Zainab

Where desert and grassland meet beneath a vast sky,

she sat in quiet majesty—

a daughter of the Sahel,

a keeper of memory,

Around her neck rested beads like small moons,

each one holding a memory:

a grandmother's song,

the rhythm of pestles against millet

the laughter of girls gathering water

beneath an acacia's patient shade.

And when evening descended across the savanna,

painting gold across the dust-filled air,

she remained still as a sculpture,

yet alive with the stories of countless women

whose names history forgot

but whose strength shaped the land.