The Juju Lady Next Door (Completed)

Part V: Her Path to Redemption.

20. I’m not a murderer 

"Allah burdens not a person beyond his scope. He gets rewarded for the good that he has earned and gets punished for the evil that he has earned... Our Lord! Put not on us a burden greater than we have the strength to bear. Pardon us and grant us forgiveness."             (Q2:286)

…

Saturday, 10th September 2005

Among all the nightmares I’ve been having, this one topped the charts: I was once again, trapped in a grave and tied up with a rope, and as usual, I struggled to get free. This time, there was no screaming. Just me, at first. 

Then I heard a sound, like a spade fetching sand to throw somewhere. I was on my left side, trying not to breathe in the stale air and dust. Plop. I heard it again, then Whish. This time, there was sand on my face. 

Oh, God. Was it here all along? 

I groaned again and tried to adjust my position. But somehow, the grave felt tighter and stuffier.

Then I heard another spade digging into the earth: two diggers, trying to bury me! I coughed loudly and managed to turn upright. I tried to catch my breath as my eyes sought for something in the foggy darkness. Anything.

But what I saw was more than something: Salsabil stood above me on the right side of the grave, in her youthful and innocent glory, smiling wickedly, holding a spade.

“Murderer.” She said,  

What? 

”Murderer.” She called loudly and bent down to fetch some sand again, to bury me.

I was about to open my mouth when I saw the person across from her. A young girl in a flowing white dress, her face too dark to see what she looked like. 

“Murderer.” She called out too, in a tiny voice that sounded familiar.

"Murderer!" they bellowed. Before I could control myself,  I let out a scream, more like a strained gasp, for the girl sounded like the child who called me Mummy. My child!

...

I didn’t wake up in the usual scared and panicked way. I simply opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. My God. I sighed. After a while, I sat up, looked down at my hands. Me, A Murderer?

“Kauthar,” Isma’il called from the sitting room, startling me. 

I got up from the bed, put on my slippers and went out to join him, wearing a white polo shirt with 'Nigerian Navy' emblazoned at the front in block letters. He was watching a Nollywood movie on the NTA network. 

When I reached the sofa he was sitting on, he turned to me with a smile, a real smile, for the first time in a long time.

Interesting. 

“I have an idea.” He said, wiggling his brows, just like he used to, back when it was just him and I. 

“About?” I asked, frowning.

He sat up, intertwining his hands in front of him. “I want to take you, me and Salsabil on a small vacation.” 

My brows must have risen till I couldn’t feel them anymore. “Okay?” 

“We’ve never gone on one before. So this will be our first.” He stood, still smiling. He flexed his shoulders. “I’m thinking—” A loud crash interrupted him.  We turned in the direction of the noise.