Rhythm and soul..

PROLOGUE

LAILA
Abuja, Nigeria.
I should have been warned about how stressful today was going to be.
"We're looking for a power pose Laila, something that exudes confidence and success." George, the photographer admonished as I fixed my collarette. I feigned a smile for the camera "Position your arms, beautiful. Smile. Great." George rambled on.
"Thanks for the wonderful photo session George. I don't want to be late for the call to bar. Pictures can wait, I'll have to leave." I stated literally dismissing them. George nodded in the affirmative and left the study to go get my stuff.

It's a big day for me; Laila Ahmad Kabir.
Almost late, I rushed to get my bag and left for the international conference center.
1hr, 23 minutes later;

"As lawyers, honour comes first and fees second; the profession has a code of honour which it requires its members to be obedient and it is a code which demands on the part of every lawyer, strict probity and the faithful discharge of his manifold duties which includes, duties to the community, duties to the public, duties to the client, duties to his professional colleagues and above all duties to the court."

The CJN urged us, the new lawyers to be punctual in all court appearances and whenever possible, should give prompt notice to the court and other counsel in the case of any circumstances requiring their tardiness or absence.
Done and dusted. I smiled sheepishly to myself.

Ever since I can remember, I was naturally quiet and shy. I constantly repeated myself because people could not hear me the first time. Even then, I seldom made eye contact with others. When I got into high school, nothing changed.

Not only did my classmates see me as quiet and shy, but they made me start believing it, too. Ashamed, I wanted some way out. I wanted my words to stick with people. I wanted them to think, "Aisha said...." I tried participating in class more and sharing my opinions, but that did not help. Whenever I made a comment, one of two things happened: I did not get the credit for my comment, or no one took me seriously. I felt helpless.
The SS2 production of the tempest, changed my life. My literature teacher, Mrs. Rita, gave me a part in the play and I no longer appeared quiet and shy. Although Mrs. Rita assigned the whole class a part in the play, she appointed me as, Stephano, the drunk, a major role. Her choice surprised me and my classmates. Stephano's character seemed so unlike mine; he was loud and silly. My first thought was, "How is a quiet girl like me going to play the part of a boisterous drunk?" Until now my classmates convinced me that I was simply quiet and shy. Now the play required me to show another side of myself.
We began the play by reading the text out loud and becoming comfortable with the scene, I was marching around in a circle shouting, "Ban, ban, Ca-Caliban!" At the end of the performance, the audience was bursting with cheer. Then Mrs. Rita had us individually take a bow. When it was my turn to bow, the audience gave me the standing ovation. I was never more excited. As I exited the stage, almost every classmate stopped me to say, "Wow Laila. you were the best!" At that moment I realized I could be loud, silly, and talented.

My parents are both indigenes of Yola, Adamawa state. I'm the youngest and only female of three; Umar and Kabir.
Umar is 28 and married with a Kid. Kabir is 25 and a pilot, working with Rwandan Airlines.
I was 12 years old when My father died in an auto crash.
Mama has been our bone marrow since then.
Mama is my favorite personality. I admire her and idolize her approach to life.
I have seen my mama go through extremely tough times; and I have always seen her come out on top. My siblings and I tend to panic when times get hard, but she always manages so keep her cool as she comes up with solutions to our problems. We will be clucking around the coop in flustered desperation while she stands in the corner and waits for us to calm down before she swoops in and fixes everybody's problems as if they were never there to begin with. Her ability to maintain her composure during difficult times results in the reflection of a smart and graceful personality. Mama does not procrastinate on problems and uses a pre-emptive approach. This often makes her stick out like a sore thumb in the family; because my siblings love yanking mama's chain. She managed Baba's company after his demise like a pro, making KBM LTD one of the most successful construction companies in Africa. She's a renowned persona, loved and respected everywhere.

Mama, Both my brothers, sister-in-law, niece, uncles, aunts, cousins and friends were present during my call to bar.
"Advocate and solicitor of the Supreme Court." Mama grinned and I hugged her with a tear strained face. Another photo sessions took place afterwards.

QURAISH
My palms got sweaty.
Nervousness killed me within as I gripped the steering wheels and made a sharp turn leading to my house. Like a reflex action, my car almost bumped into a lady cat walking by the road side. I watched her almost fall and I cursed under my breath. So much for thinking whilst driving.
I halted and rolled down the window to apologize. It was a bit dark but visible enough to see that the lady was not up to accept my apology; She looked like she was about to murder a person.
"Oh I have no time for this," I muttered as I sped away.
I parked my car half jogging into the edifice. I ran up the stairs straight to Hisham's room.
Amma, my mother sat beside Hisham's bed, gripped his hand and wept uncontrollably.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight in front of me. Hisham looked dead, but the cardio meter says otherwise. I would never forgive myself if anything happens to Hisham.
"Amma." I breathed and she looked up. I engulfed her into a hug instantly and she wept more.
"It's Alright." I soothed her back. "He'll be alright".
"Its my fault Quraish. The doctors advised strongly not to let him have anything cold, but I got him an ice cream.." she choked.
"It's okay amma. It's okay," Took me minutes to calm her down and walked her to her room.
I got back to Hisham's rooms and sat adjacent him, taking a pair of his blood drained hand into mine. I stared at him, my beautiful son; an exact replica of his late mother.
His late mother, my late wife. I shuddered at the thought.
Nabila; the love of my life, gone too soon. I felt a tear threatening to fall down my face, I fought it back. She died at child birth. I married Nabila at the age of 24, she was 22 then, my cousin and a childhood sweetheart.
My name is Quraish Muhammad. Currently 29 and the only child to my parents.
I tried to live by her death with my son and parents. Hisham got his first asthma attack at 2.
At 4, Hisham doesn't talk as well as kids the same age and often enunciate words, he avoids playing with construction toys and puzzles, Is slow to develop left- or right-hand dominance
Often drops objects or has difficulty holding them, has trouble grasping pencils and writing or drawing has difficulty working buttons, snaps and zippers. I was so drowned into my work that I noticed all of that lately. I knew something was wrong so and I fixed an appointment with the best pediatric in town.
He examined Hisham and mention to have a case of dyspraxia. (It's a brain-based condition that makes it hard to plan and coordinate physical movement. )
"Children with dyspraxia tend to struggle with balance and posture. They may appear clumsy or 'out of sync' with their environment," Dr Kumar had said.
"There has to be a cure. I'll do anything it takes to get him cured," Abba, my father said as I sat registering the shock appalled within me.
"Mr Muhammad. Kids don't outgrow dyspraxia. But occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy and other tools and strategies can help."

...
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