A Promise to Aabidah (#1 Natives series) #ProjectNigeria

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

          LATE AFTERNOON THE NEXT DAY, after Rafiah had gone back to Abuja and Aabidah was busy stirring a pot of hot chocolate, someone knocked on her gate. Another visitor? The house had been trooping with them since daybreak. She was nearly exhausted from all the greeting and smiling, and she had tons of warmers to return back to generous mothers who had sent their good wishes using food.

If it hadn't been for Basmah's arrival, Aabidah wondered if she would have been able to go to the market today.

Aabidah couldn't blame them. Most everyone in town had known her family. They had been living here in this town for generations and they were part of the influential families the town had.

Now, Aabidah darted a glance to the kitchen door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her son but was met instead with washed out white tiles that made up most of the kitchen's wall. They were turning yellow with age. She'd forgotten she couldn't see the parlor from this kitchen.

"Bilal! Bilal, come stir this for me while I go check the door." She called out and he came running in, his legs hidden in thick woolen socks her mother had bought him before their travel.

"Chocolate?!" His eyes gleamed as he sniffed the air.

Aabidah laughed. "Yes, hot chocolate." She picked him up and let him stand on a small stool she had bought earlier in the day during her trip to the market. Hot chocolate was his favorite after tiger nut drink.

A light drizzle had began so there was a chill in the air.

During the trip to the market, Aabidah had gotten every food item she could think of. There was also a bunch of detergents and soap; It would save her the stress of going to the market weekly or buying things daily. She had also bought a few mudu of flour. Nasarawa's bread couldn't compare to that of Lagos bread, she had sadly realized the first time she had eaten Lagos bread and asked what was inside. Even the agege that was mostly hawked was softer and more tender than that of her hometown's. It was a pity, she'd thought. So, as a lover of bread, knowing she wouldn't be able to pleasantly eat the bread here and not compare, Aabidah had decided that she would be baking her own bread. A colleague of hers had taught her how.

Eyes shining at the new task he was being given, Bilal rolled up the sleeves of his sweater like a big man ready to do a big man's work. "What should I do?" He asked eagerly.

Aabidah reduced the heat of the gas cooker, and showed her son how to stir the chocolate before she went to answer the door. She quickly pulled on a black hijab she had hung by the door over her tank top and shorts. It fell softly to the ground.

She was short of breath by the time she opened the door. Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when she saw who it was that had come to see her.

"Aunty Banafsha!" She cried like a little girl, seeing the older woman who had been like a second mother to her, Aabidah flung herself into her mother's friend's arms, crying like her life depended on it.

She couldn't lie, seeing the woman had broken the dam that had built up since her first set of visitors showed up. The love and way-to-curious concern that every other person had shown felt like candle flame next to this woman whose smile was as bright as the sun.

"Ayyah, shh." Banafsha shushed, patting her gently on the back. "You're a big woman now, a mother. Why would you be crying in this old woman's arms? What would your son say if he sees you like this, hm?"

Aabidah nodded in the crook of the woman's neck but stayed there for a while, she only rose her head when a small girlish voice asked in Hausa why the woman was crying. Stunned that she hadn't realized that the older woman had come with company, Aabidah moved quickly away, her fingers swiping at the tears under her lids.