The Juju Lady Next Door (Completed)

14. Part IV: Her Fall

     But we can not submit to sin. 

                We cannot submit to disbelief.

               This is how we lose that battle. 

And we should never give up the battle.

      Triumph is in never giving up. 

  Not in having no battle to fight. 

                 –Souls by Umm Zakiyyah.                      

…

Three days later

The bustling city of Kano welcomed me with its fiery and intense June heat. I had missed the still and dry harmattan that kept us indoors for hours and got us hogging vaseline and sweaters as if they were the latest fashion trends worldwide. 

Since I couldn’t go to our house–Hajja Muna had traveled to Dubai to get new wrappers for sale and My Dad was in Abuja, I stopped at Aunty Mamy’s house: the one her children inherited from their father after his death. Walili was in the hostel at Bayero University Kano new site, studying Islamic studies. 

I had only taken a step into the verandah when Aunty mamy ran out and enveloped me in a tight hug. I closed my eyes and breathed in her humra scent.  Right after I got into the living room, I quickly removed my white knee length hijab and flung it unceremoniously on the nearest armchair, then used my hands to swing my black abaya up and down to get rid of gathered sweat on my body. 

“Wai, is this how you people are enjoying this heat?” I asked. 

Aunt mamy eyed me. “Wai enjoy, se ka ce ba a nan kika girma ba–as if you didn't grow up here." She rolled her eyes. 

“And no light again. Hey!” I raised my hands in resignation and plopped on the velvet sofa behind me. 

“See you o, how long have you stayed in Lagos that you’re claiming foreigner for us.” She laughed and sat beside me.

Her first son, Dawud, joined us with two bottles of water. Then I ate a sumptuous mound of Tuwo shinkafa and miyan Zogale (moringa). Forget miyan taushe. Zogale is bae.

Later we went to visit some of my aunts that lived nearby. I had to sit through comments like: “So it’s now you’re visiting us. Since you left, ko waya!” I laughed at some and mentally rolled my eyes at others. As if my visit had anything to do with well… visiting. 

That night, I tried to pray. But I couldn’t concentrate. The verses were stuck in my throat, their meanings becoming hazy in my mind. And the usual calmness waned like heavy rain that stops falling almost immediately. Defenseless, I hurriedly finished the prayer with plans to try again later.

But while resting on the bed covered with a rainbow bedspread, I wondered, What was the use of praying when you can’t concentrate? Maybe it’s the heat. I concluded, but I couldn’t help thinking about all the prayers I’ve said, all the dedication.

 All my life, I had dreamt of having a happy home, with a peaceful, loving husband. Marrying Isma’il, I believed my dreams had come true, that God had answered my prayers. But now, I don't know anymore. Weren't my prayers answered after all? Or was I just not worth having a happy home, a happy life?

•••

By 04:00 a.m., after another trial at praying again and failing–as I ended up falling asleep on my mat. I decided to do a little exercise, marching from the door to the yellow wall across it. Some minutes later, Aunty Mamy came in and sat on the bed.