Chapter 19: Chapter 19

There is no worse bitterness than to reach the end of your life and realized you have not lived.

-Scott Peck

I took early initiative to get my things out of Abdulrauf’s house before I was sent packing. Father and mother offered to accommodate me for some time, but I refused and rented an apartment. I had some money in my bank account to take care of myself, although that was not my main reason for declining. Living under the same roof with father’s wife might bring all kind of issues, and I didn’t want to lose the respect Zainab accord me. Mother on the other hand got to know father remarried during the time of my bereaved when he visited with Zainab, and she saw the way Zainab related with me. I guessed she didn’t bring it up because of my state of mind, but I could tell she wasn’t pleased with me and her offer may be out of courtesy. I didn’t need them to look after me though; I’ve made up my mind to be strong for my son.

After weighing the pros and cons of many businesses, I settled for selling foodstuffs at wholesale price. “People would always eat, and if they do my business can’t fail,” that was what I told myself. I made some enquiries, and was linked to some guys who smuggled rice and other food items from Cotonou. I got a store in a market area, and withdrew every dime in my account to purchase goods. A day to when my goods was supposed to be delivered, I received a call it was seized at the border and I fainted. Some minutes later I woke up at the hospital but I closed my eyes wishing for death. In my conviction I remembered Ibrahim; I had to live to take care of him, this reality dawned on me and I sobbed uncontrollably.

Father came to see me, and when I saw him I got more emotional. “This is punishment father, why is God punishing me? What did I do wrong? I asked. “Don’t speak ill of your creator. After hardship comes relief, faina-mo ‘ali’usiri, yusiroh.” “But this is too much to bear.” I lamented. Father sat beside my bed. I propped myself on my elbow and rested my head on his chest listening to his heartbeat. He hugged me affectionately. “Very soon my dear, very soon, have patience. Almighty Allah is with those that are patient,” he crooned. Mother came in holding a food flask, and I realized she had been in the room while I was asleep. She looked at father contemptuously and walk to the other side of the bed. “The doctor said you should eat something when you are awake,” she said handling me the food flask and pretending father wasn’t in the room. “Asalamualeikum mummy Aisha,” father greeted but she hissed back at him. “How is Ibrahim doing? I asked mother. “He is fine, eat your food,” she said curtly. They watched me eat in silence for some time, and then father announced he wanted to take his leave. “I want you to come and stay with us when you are discharge,” he told me. “No way,” mother retorted. “So that your wife can poison her, your plan will not work. Not when I’m alive.” Father didn’t reply her; he kissed the top of my head and walked out as mother continued to stare him down.

I stayed in mother’s house for two weeks before I went back to the house I rented. I didn’t have money to start another business so I decided to hunt for a job. Father offered to take the custody of Ibrahim for some time, although it was hard for me to part with him, I accepted because it was the rational thing to do. I started applying for various jobs online, and went to any office that announced vacancy. I was called for several interviews, and each of them promised to get back to me but they never did. Except a particular greedy looking pot bellied man, who promised to give me the job if I spent one afternoon with him in his hotel room.

After several weeks of futile search for a better job I decided to take up teaching. It was the only readily available job for graduate in Lagos, as private primary and secondary schools continue to grow like mushrooms in every corner. I worked with a particular school for some time. The owner didn’t pay well and made me work overtime; I left after he owed me two months’ salary. I got another job at a very big eatery as a waitress. The salary was an upgrade to my teaching job but I was more occupied. Yusuf called to check on me one afternoon, he offered to give me some money to start a business but I refused. He was really sad. “Is it because of what I told you?” he asked. “Not at all,” I denied insisting I was doing okay. But the truth was I didn’t want to have any share of his blood money, even if I would die of starvation.

