Chapter 16: Chapter 16

The future is uncertain but the end is always near.

-Jim Morrison

I served the Federal Republic of Nigeria from the comfort of my matrimonial home. Abdulrauf arranged everything and jokingly asked if I wanted my national certificate to be a home delivery service. “When it is not pizza,” I replied amusingly. He grinned. “It is one of the advantages that come with knowing the button to hit” he said kissing me lightly on the lips. Abdulrauf didn’t allow me to do anything in the house since my belly started protruding. “You need all the rest you can get,” he would say and I would argue that I can handle it. Of course he end up throwing his weight in his favour, outrightly forbidding me to do anything when I was 6 months gone and my belly became huge. I was bored to stupor. I asked if I could go to visit my senior wife, he said the drive would stress the baby. “What if you entered a traffic jam?” He asked and I resigned to my fate. Alhaja was not particularly friendly with me. I tried my best to get in her good side by calling to greet her every day, asked about her wellbeing, which is what she was supposed to be doing for me because I’m the pregnantly unhealthy one. Yet she wasn’t forthcoming most times, but I refused to be demoralized. I was the one who chose to dine with the devil; I need a long spoon and a lot of patience.

My only connection to my friends and family in the huge mansion Abdulrauf kept me was my phone. It rang and I called one of the servants Abdulrauf employed to take care of my needs. “Please get my phone from the dinning,” I said and she went to get the phone. “You don’t have to beg or use any courtesy Ma, my only job in this house is to take care of you,” she said. When this particular lady was brought to me the first time and I heard her spoken English, I knew she was not a typical house-help. I asked for her qualification. She told me she had a degree in computer science, but couldn’t land any job for the past 3 years, so she decided to improvise and do what is available. Apart from the huge salary I convinced Abdulrauf to pay her, I also tip her every time. “I don’t mind telling you please, so get used to it,” I said and she flashed me a grin. It was father calling; I picked up and after greeting him, he told me Ibrahim fell sick and was brought home by his friends. “Since when?” I asked. “A week ago,” he replied. “Is he getting better?” I asked. He breathed deeply before responding. “No, he didn’t seem to be responding to treatment,” he said with a shaky voice. “Father and you are just calling to tell me!” I cried out. “You are in a fragile state; I don’t want to bother you. I only called because he asked for you and Yusuf when he woke up this morning. I’ve been at the hospital for the past three days”. “Send me the hospital address,” I disconnected the call and quickly dialed Abdulrauf’s number. He picked up after the third ring and told me he was in a meeting. I explained the situation with Ibrahim and he permitted me to go and see him. “Please don’t do anything that will affect you or the baby. Promise me!” he said and I promised. I called the driver before going upstairs to change my outfits into something less conspicuous, so he was ready before I got down and we hit the road.

At the hospital I met some nurses at the reception and told them where I was headed. One of them led me to the room where Ibrahim was admitted. I was a little bit surprised when I entered and Yusuf was already there. He wasn’t a fan of Ibrahim and their last encounter, a day to my wedding didn’t go well at all. Ibrahim told him his source of money was haram that if he died without seeking forgiveness he would go to hell. He wanted to slap him but Ibrahim held his hand, and I quickly intervened. He started raining invectives on him; Ibrahim maintained that he should stop what he was doing. “You wouldn’t leave forever even if you become the youngest richest person on earth. Ask for forgiveness,” He told him. It was a good thing we didn’t have any audience where we had our little family meeting.

Ibrahim smiled weakly at me when I sat beside him on the sick bed. Some colours had left his face but his eyes were alert and clear. “How are you feeling,” I asked. “I’m okay,” he replied. “You don’t look okay to me. What did the doctor said was wrong with you”. “He said I had typhoid fever. And this morning, he told me it has badly affected my kidney that is why I’ve not been responding to treatment. He said my only hope was to have a kidney transplant” Ibrahim sighed like he was already tired of talking. “It looks like I’m going to need a donor, but that is not why I wanted you here,” he paused again, his breathing uneven. I looked at father from the corner of my eyes, he look disheveled. I suddenly realized mother was not present, “did you tell mother?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you tell her? I asked but he only stared blankly at me. I turned to Yusuf, “did mother know you were coming here?” I asked. He nodded, “I called her she must be on her way.” Ibrahim rubbed the back of my hand that I rested on his bed to get my attention. “You know I love you,” he said. “I love you too kiddo,” I replied rubbing the hand he rested on mine and he smiled. “Brother Yusuf!” he called and Yusuf stepped closer to his bed. “I love you so much. And I wouldn’t swap you for anybody in the world,” he said and Yusuf nodded thoughtfully. “I want both of you to get closer to God, because unto him we will return and give account of our deeds. This life has nothing to offer us but little enjoyment and…………death. He paused again and a smile appeared on his face. “My time has come,” he said. Father got up suddenly and stood beside his bed pointing his index finger at Ibrahim. I knew he was supplicating, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. “Don’t say that, you wouldn’t die. I would gladly donate my kidney to save you,” I said sternly. “No you wouldn’t, I will,” Yusuf said determinedly. Ibrahim smiled again. “You can’t save me from death, I can see him, and he is coming for me”. I turned to Yusuf. “Get the doctor now; tell him we are ready for the transplant.” I told Yusuf and he hurried out of the room.

