Saba huddled up to Hagos. She clung to him, the fearless man whose bravery made sure that children, men and women would not die of thirst. She couldn’t see his face, but knew he smiled at her whispering. As he always did.

Saba heard the river rippling, murmuring against the rocks. She breathed in fresh mud. The river must have flooded not long ago, she thought.

She stood as people placed their oil lamps on the ground behind them and lined up on the edge of the water. The river glistened between their legs, darkness enveloping the rest of the landscape. Saba clutched her yellow bucket to her chest, listening to containers clamouring and jerrycans hitting against each other. The silver bracelets of a woman in front of her tinkled as she dipped her jerrycan into the water. As the woman bent deeper, the bright colours of her adalkana dress bloomed around her hips like a rainbow against the pitch-black sky. The woman lost her grip and the river tugged away the jerrycan. Hagos scurried into the water. Lamps were lifted high and torches were directed at him. Why is he doing this? asked a man. Because the smallest of items have value now, said another. Hagos slipped. The river swallowed him, its shining golden layers swelling. Saba remembered the last time her brother had jumped into a flooding river back home to save a man who was escaping dergue soldiers. Facing up to danger was often his way of getting noticed. And Saba did what she always had done. She jumped in after him.

The brother and sister vanished underneath the water. It seemed an eternity before their heads surfaced again. Almost at the same time. And straight into the glow of the torchlight.

When Hagos stood in front of the woman, with the jerrycan returned and now filled with water, she placed her henna-clad hand on his shoulder. Thank you, the woman said. It was brave of you.

You are welcome, said Saba standing next to her brother. He is happy to help.

Back from the river, wet and shivering, Saba found her mother muttering to herself outside their hut.

How can you throw yourself in the water? she asked.

It wasn’t dangerous, Saba said.

The danger was in the men’s eyes.

I have survived bigger dangers, Mother, and you know it.

Do you know what Rahwa is saying about you now? The mother’s voice broke. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with her scarf.

The midwife is here? Saba turned away from her mother and kicked her foot in the air. Dust flew.

Saba was about to enter the hut when she noticed Hagos holding his mother’s hands, kissing them into stillness.

God bless you, my sweet child, their mother said.

Hagos helped their mother inside the hut, while Saba watched from the door, still in her soaked black dress. Hagos sat by their mother’s side, massaging her arms. Saba went behind the hut to change into her nightgown. The torch she placed on the ground made an eerie glow on the hut opposite. She noticed that the door stood open. A foot emerged in the fringes of the torchlight, which curled around an ankle. I can be seen everywhere, Saba thought. Inside and outside.