(A large compound in the Northern Sahel. Dusk. Light drums in background. Women and men in motion—dancing, clapping, peeking, retreating.)
Chorus (sings, slow rhythm):
Who sees first — the eye or the heart?
Who calls first — the tongue or the art?
Inheritance is not just cloth and coin,
But rhythm, dream, and how we join.
(Enter MUHIBBA, adorned in indigo, moving gently through the crowd. She does not speak yet. Enter IBRAHIM, watching silently.)
ZAINAB (whispers):
There — see how she moves?
Like wind dancing with millet stalks.
FATIMA:
He watches like a falcon.
Careful. Falcons don't flirt—they snatch.
THOMPSON (laughing):
Let him snatch, if he dares.
The girls of this town do not come easy.
IBRAHIM (aside):
She walks like a page I forgot to write.
Like a sentence in my dream.
I must... speak.
(He approaches her gently. The music slows.)
IBRAHIM:
Your name is the moon's reflection
on the well I draw from.
MUHIBBA (softly):
And yours?
IBRAHIM:
Ibrahim. Of the silent ledgers.
Of no inheritance but intention.
MUHIBBA:
Then speak your intention, ledgerless man.
IBRAHIM:
To see you beyond today.
To court the music that you are.
To rewrite inheritance with you.
MUHIBBA:
Rewrite it?
What ink shall we use?
Blood of elders or breath of tomorrow?
SHARIFA (interrupting from a raised platform):
Tomorrow? Tomorrow belongs to protocol!
Who dares speak without the blessing of bloodlines?
I am the matron of mirror inheritance —
I, Sharifa, granddaughter of camel caravans and treaty brides.
(All fall silent. The CHORUS hums low.)
FATIMA (sarcastic):
Here comes the harami hierarchy command.
ZAINAB:
Sharifa has power, yes.
But love writes its own scripture.
MUHIBBA (boldly):
Sharifa, your mirrors reflect yesterday.
Let today breathe without smoke.
SHARIFA:
Then dance, child.
Let us see if your love can outlast my rhythm.
(She claps. The DRUMS resume. A COURTING DANCE begins. Pairs take the floor. IBRAHIM and MUHIBBA dance, slowly at first, then in sync. The crowd begins to cheer. The CHORUS sings.)
Chorus (chanting):
Dance is the dialogue of the heart's court!
Dowry is not goats—it's gall and grace.
Rewrite it not in coin, but in courage.
Rewrite it not in gold, but in gaze.
(As the dance ends, MUHIBBA and IBRAHIM hold hands gently.)
MUHIBBA:
If this dance is dowry, then my inheritance to you
Is seeing you—beyond name, beyond coin.
IBRAHIM:
And mine to you—my silence shattered into vows.
(Blackout. End of Act One.)