Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Whatever it is you are seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.

-Haruki Murakami

Our sitting room had a sofa backing the wall; the two raised ends had worn out from constantly sitting on them even though father strongly prohibited it. In the centre was a table we rarely used except we have visitors because Father insisted it is Sunnah to eat on the ground. Two cushion chairs was at the other side of the table backing the wall to the left, while the TV set was adjacent to the centre table and you could see what is on display from any of the chairs by turning sideways.

At the back corner with the door leading to our bedroom to its right, was a small desk that had books pilled high on it with a new plastic chair that serve as father’s infinitesimal library, and to its left was his prayer mat where he supplicates. The sitting room was painted sky blue; on the walls were reminiscence of my childhood when I was aspiring to be a teacher: alphabets, numbers, sentence fragment were written all over the spot where my 8 year old arm could reach. I left the dream out in the cold when I grew up and realized teachers in Nigeria are tad better financially to retailers.

I slept sidelong on the sofa watching a movie with my brothers. Yusuf occupied the chair closest to the TV stretching his right leg on the table while Ibrahim sat on the rug, his attention fully concentrated on the television screen. My housework had gotten a lot easier since I graduated and I have more time to relax. My brothers are resuming schooling the following week though, Ibrahim was ecstatic; he said the break made him restless but Yusuf would gladly welcome an extension if possible. “I can’t wait to write my final exam and get out, I have bigger plans than school” he complained incessantly.

My examination results were released and they were excellent. I was proud of myself. Mother was happy too when she saw my result. “Olohun seun”, my daughter will be going to ufasti” she exclaimed. I corrected her pronunciation that it is u-ni-ver-si-ty, but she insisted that she pronounced it the same way. There was no point arguing with mother she was addicted to having her way with people. Sometimes I wondered what she would be capable of if she has a university degree. Her beauty will open every door of opportunity, and her cleverness and manipulation will get her to the apex of her career in no time. Doing what she couldn’t, getting to the top in few years by any means is my new dream.

While my relationship with mother continued to flourish, it had been frosty with father since he caught me talking to my boyfriend on phone. He impounded my phone and threatened to destroy it, but mother intervened and got my phone back after a serious war of words with him. He has been grumpy since then. It is easy to know when father is angry, his eyebrow drop to form a shield for his eyes and it looks like his eyes have been thrown into a pit of darkness. When he spared me a look I saw disappointment written all over his face. The only words he spoke to me for days were to answer my greetings with his nose and ask for his food. I thought the news of my academic excellence lifted his mood, because his eyes had gradually emerged from their sockets and his anger had dissipated replaced by a cold calculation. I could tell he has a lot going on in his mind.

Father entered the sitting room, “asalamualeikum sir!” we chorused. He taught us since we were young that there is a huge reward from Allah for greeting one another with teslim. “Muslim children must look different, speak different, and be different from other children” he would say. He forbade us to do many things and enforced some all in the name of “morally upright children”. I couldn’t wear trousers despite my penchant for it. Mother tried to convince him that I would wear gowns to cover my bosom, but he insisted it won’t happen under his roof. And I was forbidden to use makeup because I have to perform ablution few hours apart. The hardest part was the early Morning Prayer when sleep was most refreshing. I recalled mother didn’t wait to observe prayer with us in the morning, telling father on her way out that some customers were waiting for her. To be candid the process looked boring to me also, what happen to beating drums and some nice dancing steps like the Christians do. I couldn’t wait to get admission into university, claim my freedom, and make my own rules.

Father stared at us purposefully. “Wahaleikumsalam!” he replied and his eyes brightened a little bit. He sat at his study desk and opened his Qur’an; it was a routine for him every morning before he left for his shop. Some minutes passed, he didn’t turn the page and I wondered if he was reading or merely staring at it. He stood up, unplugged his phone from the wall outlet and announced he was leaving. He reminded us not to allow any stranger into the house. Father took the sitting room in three long strides and was almost through the door when he turned to face me. “Aisha! I have an important discussion with you. Come to my shop in the afternoon” he said. I wanted to ask him what the discussion was about, but his patience was probably too slim at the moment to put up with any insolence. “Alright sir!” I replied.

