Embraced (#2 Natives series) #ProjectNigeria

Chapter Two

Chapter Two
Nasarawa.
Present Day.

HAFSAT HABIB WAS TWENTY-TWO YEARS old, the last daughter of her parents and the final child to get married among her seven siblings. Hafsat Habib was younger than Fatiha Hassan, but Fatiha Hassan was yet to get married.

According to Fatiha, it was not all that bad to be twenty-seven and still unmarried; her mother however considered it a sin. A shame.

Hafsat got married yesterday and unlike the other girls who were sweeping through her new home in her new town, inspecting and taking pictures of themselves in the well furnished duplex, Fatiha was seated away from the crowd, tucked in a corner of the parlour with her head lowered as she tried but failed to avoid the many women filing in and out of the place.

Again, another of her younger sister had gotten married. Fatiha knew this day-no, correction-the next few weeks wouldn't be pleasant for her.

Someone stopped in front of her, a box that contained Allah knows what cradled in her hands.

Fatiha groaned softly under her breath. Talk about trying to be invisible.

"Fatiha," the woman breathed out hoarsely and Fatiha knew from her voice who it was. She looked up at the only maternal relative she had left. Auntie Halimah was only a few years older than her. Her nose was still red from the cold she was suffering from.

Auntie Halima had fragile skin and as a result of being born premature had a very weak immune system that made her get sick easily. She was weak yet beautiful, both in spirit and appearance. It was one of the reasons why she was Fatiha's favorite auntie.

"What are you doing here? Won't you go and look around like your sisters are doing? The place is really nice." Auntie Halima encouraged.

Of course it would be. They hadn't expected the first born son of the minister of finance to build a shack for his wife, had they?

Fatiha smiled at her auntie, then opened her mouth to say she was fine sitting where she was when another of her auntie, this one the bride's mother and her father's sister, walked over to the duo.

"Fatiha?"

Fatiha tried to squeeze herself further into the chair's wine and golden upholster if that was possible. But it was not. Being plus-size, she knew it was wishful thinking on her part.

"What are you doing here? Won't you go and look around?"

If she had been able to escape her other nagging aunties, Fatiha knew it would take a miracle to escape Hafsat's mother's grasp. Auntie Rahmah was a bloodhound; never giving up until she got what she wanted. What was she even doing here? Fatiha wanted to ask then she looked at herself internally, and asked herself, What am I doing here?

Fatiha took in the woman's face. A few crinkles had accumulated over time as she aged. Fatiha knew most of those wrinkles came as a result of her disapproval with the girl herself. Auntie Rahmah's once smooth and flawless bleached skin was beginning to age slightly after much strainsome years, but now that she had finally married off her last child, she had all the time in the world to relax.

Something Fatiha's mother wept every other night to attain.

Auntie Rahmah looked down at Fatiha, her hooded dark eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Fatiha would have loved to give an excuse but she didn't want to be the talk of their family meetings and seen as envious or a bad wisher. Allah knows a lot of people would be ready to jump on that very train since she was older than most of the girls in her extended family who were getting married.