Of A Forgotten Storm (Under Editing)

Nightmare And The Resumption Assembly

O you who have believed, indeed, among your wives and your children are enemies to you, so beware of them. But if you pardon and overlook and forgive - then indeed, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.

Surah at Taghabun (64:14)

.....

"You stupid girl, will you come out and wash those plates? What were you thinking, huh? You think your father married a servant to serve you, right?" Her vituperative voice yelled at the top of her lungs, sending shivers down my spine. Between the harmattan and her voice, I didn’t know which was worse. I came running out of my room still in my pajamas, only to be met with a full bucket of ice-cold water. Instantly, my teeth began chattering, and I started shivering uncontrollably.

She stood up, buckled into her cardigan, her dark eyes as venomous as ever, approaching me. I was still standing by my room, doing the cold dance, drenched as the morning air blew, seeping deep beneath my almost naked skin. The light cotton material of my pajamas clung to my body, freezing the blood running through my veins.

Numbed, I looked down at the water dripping from my body and the puddle forming on the floor, rushing into my room. I would have to clean that too, I thought, noticing she also had a cane with her. My eyes widened in fear, pleading with her, just as she raised the cane. I closed my eyes, bracing for the assault. I jolted awake!

I reminded myself where I was, like a mantra.

Drenched in sweat, I sat up on my bed, rubbing my eyes for clearer vision. It was morning. My head pounded with pain, and I began to shiver as the air conditioner dried my sweat. Gasping for air, I reminded myself I was no longer eight and was not in Zaria under the care of my first stepmother, Hadiza.

Hadiza was long gone and could never hurt me again. I sighed, realizing there's nothing good about my childhood; they had robbed me of everything. I tried not to waste my tears on them again. I wondered if Allah had ever been there for me. Doubts filled my mind, and my faith was waning.

That woman had scarred my childhood with pain and fear, but what Hajiya did was even worse. She had destroyed me beyond pain. Shaking off the early morning thoughts that threatened to ruin my long-awaited day, I lazily reached under my duvet for my phone to dismiss the alarm, adding to my headache.

I took a long, warm shower, washing away one of my most dreaded memories. Sometimes those memories tested my self-esteem, making me feel like I amounted to nothing, so empty. At times, they crippled me beyond words, and I vowed never to let anyone step on me again. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder why they did that to me—why me? Such thoughts only made me weaker, and weakness was not something I would tolerate. I disliked impotent people and hated my childhood more.

After finishing my shower, I prayed my salah and began getting ready for school. It was Monday morning, and it would be my first day as an SS3 student. I could feel it would be a fun year, and I was determined to make my last year in secondary school memorable for myself and everyone there, especially those weak kids. Most importantly, I was going to be the center of attention today. I had always been one, but they would get a refresher after the long break.

I got dressed in my school uniform: an ash box-pleat skirt that fell just below my knees, a matching dress shirt, a black blazer with the school badge on the right breast, and a red tie. I tied my scarf over my shuku braid, which was meant to be rolled into a hijab. Many of the Muslim girls did it like that, but I preferred to do things my way.