Beyond

LOSS AND DISCOVERIES

Abuja, Nigeria.

July 2011.

"Adda! Adda!" Fatimè called as she sprinted up the staircase.

"Tims," Fatimè's sister scolded, giving her a stern look. Fatimè adjusted herself and greeted her with a Salam, but her excitement was still evident on her face.

"Now, what has gotten you so giddy that you are calling my name like that, eh?" Furaira asked curiously.

"Guess what, Adda? I just collected my driver's license!" Fatimè exclaimed, her face beaming with a huge grin.

"Yay! Welcome to the big girls' club," Furaira said, hugging her. "Now I can rest from driving you around."

"I know, right!" Fatimè replied, relieved that her sister would no longer have to chauffeur her around. Furaira loved driving as if she had an extra life hidden somewhere.

"I'm going to the salon. Want to come?" Furaira offered.

"Yes, please. I am due for a blow-dry. Will you make jumbo twists for me later?" Fatimè requested.

"Chab! That your hair that takes hours?" Furaira remarked, wondering how her sister coped with the amount of hair she had. It was just crazy.

"Haba mana Adda, useni," Fatimè pleaded, hoping her sister would agree.

Furaira waved her away dismissively. "I'll think about it. Go and get ready."

Downstairs, Fatimè attempted to negotiate a car with her father, who was trying hard not to laugh. "Okay, how about that Kia we saw on Top Gear?"

"Maybe Baaba should buy you a plane. Na a walwai gonga," Mubarak chimed in from the dining room, having overheard their conversation.

"Hamma Mubarak, you are ruining my pitch," Fatimè cried out.

"Madam, you're trying to scam our father. I have to step in," Mubarak teased.

Their father listened to their banter for a few minutes before intervening. "Mubarak, leave your sister alone."

Fatimè stuck her tongue out at her brother while her father added, "No car for you until you are 22."

Mubarak burst into laughter, teasing her further, "Sorry for you."

When Furaira appeared, she shook her head at her siblings' drama. They were at it again over God knows what. Ignoring them, she turned to her father, "Baaba, Tims and I are going to the salon."

He nodded. "Make sure you come back before Magrib."

"Okay," Furaira responded, giving him a side hug.

"Drive carefully," their mother advised when they encountered her in the kitchen. "Furaira, please watch your sister; you know how she can be."

"Yes, Mami. I will," Furaira assured her.

Fatimè crossed her arms in protest. "Mami, I am not a child."

"Yet you behave like one. Please, go and get that crazy hair of yours in order," her mother scolded.

"As if I did not inherit it from you," Fatimè muttered under her breath, but her mother overheard and quickly moved to smack her with a plastic spoon.

Fatimè was swift as she dodged the spoon and ran out laughing.

Furaira had already bid farewell to their mother, but she felt the need to return and hug her. "See you later, Mami," she said again before finally leaving.