I got home after one of my evening shift feeling very tired. I was glad that I ate before leaving my workplace, because I could barely stand upright. I quickly changed into my nightgown, lie on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

We were travelling on a dirt road. The wind was blowing hard and very soon it started to rain cat and dog. Mother, Yusuf and I were panicking, but father was focused behind the wheel reciting something that wasn’t audible over the howling wind. Ibrahim sat beside me, his face mysteriously beautiful and calm, not a bit bothered by the weather. “How can you look so calm, don’t you see this journey is getting perilous?” I asked him. He smiled, “It is not for me, not anymore”. “You have to stop this car now or you will get us killed,” mother shouted at father. But he didn’t spare her a look or maybe he didn’t hear, because he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and focused on the road ahead. Mother opened the door of the car and threatened to jump off; he still didn’t look at her. And then she was gone with the wind, and Yusuf followed her instantly. Ibrahim shook his head in pity. “They should have trust the driver and stay in the car,” he said thoughtfully. “What!” I exclaimed. “He is not even listening to anyone,” I told him looking at father’s death grip on the steering wheel. “You can stay here if you want but I’m going after them,” I made for the door and Ibrahim held me back. He started speaking very fast like he was running out of time. “The wrath of God is on the liars and oath breakers. Go to your driver, confess your sin and seek forgiveness. You have a second chance. Make it count,” he said and vanished like he was never there. I screamed and sat up immediately. After sometime my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, I checked the clock it was 25 minutes past 4am. “What kind of dream is this? My driver, confess my sin. What sin?” I mused. I knew father was the driver he was referring to, but then he called me a liar and an oath breaker. I rarely tell lies, nor did I swear any oath to father, not that I remember.

At work the next day, Ibrahim’s statement kept replaying in my head. I tried hard to figure out how it applied to me with no luck. Moment later some customers walked in and I stood up to attend to them. I took the menu list and walked down the hall passing a guy and a young girl. “The church wouldn’t marry us if they find out I’m pregnant,” I heard the young girl say. I glanced back at her, our eyes met and I forced a smile. My brain clicked and the answer I seek hit me on the face. I remember promising father that I wouldn’t get pregnant before introducing whom I intend to marry, and then I lied to cover up, thus a liar and oath breaker. I became restless for the rest of the morning, needing to see father urgently. I kept glancing at the clock every minute but it seemed to slow down drastically the more I checked. When it was time to leave my colleague for the afternoon shift didn’t show up, and I couldn’t leave if she didn’t check in. She arrived 17 minutes later telling me she was sorry. I didn’t wait to accept her apology, or rebuke her as I grabbed my bag and dashed out of the building. Father started his 2 months leave two weeks ago, and I was confident of meeting him at home.

Five minutes away from his house, I started to think of how to express myself, and the guilt that washed over me was like an ocean wave. I remembered Ibrahim’s warning in my dream, “you have a second chance. Make it count.” I made up my mind to face the music, and even dance to the tune if it means things would get better. “Omo oga, e ma ku ojo meta,” Seye greeted when he opened the gate for me. “Good afternoon sir” I replied bending my knees a little. “Please is father around?” “He dey for house,” he replied grinning.

When I entered the house, father and his wife were seated on a coach watching space documentary. Zainab balanced Ibrahim carefully on her left lap, while he played with the design engraved on her hijab. “Asalamualeikum” I greeted. “Wahaleikumsalam” they chorused. “You didn’t tell us you were coming and we just finished eating” Zainab said. Ibrahim stretched his hands towards me to carry him. “I’m sorry, I actually didn’t plan to come today,” I told her taking Ibrahim that was determined to get out of her arms. “Your mummy will soon leave, and it will be me and you again in this house,” she told Ibrahim shaking his right leg playfully and he giggled at her. I noticed my step cousins didn’t come to greet me. “Where are Aminat and Sodiq?” “They went to Madrasat, they would have taken this mummy’s boy too if he wouldn’t disturb them,” Zainab replied poking Ibrahim’s stomach. “How are you doing,” father asked. “I’m not fine sir, I came to see you,” I replied. Father sat up straight looking concerned. “Should we talk now,” he asked and I nodded. “I’m going to prepare amala, you can’t come to our house without eating before you leave,” Zainab said and excused herself.

