Our Fates: Book III of the Fate Trilogy

Twenty-Three: I Can Feel It

Aisha Kabiru

 “Mtcheww, aikin banza, aikin wafi.” I say, flipping my veil over my shoulder. Without waiting for Adda Nana, I turn and walk out of the sorry place of a restaurant.

“A’I,” Adda Nana calls behind me, her voice still loud over the thumping music playing outside where two canopies are set, one with many chairs and few women and children, the other with tables of foods and snacks and other things for sale. But nobody is checking or buying anything. Why would they when there’s nothing but nonsense.

She joins me by the roadside. Together, we trek farther away from the venue, and my breathing returns to normal. If I had known, I would have stayed at home and slept.

As though Adda Nana can read my mind, she bursts into laughter. I turn to her, frowning, but I can’t control myself, so I join her.

We stop at a shop to buy pure water since they didn’t have any at the launch, and the available table water packs are for ‘special guests’.

“At least I know I won’t ever go there to eat.” Adda Nana says as we stand by the road.

I hiss, “Wallahi. What was that rubbish?” I fold my arms.

“It’s a market fair, kawai.”

I hiss again. “See the fried rice o, what kind of curry turns fried rice to dark green?”

Adda Nana laughs, “What about the meat pie, they look burnt.”

“And the nonsense host, instead of her to apologise for making us wait for over one hour and leaving us hungry; she was busy saying that we complain too much. Is it because I didn’t give her one slap?”

“No need, maman Sabir would’ve done it before you.”

I shake my head. “Let’s just go home. I’m already tired of been outside.”

Soon, we get a rickshaw, and the minute I get home, I quickly take off my clothes, take my bath, pray, and lie on my bed.

Later in the evening, I join mama in preparing tuwon shinkafa and miyan zogale (moringa soup). Although I would be making okro soup. Miyan zogale is not it for me.

After maghrib prayer, while mama and I are gisting in the veranda under a full moon, Baba comes in from, startling us, smiling widely. I quickly raise my head from mama’s lap.

“Lafiya?” Mama asks.

“Ke, tashi ki shirya, ana jiranki a waje.”

I frown. Who would be waiting for me at this time? Or did I snag someone’s attention at the launch?

“Wanene?” I ask him, standing.

“Who else if not Alhaji mai Sujjada.”

I gasp. Mama stands quickly, eyes wide. “Kai, go and prepare.”

I obey, but still confused. When did he return? And why didn’t he inform me beforehand? We didn’t even talk this morning, even though I called him thrice.

I grab the gown I wore to the launch, wash my face, and dab some powder and perfume.

Coming out, mama says, “Apologise to him.”

I frown, adjusting my veil, “For what?”

“For wasting time, mana.”

I want to laugh, but I just shake my head and amble out of the house. Mama has forgotten that I’m nothing like her. I don’t sweep issues under the rug because I want to please in-laws that don’t give a hoot about me; I don’t put myself under my husband’s feet just to soothe his pride: and I will never, ever, sacrifice my peace  of mind for a man.

Alhaji mai Sujjada is already seated outside on a bench under the tree across from his car when I reach him. His head is bowed, eyes on his phone, but it’s off.

“Assalamu alaykum, Alhaji.”

He doesn’t reply. Is he that angry with me?

I go ahead and sit beside him. He sighs and looks up. “Aisha.” He says in a low voice.

I gasp. Although there’s no electricity, I can still hear the worry in his voice, sounding like surrender. And it’s familiar because I have experienced this before. “Me ya faru?”

He leaned back, looking up. “I’m not happy.” He says.

“Why?” Did his wife do something wrong?

“Do you know why Jiddah and I had to go to Sweden?”

I shake my head, but I assume it’s for work.

He sighs, looking down. “Since we got married, almost three years ago, she has lost five pregnancies.” He holds up five fingers.

I gasp. He shakes his head. “And it’s so unfortunate because she loves children as much as I do. She’s the only woman I feel something for, even though our marriage was arranged.”

I nod.

“But see what God is doing to us.” He holds out his open palms.

“I’m really sorry.” I say, for both him and Jiddah. Even though I’m not the biggest fan of children, I appreciate my four boys with all my heart. It’s because of them I agreed to Habib’s offer. If I hadn’t, we would have gotten divorced years ago.

“And as much as I don’t want to consider getting another wife now, I don’t have any other choice.” He turns to me. “And Jiddah has agreed.”

My eyes widen. “She wants you to get married again?”

He nods, “And fast. I’m not getting any younger.”

I nod, but still, for someone that marries a lot, doesn’t he have children from his other wives? I want to ask, but now, in this sensitive moment, I decide to keep quiet and focus on the matter at hand. He wants me to marry him.

“So what do you want to do?”

He nods, “What else? Let’s get married.”

I laugh at his statement. “Toh, Alhaji.” I say, thankful to God for finally making this happen. I know, from here, that my life is about to get bigger and better. I can feel it.