The Juju Lady Next Door (Completed)

Part II: When Fate Comes Knocking

I wonder if there is anything that shakes a woman’s world other than her finding out about her husband's intention to take another wife.  - Az-Zahrah 

    ...                             

Monday, 7th June, 2004

  The wind whooed loudly as the heavy rain platted against the ceramic roof. I stood in the middle of the living room, partially lit by scented candles spread across the room.

I listened to the music of nature, imagining myself drenched under the rain—one of the things I used to love doing as a child. Rain rarely fell in Kano, but on the few occasions that it did, we were sure to be jumping and playing about. 

It was 8:30 p.m. and Isma’il was not back yet. 

I was silent. Too silent. My mind was numb from the loud beating of my heart. I wasn’t scared or angry. Just curious. I didn’t want to think too much until Isma’il explained himself to the fullest.

I was dressed in a white brocade gown with flowers and small colourful stones spread across it. I adorned my ears with long dangling earrings, a set of bangles on both hands, and a black veil wrapped loosely around my head hanging down my back. I also painted my nails black with a tube henna I bought with me from Kano. 

The howling wind rattled the gate, or so I thought. Another loud shake indicated that there was someone there. I opened the door, using the umbrella to push back the uninvited wind and rain droplets before opening the gate for a raincoat-clad Ismail. 

...

“Whew, for one I thought I wouldn’t make it home tonight.” Isma’il lamented as he lounged on the couch, after having bathed and eaten. His legs rested on the glass center table while his arm hung lazily over his head. 

I gave him a cup of cold Zobo drink, then watched as he drank slowly while my mind tried to accommodate the raging thoughts it once blocked. 

“Ah,” He sighed and turned to me, his eyes twinkling on noticing my dressing.

“Mmm mmm, uwargida wannan haduwan fa–what's up?. ” He teased, while I sat a few metres from him, observing the trinkets on my bangles. 

“Eh?” he asked and moved closer, entranced. 

“Kauthar ďita–My Kauthar.” he whispered seductively as his hands held my wrist, his thumb slowly rubbing my palm—just the way I liked it. 

I looked up at him, into his kind brown eyes: the eyes I knew as loving and caring, one I always found refuge in, my solace. But now, I didn’t see it. 

He noticed my demeanor and frowned. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He placed his arm around my shoulders to bring me closer. 

Without thinking, I knelt on the floor, watching the twinkle dim in his eyes, replaced by confusion. 

“Isma’il,” I called. 

He blinked. “Kauthar, lafiya?”

I smiled and clasped my hands, as though in supplication.” I love you,” I proclaimed. “I have loved you as long as I have been yours and you mine. I have dedicated my life to the attainment of your happiness. Our happiness.” I pointed to myself, then him. 

“You’re my husband, my world, my love, my other half. I have no one but you. I want no one but you. Do you understand?" I sat up as he watched silently.