I knelt down in front of father carrying Ibrahim in my arms. “Stand up, what happen?” he said looking confused. “Let me stay like this please,” I told him. “No! Sit down and tell me what happened,” he said helping me up. I managed to look at his eyes. “I’m here to ask for your forgiveness father……I lied to you. And I broke the promise I made you. I was………pregnant before I married Abdulrauf,” I said stumbling on my sentences. He smiled at me and I wondered if he heard what I said. “I knew when you gave birth, I calculated the months. I’ve forgiven you already,” he said casually. I was dumbstruck, he knew, and he never called to ask me, or get angry for lying to him. Father shook his head, “It wasn’t your faults, none of you are to blame, even Yusuf. You are crops of barren land, I paid for my mistake,” he said regrettably. I didn’t know what he was talking about. “What do you mean father,” I asked. He looked brokenhearted. “Your mother was not an ideal wife,” he said, “I owe you and your brother an apology for planting my seed on the wrong land. She influenced you, Ibrahim only got lucky, and it’s unfortunate he had a short lifespan. Perhaps it was part of my punishment for breaking my promise to an innocent lady”. He shook his head and sighed. “I got what I deserved,” he said. I didn’t want him to put the blame on himself, it made me feel worse. “You are a good man father. I believe you deserve better. I’m very sorry for not living up to your expectations,” I told him. “It’s alright my dear. Allah used you to put a smile back on my face, when I thought it was over. That’s a lot than I could ask for. I pray that every pieces of your life will fall back into its rightful place. You will find a man that will make you happy again, and be with you until old age claim you,” he prayed. “Make prayer your stronghold and rely on God, He is with those that seek His favour.”

I heeded father’s advice, and started to offer my prayers regularly. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night for special prayers asking for forgiveness and favour. I was on the morning shift at work, getting ready to take my leave when the manager informed me my colleague for the afternoon shift had an emergency: her son was seriously sick, and she wouldn’t be coming. He begged me to fill in for her. I was very tired, but there was nothing I could do when he put it like that, I also have a son, God forbid Ibrahim should fall seriously sick.

An hour later a man entered our cafeteria, he was taller than most and broad-shouldered, dressed like a Hausa man with cap, his caftan stopped somewhere below his knees. There was something familiar about his look, but I couldn’t focus my attention to know what it was, many customers were waiting to be attended to. I passed the counter heading to serve a table. “Aisha, is that you?” I recognized the voice at once and stopped dead in my track. “Abdullah!” I gasped and he walked up to me. “How are you doing?” he asked. “I’m okay,” I shrugged, “and you?” ‘’Yeah I’m good. Do you live around here?” he asked. “Nope” I said curtly, diverting my attention to the table I was heading to and he followed my line of vision. “Oh sorry! You are currently busy,” he said and I nodded gently. “Please give me your contact; we have a lot to talk about.” I gave him my contact and he dialed my phone instantly. “I can’t hear your phone ring,” he said and I told him we kept it in a locker during working hours. “Please save my number I’m going to call you,” he said as I walk past him to the customer who was already angry that I kept him waiting.

Abdullah called to find out my schedule. And the next day he came in his car to pick me from work. I noticed there was no ring on his left finger, and I concluded that men don’t fancy showing off their wedding ring unlike women. He caught me looking at his finger and he smiled. “I hope you are not in a hurry today?” he asked. “I’m just going home to relax,” I told him. “Good! I’m taking you to a place we can sit down and talk.” He drove for few more minutes and parked his car in front of a shop with the billboard Chicken and chips. “Here we are, you used to buy me toast breads, I guess I should return the favour,” he said smiling and I can’t help grinning as the memory of Ibrahim consuming four-five toast breads flashed in my brain. We entered the shop, settled down and ordered for toast bread, chicken and soda. We started eating, and he leaned on the table holding my gaze. “So tell me Aisha, how did you got to that place where you work? I heard years ago you were married to a business mogul.”

