The Misadventures of Khadijah: The White Volkswagen (Series Finale)

Little Khadijah always has a knack of finding trouble...or trouble finding her.

Oct 11, 2024

Khadijah Misadventure_ The White Volkswagen Finale — “Pl-please Brother. We from the same stomach…”

Khadijah groggily opened her eyes to the faint chorus of night insects, their rhythmic chirping blending with the distant hooting of an owl. She rubbed her eyes, still heavy and lethargic, and was on the verge of drifting off again when the owl’s calls grew louder, more incessant. Or maybe her ears were now fully attuned to the world outside? She couldn’t be sure. Either way, the sound cut through her lingering drowsiness, sending a shiver down her spine. Auntie Amina had once said something about hearing an owl hooting near one’s home. In her current state, Khadijah couldn’t recall the exact significance, but she knew one thing for certain: an owl’s hoot was never a harbinger of good luck or anything positive.

Suddenly wide awake, Khadijah shot up, her pulse quickening. Her hands reached out, brushing against the surface beneath her—a bed, but not the one she shared with her siblings nor her parents’ bed. This one was lower, the mattress thin and sagging in the middle. The cover beneath her felt scratchy, a coarse fabric that barely passed for a blanket. As she shifted, the bedframe let out a long, creaking groan, like an old man weary from years of toil.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of a rusty kerosene lamp perched on a wooden stool in the corner. The weak flame flickered, casting shimmering shadows on the cracked, peeling walls. The smell of kerosene permeated the air, mixing with the musty scent of old wood and moisture.

Above her, a tattered white mosquito net hung loosely, more holes than fabric, draped unevenly over the bed. It offered little protection from the outside world. Through its gaps, Khadijah could make out the rest of the room. The floor was rough, unfinished concrete, dotted with countless bumps and crevices. A small, rickety table stood by the window, its surface scarred by years of deep scratches.

The window was a small, square opening with half-closed wooden shutters, the slats misaligned. A breeze slipped through the gaps, carrying the earthy scent of the countryside and the distant rustle of leaves. The room was for the most part sparse, almost barren, including only a single wooden chair pushed against the wall and a faded window curtain hanging limply from a crooked rod.

Khadijah’s eyes darted around her surroundings, her pulse racing. This was not home nor any home she recognized, certainly not the place she had fallen asleep in. The comforting hum of the Volkswagen and the drumming of rain were a distant memory, replaced by the cacophony of the countryside at night, punctuated by the owl’s hooting.

“Baba!” Her mind immediately screamed. Khadijah scrambled off the bed, landing unsteadily on the cold, hard concrete. The thought of searching for her plate in this dingy room was absurd. She needed to get home—fast.

Her father’s warning echoed in her mind: all children must be home before sunset. She dared not imagine what punishment awaited her for missing curfew. Pushing aside thoughts of her father’s wrath, she focused solely on getting home as quickly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, she could lessen the severity of the inevitable.

Khadijah bolted for the door, flinging it open into a void of darkness. She hesitated at the threshold, her heart in her mouth as she stepped forward. The darkness swallowed her whole, disorienting her for a moment. Then, a faint light caught her eye. A lone bulb far to her left: its weakened glow struggling to penetrate the dark.

The corridor stretched out before her, dimly lit by the feeble light hanging near the entrance. It was a fragile beacon in a sea of blackness. Khadijah could make out a row of doors on either side, but the further she looked, the more they faded into the blackness. The shadows pressed in around her, creeping toward the far other end of the corridor where a door stood slightly ajar, leading into the night beyond. No light reached that door—it was a portal into the unknown.

Khadijah started toward the distant light, but halted as a troubling thought struck her. Approaching the lit entrance could expose her; someone might see her emerging and alert her father. In a town full of nosy family members, friends, and neighbors, word would surely get back to him. The last thing she wanted was to arrive home and find her father waiting, whipping stick in hand. The imagery made her stomach churn.

Without another moment’s hesitation, she turned around and darted toward the ajar, unlit door. The cover of night would be her ally. She would avoid the main roads, slipping through dark alleys and past sleeping houses until she reached home. If she could just sneak into bed beside her snoring siblings, perhaps morning would temper her father’s anger. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best chance she had.

As Khadijah slipped into the embrace of the night, two silhouettes emerged from the illuminated corridor. One, tall and slender with a perfectly shaped afro, contrasted sharply with the other, shorter with a bull neck and protruding belly.

“Don’t worry,” the bull-necked man wheezed between coughs. “She’s sleeping like a billy goat.”

“Fat bastard,” the tall man muttered, his voice low and laced with irritation. “You were supposed to watch her, not smoke grass.”

“Take your mouth from me. I cannot sit in that stinky room all day with that dirty gi—”

“Open the fucking door,” the tall man said, his tone lower and seething. He stepped closer, so close that the stench of marijuana on the other man hit him like a slap to the face.

