ENSHROUDED

12

Mama dropped her off at the saloon and even paid the money before she looked at Aisha, all loving with a beautiful smile on her life. "Aisha, Nasir will get you when you're done. I've left my number with you. If you need something, buy it please." She handed her a stack of money and barely heard the "Thank you, Mama." Aisha had uttered.

She sat there, like a statue as the hairdresser began taking off her veil, and there revealed her long, bushy hair. Despite her hair having a rough texture, it was exceptionally long and black. Mommy had that kind of hair, and she wondered where Mommy hailed from to get that kind of hair. But despite anything, she thought of herself as Fulani, having a full long hair is nothing new to a Fulani lady.

Her hair was washed, and as she waited for it to dry into the dryer, she found herself drifting back to Nasir. What was he doing? What had he felt after reading her letter? Was he happy? Did he felt all mushy within? Did she gave away much information than needed in her letter? Oh god, let her not be that obvious.

"I'd start your henna before your hair is done, Ma." A lady spoke with a respectful tone and Aisha nodded at her with a small smile.

She stretched her hands and the lady expertly began beautifying her legs. It wasn't done until her hair was done and she was brought back to that mirror she so much disliked. Because it gave her the chance to look into her face and see what she thought she had forgotten about. She clearly saw Mommy's face in her, and someone she couldn't quite point a finger at. She bet it was her father. The late, Alhaji Umar Faruk.

Aisha wondered if he were alive what would have happened and how much better her life would have been. How she would have escaped all that happened to her and all the truth she knew and saw about Mommy. She felt tears stinging the brink of her eyes, but she swallowed them back. If she started crying now, no one could be able to handle her, because there was a flood waiting for the right time to swallow the small city residing within her soul.

Her legs were left to dry up while the lady took her hands and started drawing some beautiful flowers on it. Even before she was done with her hands, Aisha had already loved her legs enough. It was so beautiful that she wished Nasir was there to watch, to see as she was being transformed into something she knew she would never be.

Yes, she knew she had a small likeness for makeup before and all that beauty encompassed. But the moment she left Mommy, just like she hadn't packed a single piece of her belongings from Mommy's house, she left all that was her there as well. She hated makeup and wanted nothing to with beauty. But today, as she saw how her hair was slowly being turned into, and how her legs and hands were being captured with expertise, she fell in love once again with makeup and beauty.

It took them hours before the girl was done and she was left alone for her hands and legs to dry. She kept swirling on her chair while watching as other customers converse freely and spoke about their husbands in a loving tone. She wished she could someday feel the taste of what having a husband be like. But who would love her for who she was? The daughter of a prostitute?

As painful as it sounded, that was her name, she was the daughter of a prostitute. The woman that had no regard in the hausa culture and islam in general. The woman that had sold her dignity as a woman from arewa and she was held with no respect for herself or all that she bore. If Mommy was to become as pure and decent as a Maryam (AS). The only virgin mother on earth, the mother jesus, she will forever be called a prostitute. Because that's the name she painted her self with.

Asiya Bukar, that was the name of Mommy. The name she held close to her heart, with so much love and respect. But sadly, Aisha knew, she would be the only one to regard that name with as much respect as she could.