The doctor took samples of our blood, carried out some test and decided Yusuf was fit to donate. But Ibrahim didn’t make it to the theater room before giving up the ghost. He kept reciting Lahillah Ilallah Muhammad Rosulillah --there is no other God beside Allah and Muhammad is His messenger until life snuffed out of him. I sat down on the ground not quite understanding what happened. I saw Yusuf punched the wall once, doubled over and used his hands to cover his face sobbing uncontrollably, but I still can’t admit Ibrahim was dead. When mother arrived she saw Yusuf crying and she attacked father immediately locking his shirt. “You have killed him; I said it that you will kill him. Are you happy now?” she kept shouting and hitting him but father was just blank, silent tears dropping from the corners of his eyes. I wanted to ask why he was crying, why mother was shouting, Ibrahim is not dead, he can’t be dead it’s not possible; before the doctor covered him he was smiling. I wished to tell them but I couldn’t stand up, my vision was blurring, my head was light and I saw darkness, hearing voices from afar chanting my name.

I opened my eyes. Abdulrauf sat beside my bed staring at me, his face deeply worried. “Where am I?” I asked. “In a hospital” he replied. “What happen to me?” “You fainted,” he said and that was when I remembered. I gripped his arm. “Tell me Ibrahim is alive,” I shouted. “You need to calm down please.” “That’s not what I ask you” I retorted. Mother stood up from the chair where she sat and moved closer to my bed, her eyes were red and puffy. She started reciting my family pedigree; I dropped my head and sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s okay dear. Please stop crying,” Abdulrauf cautioned. “No, let her get the pains out. It is more dangerous to her health if she locked up the emotion,” the doctor said entering the room. He waited for some minutes before speaking again. “Madam you are in a fragile state, it is normal for anyone to react the way you do. But please take it easy on yourself. Eat and sleep, you are responsible for more than your life now. Don’t let us complicate things for ourselves,” he said and his words somehow soothed me a little.

When I saw father after Ibrahim was buried, I couldn’t tell who was in a better shape between us. His face looked hunted and I knew things might never be the same for him again. It was hard for me to admit, but Ibrahim was the jewel in his collection.

Approximately three months later, I gave birth to a bouncing baby boy and I was very happy. Mother came over to my place. I was a greenhorn so I needed all the help I could get in nursing the baby. I decided I was going to name him after my brother and Abdulrauf agreed. “If my son grows up to be like your brother, I’m a successful parent,” he said. On the naming ceremony which was rather subdued due to my family recent loss, the baby boy was named Ibrahim, Oluwapamilerin, Folaropo, Ayomikun, Akanni son of Adelowo. Father was present at the ceremony but he was still a shadow of himself, although when he heard the name we decided for our baby, he smiled a little and some life returned to his face.

I visited father a week later on a weekend, and decided the time was ripe to have the conversation on marriage. I figured if he didn’t remarry the loss of Ibrahim would drag him to his grave sooner than later; he needed someone to lean on. “Father you always told me before I got married, that adult should make adult decisions,” I said and he nodded in agreement. “I think it is time for you to make adult decision and remarry,” I told him. He looked at me skeptically as if asking me “is that what you really want?” “I’m serious you can’t go on living a second chance at bachelor life, you are not doing us any good if you die from depression,” I said firmly. He sighed. “I don’t know where to start,” he said tiredly. “You mean where to start looking for a lady. I will handle it if you agree to remarry.” He sighed again. “Okay, I have heard you. I hope it would be different this time, your mother made me go through a lot. I don’t know which is better between this life and that life.” “All is going to be well” I comforted him and later offered Ibrahim to him but he declined saying “babies are too weak for him to hold”. When I left his house in the evening his mood had improved drastically. And I was double sure that what he needed was a companion.

