Basma likes Fendi

30 | Married Again

•Jameel

"I heard they're on your trail."

"Be careful."

"Somebody is trying to pin you down."

"I'm not a part of the squad in charge of her case."

" I know someone came to see oga yesterday and he promised to kill you when we were in the office."

"I Dey fear o oga. I just said let me tell you before something bad happens."

I had returned to a few bottles today out of frustration. One of my informants among the police officers had thought of tipping me off so that I could find my way out of the country before I would be caught.

My twenty four hours was spent in my room trying to find ways to move to the nearest country or Europe maybe. I had been searching for tickets that would be available for us to travel in the night but it seems other people had the same idea as me.

I forfeited the idea to travelling by road through a chartered bus or a private car but was it a good idea. I wasn't sure the roads were in the safest condition for travel.

Chaima was at the door with my food. I was hungry, terribly hungry but I couldn't let her see me in this impure situation so I asked her to leave it at the door. She sounded worried but I couldn't care less at the moment.

My head would start to spin any second and I knew the next was for me to get a bucket for my vomit. I could already feel my insides churning with disgust and anguish. I rose up with my last strength and ended up on the floor again with my insides spewing atop my arm and sweatshirt.

I layed there in my slobber for hours until the sickening smell of my emesis brought me back to sobriety and a welcoming hangover.

My eyes hurt, they felt heavy. I was sweating so it mixed with my vomit to form a potluck of disgruntlement.

I dragged myself to the bathroom on my knees and came back with a buck of water and a dirty shirt I found in my laundry basket. I dropped the bucket beside my bed and moved to grab the shirt and throw it into my dustbin.

I cleared the bottles into a large black bag including the ones hidden under my bed to be thrown away with the shirt I'd thrown to my bin tomorrow morning when I go for my run.

I squeezed the shirt I'd brought in the bucket and used it to rid the carpet on my stomach's emission. Bashir called and I stopped answer. He asked a few strange questions and asked about my welfare which was typical of him but when has he never been one to ask weird questions? It didn't bother me. I trust him.

After that, I continue to scrub till all stains of my vomit had vanished then I poured all the water into the tub rinsed it with the bucket before taking a shower and rushing to eat my dinner.

If Chaima was here I'd reign all sorts of praises on her. I loved her food undeniably especially when she made me pounded yam and egusi. I always liked to imagine she was Nigerian because I found it strange that she could cook Nigerian food.

She was lovely but very talkative. Of all the years we were friends I had no idea she cared for me until the day she called me asked me to come to Morocco where she had the power to protect me and because of our attachment I chose to protect her from my burdensome life until now.

Admittedly, I know I've been very uncivil and rude towards her but if there's anything I know it's that she's very understanding so she doesn't nag at me for my attitude. She still cooks and cleans despite the number of times I've asked her to hire workers to do it for her.