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c h a p t e r 53: Guest In Kano

Beverly

Welcome to Kano, a sign reads.

All through the flight which we almost missed, thanks to Zayyad, I felt my stomach knot in a trillion pieces. I've never been so nervous, nor have I done this before—travelling from one state to another, not just on my own, but with a guy who just became my boyfriend last night. The only reason I'm happily doing this is because he was respectful enough to call my mother and tell her we were going to be leaving for Kano, to my surprise, she was very okay with the information and it just gave me this energy I didn't know have.

Zayyad and my mother have a very good relationship and I still wonder where it all came from, it definitely wasn't because they talked and bonded over politics when she came around. There's more to it and I'll force it out of him today.

We are walking towards the exit of the airport, the handle of our medium-sized suitcases in our grasp as we roll it.

"You nervous?" He asks me, entangling our free hands.

"Very,"

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna let go of your hand or leave your sight. Two days and we're back to Abuja, okay?"

"Today and tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, today, and then, we attend the party tomorrow evening, next tomorrow afternoon, we're out of here, okay?" He assures, repeating the same thing he's been saying to calm my anxiety.

"Okay. Are you sure your family would be cool with me?"

"Baby, everything's gonna be alright, trust me," He reassures, raising my hand to his face and kissing the back. "Oh, there's Jubril and Nafisat,"

I look at the people walking towards us and I almost die of anxiety: a man who looks like he's in his late thirties, dressed in a completely black suit, the type given to an exclusive chauffeur, beside him is a girl, she looks my age, resembles me in height, but chubbier with a skin tone a few shades lighter than mine, she's dressed in a simple pair of skinny jeans, a T-shirt that has an image of Fela Kuti with his hand fisted in the air, a pair of white yezzy slides, and a white hijab.

"Big brother!" She squeals, running into Zayyad's arms, he lets go of my hand, engulfs her in a bear hug, lifts her from the ground, and spins her around.

So much for 'I'll never let go of your hand', I internally scoff.

Somebody can not hug his sister again, my subconscious tackles.

"My baby," He cheerily says when he puts her down and playfully pulls her cheeks.

"Zayyad, don't ruin my makeup, please, that's fenty on the skin, I don't play," She tells him, sassily snapping her fingers at him.

"Oh, sorry," He chuckles.

"Also, I'm not a baby anymore, I'm nineteen now," Her voice is soft.

"I don't care, you can turn fifty all you want, you're still my baby,"

"Oh my god, you sound just like Baba,"

I'm focusing on them talking, I don't even pay enough attention when the chauffeur releases my suitcase away from my grip and adds it to the other one in his right hand, with a polite smile on his face.

"Oh, thank you," I quickly say.

"Welcome back home," The man directs at my boyfriend with a brief bow, and to me, he smiles before saying, "Welcome, my dear,"

"Thank you, Jubril," Zayyad acknowledges with a smile, and I do the same.

"And you must be Beverly... hmmm, hello," Nafisat coldly utters, her smile is missing from her face when she looks at me and I don't know why.