I thought about who could help me with my operation “get father a wife” and I remembered Rahamat could be my best bet. She is currently serving in Kano. Back in school she used to tell me about a program for widows and divorcee she attended, and how she was learning so much from their experiences. Father needed a lady with marriage experience I thought, a novice wouldn’t appreciate him. I left the building for the compound where I was sure mother can’t eavesdrop on me and dialed Rahamat’s number. She picked up instantly. “Asalamualeikum!” she greeted. “Wahaleikumsalam!” you didn’t allow your phone to ring at all, is your ringing tone that boring,” I said and she laughed. “How are you doing Mrs Adelowo?” “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m glad to know you are very much like yourself now,” she said referring to my gloomy days of Ibrahim death. “How is little Ibrahim doing?” She asked. “He is sucking me dry. That’s all he could do for now at least,” I said smiling and Rahamat cackled. “How are you doing too?” I asked. “I’m not fine o. The sun in this place my sister, no be here o, if someone told me hell is close by I wouldn’t argue.” “Eyah! Sorry dear,” I said amid chuckles. “Sorry after laughing at me finish abi, all of us cannot be like you. Na the government dey serve you. Send money to me, your friend is broke o.” “No problem, forward your account details. Rahamat I have a serious issue to discuss with you,” I said changing the tone of our conversation. “Okay, I’m listening” she said. I told her about my plan to get father a wife, preferably someone that could match his religion beliefs and had a prior experience in marriage. “That’s not a problem; I will forward a number to you. Don’t worry about explaining yourself; I will do that just tell her I directed you. She is the leader of the women circle,” Rahamat said. “Thank you very much” I told her. “He is our daddy, why are you thanking me. You are welcome anyways,” she said. I asked if she heard from Sholape because I couldn’t reach her for some time now. “Me too, perhaps her phone got damage or stolen,” she replied. “Okay, don’t forget to send the account details,” I said. Rahamat cackled. “I can forget my name right now, but there is no way I’m forgetting to forward my account details to you. As soon as you drop this call, the next notification on your phone is my message In Sha Allah,” she said. “Alright, take care of yourself”. “You too, Masalam!” she replied and I disconnected the call. Rahamat sent the phone number to me towards the evening and I planned to call the woman very early the following day.

Abdulrauf didn’t come home to sleep that night. He went to the other house which was a good thing because I didn’t want to let him in on my plan, at least not before I executed it. I called the woman the following day and she gave me an address of where to meet up with her. I went to the visitor’s room and met mother relaxing on her bed. “I’m going to see a friend and I’m leaving Ibrahim behind,” I told her. “What is so important that you have to leave this early?” She asked. I wasn’t any good at lying, so I waved her question by telling her that I wouldn’t stay long, and if Ibrahim wakes up there is milk in his feeding bottle.

I went in a commercial bus and left my car at home, which was all part of my plan. When I got to the address I dialed the woman’s number and she send someone to pick me. “Asalamualeikum,” I greeted on entering her sitting room. “Wahaleikumsalam,” she replied. “Welcome to my house, please take a sit.” I sat down on the first chair by the door. “Your friend has explained everything to me. You don’t have any problem. What should I offer you,” she asked. “Nothing I’m fine,” I said with a smile but she disagreed, and called one of her children to buy me soft drink and biscuit, while I waited for the lady she spoke to on my behalf. Few minutes later someone knocked. “That should be her,” she said triumphantly and went to answer the door. They exchange complementary, the woman came in, greeted me and sat down at the chair to my right. She wore a blue hijab that cover most part of her body exposing only her face and hands. She must be in her early thirties: round face, fair complexion, high cheek bone and a slightly pointed nose, as far as beauty go she is pretty. The only blemish on her smooth face was a crescent mark, which ran from her left eyebrow and stopped at her cheekbone. The woman returned to her sit and signaled to me to talk. I explained father’s condition to them, and the lady seemed interested to go on with the arrangement. When the lady started to talk about her experience in her first marriage, I felt pity for her. Her ex-husband was a drunkard. The man spent his earnings in a bar and womanizes a lot. Sometimes he brought his concubines to his matrimonial home, and forced his wife to cook for them or face his wrath. Friends and family advised her to divorce him, but she considered the effect it might have on her two children which she single handedly provided for. Despite enduring so much, the man still came home every night to make a punching bag out of her. She decided enough was enough. Took him to court and divorced him legally. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” I said automatically when she finished her story. “The fault was entirely mine,” She said smiling a little and I could see she had dimples. “My parents warned me not to marry him, but I was so much in love and I couldn’t see he was the devil incarnate. I am just happy for the opportunity to be alive to tell my story, and learn from my mistake.” I felt a sudden urge to set father apart. “My father is nothing like your husband,” I assured her even though she didn’t ask for assurance. “Of course,” she said. I promised to take her to father by the weekend. “If he is not physically attractive to you; you can always decline,” I added. She grinned and I could see that her dimples go deeper than I initially thought. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m Aisha,” I said offering her my hand. “Zainab!” she took my hand and I somehow found myself hugging her passionately. I pulled back after what seemed like a minute, thanked both of them and was suddenly in a hurry to get back home.

I called father and explained everything to him. He said he would like to meet her so I proposed Sunday when he will be fully at home. I went to pick Zainab in my car on the appointed date and took her to father’s house. After making the necessary introduction, I left them alone to talk and entered the kitchen to prepare food for his visitor since father mostly eats snacks. Some minutes later I heard laughter from the living room, and I came to the door to peep at them. Surprisingly, it was father having the time of his life, and I could see Zainab smiling sheepishly at him. I smiled to myself, “mission successful” I muttered. Everything took a rapid pace from there: father went to see her family, paid her dowry, took the custody of her two children, and they started living together as man and wife. All these happened without mother’s knowledge. The last time I visited father’s house his appearance had changed. He looked healthy and vibrant; all the loneliness vanished into thin air. Never underestimate the magic of a good woman to turn a man’s life around. I was happy God used me to put a smile back on his face.