Dare You To Love Me

«53» weight of loss

The strongest bonds a person could form are often with those they shared blood with, despite the pain and betrayal that accompanied familial ties, or so it was said.

The moments of joy were often overshadowed by sorrow and misunderstanding. Yet, through it all, the invisible thread that tied family members together remained unbroken, pulling them back to one another, time and time again.

This bond, rooted in the essence of one’s being, remained despite the wounds inflicted and the scars left behind.

For Yaseerah, the complexity of this bond felt like a double-edged sword. The news of her father’s death should have been met with a torrent of emotions–grief, relief, sadness, liberation. Yet, all she felt was an overwhelming emptiness.

Her eyes were dry as she stared out her bedroom window into the courtyard below, observing the men as they performed salatul janazah, their heads bowed in solemn supplications.

The sight of the great Abdul-Aziz Bako who was once a formidable figure, now reduced to a lifeless body draped in a simple shroud, was jarring.

In death, he seemed smaller, diminished even, stripped of all the authority and presence that had defined him in life. He was just another body wrapped in the simplicity of a burial shroud.

The man who had once commanded respect and fear was no more.

And as she looked at him, all she could think of was how he had wasted his life, and countless others’ building a legacy that would no longer matter.

She watched detached, as the men slowly rose from their prayer mats after the final supplications faded away, their faces somber.

She noticed the way some of them avoided eye contact, their gazes fixed on the ground or drifting towards the horizon.

Were they truly grieving, or just going through the motions, like her?

A soft knock on the door broke her out of reverie. She turned to see Amina standing hesitantly at the threshold, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“I thought I might find you in here,” Amina said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door gently behind her.

Yaseerah gave a weak smile in return, her gaze darting back to window. “Yeah, just needed a moment alone.”

“I know,” Amina nodded in understanding as she gazed out of the window too. “It’s a lot to take in.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s so weird isn’t it? Seeing so many people here today.”

“It is,” Yaseerah nodded. “I knew he was influential but... I didn’t think people would show up like this.”

Amina sighed, leaning against the windowsill. “Yeah, it’s strange. Some of them probably barely knew him, yet here they are.”

Yaseerah shook her head slightly, her voice tinged with bitter frustration. “Seeing the people that turned up for his janazah... It just... I feel like he doesn’t deserve it. Everything he did... So many good people have died and they didn’t get half this turnout.”

“Uncle Abdul was a hard man to love–”

“Love?” Yaseerah cut in, shaking her head in amazement. “Try difficult.”

“Be that as it may,” Amina conceded, turning to face Yaseerah, her expression softening. “A lot of people did respect him, even if they didn’t know him personally. Truth be told, I don’t think anyone knew him personally,”

“Respect?” Yaseerah scoffed lightly, her eyes growing distant, seemingly lost in thought. “I doubt it. They saw a figure, a name to be exploited. We saw the man, the monster.”