Listen, listen, sang the old sun. Maaba the walker stood by the red soil. He was a quiet man with a warm smile. He wanted a totem. He wanted a totem to remember home, to remember his small child, to remember the songs.
"Where does a totem live?" he asked the baobab tree. The baobab blinked its heavy leaves. "Totems live in memory," the baobab hummed. "Memory is a river. Follow the river."
Maaba walked. He walked past millet fields that waved like hands. He walked past a stream that whispered like a mother. He met a laughing goat.
"Maaba, why do you walk?" asked the goat.
"To find a totem," said Maaba.
"Find music in stones," bleated the goat, and jumped away.
Maaba found an old woman sitting on a low stool. Her hair was silver like moonlight. She tapped a small drum. The drum said, "Remember, remember."
"How do I remember?" Maaba asked.
"Your feet remember the path," said the old woman. "Your heart remembers the song. Sit. Share your story."
Maaba told his story. He told of a small child with bright eyes and of a warm house with smoke like soft clouds. The old woman listened and tapped. She gave Maaba a small wooden bead. "This bead will keep one story," she said. "Keep it close."
Maaba put the bead in his palm. It was smooth and warm. He walked on. He met a little bird that wore sun feathers. The bird sang the old songs. Maaba hummed back. The bird pecked at the bead and made it shine.
"You carry your stories," said the bird. "You carry your village in your pockets."
At last, Maaba sat under the baobab again. He held the bead like a moon. He breathed like the river. He remembered the drum, the goat, the woman, the bird, the child and the smoke. He pressed the bead to his heart.
That night Maaba carved a small totem from a fallen branch. He carved the drum, the goat, the bead, the bird, the baobab. He put the wooden totem by his door. When his child hugged him, Maaba showed the totem and said, "We remember. We sing. We keep each other."
The village listened. The drum tapped. Memory flowed like the river. Maaba smiled. He had found his totem. He had remembered home. The night held them gently, like a warm blanket.
