Chasing Halima – Chapter 2

The suya spot wasn’t what he expected.

Dim yellow bulbs swung lazily from crooked iron rods. A dusty plastic table stood wobbly at the far end of the kiosk, surrounded by three red stools—one cracked, one oily, and one missing. Smoke curled into the night like lazy spirits, and meat sizzled on a rusted grill, filling the air with spice, sweat, and a strange heaviness Kelechi couldn’t name.

“Na here,” the driver muttered, turning off the ignition. “Alhaja dey inside.”

Kelechi paid quickly and stepped out, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He hesitated before approaching the stall.

A woman sat behind the grill, fanning it rhythmically with a woven hand-fan. She looked to be in her fifties, wrapped in a faded Ankara wrapper, chewing something with a slow, tired rhythm.

“Good evening, ma,” Kelechi said.

The woman looked up. “Evening, my son. Are you here to buy suya?”

“Yes ma… but also… I’m looking for a person.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who are you looking for?”

He pulled out his phone and tapped open the paused TikTok video. He angled the screen toward her. “This video… It seems like this place is the suya spot at the back. Do you recognize this girl on blue top?”

Alhaja squinted, adjusted her glasses, and leaned in. Then she laughed softly, surprising him.

“Ah, that fine girl. Ehn, I remember her. She doesn’t really talk, just buys pure water and stands at a corner. She does come here sometimes. Why do you ask?”

His chest thumped. “does…errm,does she come here regularly?”

The woman shrugged. “She is a quiet type, and she doesn’t joke or play with anyone . She’ll just sit down over there,” Alhaja pointed to the same corner from the video, “drink water or eat boli small, then go.”

“Do you know her name?”

Alhaja shook her head. “But the one that always come with her, she be regular. That one jokes,laughs and talks a lot.”

“Can I wait? Maybe she’ll come today.”

The woman smiled faintly. “Even if you wait from now till morning , she won’t come. But you might try to come on Saturday evening. They used to be plenty by then.”

Kelechi exhaled. His adrenaline was morphing into frustration.

As he stood there, a young man approached the stall. His bleached hair shone under the bulb like gold foil, and his T-shirt read “Taa! Make I Hear Word.” He looked like trouble with a side of gist.

“Oga, you dey find person?” the boy asked, biting into a stick of suya.

Kelechi looked at him warily. “Why you ask?”

“Because you dey stand like person wey just jam ex for dream,” he said with a grin.

Kelechi sighed. “Na long story, bro.”

“I like long story gan oo,” the boy said, hopping onto the oily stool. “I be Ibrahim. But Dem dey call me I.B. I sabi all the gist for this side. If you tell me small, I go connect the rest.”

Kelechi considered it, then sat beside him and played the video again.

“See this girl in blue. You don see her for here before?”

I.B squinted. “Wahala. This girl resemble one aunty wey dey follow Sister Zara come sometimes.”

“Who be Sister Zara?”

“One church aunty wey dey do foundation. She dey help widows, train them, and sometimes people wey waka comot from bad marriage or wahala.”

Kelechi leaned in. “You fit take me to her?”

I.B raised his brows. “Now now?”

“Yes. I fit give you 3k for your trouble.”

I.B grinned. “Add zobo, make e sweet.”

—

30 minutes later

Zara’s compound sat behind a rusted blue gate with “House of Morning Light Foundation” painted in peeling white letters. A faded banner above the gate bore Bible verses and a picture of Zara in a flowing white gown, smiling too widely.

Inside, the air was thick with soft hymns playing from a portable speaker. A girl swept the corridor lazily, and two women sat under a mango tree peeling oranges.

Zara appeared from a room with reading glasses perched on her head and a notepad in her hand. She was in her early 40s, beautiful in that weary, graceful way that life teaches.

“Good evening,” she said, eyes scanning Kelechi. “You’re looking for someone?”

“Yes ma,” Kelechi said. “Sorry to disturb you. But someone told me you work with a woman… she wears blue often. Slim, dark, doesn’t talk much.”

Zara studied him. “You’re not the first person asking about her.”

Kelechi’s heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

“She came here months ago with burn scars on her back. No ID, no family, no past. Said her name was Maryam. We took her in.”

He blinked. “Maryam?”

Zara nodded. “That’s what she said.”

He brought out his phone, showing her the video.

She watched quietly.

“That’s her,” Zara whispered. “But… she disappeared two weeks ago. Packed her small bag and left.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No. She just said, ‘Thank you, but I can’t stay where the past might find me.’”

Kelechi felt dizzy.

“She left this,” Zara added, walking inside and returning with a brown envelope.

Inside was a sketchbook.

He opened it.

Page after page… drawings.

Of him.

Of them.

Their wedding that never happened.

His old flat.

The grey hoodie.

One page had a note: “Sometimes, what dies in the fire is not the body—but the name.”

—

Kelechi sat on the steps outside the house as the compound quieted. The night grew colder. He clutched the sketchbook like a Bible.

I.B had gone.

He dialed Fatima again.

She picked.

“I saw her,” he said.

Fatima was silent for a long time. Then: “I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“That night of the fire… Halima called me.”

Kelechi stood up.

“She said something strange… ‘If anything happens, don’t look for me. I need to disappear.’ But before I could ask, the line cut.”

“You never told me?”

“I thought it was trauma. I thought she was just panicking.”

Kelechi felt like screaming.

Fatima continued, “I’ve lived with guilt ever since. But now you’ve seen her, Kelechi, maybe it’s not too late.”

He looked at the dark street ahead.

He had come for answers.

But now he had only more questions.

Who was Halima really?

Why had she vanished?

Who was she running from?

And was he chasing a memory… or a woman who no longer wanted to be found?

Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

A TikTok notification.

The same account had posted another video.

He tapped.

It was blurry. A street preacher in Ilorin, preaching about second chances.

Behind him.

Blue boubou.

The same scarf.

Halima.

She turned again—this time, toward the camera—with something close to a smirk.

Like she knew he was watching.

---

NEWLY ADDED CHARACTERS

1. Alhaja

2. I. B

3. Zara

✨ Why This Chapter Won!

• Strong Continuity: It flows directly from Chapter One—Kelechi arrives at the suya spot, follows new clues, and meets believable characters who help him get closer to Halima.
• Authentic Dialogue: The use of localized language and casual street interactions continues the realism and flavor.
• Plot Development: Introduces I.B. and Zara, who give vital information. The mention of burn scars and Halima’s alias (“Maryam”) deepens the mystery.
• Emotional Impact: The sketchbook scene is intimate and powerful, showing Halima’s inner world.
• Ends on a Hook: A second TikTok video confirms Halima is alive—and watching. Perfect for handing off to the next writer.