The bull-necked man fumbled with the key, upon realizing he was already at the door. “Oh,” he said, steadying his shaking hands as he tried to fit the key into the lock. The pitch-black corridor made it difficult, and he could feel the tall man’s quick, heavy breaths behind him, like a bull ready to charge. Finally, the key turned, and the door creaked open.

Before the bull-necked man could step inside, the tall man shoved him aside and stormed into the room. He marched straight to the bed, sweeping aside the mosquito net with a single motion.

“Now you see,” the bull-necked man scoffed, closing the door behind. “She’s sleeping like a damn goat.”

But the tall man didn’t respond. His breathing quickened. The bull-necked man turned to face him, noticing the torn mosquito net hanging limply in his hand.

“Stephen,” the tall man said, his voice deceptively calm, though it simmered like a boiling teakettle with a defective whistle. “Where’s the girl?”

“I le-left her he-here,” Stephen stammered, rushing to the bed and frantically sifting through the coarse blanket.

“Wait now, do I look like a fool to you?”

Stephen froze as he felt cold steel press against his head. He turned around slowly, praying it was just his imagination, but the barrel of a revolver was inches from his face.

“Pr-Pr-Prince, plea-please,” Stephen said, convulsing. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he struggled to find words. “I-I-I ju-just went out for quick smoke. She was in the bed the whole time.”

A sharp click echoed in the room, and Stephen began to pule like a baby. “Pl-please Brother. We from the same stomach. Yo-you kill your o—”

“Shut ya fucking hole,” the tall man snarled, his breath hot and furious. “I told ya stupid ass I have a buyer coming, and to watch her. I’m going to lose money because of you.”

Stephen’s eyes darted around the room, his mind racing for a way out. He tried to avoid looking directly at the gun barrel pointed at him, but his gaze kept drifting back to it, as if drawn into the dark abyss.

“Br-Brother, listen to me,” Stephen said, his head bobbing involuntarily as he fought to quell the shaking. He slowly put his hands up. “She can’t go far. She don’t know this town. Give me chance. I-I can find her. I can find her. Please, Brother.”

Prince narrowed his eyes, his finger twitching near the trigger. “Better not be wasting my time, Stephen.”

“Never! I swear on our dead ma. She’s a small girl.” Stephen’s voice cracked with desperation. “Give me chance! I’ll fix—”

“Shut ya damn hole. Screaming will do you no good. I’ll finish you right here. I don’t care if this is a motel.”

Stephen pursed his lips, whimpering as the mixture of sweat and tears painted his face.

Prince eyeballed Stephen from head to toe, then glanced at his silver watch. “Lemme see. The buyer will be coming in one hour.” He pressed the gun closer to Stephen’s head. “No more sorries or starting over. You find her, or you’re good to me as a dead dog.”

Stephen swallowed hard, nodding furiously. “I-I’ll find her, Brother. I swear. Just give me chance.”

“You drive,” Prince said, tossing him a set of car keys. “You have one hour. One hour to save ya asshole.”

Stephen caught the keys, standing frozen like a statue as relief and fear tangled within his veins.

“Idiot. What you looking at me for?”

He blinked, dashing for the door. As he opened it and took a step outside, his gaze caught the far end of the corridor, where the darkness engulfed the opposite end. His eyes landed on the ajar door, a spark of curiosity stirring in his mind. But before he could dwell on it, cold steel poked the back of his head.

“You don’t have all night, stupid fool.”

Stephen’s heart hammered in his chest, renewed urgency coursing through him. He charged into the darkness towards the lit entrance, the ticking hour echoing in his ears as Prince followed close behind.

Khadijah trudged along the desolate road, her small frame barely visible in the surrounding darkness. Each step grew heavier than the last, her legs trembling with exhaustion. Her stomach grumbled in protest, and her throat felt raw and gritty, as though she had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

The chilly night air clung to her, seeping deep into her bones—or was it a remnant from the rainstorm? She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was she had to keep going. Home was at the end of this road.

A whisper of unease stirred in her chest. None of the houses or alleys looked familiar, but she blamed it on the thick veil of night. Surely, once she reached the end of the road, everything would make sense. She pictured herself standing on the hill, looking down at her home, cozy and waiting.

The thought of her father waiting, even with punishment in hand, no longer filled her with dread. Khadijah would welcome and embrace both him and his punishment with open arms.

The road stretched out before her, seemingly endless, when abruptly a pair of headlights pierced through the darkness. The beam grew brighter as the car approached, and Khadijah squinted against the harsh light, her fists clenching. It better not be a white Volkswagen. The memory of the well-dressed driver and his foul-smelling companion immediately came to mind.

After what they’d done to her, she swore she would never step foot in their car again. Dropping off a little girl in a strange, dim room and leaving her there—that was unforgivable.

Sure, she blamed herself for drifting off to sleep, but their action was callous. The thought of the driver’s polished appearance and that beguiled smile of his made her jaw clench. “Tricky,” she seethed.

As the car slowed to a stop beside her, Khadijah’s clenched fists gradually loosened. This wasn’t a white Volkswagen, nor did it resemble any car she’d seen before. The passenger window rolled down gently, revealing two faces emerging from the shadows—the faces of a young couple.

