The Juju Lady Next Door (Completed)

8. The Avengers

"... And they learn that which harms them and profits them not. And indeed that the buyers of magic would have no share in the Hereafter. And how bad indeed was that for which they sold their own selves. If only they knew." (Q. 2:102)                            

  

9th June 2004

The days sailed away, bringing Ismail's wedding day closer to the shores of our household as if the future couldn’t wait for the day to come. And to be honest, so did I. 

“Na wa o!” Meena exclaimed as she joined me on one of the plastic chairs placed on the veranda of our shop.

The corrugated sheet roof protected us from the harsh sun rays overhead, but our legs were not so lucky. 

“So you’re telling me that you’re going to stay for the wedding?" She gaped at me, using a raffia hand-made fan that matched her murky brown skin to fan herself. 

“Why are you so surprised, it’s not a death sentence. And it’s not like I will be attending or anything.” I shrugged, glancing at the open shop opposite ours where mama Caro, a foodstuff seller, scolded her son for running off to play while the shop was empty.

“But seriously, you’re okay with it? I mean…” she lifted her shoulders and shook her head. 

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “I’m not the first and I won’t be the last. And to be honest, it's easier this way: if I hadn’t agreed, I’ll never be at rest, I’ll always be wondering where he is once he isn’t with me. I’ll be so insecure and I won’t be able to focus on myself again. Besides, it’s his right, if I were to stop him, he might end up transgressing and it’ll be my fault. So, better he married her in my eyes than have her as a mistress behind my back.”

“Okay o. May God increase you in strength.”

I replied, “Ameen.” 

“It’s not easy o.” She added. 

I turned down my lips and opened my palms in a how-we-go-do-na gesture.

“Hmm,” Meena mumbled. Then we turned again to the loud voice of mama Caro happily demonstrating her tales as she told it in rapid Yoruba to her neighbour. 

•••

I got home before maghrib (sunset) prayer,  took my bath and prepared dinner. I had just brought down the hot pot of jollof rice when a knock sounded on the gate. 

 “Yes, I am coming”, I replied, wiping my hands with a lemon green towel. On my way out, I glanced at the clock across the room: 06:19 p.m.

“Yaya!” a high pitched voice called out as I opened the door. I didn’t even have to look at my visitors before I answered, “Walili!” 

I hurried to open the burglary-proof gate and there they were… Hajja Muna, Aunty Mamy and my lovely Walili. 

“Sannu da zuwa.” I greeted, too excited to be surprised. Once I locked the gate, I ran into the arms of my mother, clutching her waist and taking in her incense sticks smell, then to Aunty mamy and finally, Walida, who jumped on me before I could open my arms. 

“Kai, Kai, Kai, what are you eating like this that’s making you heavy? Come down, jor.” I said as she released me.

“How can you say that Yaya?” She pouted, turning from side to side, hugging her turquoise veil to her slim frame covered with a skirt and blouse.

We joined our mother in the living room. Soon, the quiet ambience turned noisy with loud hurried talks and laughs, so much so that we almost missed our prayers.