FOREVER WITH YOU

The Foolish one

After Mama ordered.
Jajaye smiled and nodded, then grasped Tasleem's hand, his grip tightening as he dragged her away from the stall.

At that moment, Malam Ibrahim arrived on a weathered camel, its worn saddle and frayed ropes a testament to countless journeys and humble means. Mama's eyes darted toward Jajaye, and she discreetly nodded toward Malam Ibrahim, who had just dismounted.

When Tasleem saw her uncle, relief washed over her like a soothing breeze on a scorching afternoon. Her uncle's return meant that Mama would have to rein in her rage, at least for a while. Though she knew his presence was temporary, it was enough to give her a moment's peace. For now, she was safe.

She abruptly pulled her hand away. She let out a sigh of relief and wiped away her tears. She rushed to her uncle and squatted down, greeting him with respect. She took the Ghana Must Go bag from him and felt his gentle grasp on her hand. Together, they headed home.

Mama turned to Jajaye and said, "Come to my house on Friday. Hopefully, Malam will be at the farm then, and we can discuss this privately."
She finished her sentence and left.

Tasleem and Malam Ibrahim were deep in a conversation when Mama walked into the house. Instantly, both of them went quiet. Mama shot Tasleem an angry glance and said, "Give us some space, I have matters to discuss with my husband."

Tasleem hastily stood up from her seat, her gaze fixed on the floor. She swiftly exited the house.

Malam Ibrahim met Mama's stern gaze with a soft, measured tone, "What is it you'd like to discuss?"

Mama glared, "Nothing to talk about. Don't bother me."

Malam Ibrahim remained silent, his expression unreadable. There wasn't a hint of surprise or question on his face; he had come to expect this kind of response from her. Deep down, he knew the reason why. His silence defused her anger, a quiet reprimand.

At eight o'clock in the night, Tasleem eagerly packed up and closed the stall. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed home.

As she walked into the house, Tasleem greeted her uncle warmly and sat down beside him on a mat. Mama's eyes lingered, glaring at her.

Tasleem trembled at Mama's glares, which had become a constant and unsettling presence in her life.

Malam Ibrahim glanced at Mama, his face etched with sorrows for Tasleem.

Malam Ibrahim turned to Tasleem, who sat quietly, her tiny frame radiating vulnerability. His voice softened, "Tasleem, my child, go and eat. You look famished."

Tasleem nodded, but remained seated.

Malam Ibrahim picked up his food flask and gently placed it before Tasleem. "Eat this, please."

Tasleem nodded, then picked up a handful of food and brought it to her lips, but Mama's sharp gaze stopped her. Her hand froze, holding the food inches from her mouth.

Mama's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing in a clear warning: 'Don't you dare take a bite.'

Tasleem shrank under mama's withering stared.
She swiftly put the food back in the flask and closed the lid.

Malam Ibrahim said, his voice gentle. "Tasleem, you didn't eat; why close the flask?"

Tasleem shook her head. "I'm not hungry now. I'll eat later."

Malam Ibrahim's gaze lingered, searching for the truth.

Tasleem forced a smile. "I'll eat later, I'm not hungry now."

Malam Ibrahim nodded, "It's okay, Tasleem. Eat when you're ready, my child."

Mama glared fiercely at Malam Ibrahim.