TRIALS (Completed)

Twenty-one

Walida pouted at her reflection, placed a hand on her waist, turned to the left, winked, to the right, winked again. But her winks were not as blinding as the red stones on the lace she placed over body, which glittered when in contact  with the sun rays from the window by her right.

She turned away from the mirror and went to the bed, where two other shiny laces awaited. She placed the one she was holding and unwrapped the next—dark blue with white swirls. She held it up against her body and sought the mirror's approval. 

Once done, she kept it and plopped down on the bed, finally resting after the long day she had at school. She closed her eyes and smiled. Shamsu had really outdone himself, for only God knew how much she had been yearning for new wrappers. She was already getting tired of Aisha's constant show off of new clothes, bags and shoes, every single. day. 

Not that she was jealous of her friend, but she hated been reminded of what she didn't have. But now, she thought as she sat up, it was her turn to step up, for even Aisha didn't have these laces. How could she when they haven't even arrived in Nigeria?

She laughed out loud, then moved to wrap up the laces, as Aisha would be coming later from the market to obviously show off her new things. Only this time, Walida thought as she glanced at the only lace she didn't touch, wouldn't touch, the roles would be reversed. 

Walida was preparing dinner, something special to appreciate her darling husband for his generosity, when Aisha arrived.

"Kai, akwai zafi fa–there is heat." She said from the living room. 

"Ae mana, didn’t I tell you?" Aisha replied while stirring the cube shaped awaras covered with egg, frying in hot oil. "But ba kya jin magana–you're stubborn."

"Hmm, my dear, the only thing that would've stopped me is one heavy rain. If not…"

"Toh sannu," Walida packed the awara into a sieve, turned off the gas cooker, then checked the gingerbread cake in the oven. 

Sighing in satisfaction, she looked around to make sure everything was in order—the pot of pepper chicken sauce well closed, the flask of white rice tightly shut and the bowl of awaras safe in the microwave–before joining Aisha, who was engrossed in the final credits of Dadin Kowa. 

"Tam, how was it?" Walida  added, seated on the dark red cushion beside the sofa Aisha was sprawled on. 

Aisha let out a loud slow hiss, which Walida translated as "it didn't go well."

"Jifa," She pointed towards the blue bag beside her. 

Walida grabbed the bag and peered inside. She looked up at her friend, confused. "Ban gane ba." Aisha turned to her, eyebrows raised. 

Walida brought out a gold clutch covered in a soft small sack, then a gold veil with blue and red flowers embroidered in the center, followed by a set of gold shoes with black low heels." What is the problem? These are nice na."

Aisha sat up and yanked the shoes from her, pouting. "Nice, yes. But you know I don't want nice. I want shiny. I want unique. " She opened her arms. 

Walida scoffed, "Toh, is it not shiny?" She held up the cloth, which gleamed with every turn. 

"That's not even the worst part. Look," She brought out a receipt from the purse on her lap. 

Walida collected it and read, then she shook her head in disappointment. "All these things, 50k, and you're still complaining."