Beyond

TRUSTS AND LOYALTIES

Gombe, Nigeria.

16th June, 2018.

Between the daunting tasks of packing and unpacking, Fatimè found herself in a dilemma. The box before her seemed to hold the weight of her decisions, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. Nearly a week in Gombe, and the unpacking remained untouched.

Her room, a sanctuary frozen in time, retained its familiar elements — the two single beds against the wall, a small drawer between them, the 'Jonas brothers' poster adorning her sister's bed, a stack of books on her desk, and the walls still adorned with the remnants of purple and pink paint, a testament to the bond she shared with her sister.

This room encapsulated her entire childhood, a repository of memories from sleepovers with cousins, animated discussions about boys, and the latest TV shows.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her reflections. She didn't need to check the caller ID; she recognized his number.

"How are you?" he inquired when she answered.

"Alhamdulillah," Fatimè replied. "And you?"

"I'm okay. And everyone?"

"Alhamdulillah."

A moment of silence lingered before he asked, "Do you need anything?"

"No," Fatimè responded, her tone curt.

She wanted to inquire about his well-being, whether he had eaten, but the unspoken words hung between them.

"I have to go," she stated.

"Okay. Take care, and regards to everyone," he calmly replied.

Fatimè released a sigh when the call ended. Their conversations had devolved into mere exchanges of greetings and terse responses. They skirted around the issue, the unspoken tension palpable in the house.

That's why, when she requested to come home for Eid, he didn't object. Space seemed necessary. Fatimè hoped that by the time she returned, the ordeal would be behind them.

Mufida knocked and entered, holding a plate of samosas.

"You're still not dressed? I'm sure they've started grilling..." Mufida began.

Fatimè yawned, contemplating whether attending her aunt's Eid barbecue party was worth the effort. It promised stress, yet the distraction seemed needed.

"I still can't decide what to wear," she confessed as she pushed her suitcase toward Mufida, grabbing a samosa for herself.

Sifting through the clothes, Mufida settled on a simple six-piece skirt with a peplum blouse. As Fatimè picked it up, an envelope fell out, bearing the words, "Eid Mubarak sunshine," in his neat handwriting.

"Ah, your husband is sending you off with love letters? Soyaya!" Mufida teased.

Fatimè sighed and opened the envelope, revealing a bundle of 500 naira notes with a note, "Eid Mubarak, enjoy yourself."

She dropped the envelope on the bed, attempting to focus on getting ready.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Mufida asked.

Fatimè shrugged, moving so that Mufida could help her zip up.

"Something is wrong," Mufida observed. "You've not been yourself all week."

Fatimè sat on the bed and turned to Mufida. "I lost another baby a few weeks ago."

"Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un," Mufida exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us? Subhanallah, are you okay?"