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I would find a way to flee into the woods and to make my way home. But at such a moment, without a scrap of clothing on my back, I couldn’t possibly run to any person who knew me. I was too old to be seen like this. My breasts were not far from budding. My mother had said that I would soon become a woman. This was no way to be seen. I nearly made myself crazy, wondering how to escape my own nakedness. To where could a naked person run?
    We now had ten or so captors, all with spears, clubs and firesticks.They seemed to speak a language vaguely like Bamanankan. I knew they were not Muslims, because they never stopped to pray. At night, we were herded under a baobab tree. Our captors paid five men from a nearby village to stand guard over us. Still attached neck to neck, we were made to help gather wood, build a fire and boil yams in water, with nary a pepper to give the meal bite. The gruel was watery and tasteless, and I couldn’t eat it. The boy who kept his eye on me brought me a banana. I took it and ate it, but still refused to speak with him.
    “You,” Fanta called out. “Bayo child. Daughter of Mamadu, the jeweller. Give me that banana. Throw it, here.”
    I finished the banana, dropped the peel and said, “I only had the one.”
    “Speak to that boy who gave it to you. I see him watching you.”
    “He has no more food.”
    “Insolent children are beaten. I always told Mamadu Diallo that he was too free with you.”
    I felt my anger spiralling. I wanted desperately to escape her taunts. “Leave me alone,” I said.
    “And your Bamana mother,” she sneered.
    “I said leave me alone.”
    “Taking you with her to see all those babies being born. Ridiculous.”
    “I didn’t just see them. I caught them. And who do you think will catch yours?”
    Fanta’s mouth fell open. There. We were even. But then I felt ashamed at what I had said. My father had told me to hide my disrespect. And my mother never would have used a woman’s pregnancy against her. Fanta grew silent. I imagined her shame at having to push out her baby while our captors watched.
    We were roped above the ankles, in pairs, and our neck yokes were removed so that we could lie down under the baobab tree. I was attached to Fomba, who allowed me to settle down next to Fanta. I touched herbelly. She glared at me, but softened as she felt my hand calm and still over her navel.
    “Come near, child,” she said. “I can feel you shivering. I spoke harshly because I am hungry and tired, but I won’t really beat you.”
    I huddled against her and fell asleep.
    Someone was rubbing my shoulder. At first, I dreamed it was Fanta, ordering me again to fetch her a banana. But my eyes opened and I was no longer dreaming, and there was Fomba, come to tell me that I had been crying aloud in my sleep.
    My moans were spooking the guards, Fomba said, and they were threatening to beat me if I didn’t give them peace. Besides, he said, my legs were twitching madly. He lay next to me, patted my arm, and said he would not let them hurt me but that I must sleep correctly.
    The men who had captured me had taken Fomba’s hare, skinned and gutted it and roasted it over a fire. None of the rabbit meat-or that of the chickens soon slaughtered and cooked-came to my mouth. I lay on my back and stared up at the stars. In happier times, I had loved to watch them with my parents. There was the Drinking Gourd in the sky, with its brilliant handle. I wondered if anyone in Bayo was watching it, at that moment.
    Fomba had fallen back to sleep. Doing my best not to tug at his feet, I stood to pray. I had nothing to cover my hair, but proceeded anyway. With my head down, I put my thumbs behind my ears.
Allaahu Akbar
, I said. I placed my right hand over left and began to say
Subhaana ala huuma wa bihamdika
, but I got no further. A captor came and struck me with his stick and ordered me back onto the ground. Eventually, I fell asleep.
    The next morning, between first light and