Beyond

TAKE OFFS AND TURMOILS

Abuja, Nigeria.

30th January, 2017.

"It's been three days, fa. This can no longer be seen as her usual stint. What if something has happened to her?" Intisar still couldn't wrap her head around her cousin's disappearance. The whole thing was worrying, and she just wished Fatimè had reached out or something.

Mufida was the one who replied to Intisar, "In sha Allah. She's fine. I'm still suspecting she just wanted to get away. Things like that happen, I mean the loss hit her hard."

"I told you guys, we should have gone to see her. At least it would have helped. When things like this happen, you need people around you..."

"Why are you talking as if we just refused to go?" Mufida said, picking up baby Abdallah.

The 2-month-old had woken up from his nap and had started crying for his mother's attention. Mufida settled to feed Abdallah before she turned to Intisar. "You know we all had concrete reasons for not going. Or is it with this bulging stomach that you want to travel all the way to Lagos?"

At the far end of the bed, Madina was lying face up with the back of her palm on her forehead, oblivious to the conversation taking place around her. Why was her life like this? Always ten steps forward and twenty backward. This was why she hated hope; it was such a liar. Every time there was a glimmer of it, and it looked like things would finally work out, it would just dash away. Can't life just give her something good for once?

"Ehn toh, I know," Intisar said. "I'm still insisting one of us should have been there. What about Madina? It's not like she has anything going on."

Madina caught the last part and got up. "What do you mean by 'it's not like I have anything going on'?" When Intisar didn't answer, Madina repeated her question. "I'm asking you, what do you mean? Ohh, yes... Madina has nothing going on. Why would she sef? It's not like she has a husband to take care of or a baby... zero responsibilities..."

"Madee..." Intisar called, trying to placate her. "That's not what I meant walahi... I was just..."

"Just what? You are talking about one of us being there as if it was not a week or two ago that I visited her? Tell me, when was the last time you showed up for anything? You are one to talk when you are always whining about every minor inconvenience in your life as if others don't have problems. I set up meetings and you guys present excuses, 'oh I can't make it, you know Alqa is around,' 'I'm sorry Madina, Mahmud and I are going somewhere.' If I don't come to your houses, shikenan, I won't see you guys. You sit down here talking about us being there for each other and how I have nothing going on when I AM ALWAYS THE ONE MAKING AN EFFORT."

Madina grabbed her bag and walked out, slamming the door. The room was now silent, Abdallah had fallen asleep again, and Mufida put him back in his cot.

"We need to do better," she said

---

Bauchi, Nigeria.

30th January, 2018.

The TV in the living room was tuned in to the E! channel, showing 'Keeping Up with the Kardashians'. She pictured her brother's response every time he saw her watching the show. He'd always go, "Why are you watching this rubbish?" To him, he didn't see why someone would sit and watch strangers act out their lives and call it a reality show. There was nothing realistic about these guys, he'd say. But she did not care. It was like a comfort show for her, an escape from her reality.

"I made awara. Do you want some?" Na'ima offered.

She shook her head. "I'm still full from that rice."