I told him everything that happened, and he listened with rapt attention. When I was done he looked at me sympathetically but I didn’t want to be pitied, it made me weak and I wanted to be strong. “Where is your son?” he asked. “He lives with my father,” I replied. Abdullah stopped eating, his eyes unfocused like he was thinking. “Tell me about you, why can’t I reach your phone after you finished from school?” He looked straight at me. “Gbenga warned me to stay clear from you,” he said it like an accusation. I nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry for everything. Our friendship, for hurting you the way I did. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me,” I told him. When he didn’t say anything, I took the initiative to ask about his wife. “I’m not married,” he replied. “Oh! I’m sorry for the assumption,” I said lowering my eyes to look at his folded arms on the table. We were silent for some time then he spoke, “Aisha we have always been more than friends, you were the one who saw friendship. I love you right from the beginning. I’m still unmarried because I kept searching for the qualities I saw in you in other ladies. Why can’t you love me back for crying out loud?” “I love you,” I blurted out without thinking. He sat back in his chair looking frustrated, “as a friend right?” He asked his voice layered with scorn. “No! I love you as a man, I’ve always loved you.” I looked up and he was staring at me wide-eyed. “But I don’t deserve you anymore Abdullah, I have wasted my chance to be with you,” I said. “What’s that? What do you mean by you don’t deserve me?” “I have a kid now, I’m a woman,” I replied. “And so……?” he asked incredulously. “There are many spinsters looking for a man like you. I would like you to marry a lady, not someone else’s widow,” I encouraged. “I don’t want to marry any spinster, I want you. Will you marry me?” he asked locking eyes with me. “Abddullah you……” “No! Just answer my question,” he said. “Will, you, marry me?” My eyes welled up and I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping. “Yes!” I said. “Yes what?” he asked. “Yes I will marry you,” I replied. And before I knew what I was doing I got out of my seat. He stood up and I hugged him burying my face in his chest.

I stopped working in the eatery before the end of the month, thanks to Abdullah’s unrelenting taunts. “How can the best graduating student in accountancy be serving food in a café,” he said with disdain. “It’s all I have and it took care of my bills. And so you know, It’s an eatery not a café, there is a difference,” I countered. “What’s the difference?” he asked smiling. “A café is smaller than an eatery. Check your dictionary,” I said smirking at him. “How much is your salary?” “Are you for real? Okay, 25 thousand naira. Do you want to give me the money?” “If you promise to quit, yes” he replied. “No way, my boss still need me very much thanks but no thanks”. “I will double it,” he said. “No” I refused. “Triple it” he said smiling. I knew he would continue to enjoy himself bidding until I agree, so I gave in.

A week later we planned to visit his parents. I was taking my bath preparing for my outing with Ibrahim, when I heard my phone ringing simultaneously from the bedroom. By the time I came out I met 9 missed calls from mother. I instantly dialed her number and she was frantic on the phone. “Aisha please come o, I don’t know what is wrong with your brother, he came to greet me, as he was leaving he fell down and can’t move. Please come and help me, they want to kill this one too.” “Calm down mother I’m on my way,” I told her. I dressed up quickly and called Abdullah to inform him of the development. I also apologized for cancelling. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said. “It’s an emergency, your family comes first,” “Thank you.” I cut the call and hurried out of the house. I’ve been dreading this day for a while; I prayed the situation wasn’t as bad as mother described it. I didn’t know what she expected me to do differently if I got there. I dialed father’s number and informed him of the situation. He asked for the address to mother’s house, and I forwarded it to him.

When I got there mother had managed to lay Yusuf on her bed. I gasped when I sighted him; his body had deteriorated so fast. His skin was covered with boils, and his left eye was completely shut due to inflation of his eyebrow. Tears streamed down the corner of his good eye. “You said this happen today!” I exclaimed. “Yes o please help me,” Mother continue to lament but I didn’t know what to do. “Let’s take him to hospital,” I said finally. Yusuf opened his good eye. “Don’t take me anywhere please, they can’t help me. My whole body is aching,” he said.

