Mrs Ahmed Shehu

25

SURAIYA

Niamey, Niger Republic

I was very sure I wasn't going to be here for Hamoud's introduction and engagement. The plan was to stay in Abuja until I had no option than to leave. That was before my unplanned confession to Ahmed and the aftermath that has been nothing short of torturous.

It was hard to get through to my parents when I made the decision to come back to what is my family home. I had to send a message to Ammar (my first message to him in what should be a very long time) and he was the one who relayed my message to Mum before she finally called. She didn't acknowledge the fact that she's been rejecting my calls. Not like I expected her too.

When I reach the house from the airport, it's obvious everyone's expecting me. As soon as the door's opened, I get judged. I'm given look-overs, people clear their throats and then there are whispers; lots of them.

Mum has her hands in front of her and she stands in the very middle of the living room. I don't bother to force on a smile. I'm too exhausted. "Assalam Alaykum, Mum. Je suis a la maison (I'm back home)."

"Welcome." There's nothing welcoming in her tone. "Go up and freshen up. I had them clear up your room."

"Merci."

She turns around without replying and walks away, leaving me with the aunts and cousins who are vultures in human form. I try to ignore them as I make my way to my room but there's only so much I can ignore with my already weak mental defences. Their voices get louder the deeper I get into the house and once I'm in my room, I slam my door shut.

The tears come when the lock refuses to work properly. I don't have to be a genius to know this was purposely done. I'm what they consider the black sheep of the family now so of course they'd want to keep an eye on me round the clock. So much for having a family.

I move my chair from the desk and use it as a wedge to keep the door safely closed. At least it'll buy me a moment or two if anyone tries to walk in without knocking. I put my box in a corner and remove the abaya I wore from Abuja. I keep my phone turned off and take off my shoes before falling back on my bed. The ceiling is the same as it's always been and I can only stare at it.

I had to leave Abuja when Ahmed and the kids left for Jumm'ah. It was a cowardly move, I know, but it was all I could do. It's been painful hiding from Ahmed and the last thing I wanted was for him to convince me to stay back even when we know whatever we have won't end well for us. We'll only be delaying the inevitable and setting ourselves up for more hurt.

I'm going to love him for a very long time and it's going to be so hard to pick a suitor here but if this is the life I'm decreed to live, I'll stay with it. It'll hurt and I'll be unhappy more than half the time but In Shaa Allah I'll be fine.

It doesn't take long for my door to be forced open and the chair I put there falls with a thud. I don't turn away from the ceiling until aunts and cousins crowd my face. They pull me from the bed and they take me down. I let them. I barely have it in me to fight anymore.

The house is too full and I hate it. I also hate how my siblings look away when my eyes meet theirs. Only Ammar holds my gaze until I look away first. The stares don't stop and although I'm seated right there, they act like I'm not and I get called more names.

Women surround me and then they get started on the marriage talks. They tell me I should be lucky; that despite everything, there are men that want to marry me. They tell me about them and how rich they all are. They tell me about their notable professions and then they start to chastise me. They tell me I should have been a grateful daughter. They tell me I should have been like my siblings who know the importance of keeping the family name clean. They tell me that right now, I'm a disgrace, and when they get me married I should do my best to be a good wife.