‘Anaya’ meant ‘look up to God’ in eastern Nigerian. She was dark, with high cheek bones, and deep-set dark eyes. She had Africa's magic in her, and everything around her thrived in that magic. She had in her the life and soul of that large black continent. Now around her the night was spreading quickly, and every time the spears clashed and the arrows flew past, the forest echoed with the noise. The clans were at war with each other all the time. But none had been this fierce before. Anaya slowly made her way deeper into the forest. She was as agile as a mountain goat and quickly crossed over fallen logs and branches, and when she could no longer hear the screams of women and children and the war cries, she sat down on the dark earth. She closed her eyes and leaned against the bark of a tree, drawing in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the earth, the breath of Africa.

As she sat, she brooded over the happenings. Men around her were fighting like savage beasts, killing and destroying mercilessly. Anaya let out a sigh. She looked up at the dark heavens, lit up with sparkling stars and a brilliant moon. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. They were unfamiliar footsteps, not the kind that Anaya had ever heard in her life. She looked around, hand clasped around a knife hanging from her waist. She stood up and cried, “Simama!” (Stop!) drawing her knife. A group of men and women came out from behind a clump of bushes and scanned her cautiously.

Though Anaya did not realise it, they were a team from the United Nations, who had been sent to try and stop the tribal riots going on in those parts. The wars were really fierce, and they wanted to rescue and administer first-aid to women, children, the old and the sick, and stop the young chiefs from warring somehow. They stood looking at each other wondering what to do. One of them, a young white woman, took a step closer to Anaya and declared in pure Swahili, “Rafiki!” meaning friend. Anaya looked up at the heavens again, and belting her knife back to her waist, she let the woman lead her out of the forest.

She was fed, warmed and taught. The UN team spent months counselling the clan chiefs and treating the sick and wounded, and during this time, Anaya learned more and more. She was taught to read and write in English, and she picked up quickly. She had in her a hunger to learn and know. When she heard that the UN team was going to travel further to Sudan, Ethiopia and Somalia she was excited and pleaded to be taken along. By then the peacekeepers had come to understand Anaya, and they took her along.

When Anaya stepped on the soil of Sudan one morning, she was excited. For her the world had been nothing more than her tribe and the neighbouring tribes. Marian, the white woman who had spoken to Anaya in Swahili in the forest, had told her that the world was bigger than her tribe, it was bigger than Africa. She was now going to see a part of that world, and she was excited. Marian and the rest of the team were unloading hundreds of large crates of food and clothing from the trucks and Anaya helped. She hopped about among the crates, wondering who wanted so much of food. She came from a tribe that had enough for themselves, and though she lived in Africa, she did not know what was happening all over it. She did not know that the magic of Africa was fading away fast to be replaced by poverty, war, AIDS and hunger. She picked up a bundle of blankets and followed Marian to what looked like a temporary house of some sort. It was a food camp organised by the UN. As she neared the camp, she realised something: there was a lot of noise around that house. They turned around the house-like structure, and the image flooded her eyes, and it dawned on her. She felt as though she had been struck.

All around, hundreds of children were crying, lying down or running around. Women were cradling infants, looking longingly at the crates of food. Anaya took a closer look at the people gathered, and a sharp pain seared its way through her heart. The children, even newborn babies, were nothing more than little black skeletons. Their faces and bodies were dusty and their lips were parched. Not a single child was smiling or laughing. But hundreds, she knew, were crying. As soon as they caught sight of the UN team, children crowded around, pushing and pulling, trying to get at the food in the crates. “Here, Anaya, give these around,” Marian handed a few packets of food to Anaya, who was standing as still as death. She took the packets silently and began handing them out to women and children. A little boy edged shyly towards her, and as she surveyed him, she noticed his skin clinging to his bones, the hunger in his eyes, and his tattered clothes. She bent down, handed him some food, smiled and asked him what his name was. “Jina lako nani?” she asked him. He gave an excited squeal and ran to hide behind his mother.

She continued handing the packets around, and an old woman, as she gratefully received her share, clasped Anaya's hand with her own skinny shivering fingers. “Mungubariki!” the old woman cried. (“God bless!”) Tears stung Anaya's deep black eyes. She turned her eyes away from the sad, hungry crowd, and looked up at the heavens. She could not believe that this was happening. “I have been blind,” she thought. Marian was right. Africa was big, and the world was big. There was more hunger in this world than Anaya had ever imagined. After the food had been distributed, a video was shown to the children, and they cheered and shouted happily. The UN officials played games with them and distributed gifts and sweets. Then they were taken to bed, and Anaya watched a mother patting her child's stomach, sighing. It had been filled today.

That night, as she curled up in her sleeping bag, Anaya heard the cries of the hungry children repeatedly, and the pain shot through her nerves each time. She sobbed silently, thinking of the ocean of hunger she had seen that day. Their innocence, marred by poverty and hunger, tugged at her heartstrings. Her heart bled for them, for Africa, for the world. She tossed and turned, the shock of what had been revealed to her that day never fading. Anaya sat up, running her long dark fingers through her hair. She got up and walked towards the children, sleeping peacefully, clinging close to their mothers. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes as she watched them. She stopped when she saw a little girl smiling to herself in her sleep, a hand on her tummy.

She looked up at the heavens again and back at the sleeping child. Here, in the heart of each child, lay the soul of Africa, she knew. In the smile of each of these children, lay the magic of tomorrow. As a large teardrop landed on the dark soil, Anaya looked up at God and resolved. “One day, Africa will smile,” she whispered to the night.