Mrs Ahmed Shehu

08

AHMED

July, 2022.

The packages in my living room are from Sokoto; from my in-laws' house to be precise. The name of the sender is Asma Abubakar and the absence of my surname that's been attached to hers all this years is a painful punch in the gut.

We have less than three weeks to get divorced. It seemed longer before. It doesn't feel like that anymore.

I stare at the packages for a moment longer before I put my phone down on the coffee table. I sit on the nearest sofa and pull the packages closer. They are four in total and they are all the same sizes which makes me wonder what's inside. Gathering courage, I tear the wrapper off the first box and my heart dips.

It's a box; a cloth box and it's customized to have Nurudeen's name on it. No one has to tell me what's inside, not when this has been a tradition since we got married and the kids were born. Despite what she tells everyone, Asma does know how to make unisex clothes but there are only a few men she sews for. Nurudeen is one of them. I am...No, I was one of them too.

Wait...Why are there four boxes then? She didn't...Right?

I unwrap the next box and it gives me my answer. The box has my name, embossed just as beautifully as Nurudeen's. It doesn't take long for my vision to blur and it takes a lot of strength to not let the tears fall. I don't open the box; I'm too scared to do so. I unwrap the other packages instead and then proceed to go through the kids' boxes.

Each person has five clothes that are neatly folded and bathed in incense, thanks to the incense balls put between each outfit. There are cards in each box too but I don't open them. I'll allow the kids do so themselves and to be honest, I'm scared of what I'll find inside.

Once their boxes are closed, I pick my phone up and call Suraiya. She insisted on accompanying them for their swimming lessons and I couldn't bring myself to say no when I saw how happy it made them. She's been extra attentive lately and I don't try to wonder why. I'm just grateful for it because it's been really hard for me and not even slowly easing back into work is making it better.

She picks up on the fourth ring. "Assalam Alaykum, Ahmed."

I exhale as quietly as I can. "Waalaykum Salam. I hope I'm not disturbing."

There's water splashing in the background and Nurudeen laughs as she says "Not at all. They're just going through what they learned today and then we'll be off. Is anything wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to let you know there's no need to take the kids to the tailor anymore."

She's quiet for a moment. "But they don't have Eid clothes..."

"Yeah, that has been taken care of." I trace Adeelah's name on her box. "Their mother sent clothes for them so..."

"Oh." There's a momentary pause. "Alright then. Once we're done, I'll take them with me to pick up groceries and then I'll bring them home."

"Thank you, Suraiya. I'll speak with the tailor to let her know they won't be coming anymore."

"Alright then. Bye, Ahmed."

"Bye."

It takes longer than I'd like to admit to pick up my box and lift the lid. The first thing I take note of is that the scent of my clothes is way different from that of the kids'. It's softer and it takes a moment to recognize it as the one she usually kept in our wardrobe.

There goes my attempt at trying to be strong. God, this hurts.

I have five outfits too, all in my favourite dark colours; navy blue, black, olive green, grey and walnut brown (she was the one who told me the name of the exact shade). The embroideries are nothing complex, each one of them kept simple just the way I've always loved. My card is tucked in a corner and I'm pulling it out when my phone rings from its spot beside me.