Barakah

- Runaway Wife

24th/08/2021.

. . . . . . . .

Barakah

She took a breath so great, her entire body came alive with warmth. Setting foot on the soil she had found asylum, refuge in seven years ago after so many strenuous months felt like a dream of relief come true.

"Where's Baba?" The kid in her arms leaned against her, watching her face. Meeting her eyes.

Tongue-tied and a bit startled, Barakah combed through his head of hair, "You need a cut kiddo," Pulling their bags out and into the boot of the Uber she had called for, "Your P-man has travelled."

Lying to a child felt worse, worse than lying to anyone else. Barakah felt as if her throat was dry, painfully dry at the prospect of lying to an innocent kid. Knowing fully well the repercussions that came with stealing the innocence of the tenderly young.

"But he never goes. . ." Trying, laboring his tongue to form those words in his head, "Goes w-without saying bye to me. He comes to my room."

Caressing his face by touching cheeks, "He did but you were fast asleep." Tickling the rolls in his tummy.

The bustle of D.C filling her earful with chatters, shouts, horns and harrying cars. It gave her the drive to not just sit somewhere and catch a bit of rest. Settling into the Uber, she gave him the address to one of her father's properties.

By the time they had gotten to the house, the day was nearing noontime. The soft shine of a weakening sun illuminating her and Farouk on the glass doors. Searching for the right keys, Barakah settled into the house that smelt like her mother. Calling back to the cool and calmness that was that house. She could feel versions of her former self running past her with Bara'a and a crawling Ameenah in the heart of her eyes.

Grey faced. Her face falling for a moment.

She could see her mother resting on her father's chest. On his heart. Her brothers in front of the tv playing video games.

Wind furiously jamming the door behind her sets her mind back to the present. Tenderly laying a sleeping Farouk down on the couch and covering him in the softest blanket she could find around. The same blanket she loved as a kid.

His bones needed the rest and so did hers.

She proceeded to haul their luggages in. They'd be in D.C for a good two or three days until the person who had helped her leave sends her money through a friend living in D.C.

She had a kid with her and she needed to settle so he could feel settled in as well. Brewing a pot of soup, burning candles, turning on the lights and tv before taking a shower and wearing her warmest set of night clothes and a pair of socks.

She loved their home in D.C dearly. Metaphorically, It was a love letter that led to Ameenah.

In that little home, she'd felt a timeless love she'd never felt in their home in Nigeria. In that warm home, she'd watched her parents love each other so much, her mother had miraculously conceived Ameenah and in that little home, she'd lived a year that was itched, tucked lovingly in her heart.