The New Hope Of Mambilla

Then, beneath the bell, she heard something else.

“Zainab…”

Her mother’s voice.

Zainab gripped the doorframe. “Mother?”

The mist curled between the houses. No one stood there.

“Zainab, follow the bell…”

The voice was faint, but it was surely her mother’s. Zainab knew the warm sound of it, the gentle way it stretched her name.

She hurried inside and pulled on her yellow raincoat. She put two pieces of bread in her pocket, then stopped beside the table.

Mother’s blue scarf hung by the door.

Zainab reached for it, but her fingers paused. If Mother was calling from the hills, perhaps she needed it. Perhaps she was cold.

Zainab took her own red scarf instead and wrapped it around her neck. Then she placed a note on the table.

I followed the bell. I will come back soon.

She added a little flower beside her name.

The bell rang again.

Ding.

Zainab stepped into the rain.

The path toward the tea fields was muddy, but she knew it well. Her boots made soft sucking sounds as she climbed. Water dripped from the broad leaves and landed on her hood.

Ding.

The sound came from somewhere above.

“I am coming!” Zainab called.

The tea bushes brushed her knees. Their leaves were smooth and wet. Every few steps, she turned to look back at the town. The roofs grew smaller behind her, and the houses blurred into the mist.

At the first fork, she stopped.

One path led toward the old tea shed. The other climbed between two rows of bushes.

Ding.

The bell rang from the higher path.

Zainab followed it.

Soon, the fog thickened. It covered the ground and hid the next bend. Zainab could see only a few steps ahead. She slowed down and placed each boot carefully.

“Mother?” she called.

“Zainab…”

Her mother’s voice came from the mist.

Zainab hurried forward, but the path turned sharply. A stone rolled beneath her boot. She waved her arms and sat down hard in the wet grass.

For a moment, she stayed still.

Her coat was muddy. One bread piece had fallen from her pocket and landed in a puddle.

“Oh, lovely,” she muttered.

The bell rang again, farther away.

Zainab stood and brushed the mud from her coat. She picked up the bread. It was soggy, but she took a bite anyway.

The path ahead split again. The bell’s echo bounced from one side to the other.

Ding.

Left.

Ding.

Right.

Zainab turned in a slow circle. The tea bushes looked the same in every direction.

She tried the left path. It ended at a wall of prickly plants.

She tried the right path. It curved upward, then stopped beside a wooden post.

Zainab felt a small knot in her stomach. The hill was not frightening, but it was confusing. She could not see the town now. She could not see the tea shed either.

She sat on the post and listened.

The rain whispered on the leaves.

A bird called once, then flew away.

Ding.

The bell sounded below her.

Zainab looked down. A narrow trail ran between the bushes. She had missed it because the fog had hidden the first few steps.

She climbed down and followed the trail.

The ground grew steeper. Soon, the tea bushes ended, and the path ran beside a grassy slope. Far below, water rushed over stones. The sound was soft but quick.

Zainab stopped at the edge of the path.

A ravine opened beside her. It was not very wide, but the fog hid its bottom. A wooden bridge crossed it a little farther ahead. One of its rails leaned sideways.

Zainab took a step toward the bridge.

Ding.

The bell rang from beyond the ravine.

Then her mother’s voice drifted through the fog.

“Zainab, please…”

Zainab’s hands grew cold.

“I’m here!” she called. “Where are you?”

No answer came.

She moved closer to the bridge, but the loose rail creaked in the wind. Zainab stopped. She remembered what Mother always said when paths became tricky.

Look first. Move second.

So Zainab looked.

The bridge boards were wet. One board was missing near the middle. A safer path curved along the hillside and reached the other side farther up.

It would take longer, but it was wide and firm.

Zainab followed it, keeping one hand on the grassy bank. The bell rang once, then again, guiding her through the mist.

At last, she reached a flat patch of ground beyond the ravine. There stood a little stone marker, half-covered in moss. A blue scarf lay across it.

Zainab knew that scarf.

“Mother!”

She ran to it and lifted it from the stone. It was wet and cold, but it smelled faintly of soap and dried flowers.

A small metal bell was tied to one end.

Zainab stared at it.

The bell gave a tiny ring.

Ding.

She untied it and held it in her palm. The sound stopped.

Behind the stone marker, something white stuck out from the grass. Zainab pulled it free. It was a folded piece of paper, sealed with a twist of blue thread.

Her fingers shook as she opened it.

Zainab,

If you find this, I need your help. I had to leave the tea fields by the hidden path. I am safe for now, but I cannot return to town. Please follow the marks on the back of this paper. Find Bako, the traveling guide. He knows the road beyond the plateau.

Do not come alone if you can bring someone kind and careful.

I love you.

Mother

Zainab turned the paper over. A few lines and arrows made a rough map. A circle marked the stone where she stood. A dotted line led toward the far side of the hills.

At the bottom, Mother had drawn three small stars.

Zainab touched them with one finger.

“Why did you leave?” she whispered.

The fog gave no answer.

Then the bell slipped from her hand.

It rolled across the damp grass, ringing as it went.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Zainab chased it to the edge of the ravine. The bell bounced once on a stone and vanished into the mist below.

She leaned forward, but the ground crumbled under her boot. Zainab stepped back at once and held the scarf close to her chest.

The bell’s last note rose from the ravine.

Ding.

Then it was gone.

Zainab stood very still. She had found Mother’s message, but not Mother. The thought made her eyes sting.

She looked at the safe path behind her. It led back to the tea fields, the town, and the warm little house.

She could return now. She could wait for someone older.

But Mother had written, Please follow the marks.

Zainab folded the message carefully and tucked it inside her coat. She wrapped the blue scarf around her shoulders. It was too long, so she tied the ends in a knot.

“I will find Bako,” she said. “And I will find you.”

The words sounded small in the wide hills, but they felt steady.

Zainab began walking back along the safe path. The fog slowly lifted. Green tea leaves appeared around her, shining with rain. Far below, the first roofs of town came into view.

She was still muddy. Her bread was ruined. The strange bell was lost in the ravine.

But she had her mother’s message, her mother’s scarf, and a road to follow.

By the time Zainab reached the edge of town, the rain had softened to a gentle sprinkle. Warm light glowed from the windows of the houses. She hurried home, ready to ask for help.

A kind heart becomes brave when it chooses to help someone it loves.

End of chapter one. 38 more chapters and about 67,852 words in the full book.