The man’s kind, soft eyes met hers briefly before turning to the woman beside him, who leaned out of the window, her warm smile lit faintly by the car’s interior light. They exchanged a puzzled glance before the woman’s hands rested lightly on the window frame.

“Babygirl, what are you doing out here all alone?” the woman asked, her voice filled with concern, as if she could already sense the weariness in Khadijah’s eyes.

Khadijah didn’t respond, her blank stare fixed on the woman. Of all the questions she could ask, that was the one Khadijah had already resolved not to answer. She’d decided long ago, the moment she fled that strange room, to keep her day’s misadventure a secret. If her father and family found out, things would go from bad to worse. The punishment wouldn’t just be a whipping; it would be something far more lasting—a damage reputation.

She could already hear her father’s voice, lamenting to Auntie Amina, her mother, and relatives about his second eldest daughter’s reckless ways. Why couldn’t she be more like Salmana? Why couldn’t she be quiet and mature, instead of wild and careless, getting into strangers’ cars and ending up in strange places? The sting of a whipping stick would fade, but the sting of family gossips and her siblings’ relentless teasing would linger far longer. Worst of all would be the whispers from her cousins and friends—her circle of girls. Little girls could be far more cruel than adults.

“Where do you live?” the man asked, leaning over slightly. Khadijah exhaled with relief at the change of subject, pointing ahead.

The couple exchanged another cursory, puzzled glance.

“Are you sure?” the man asked, brow furrowed. “What’s your town’s name?”

Khadijah paused for a moment before responding the only way she knew. This time, she painted a vivid picture, ensuring she left nothing out—the gentle slope leading to her doorstep, the dusty red road that wound through her neighborhood like a lazy river, and the large convenience store that stood out like a beacon among the modest homes. She listed her neighbors as if they were old friends, recalling familiar town landmarks such as the lake where all washed their clothes and the bustling market where she sold oranges. She spoke fondly of her loyal customers, even mentioning Farid with a touch of nostalgia.

When she finished, the woman chuckled. “This girl can talk.”

“Ehhh,” the man murmured, stroking his goatee. “You must live in a country town. Doesn’t sound like the city.” There was a momentary silence before he spoke again. “Can you show us to your house?”

Just as Khadijah was about to nod her head, a sharp crack split the air like the snap of dry wood breaking under pressure. The stillness that followed made the sound echo longer than it should have.

The couple’s faces turned instantly to something graver, their eyes wide, lips pressed into tight lines.

“Was that…?” the woman whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Get the girl in the car, Esther,” the man cut her off, his tone serious.

Esther stepped out of the car with swift determination, crouching low as she moved with surprising speed. Oblivious to the sound, Khadijah barely had time to react before she felt Esther’s arms scoop her up effortlessly like a doll-baby: arms that felt firm with muscles taut beneath plump skin. In one fluid motion, Esther set Khadijah down in the front seat, then slid in next to her, slamming the door shut.

Before Khadijah could comprehend what was happening, the man floored the accelerator. The engine roared to life, tires skidding slightly before the car surged forward. Khadijah’s heart raced. She twisted around in her seat, staring out the back window as the town began to fade into the distance, her eyes following the endless road.

“Home,” Khadijah pleaded, turning towards the woman, her voice breaking. She pointed back toward the shrinking town, her hand quivering. “Please... home.”

The man didn’t respond, gripping the steering wheel with eyes focused on the road.

“Shoo, babygirl,” Esther cooed, pulling Khadijah back toward her gently, her voice almost a lullaby in its calmness. “It’s okay.”

“That’s a bad town,” the man said, eyes still lasered on the road. “You lucky we found you.”

“Home,” Khadijah said in a low, defeated tone, pointing backwards. Looking at the man, she could tell there was nothing in the world that would force him to turn the car around.

“Babygirl, where you were walking to was not home. The next town is very far to walk to, across the border. If those bastard bandits do not get you, hunger and thirst will or the wild animals.”

“Here, you thirsty?” Esther asked, motioning a large bottle of water.

She did not heed the woman’s gesture, staring ahead at another endless road.

“Don’t worry babygirl,” Esther said reassuringly, gently rubbing Khadijah back. “We will find your Mama and Papa. There are many country towns ahead. My husband and I will look in everyone until we find your house. Okay?”

Following a reluctant gulp of water and a few bites of Esther’s tuna sandwich—a delicious respite, if not for the heaviness in her heart—Khadijah slowly pivoted and took one last look back. The town had vanished entirely, leaving only the ribbon of road in its wake.

Meanwhile, across the border, the nearest town buzzed with a feverish search for a missing girl. The alarm had been raised just before a torrential storm swept through, obscuring any trace of her.

The girl’s distraught aunt and father spearheaded the search, their efforts bolstered by a well-to-do friend of the family. Their plan was straightforward but not so simple: to comb every corner of their rural town and, if necessary, extend their search to neighboring towns and even the distant capital city.

The End