe

ayed wi

the Abuja night, the words echoed. So did the look i

A man with calloused

t she e

maybe... exactly