OCTOBER 10TH

TWENTY THREE

BAUCHI STATE, NIGERIA.

Mahnoor was forced to come down to Bauchi State to grieve her own husbands death courtesy of her father-in-law. She even saw Aman at the burial, she was inside a car waiting for everything to happen in front of her, he was accompanied by bunch of police officers one had think they were there to guard him instead of making sure he won't run away. That wasn't her concern though, she is more focused on her husband's body lowered to the ground. He knew he was going to die, he knew it. He wanted to tell her something but she wasted time thinking he has more left.

She suspire, it's already the seventh day and she could feel his death still burrowed deep in her. Not waking up in his arms, not able to feel him around her or call him whenever the hell she wants to. Not even his own calls to ask about her health and how she is coping without anything to do in the house except arranging and rearranging their furniture. She missed those little calls to ask her not to make dinner and they can go on a date that evening. None of them come now, her phone stopped ringing with that special ringing tone she's used for him.

The story behind her coming to Bauchi State.

The minute she finally rearranged her thoughts and feelings, she took her phone and called the only person she could think of, Fadwa, Asad's older sister. At first she didn't answer the call so Mahnoor messaged her that it is urgent and related to Asad too, she called herself. When she told her about the death, Fadwa was quiet then Mahnoor heard a loud sob and hung up the phone because she doesn't want to start crying too in the hospital. She needs to know what needs to be done before she cries.

But she broke down right there, shoulders wracking violently and the cold tiled floor underneath Asad's bed is sending unpleasant chills all over her body. He lied there motionless, his face closed with white cloth. She wanted to shout, throw away things but remembered how sinful that sort of crying is and she wants nothing but his peaceful rest. Her only glint at that moment was the fact that a nurse comforted her that her husband's last words were beautiful and he shall rest in peaceful abode. That doesn't mean she cannot cry for him, she did and is still doing so to her pillow every single night since his demise.

She is now always lost is her squalor, not even her son's death hit her like this mainly because her son was murdered and her only peace was getting justice, she didn't dwell on that fact much until later, maybe that was why she didn't cry buckets but Asad's, she cried with the mere remembrance of him. Something he's done for her, someone doing something just like he does especially living inside the main manor.

She refused to go to the one she's lived in with Aman, too many memories there that promise sleepless nights and endless pain. Her son, all the memories she has with him is there and then her son's murderer also lived there and there are lots more memories of Asad there too so that wasn't even an option. Coming here is enough persecution, she is going back to Abuja, her husband's house and do all the necessary things a widow is supposed to do after her husband's death. She wouldn't just permit them to take him away while she rot there in Abuja without seeing her husband buried.

There are so many people now in the house, more than hundreds of them from geriatrics, young adults and children of all age. Before going to give condolence to Hajiya Hadiza, they stop where she is currently sitting to give it to her first then move forward. Her eyes are downcast, all she wants to do is go to her room and sleep for forty eight hours and not wake up till much later. She just wants to keep sleeping so she can stop hurting like she is doing. So many losses, she cannot do it all alone.

A lady walked in looking disheveled, mucus rushing down her snobby upturned nose, her eyes so red you could barely detect the whiteness in them. She is wearing on a grease abaya and pine green chiffon veil wrapped around her head in low shoulder style, it is also frowzy but tractable. She is looking around the house in horror, everyone is now quiet and staring at her because the way she rushed in breathing heavily got second of thirds attention in the room and it's no secret Nigerians or everyone likes to gossip so they turn to the source of attention.