A Promise From My Heart

24.

The first time I had hit a lady aside from my sisters, it had not ended well for me. Sallah had always been spent in our family house when we were younger. Every member of my father's family, young and old, married and unmarried, adults and children, came together to celebrate. It had always been a fun affair.

On this faithful day, I had an argument with one of my cousins, Basirah. I had given her a blow so hard in her stomach that she fainted and ended up in the hospital. My parents were not around but came to meet us in the hospital after they had been called. I knew my parents won't spare me. Being disciplined was inevitable, not after hitting someone that was older than me.

Dad had welcomed me with a slap, two solid ones that made it difficult to hear for few seconds. His disappointment was painted all over his face, anger littered in his eyes.

"You do not hit a woman no matter what." He had said. "You have no right to hit her irrespective of what your relationship with her is."

Mum had added her own beating, using her slippers and hands, which was worse. Her scolding was non-stop. I can never forget the aftermath of the punishment I received that day. My laps hurt days later after been told to imitate riding a bike for hours.

The lecture about how wrong it is to hit a woman was endless and continued the next day after I woke up. Since that day, it became hard to lift my hands against a woman who is not my own sister. Hitting my younger ones became hard except they deserved it.

Amatullah called four weeks after the incident in Big Mummy's house. She spoke in a cheerful voice like everything was normal between us. I should come pick her up from work. I was angrier than surprise. Does she take me for a fool? Someone who will be ready to carry out her request at just a snap of her fingers.

That day, I sent her calls into voicemail. She called me twice again yet it went unanswered. That night, I went to bed with guilt in my heart. Maybe, what I have done would turn out good or bad. The odds were fifty-fifty.

Dad knew my search for a better place of work. I told him about it. I complained about my financial instability. My father had offered to give me some money. I had not refused. My situation was so hard that I could not. He spoke to Big Mummy about it who phoned to tell me her late husband's friend who owns a company was hiring. I applied. The interview was the following week and I was nothing close to being prepared for it. She also told me to send my CV in case there was an opening anywhere else.

There was. It was a slot in NNRA, a vacancy that had not been made public. It takes strong connections and knowing well- associated people to be able to have knowledge of such news. I was elated and surprised that someone like me would be working in such a good place, a place many people got eyes on. Only the privileged and lucky ones have been able to get in. The sad thing was it would require me to change my environment and relocate to Abuja. I will be leaving my family and maybe my wife behind and my visit home will turn occasional. It worth the pay though. Big Mummy said a man called Abba Junaid Tanko would give me a call. It might not be soon but I should expect it.

I was worried about a future that was yet to come, scared about a time I might not be able to cater for my family. Financial instability was what I am working against. I wanted to give my children nearly all they ask for, grant Amy an easy life where she will not have to worry about money, build a stable and secured future for my children with a trust fund they can rely on for the rest of their lives and create another source of income for myself.

I do not want to be seen as incompetent because I cannot provide well for my family nor do I want to place Amatullah in that position where she will have to toil hard just to help me financially. Her money should be hers. It should not be spent on taking care of the home.