Nabeela has never had life easy, never ever. She is at her wits end. Love and living life has never been her known forte.
But, what will she do when she gets tangled in a web of deceit and lies woven by her parents? What happens when the very ones...
You guys should please comment. I'd love to know what you think. Please. Its really heartbreaking, when you just vote and leave.
"Keh Yariya!"
I mentally roll my eyes and prepare for a barrage of talk about Saffiyya from Hajiya Mama. So I lean against the leg of the sofa and wait.
"You, Nabeela. You knew about something of this magnitude and kept quiet." She points at me then makes a slow humming sound and shakes her head like I killed someone. My head is still bowed. I think of making my newest bride up, of making her cheekbones feel like they can cut cheese. So high.
"And you, Safiyya or whatever it is they call you. We are never this fair in the Abdullah family. So, I don't know what spell you cast over this fool or my son. You won't be a part of this family until we have a test that proves otherwise." I shake my head slowly in signal at Safiyya who I know is itching to talk back at Hajiya Mama. She relaxes and I breath out a whoosh of air. Crisis averted.
Hajiya Mama puts her feet in her dainty black slippers and walks away from where Safiyya and I are kneeling. No doubt to pacify my mother, only Allah knows what they both have together.
Their wickedness probably.
We sit there on our knees, a punishing position if you ask me, when a maid from my mother's side comes to inform me that my mother wants to see me. Another guilt laying trip with Hajiya added in the mix this time.
I walk gingerly to the stairs and climb the short stairs to her room in pain. I hear sniffles and think of how much begging and grovelling I'll have to do to get her to let me go as quickly as possible.
I turn the knob of the door and the door opens to a room bathed in cream and chocolate colours. A little different from the last time, before I got married to Adeel. The chairs are a brown chocolate and cream, it feels like swirled cream.
I squat by the queen sized bed and wait for them to speak.
"You know, many times I wish I had let you die, I wish I didn't spend all those hours nurturing you, making sure you stayed alive. I wish I hadn't had you, if this is the way you are going to repay me. If this sort of betrayal is allowed between a mother and a daughter."
I sigh and bow my head. Cardi B's rap part in Maroon five's song Girls like you begins to run through my head.
Let's get it though , I don't really wanna ride horse in a carriage.
I smile in spite of how heartbroken I feel. It's funny how my mother thinks I'm a mistake, it's funny how she's spitting those painful words out all because I finally let her know I know she nearly killed Safiyya and her mother. Words that crush my heart every time I remember them, that bring tears to my eyes and a throb to my temple.
Hajiya Mama pats her back over and over. She blows her nose deeply into a blue handkerchief that scents of lavender and citrus.
"Nabeela, when you knew, why didn't you tell your mother?" My mother bursts into tears. I find a comfortable space on my knees. This is going to be long.
"That is not even the problem Mama, the problem is. Mothers and daughters stand together. In times of happiness and sadness!!" Her voice reaches an octave at the end of the sentence.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she was on my side when I used to tell her of the horrors that husband number one used to mete out on my young body and heart. I want to ask her if she knows of the scars I carry on my back.
No she doesn't.
"But, one thing I know is. You are married to a man and men are made to cheat. Your husband will do the same thing to you and you will finally feel the pain. You feel what it is like to be in this position." She lays on Hajiya Mama's lap and cries like a baby. One line from Davido's Fall comes to mind.
Are you done talking, tell me baby, are you done talking yeah.
I get up, dust my knees and congratulate myself on not talking back and not ruffling the already ruffled feathers.
My sandals echo in the empty hallway as i walk to where Safiyya is. She's sitting with her neck bent and her lips moving. She's returning to school tomorrow and I wonder if she'll be able carry all of this emotional baggage along with her studies. She looks up when I sigh.
My sister.
Mine.
Tears smart my eyes and I blink to hold them back, I have to be the stronger one.
I look at my watch and see that I have only two and a half hours to get to my bride. So I pack my purse up and Safiyya and I walk out of the house.
"Ya Affy." Saffiyya pipes up as soon as we are in my car. I revved the engine a bit, my baby is due in to see a mechanic.
"Yes Saffy." I turn to give her all of my attention and her glassy eyes assault me.
"Safiyya, no tears. It's going to turn out just fine. I don't believe for a moment all that Hajiya has said. You are my sister, my own ray of sunshine, bright as pawpaw. Yes, but my sister and my family. Don't let the words of any one let you believe otherwise." She nods and I pull her into a hug that the both of us obviously need.
******
I rush up the stairs to take a shower and change into casual wear to go work on my bride. I pick out a black tee and jeans and pair it off with a blue patterned kimono.
I wiggle out of my Ankara skirt and blouse and rush back to my vanity to wipe of my makeup when my door opens.
The first thought is to cover up and I look around to look for a towel. The second thought is my scars.
He's on the phone and hangs up with a dying laugh before walking closer to me.
"Who did this?" He grinds out through his teeth and I stay frozen watching him and hoping he lets me walk away to take my bath.
He comes closer and takes the wipes out of my frozen hands. That seems to wake me up from my slumber as I rush into the bathroom, scared.
*******
Ghenghen *cue drumroll *
Guys, I've finally set the ball rolling, I know. Its been far, so long. But we are close, we'll see on Friday what happens. Provided I can write😽😽, 🙈🙈🙈as I've exhausted all my drafts.
