Excerpt from Buried Beneath the Baobab Tree by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Eyes wide with panic, our driver searches around for the best escape route.

"Quick! Quick! Quick!" we all scream as he fiddles with the gears, stamping his foot on the accelerator and flying the bus forward.

Soon, we are away from the cows and safe from danger. Still, my teeth chatter.

"Thank God!" Papa says.

"Thank God," I say.

SUCKING SEEDS

Sarah and I slam our baobab fruits hard on the veranda in her house. After a number of attempts, out tumble the numerous white seeds.

Sitting side by side, we suck each baobab seed clean of its powdery covering, enjoying the sweet and tangy taste in silence. I will miss her when I leave for boarding school.

At the end, my tongue is numb.

"Mine, too," Sarah says. "Maybe that's God's way of warning us that we've eaten too much."

We laugh.

It is time to tell her my news.

"Mama mentioned that Pastor Moses's entire family will be coming here for a thanksgiving service next Sunday," I say. "The new couple plus all his other children. The fasting will start the day after the thanksgiving. That's what Malam Emmanuel told her."

Sarah understands immediately. "Wooooooo!" she sings. "Success is coming, Success is coming, Success is coming... ."

"Shhh!" I clap my palm over her mouth.

Yes, my storybooks and my Success.

Just over a week of waiting to go, before I can share my good news with him about the Borno government scholarship, before he will realize that I also will be going on to university like him.

MAMA'S PROMISE

"Ya Ta, you'll have to take care of the house on your own," Mama says.

A tingle runs down my spine.

"No need to look so worried," she says. "I trust you."

Handling the home in the two days of Mama's absence will be easy, requiring as little effort as tearing a piece of bread. Whatever is inside the chicken, the hawk has been familiar with it for a long time.

I am more worried about Mama and the churchwomen travelling all the way to Jalingo by road. What if their journey is cut short by the appearance of men with bombs and guns in the middle of the highway?

"That won't happen," Mama says. "Jalingo is safe. No Boko Haram in those parts."

She draws me closer, holding my head to her chest.

I inhale her sweet smell of onions and fried oil.

"I'll be back," Mama says. "I promise."

BANG

I stir the ground corn into the bowl of hot water, careful that the tuwo's consistency is light and smooth, the way Papa likes it. He must not feel Mama's absence in any way. He must not notice any discrepancy between her cooking and mine.

I scoop a portion of the steaming dough into his plate and pat it carefully with a wet spoon. My presentation must be perfect.

I bear the steaming tray of tuwo and vegetable stew into the living room, where Papa waits, listening to his radio.

I set it on the stool in front of him when I hear the first bang, cracking like the sound of distant thunder.

"Thank God!" Abraham says. "The rains have come early!"

"Wonderful!" Papa says.

Hurray! I knew it was only a matter of time after Izghe.

Jacob dashes past me, into the backyard. Soon, I hear him singing and dancing with the neighbors' children.

"Allah ya'kawo ruwa! Allah ya'kawo ruwa! God bring the rains! God bring the rains! Let the rains come! Let the rains come!"

Early rains deserve a more zealous welcome from us than a visiting local government chairman does. And the children know it.

"Allah ya'kawo ruwa! Allah ya'kawo ruwa! God bring the rains! God bring the rains," they shout. "Let the rains come! Let the rains come!"

Excerpted from the book Buried Beneath the Baobab Tree by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani. Copyright © 2018 by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani. Reprinted with permission of Katherine Tegen Books / HarperCollins Children's Books.