ORNAMENTS✅

Chapter Seventeen.

Dasuki State, Nigeria. 1997.

Nabeel's Mum

Everyone knew I had been born and raised in Dasuki, but they also knew I wasn’t Nigerian—because of my features and beauty that many said was enchanting.

I lived with my old mother in a small bungalow. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t middle-class either, and we only had each other for company. As for my father, my mother had told me he died by drowning, and we were lucky to end up on an island off the Nigerian coast. We never returned to our home country because, as the only survivors, we would be blamed for the deaths of our family members.

I was beautiful when I was young, but my beauty didn’t make me financially well-off. Alhaji Yabo, even as a young man, had money in his pockets, and he spent it on me without hesitation. We weren’t officially dating, but in every sense, it felt like we were. Many men wanted me, but I rejected them all for him, living life to the fullest. He showered me with expensive gifts, and my mother didn’t mind as long as money came into the household.

We dined in expensive restaurants and went to high-end clubs, living in a world of luxury. Then, one day, Alhaji Yabo married someone else without telling me. It wasn’t something that could be hidden, especially since he came from a wealthy family. I was heartbroken, believing he loved me, just as I loved him, even though neither of us had ever openly expressed our feelings. He and his new wife left the country for their honeymoon, and soon, no more money came in. I was left feeling down and depressed.

Out of nowhere, a proposal came from Alhaji Shamaki. He had seen me, fallen in love with me, and wanted to marry me immediately. My mother quickly agreed, since he was from a rich family, and she believed both she and I would be well taken care of. Despite the challenges of having no family but my mother, we married.

Alhaji Shamaki was the kind of husband every girl would dream of, but sadly, I didn’t love him. To me, he was a means to escape poverty—my help, my excuse to move forward.

I gave birth to you, Nabeel, in my first year of marriage, but tragically, my mother passed away that same year, leaving me completely alone. I pretended to love my husband, but deep down, I still longed for Alhaji Yabo, the man I had never truly gotten over.

Twelve years passed. During those years, Alhaji Yabo returned to Dasuki, now married with two children. I felt a pang of jealousy seeing how happy he seemed, and the bitter realization hit me: he had probably forgotten about me. But then, Alhaji Yabo started seeing me in secret. Like a fool, I agreed to meet him, and we began an affair.

He swore he loved me, claiming his father had arranged his marriage, so he had no choice but to go through with it. I knew he was lying, but I let my love for him cloud my judgment, even though I was a married woman, an educated Muslim woman.

Our secret meetings continued, even as our children were turning into teenagers. But everything came crashing down one night when I returned home and found Alhaji Shamaki waiting for me. He asked where I had been, something he had never done before. I casually answered that I had been running an errand, but his expression told me he knew something was wrong.

He threw a phone at me, and I froze as a video started playing. The video showed me and Alhaji Yabo embracing each other. The reality of what I had done hit me hard.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t.

He picked up the phone and played a recording. I recognized Alhaji Yabo's voice, even in my sleep.

“I told you, I’ll always be ahead of you—money, fame, even women. Even if that woman is your wife! I want that project, or I’ll release this video to the media. And close my face!” the voice was undeniably Alhaji Yabo's.