Something deep in his past stirred—a memory half-forgotten, but unmistakably real.
Time seemed to pause in the crowded, noisy hospital. The air grew thick with unspoken questions and memories waiting to be unlocked.
Ibrahim continued the tour, but his mind kept returning to her. Aminata’s face—gentle yet strong—pulled at fragments of a life he had not thought about in years. Glimpses of a time before power, before the city, before everything.
He tried to focus on the doctors’ words, the broken equipment, the patients waiting for care. But every time he saw a tired nurse or a child in pain, Aminata’s image returned, clearer than before, tugging at something deep inside him.
As Dr. Ouatara led him into the maternity ward, Ibrahim caught sight of her again, moving quietly down the hallway.
His heart tightened.
“Doctor, please continue with my chief of staff,” he said softly. “I will join you soon.”
He followed the hallway and approached Aminata. She jumped slightly at the sight of him, her eyes widening.
“Sorry to bother you, Aminata,” he said gently. “I would like to ask you a few questions, if that is all right.”
Her hands tightened around her mop.
“I… I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. President,” she stammered.
“I know,” he said, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Tell me—how long have you worked in this hospital?”
“Twenty-three years, sir,” she answered quietly, still looking down. “I started here after I left my village.”
“And which village are you from?”
“Koogo, in Sanmatenga Province, in the north,” she replied.
Ibrahim’s heart skipped a beat.
Koogo.
The village of his childhood.
The smell of cooking millet. Women singing at the well. Laughter. Small hands. A mother’s warmth.
“Do you… do you know a woman named Fatima?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
