OUR JOURNEY TO FREEDOM

Chapter 21: my name is Nabeela Jibril Zarki

When new phases show up without  warning , it comes with turmoils that house hidden gems. It is not just meant to be wrecked and destroyed, but to put together the broken lines and find the true meaning behind it, perhaps what you really thought to be pyrite is actually gold covered in dust ...~Marimad

Nabeela's POV

During my upbringing, I used to think that every parent would transition into a playful grey haired boy/girl. I used to think that death only comes to those who are aged. But as I got older, I realized there was no such thing as growing old before death embraces us. That realization alone was a  wake up call for me because heaven knows my mom is the last person I want to see pass away. To hell with the man who calls himself my dad! He stopped being a father when he  pushed me against the kitchen cabinet, punched my precious face and game me wounds on my thighs because I tried to ask why he was treating mom badly. I have been a witness to her tearful sleep and crooked walking posture. I don't know about the kind of experiences my friends have had to fantasize getting a prince with whom they'll eventually walk the isle one day. In this house, all I have seen is terror, the only thing that ever brought me joy was when mom would take me out for a walk and drive me to the hostel where she always thought was best for me. Marriage for me will literally take a miracle as I have my fears about men in general not just my dad's nature.I can boldly say that I have lived half of my life in hostels, away from the tunnel we call home. School gave me solace and i know my forth coming graduation was going to be the beginning of my battles.

My mom, mama Ayi as many call her  was a kind soul, free spirited and loving to all. Even though one of her biggest regrets in life was marrying someone her parents never accepted, I was her most precious gift...she'd always tell me. If she's not spending time with me during vacation, she keeps herself busy with her orphanage. That was the only thing that made her happy and I am grateful she did that for her own sanity.  Darussalam was the home she never thought she'd have. She wanted to show the world how beautiful it was to harvest flowers from the weeds. She always strived for the best and I am proud to be her daughter. Even though grandfather never says it too, I see the pride in his eyes for her anytime I told him mom was busy with Darussalam. Grandfather is a bit strict but he is soft at heart.

It has only been a week yet it feels like a year already. I missed our girl talks and self care moments. It was during one of such bonding times she spoke about the woman's body and how no one has the right to touch me that I finally spoke to her about the night she had an emergency at the orphanage...I told her about how dad came home drunk and kept calling me by her name, caressed my flourishing chest in a manner I saw bad people do on the media and how I gave him a bleeding ear because I wasn't just going to tolerate such abuse . That day, I saw how fear clouded her eyes and how she apologized for her absence and lack of care. We knew better than anyone how he wouldn't spend a night with the corps because he is a man with allies everywhere. Even when he abused mom, she tried to report him to the authorities but her case was treated like a discarded piece of trash because his affluence didn't warrant the kind of behavior she spoke about and he always had his way out. The least said about him, the better.

I missed her fragrance and warmth. For her, I didn't have to talk much, she always knew what I wanted and how to bring smiles to my face. She'd make me broth soup every morning, 'I want you to be healthy' she'd say emphatically. It was either she chased me around the house to take my supplements or feed me because I just wouldn't eat much. For a tribute to my mom, I do not think there's enough pages in any book in the world to embrace her awesomeness...No quill is brave enough to write about her. She is timeless and will forever be a part of my heart.

I don't know how I'd survive another night with dad's cold shoulder. He acts as Though he is having a mental breakdown when the reporters show up at our house to find out how Princess Ayisha's family was coping but heaven knows the only person affected by mom's death is me and the walls in this house could attest to that. I learnt how to dress cuts and patch wounds during my mid teens without having to be a doctor... even the ice bags are accustomed to my fragile touch and caressing. Mom might have had no choice but I cannot be like that too... she sighs ...I know he might be thinking of a way to discard me because he has a treasure to hunt and wouldn't like to share with anyone not even his daughter. If one thinks about it logically, he is equally well to do but greed will not allow him have a quiet life.