The Sky of the Ancestors

Night fell like a cotton sail over the village of Ndiassane. Aminata, seated on a woven straw mat, looked up at the sky. Once, at this hour, the Milky Way unfurled its river of milk, so dense you could have scooped it with a ladle. Tonight, only a few shy stars pierced an orange veil, an artificial dusk that asked no permission. She remembered her grandfather, El Hadj, who named each constellation as one names family members. "Look, Aminata," he would say, pointing to the sky, "there is the camel of the caravan, and there, the three sisters dancing around the well." He told her that the stars were the souls of the ancestors, watching over the living, and that the night was an open book where every destiny was written in letters of light. Aminata had never doubted his words.