Some minutes later we heard a knock from the front door. “That must be father,” I said. “What is he doing in my house?” mother asked. She didn’t wait for me to answer before storming out of the bedroom. “You came to check if your wife message was delivered. Congratulations! Your second son is on the sick bed. That is the reward you get for poor decision” mother kept screaming profanities at him. “Please I want to see him,” Yusuf told me and I left the room to join them in the living room. “Mother Yusuf asked for him,” I said. She paused to look at me. “Yes he wanted to meet him,” I repeated sternly. Perhaps it was something in my expression, because she stepped out of his way without a word. Father followed me to the room, when he saw Yusuf his expression was horrific. “Subuhannallah! This happen today?” he asked, and I nodded my head. “This is not a natural disease. How are you feeling?” he asked Yusuf. “My entire body is in pain, I feel like I was stabbed everywhere,” he replied. “Is there a kettle for ablution in this house,” father asked turning to mother and she shook her head. “I guess so,” he said. Mother’s eyes dimmed and I wondered if it was due to shame or the gravity of our situation. “Is there any alternative way to perform ablution in this house?” “You can use the tap in the bathroom,” I told him. Father went out to perform ablution. When he returned he stood at attention in salat and offered two rakats. He cupped his hands before him like a beggar and started reciting strings of Arabic words; he also made some supplication in Yoruba for Yusuf health. He got up after sometime and came beside Yusuf’s bed. “Ask for forgiveness,” he said. “Forgive me father,” Yusuf cried. “I forgive you. But you need to ask forgiveness from God,” he said calmly. “Say Astaghfirullaaha wa’atoobu ‘ilayhi---I seek Allah’s forgiveness and I turn to him in repentance.” Yusuf kept repeating the sentence, and he cried for a long time. I slept in mother’s house that day but father went home.

The next day he came very early in the morning. Yusuf health had worsened, both eyes were completely shut and he couldn’t see us, even his voice was very weak. “Say after me,” father commanded, “Ash’adu an-Laa’ilaaha’illallaah wa ash’adu ana Muhammadan ‘abduhu wa Rasooluhu---I bear witness that there is no other God beside Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His slave and messenger. He was silent at first, but father kept repeating the sentence and Yusuf gradually started to move his lips until I could hear the word. Then he was overtaken by a slight cough. I quickly turned my face to the wall because I didn’t want to remember the moment; Ibrahim’s final moment hunted me for months, not again. I heard Mother sudden cry and I knew it was over. I sat on the ground weeping silently. Father stood over his corpse raising his hands like he did before. “Inna lillah wahinna ilehi rojiun---From Allah will come and until Him we shall return. Alhamdulillah for saving this one too from the torment of hellfire,” he said.

Mother insisted Yusuf corpse should be taken to Ibadan. “You can’t throw my child body in a bush where ritualists are waiting to use his parts for money. I wouldn’t allow it,” she said. I shook my head feeling sorry for her. When all is done I will have to inform her of the cause of her son’s death, I thought. Mother’s sentiment raised a big controversy, at the end father had the upper hand. “I have a house of my own if I wanted him to be buried at home, but cemetery is the better option for a Muslim,” father said standing his ground. I wondered if he was referring to his rented flat. But I was later told his boss gave him the flat he lived in, as gratitude for his honesty in a fraud plan that would have bankrupted his company. I was really proud of him.

A month after the burial, I took the files Yusuf handed to me to mother’s house. I told her everything about the cause of Yusuf death and she was stunned. “These belong to you,” I said dropping the files, “you have always like wealth, riches, and shinning things. I believe you have more than enough now,” I said impassively. She took the files with shaking hands, and tears trickled down her face like a faulty tap. “I warned you not to encourage him but you were adamant mother. He died for you. I thought you should know so you stop blaming innocent people,” I told her. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she sobbed loudly.