Love unveiled

Chapter 5

My name is Ameena, Meena—as everyone calls me or Mamana—as Abba calls me, and I'm the only daughter in a family of four. Growing up with just one elder brother might make some girls feel lonely, but I've never felt that way. My family is everything to me. Even without sisters, the bond I share with my parents and brother is more than enough to fill any gap.

We come from a proud Fulani heritage, both my father and mother tracing their roots back to Adamawa, though we've lived in Kano for as long as I can remember. My father is a tall, imposing man, known for his wisdom and strong presence. He's the kind of man who commands respect without ever raising his voice, and I've always admired that about him. My mother, on the other hand, is the heart of our home. She's kind and gentle, with a warmth that makes everyone feel welcome. Her elegant beauty is something I've always aspired to, from her glowing caramel skin to the grace in her every movement.

Physically, I take after my mother's side of the family. I have her high cheekbones and deep brown eyes that are full of curiosity. My skin is a smooth, rich caramel, and my hair is thick and dark, usually tied back in a simple style, though I like to experiment with braids when I'm feeling fancy. My face has soft, defined features with full lips, and I often hear from friends that my smile reminds them of my mother.

My elder brother, hamma Haidar, is my protector. He's serious, practical, and, though he may not say it often, I know he cares deeply about me. He lives in Kano with his wife, Maryam—whom we refer to as aunty Mimi, and their two children—Afifa, his first born daughter who is five and Muhammad who is two years old, though his work often takes him to Abuja. He's someone I can always count on, and I adore his kids—they bring so much joy into our family whenever they visit.

Currently, I'm in my third year at Maryam Abacha American University in Kano, studying International Relations. It's a tough course, but I love it, and I'm proud of the path I've chosen. Alongside me in this journey is my best friend, Zara. She's more like a sister to me than anything else, as we've been inseparable since childhood. Our families have been friends for generations, and her home is like my second home.

Zara's family is a beautiful blend of cultures. Her mother is a Shuwa Arab from Maiduguri, and her father is Fulani, just like mine. Their house always smells of incense, and the warmth of her mother's hospitality is something I've cherished since we were kids.

Despite that, Zara and I share everything, even our academic journey. We attend the same school right from nursery class to university, we are in the same class, and even take the same courses. We're both studying international relations, and it's been a rollercoaster ride filled with late-night study sessions, exam stress, and more than a few laughs along the way. She's the one constant in my life, and I can't imagine going through any of this without her.

Her family is just as important to me as my own. Her mother has always been like a second mother to me, and her father treats me like one of his own. Zara has an older brother— hamma Khalid, whom I've never really gotten along with, and an elder sister — Adda Zainab who is married and lives in Abuja with her husband and their child. The connection between our families runs deep, and it's through these ties that our bond has grown into something unbreakable.

The air in the small, cozy room was thick with excitement as I paced back and forth. Only two days remained until Sallah, the joyous celebration of Eidul-adha, and I was buzzing with a mix of anticipation and nerves. My heart raced at the thought of the festive prayers, the gatherings, and the laughter that would fill the days ahead. Today, however, my focus was split between preparing for the celebration and the blossoming connection I had made with a man named Abubakar on Twitter.

I glanced at the pile of newly delivered clothes in the corner of my room. The vibrant colors of the fabrics—rich greens, deep blues, and bold reds—filled me with a sense of pride. They were my special Sallah outfits, each piece carefully chosen to reflect my personality. My fingers brushed against the soft cotton, and a smile crept across my face as I imagined how stunning I would look during the festivities.