The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the dusty paths of Ikot Abasi, a small village nestled in the heart of Akwa Ibom State. Ekaette adjusted the cloth wrapped around her back, ensuring her baby was snug and secure. Little Utibe cooed softly, his tiny fingers grasping at the edges of the brightly patterned ankara cloth that held him close to her.
Ekaette was an Ibibio woman, proud of her heritage and the traditions passed down through generations. At twenty-four, she carried the weight of motherhood and resilience in her slender frame. Today, like every other market day, she was returning from the bustling Urua Ekpa market, her basket balanced effortlessly on her head. It brimmed with cassava, fresh fish, and a few mangoes she had traded for earlier.
The journey home was not long, but it was treacherous. The dirt paths wound through thick forests, their shadows stretching as the evening approached. Birds chirped melodiously, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen animals darting through the underbrush. Ekaette moved steadily, her bare feet pressing into the warm earth.
As she walked, she hummed an old Ibibio lullaby, one her mother had sung to her as a child. The song spoke of strength, love, and the bond between mother and child. Utibe stirred on her back, his head nestled against her shoulders, comforted by the soothing rhythm of her voice.
Suddenly, a sharp crack broke the serenity of the forest. Ekaette froze, her heart pounding. She scanned her surroundings, clutching her basket tightly. It could have been a branch snapping underfoot or something more ominous. The stories of hunters and wild animals were not mere tales; they were real dangers of the forest.
Steeling herself, Ekaette whispered a quick prayer in Ibibio: "Abasi sosongo nnyin o!" (God, protect us!). She resumed her journey, her pace quickening. The village was not far now, and she could already see faint wisps of smoke rising from cooking fires in the distance.
As she neared the edge of the forest, a familiar voice called out, “Ekaette! Ekaette!” It was her neighbor, Aniefiok, carrying a bundle of firewood. Relief flooded her as she waved back. Together, they walked the final stretch to the village, exchanging stories of the market and the day’s events.
Back home, Ekaette carefully untied Utibe, who had fallen asleep. She laid him on a soft mat, his peaceful face illuminated by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp. Her husband, Edet, entered the hut, his face breaking into a warm smile at the sight of his family.
“Welcome back,” he said, taking the basket from her.
Ekaette nodded, exhaustion etched on her face but pride in her heart. She had navigated another day, providing for her child and holding her family together. As she prepared the evening meal, her thoughts turned to Utibe. One day, she would tell him of these days—the songs, the journeys, and the strength it took to carry him, not just on her back but in her heart.
For now, the night belonged to rest, love, and the whispers of an Ibibio lullaby drifting softly into the warm night air.
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