IV. When We Danced the Street Awake
by Ibrahim Abdulhakeem
[this is the fourth in a four part series.
read We Build the Sunlight from the beginning.]
IV. When We Danced the Street Awake
The blackout had lasted six days. We’d forgotten what music sounded like through speakers. So we made our own.
First came Jide with his talking drum, then the twins with broken pots, then Halima with a whistle carved from bamboo. The rhythm rose, messy and alive. People poured from their houses, waving candles and phone lights. Even the pastor joined with his tambourine, and the imam clapped time beside him. Children leapt through the smoke of mosquito coils.
Someone shouted, “We are the light!”
And for a moment, it was true.
The street glowed—not from bulbs, but from us. Faces gleamed, sweat and faith mixed. When the power finally blinked back on, the bulbs looked pale compared to our fire.
We didn’t stop.
We danced until dawn, until the city’s silence bowed to our heartbeat.
When the drums ended, and the whistle died, we stood panting and smiling at one another.
Community, we learned, is not built. It’s remembered.
And that night, we remembered.
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