Mrs Ahmed Shehu

36

AHMED

December, 2023

Niamey, Niger Republic

The first wedding event is in ten minutes. I'm ready but Suraiya isn't.

To her family, we're probably just landing. They (except a few) don't know we landed hours ago just so Suraiya could rest properly before the craze of tonight. We checked in at the Radisson Blu Hotel and while it's not that close to her family's house, our suite is cosy; a separate sitting/living area with comfortable sofas and cushions, a tea area, a spacious bathroom, and then the bedroom itself which Suraiya is in love with because the bed's "so, so soft".

I raise my head at the sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor and my smile starts out slowly. Suraiya's elegantly stunning in the boubou sewn out of the maroon and cream material meant for the groom's family. Her hair is covered with a turban headpiece which she kept simple and there's a small scowl on her face which is subtly made up. It makes me chuckle.

She puts a hand on her waist. "I'm tired already."

"We can stay back a little more if you want." I push myself off the sofa and walk towards her. "You look so beautiful."

She blushes quite easily. "Well, you don't look bad yourself."

"It's just a maroon babanriga with cream embroidery." I made sure the stylist kept it as simple as possible. "It's nothing big."

She steps forward and easily rests her hands on both my shoulders while I keep my arms around her waist. She's smiling now. "You look dashing, Ahmed, and if anyone doesn't see that it's their loss."

"I'm all dressed up for you though. I don't care about anyone else."

She laughs softly. "Lucky me then."

"Are you two okay?"

Her smile dims a little and she nods. "Yeah, we're okay. There's a little more movement but we're okay." She then sighs. "I'm just so happy my bump's basically non-existent. It's not like it would have shown underneath all the outfits I had sewn but..."

"It's better this way."

She nods. "Yeah."

I lean in and leave a kiss on her forehead. "We'll be okay. I won't let anyone get through to you, only when it's necessary."

"I don't doubt that."

"And once you want us to leave, we will."

"Thank you."

I kiss her forehead again. "You're welcome."

We are out of the hotel in ten minutes and Suraiya runs me through the programme (again). It's a welcome dinner hosted by the bride's family and everyone is to be in attendance, except the bride. Apparently, customs demand that the bride stays in a room inside the house until the day of the Nikkah (seven days in total). In that time she's to be fully clothed and covered in white to signify purity. Only her family members and friends can go in and see her (and feed her) and on the day her henna would be done, the camera crew and the henna artist will be there too.

My hand finds Suraiya. "Thank God we didn't do that."

She laughs, nodding. "Thank God we didn't."

The bride's family house is just as big as my in-laws' house and it's packed with people who are dressed for the occasion, some dressed way more than others. There are a few that are simply dressed too. It isn't long before we are recognized and while most people are nice, quite a number aren't. We ignore them and Suraiya gladly leaves her hand in mine.