In the sandy village of Guri in Jigawa, where the sun shone as strong as stories passed down by elders, lived a girl named Madari. Her name meant “life or mother of all living,” though she had never quite understood why.

Every night, her family’s home grew dark. The tiny lantern flickered and coughed black smoke. Madari would squint to read her schoolbook, coughing too, as the kerosene fumes stung her eyes.

“Why is the sun so bright all day,” she asked one evening, “but we still live in the dark?”

Her grandfather, Baba Salisu, smiled. “The sun gives us enough light for a hundred villages. We just haven’t learned how to hold it yet.”

That night, Madari couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, dreaming of a way to catch sunlight and bring it inside. The next morning, she followed the local engineer, Malam Gambo, who was fixing a solar panel at the village health center.

She asked questions. Many questions.

“Can this l