Mrs Ahmed Shehu

07

SURAIYA

Today is June 16th and it's a Thursday. It's the first time Ahmed's out for work and he said he won't be back until an hour or so before the kids return from Islamiyya. He's still sad and I know he still breaks down but he's doing better. It's little progress but it's progress all the same.

Staying here with them has been nothing but beautiful. It's different from every house I've stayed in too. I'm more at peace here and I'm respected too, treated like a near equal and not just a mere nanny. The kids are the best and when she does come in to work (like today; she doesn't come on Saturdays anymore because Tuesdays and Thursdays are better), Zara'u is nice too. The only downside is that she doesn't allow me help her in any way even when I tell her that I really don't mind.

I close the book in my hands with a sigh, a little sad that I'm done with it. I purchased new novels last week and I'm done with half of them already. Most were good and some others could have been done better. Some characters need to have grovelled more too. I put the book in the shelf and stretch, my neck a bit stiff. I haven't moved for a bit.

My phone beeps from its spot on the bed and I walk over to pick it up. My heart drops and the sadness I felt because I finished that book takes a southward dive. It's a WhatsApp message and it's from Mum.

Mum: Suraiya, est ce rėel (are you for real)? First you leave for Nigeria even though we said you shouldn't and then you don't even bother to call or check in. Didn't we raise you better?

I delete the message and put the phone to sleep. Occasionally, I wondered if they'd text or call but they didn't and more than once, I considered calling. However, remembering how they never failed to call and break down my spirits each time I was away from Niamey stopped me from calling and I've had nothing but peace.

Of course she'll want me to call. She wants to get my new numbers so she can share it with whoever needs it and call whenever she wants to. I don't want that. I can't have that. It's been nice here and I'm not about to jeopardise that. I'm not about to let it slip too to Ahmed and his kids that my family is anything but perfect. They don't know that and it should stay that way.

If Mum, Dad or anyone else needs anything, they can reach out via social media and as long as it's important, I'll make time to address it. For now, they can continue with life. Lately they've been hanging out with Hamoud's girlfriend and the only reason I know about that at all is because Hamoud never fails to post those moments on his Instagram stories. So much for being the only who doesn't "call or check in". So much for being the only one who wasn't raised better.

The doorbell rings, taking my attention away from my family and I wonder who it is as I leave the room. Zara'u steps out of the kitchen and I smile at her. "It's alright. I got it."

"Toh, ba matsala."

I honestly should have paid more attention when members of my family spoke Hausa. Now that I'm in Abuja, I've come to the realization that I need it more than ever.

The security screen comes to live as soon as I get there and my breath hitches when I see those standing on the other side of the closed door. Vous vous moquez de moi. This has to be a dream!

Amal Dantata leans forward and I watch through the screen as she frowns. "Are you sure they aren't out?"

Behind her, Catherine Adeshina shakes her head. "I'm sure of it. Even if Ahmed's out, Suraiya's in."

Hanan Dantata pushes Amal away and rings the doorbell again. That is enough for me to smoothen out invisible creases on my top and unlock the door before I give into the temptation to run back to my room and change into something more presentable. I smile as I pull the door open and the way their faces light up is a straight arrow aimed at my heart; an arrow that perfectly hits its target.