WURA straddled one of her toddlers to her back and held another by the hand. She stood among several women at the British office, panting like a deer.
There in front of them were the trucks, parked in large clusters and packed full with men—the ones forcefully taken the day before.
Wura took a bold step out of the throng. She screamed on top of her voice: ‘Moro! Moro!!’ Then a face like his showed up.
It had happened that the talk of the raid on the men had spread through town all through night. So everyone who had found her husband or son missing had rushed to the British station by dawn.
Still, their going hadn’t changed things as the soldiers barred everyone from entering. So they weren’t able to meet their folk.
The women roamed round there till the sun rose. After a bit more, the gates of the walled garrison opened.
Then, army trucks drove out of that place, and parked. They were packed full with them—the captured men.
The soldiers had barred access to those blokes. So like everyone else, Wura’s effort to meet her man had failed.
She’d called him and had gotten no response. She’d tried to go near the trucks too. But the folk there were a crowd, so she couldn’t break through.
Then again, she was backing a child and walking another. So she just couldn’t push her way.
It was the same with other women.
Now when Wura saw that they might soon be moving, she turned quite desperate.
She cared no longer for caution nor safety. Neither did she fear for her life.
She knelt to picked up the walking child, straddled him on one raised knee. And then she lifted him onto her side as she got up, and clutched him to that side.
Her baby girl woke with a cry behind her as her brother joined her on mama’s waist.
So she fastened the swaddling clothes for her girl, and then pushed through the thick crowd.
She stepped out at last and called. ‘Moro! Morro—!!’
Then that moment a face popped out of the truck.
It was him, it was her man. The father of her kids.
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