Tales of the Heart.

Chapter 2|Imaan.

AYSHA IMAAN.

2005.

So many nights I wondered what would have happened if that car didn't hit ours, if it didn't make our car flip in the air. It crashed so hard against a tree until I saw nothing again. When I recovered consciousness I found myself on a hospital bed with several eyes on me.

When I realized how bad the accident's aftermath was I felt like dying because I could remember the exact conversation our Mothers were having before the other car crashed into us. Amaani's mum and the driver died instantly while my mum and I made it to the hospital alive, she was in a critical condition while all I got were a few bruises and a cut on my chest. My mum died not too long after. I didn't even get to see her one last time.

The pain of not having my Mummy and my Aunt Asma far surpassed the pain caused by my injury.

I felt Amaani's pain after realising that she had no idea what happened.

After my father whom I refer to as Abba let me stay with Amaani's family I felt better knowing I had someone who genuinely loved me. Her father, Daddy did things to me that my own Abba has never done before. He sits and have his dinner with his kids, he listens to our stories with genuine interest and affection on his face, he spoils us rotten with gifts to make the pain of our loss subside and of course the desired goal is met by more than half because it's the attention we need that we get.

The two years post our mothers' death that I stayed in Kano changed me. My mom was my father's third wife, when she was alive we lived in a separate house while Abba's other two wives shared a house. After her death, I was taken to Abba's first wife's section where I learnt how to do the dishes at the age of seven and how to sweep the room until not a speck of dirt was visible on the tiled floor. I scrubbed the back of pots I ate directly out of until the wiry sponge gave me blisters. I was scorned for looking exactly like my mother in private while in public I was lavished with praises about how beautiful I am, how much I resembled my mom, how my mom's loss still hit hard. I was shown what the art of manipulation was and what it could do at a tender age.

My Abba couldn't do anything about my situation because he knew nothing about it, not even my apparent malnourishment made him realise my predicament until the day Daddy visited and requested to raise me alongside his daughters knowing my own father had too many children to care for.

I don't know what exactly motivated my Abba to agree but I know I saw tears in Daddy's eyes when I was taken to him in my best dress from two years ago looking like it was lent to me by a fatter girl, the hem was shorter and it barely hung on my frame without falling over. It was the same pink dress Amaani let me wear on the day of the accident, but you couldn't tell unless you looked hard.

My Abba wasn't dirt poor, he was a man with an average income and who had too many children to care for. His first wife Umma was a very traditional hausa woman from Kura Local Government in Kano while his second wife, Inna was from Kaugama Local Government in Jigawa, she was of the fulani tribe and all her children took after her. Umma had 10 children, 8 were very much alive while 2 had passed, Inna has 12 children and my mom had only me.

Unlike my father's two wives, my mom used to work, she was a nurse at the Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital, my dad was her second husband and I was her only child. She lost her first husband the year Lina was born, got married to my dad 2 years later and had me a year after. I was a miracle for her, she had me when she was 32 years old and we lost her at 38. After her death I got a box filled with pictures of herself and her twin sister, they were the highlights of my life during the time I lived with Umma.

During those two years, I changed schools, learnt how to wash my uniform and protected myself in a shell that only I could see.

Umma's 6 daughters and 2 sons couldn't care less about my existence, they hated me for reasons I could neither fathom nor could I understand. Before my mom's death I only met my siblings on occasions, be it during Eid celebrations when we visited my father's other home or when there was a wedding ceremony taking place within the family. I was closer to the family I had in Kaduna than my own siblings.

The day Amaani's Daddy came to visit, Umma had my sister Labiba dress me in one of the few presentable dresses I had. When I went to greet him I found out that he came with Ya Abdullah.

For the first time in my life I felt shy to be in their presence and only agreed to talk when Ya A promised to take me to Amaani. I don't know exactly what was said between my father and Daddy but a few minutes later I was called by my dad who made me promise to be a good girl who respects everyone. I bade farewell to my siblings and my dad's wives before getting into the car and starting the journey.

It was the first time I was traveling after my return to Kano. The road reminded me of our accident, I forced my eyes to close and when I opened them next I found myself in Ya A's arms and he was helping me into their house.

I was elated, but at the same time I felt doubtful of whether or not I would be accepted in this house despite knowing that they loved me. It wasn't my fault that I'd lost confidence in myself. At 8 years old, Umma has succeeded in making me truly believe that I couldn't be genuinely loved, she once told me my mom left me because she couldn't deal with a horrible child. I knew I wasn't horrible because no one ever complained about my habits, not in school, not in my madrasah, nowhere until she started filling my brain with things that were way beyond my comprehension.

With Amaani there could never be a boring day. She yanked me out of my shell in no time until I was back to being my normal self. Some of the highlights of my days are the piggy back rides Ya A gives us after we pray in the afternoon. I never miss them, he has always been a staunch supporter of mine whenever a game was played between Amaani and I.

I got into Amaani's school and the two of us hit off with amazing grades, first term I came 1st position while she came third, the next term, she was directly behind me and that was how it went until we graduated from primary school at 9 years old.

That year Ya A and Ya Sadiq got into NDA. One time, before the two left for their training Ya A was telling me stories about how soldiers were trained in the academy I burst into tears because I couldn't understand why someone would subject himself to such horrifying torture. I pleaded at him not to go to that school. All he did was pull me into his arms, wipe my tears and promised to stay away from danger.

"But Ya A nobody beats you here, just stay here with us." I cried into his chest.

"Don't worry little one, I need that training to fend off anyone who dares to hurt you." His shoulders shook with mirth while I sat there mortified.

"There's karate for that. Besides, no one will dare to hurt me, Amaani knows how to pinch people until they cry," then I recalled the promise I made to never share that particular story with anyone. "Don't tell her I told you that, pretty pretty please."

"I don't want either of you to be hurting anybody while I'm gone okay? Be the good girls you've always been." We pinky promised and he went on his way after promising to take us out later.

True to his promise, Ya A took us to an ice cream parlor where we got our favorite flavors. The next day Ya Sadiq came and two days later they were clean shaven and ready for school.

I bawled my eyes out that day and drew pictures of Daddy, Ya A, Ya Sadiq, Lina, Amaani and I holding hands. I even signed the bottom just like Amaani does when she draws or paints, she's the aspiring artist while I'm the con, sketching isn't my thing so no one said a word about the fact that I drew us all with sticks in place of hands and feet. I tried my best and handed them a copy to keep with themselves at all times.

It was a token for them to know that they were loved at all times wherever they were.