Our Fates: Book III of the Fate Trilogy

Sixteen: That's a Hard Life to Live

Assalamu alaikum!

I know. I know. It's been a looong minute.

But I promise that it was for this story's own good.

And we're back now, for as long as I can keep drafting till the end, in sha Allah.

Anyhoo, hope you've been doing well.

And please don't forget to recite Suraj Kahf today and include the people of Palestine in your prayers.

Thanks.

Now, let's ride on!

***

Meena Lawal

“Assalamu alaykum,” I greet, entering the house and dragging my tired feet. I slump on the sofa and close my eyes, smiling. Today was a success. Alhamdulillah.

Working at Open Arms is an opportunity I didn’t know I needed. I get to meet women from different walks of life, passionate about helping others. I feel lucky indeed.

“Hey,” Badr greets from behind me.

“Yo,” I say, still lying down.

I open my eyes to see him resting against the head of the sofa, eyes drooping.

“So you were sleeping? Too much enjoyment sha.”

He hisses. “I was just hungry o.”

“Ah ah, what of the stew I kept in the microwave for you to boil rice with?”

He hisses again and rests his chin on his palm. “Did Ummu call you?”

I shake my head. “Hope all is well?”

He stands. “She’s coming to Abuja for a friend’s daughter’s wedding, so she’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Oh. “Okay.” I shrug. That isn’t a problem for me, but for him… “Everything will be fine.”

He frowns, “do you expect things to not be fine at all?” He glares at me, hisses, then heads toward the kitchen.

I watch him. Na wa o. How does taking it out on me help? I shrug and resume my rest.

The next day at work, we receive some women from Maiduguri, representing a new non-governmental organization that wishes to collaborate with ours in providing monthly allowances and scholarships for the women and children in Katsina and Borno.

I listened in rapt attention as the elfish woman dished out her plans, eyes fiery with passion and determination. It made me wonder if being a fashion designer is enough, if it’s really helping people. Maybe not so much.

At the end of the programme, I join aunty Iftar as we bid goodbye to our new partners. Just as the elfish woman, Lara, is about to enter her car, she turns to us for the last time and her eyes land on me.

I freeze, wondering what she’s seeing. My oversized bubu sleeves?

 She smiles widely, “before I forget,” she points at me, “I’ve been meaning to ask, please who’s your tailor?”