A Hazel Haven

Prologue

It was a cold evening, portentous thunder bellowed and rumbled in the dark sky, the air was humid, and the leaves rustled as they swayed in the occasional gusts of wind.

A cold draft of air blew in from Huma Adelakun's open window, caressing her skin through the flimsy fabric of her nightdress, the bristle hairs on her shaven head. Huma breathed in appreciatively, curling her toes.

She was sitting at her reading table, a scraggy young girl with doe eyes, writing. It would be the last time she wrote in these pages--her last entry. Hunched over, she stilted the words with much effort.

Huma had always wanted that beautiful, cursive handwriting her father had---and he told her if she continued to practice, it would get better...better.

As a much younger child, she'd sit on the floor and father would hover behind, holding her hand while she jagged down letters under candle light, both laughing at how ugly they were then happy at how much better each day made them. These days she settled for his handwritten notes from his days at the university for hours, trying to memorize the style.

Maybe if she were right-handed...

The power was out, and the only source of light in her room was the miniature lamp she had made few days back, which was placed directly in front of her book-there were several in the house, the wooden structures varying as she saw fit; all she had to do was show the carpenter her designs, and he constructed while she wired the finished work. Her time with Mrs Ehana was paying off.

The light flickered and she paused to tweak the batteries before continuing the tedious task she was intent to see through completion this night, face ghostly in the pale glow, with a humped shadow on the wall beside her.

".....I wish I could say I'm not afraid. But I'd be lying. And I'm a bad liar, at least that's what dad says, what he said. I passed the exams, the whole lot of them, surprisingly. Dad said if he was to back me up I had to prove to him how serious I was, and I did.

Despite the fact that i wasn't among the smartest in class, despite being a slow learner, i ended up doing better than expected. I have Mrs Ehana to thank for that, all the long hours of tutoring to ensure the formulas, the scientific equations, the diagrams got through my coconut head. Awaiting the results was terrifying. All the while I prayed I was smart enough to pass them, mother was no doubt hoping, even praying, that I wouldn't.

There are many reasons not to go ahead with my education: we don't have the money, higher institutions around don't have provisions for people like me, the isolation that comes with being peculiar, communication difficulties, gainful employment after and so on.

Maybe they are valid obstacles, but I've chosen to keep my mind on his words, as they have gotten me this far, through days when I cried, days when I felt like giving up and surrendering my life to my mother, believing her right: that going further was squandering time, that the best thing for me would be to survive on skills I acquire, to solicit some benevolent individual to have me as wife.

I did believe her, when nobody made efforts to befriend me except the teachers( some still call to encourage me), when i  knew the answers to certain questions my teachers asked and couldn't say them like the others, when some children were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up but never me.

I don't any longer; i refuse to believe i'm limited without trying. I want more  despite all the negativity and downsides. I want to be someone worthy of respect, someone they can be proud of and not have to hide or be ashamed of.

I want to become an Engineer, and he said I could be whatever I wanted if I desired it enough; if I was determined enough. It's not impossible. I can hear, read, write, follow instructions and use my hands.

People have achieved great feat with far less, so why not? I have decided not to let the lingering effect of the past hold me back. So far I've tackled four of these reasons. The others? I prefer to take on one problem at a time. Even after most have been sorted out, arrangements made, mother is still adamant about the issue.

They must be at it right now. I can hear raised voices. Although her concerns are plausible, and she will no doubt get her way, but I've made up my mind and I will have mine as well. I suspect there'll be a compromise, something I'll have to agree to do later on. It doesn't matter what is, as long as I'm allowed this one thing.

So again with the faces, with the looks, with no one. It will surely be tedious during the next five years. Will i survive it?"

Done.

Leaning back in her chair, Huma inspected what she had written. Her handwriting was far from a scrawl, much more legible, but nowhere near artistic or refined. Outside, lightening flashed, and Huma dimmed her hearing to dull the loudness of the ensuing bang. There was a sharp rap on her door then before it was pushed open.

It was her mother, Zainab.

Huma didn't bother to look up, she knew by the way she lingered. She always did. And Huma knew why she was here, just like every other evening: to dissuade her from making an impetuous decision.

Her feet scuffed the floor as she walked over and sat on the bed, the wood creaking under her weight. There was a period of silence before she spoke.

"You are still not going to change your mind?"

Her voice was hoarse and shaky. When Huma heard her sniff, she knew Zainab had been crying.

Huma closed her diary and stared down at the cover as though it fascinated her. She didn't want to look at her mother, didn't want to see her tear-stained face, because that was all it would take to shatter her resolve---and Zainab knew that. Even though they weren't close, Huma still hated seeing her cry.

Huma folded her hands on laps and shook her head.

"I know what is best for you--I am your mother. Why won't you listen to me?"

It was different wording but the same meaning: she was a child and she didn't know anything.

"You don't know how it is out there. It is cruel and harsh. People won't take you seriously. They will only take advantage of you."

Huma could hear the silent plea Stay here with me and do as I say, and you will be fine.

"They will harm you just because it is so easy to."

You will not survive.

"Please, stop this madness!" Zainab pleaded harshly. "There is no point to what you're trying to do!"

Huma dropped her gaze to her folded hands. She began twiddling her thumb. She had thought the endless outbursts were purely based on marternal instincts( because she was the only child, and Zainab was afraid to lose her).But as she grew older, Huma came to realize that it was much more, this tension between them.

"Okay... it was my mistake, soley mine," she said eventually, despaired. " I shouldn't have allowed him come near you. I knew nothing good would come out of it. He might be dead, but he managed to corrupt you for good. Don't say I didn't warn you."

I'm ashamed of you

Her words grated. Huma heard the bed creak again, her brisk footsteps then the door slam shut. A sob escaped her.

Covering her face with her hands, she wept quietly. As her eyes stung with the onslaught of hot tears, she tried to remember him: his eyes, his skin......his voice.

Promise me that you will do your best, no matter what they say, and see what happens.

He had been so young, yet so intelligent, so insightful.

He had held her hand.

He had believed in her.

And now it was her turn to.

The rain started then, a roar in her ears, a desperate cry for release.