I turned to focus on the movie I was watching, and saw that my brothers were also keen on the outcome. At the end of the movie Ibrahim spoke first, “I think the lady deserve what she got” he said. What do you mean? I asked. “She did not love the man or plan to marry him, she should not have toy with his feelings. No man will spend on a lady for free.” He replied. I thought about what he said and shrugged. “She still didn’t deserve that level of wickedness, ruining her beauty with acid was not warranted. As a lady you never know who you love until you know what is certain. Perhaps she felt her future is not secured with him.” Ibrahim looked at me skeptically; his question was obvious on his face before he enunciated it. “Sister Aisha can you do that to a man?” he asked. “If I get a better offer, it wasn’t the lady’s fault he can’t handle rejection” I told him. Yusuf who seemed not to be interested in our conversation suddenly chipped in, “a real man should make real money to keep his babe” he said. “That’s my Gee!” I exclaimed and gave him a high five. Ibrahim looked displeased at us. “I still think money is not everything; it doesn’t even guarantee happiness.” I wanted to reply him but Yusuf gesture to allow him. “You are supposed to be a genius” he told Ibrahim, “but you can’t stop falling my hands many times. If money does not bring happiness, you dey talk say poverty go make you happy ehn! O boy sit down somewhere. You only have book brain but we are discussing realities of life here.” Yusuf mixture of pidgin with English to undermine Ibrahim’s perspective got on his bad side. His face became rigid and if he could win a duel with Yusuf I knew a fight would ensue. Ibrahim’s academic performances were excellent, bested mine in every way. The school gave him double promotion twice for outstanding result, despite being a couple of years younger than Yusuf he ended up in the same class with him. Yusuf did not like the fact he shared a classroom with his junior brother and he used every opportunity to pick on him. I winked at Ibrahim. “Has anyone ever said you looked ugly with a face like that?” I asked trying to make him smile. “You mean like a mashed melon” Yusuf added laughing at his comparison. I cautioned myself not to echo his laughter and instead gave him a dirty look. “Leave him alone, he has right to his opinion” I said frankly.

Ibrahim stood up and started looking around for something; he found his cap and announced he is off to mosque. He was the only one that shared father’s ardent perspective on religion. I once asked him why we can’t worship God the Christian way. He said the religion of Jesus was Islam that Christianity was innovated after he left the earth, citing quotations from the Bible and Qur’an to back up his claim. I told him that I believe we worship the same God in different ways, and if I could make a choice I would choose Christianity because it is easier with lots of fun. He gave me a forlorn look and shook his head pitifully like I have no idea of what I was saying.

Ibrahim head towards the exit door, “Alfa Ibrahim ‘anakumullah!” Yusuf mockingly called after him and I lunched a cushion at his face, he dodged smiling smugly at me and it bounced off the wall before landing on the carpet.

I walked past several shops where traders selling items like clothes, shoes, bags, jewelries displayed their wares but I didn’t stop there. Few people stopped to buy but I knew I had a different mission. I kept glancing everywhere searching for something even though I didn’t know what it was. I saw some people returning from the market, each person had different types of fruit in their basket. Then I saw her as if she manifested from thin air, an aged woman supporting her weight on a crooked stick with baskets of apples at her disposal: one was overly ripe the other was utterly unripe. I could swear I knew this woman. I went to her and told her I wanted apples. As I was contemplating why she would take utterly unripe apples to the market, she looked into my eyes and it felt like staring in a mirror. “Choose one basket” she said in raspy voice. I pointed at the basket with the overly ripped apples. She asked pleadingly that I choose the basket with the utterly unripe apples and wait for it to ripe. I refused and insisted on the basket with the overly ripped apples and she gave it to me. I took one apple out of the basket and bit into it, there was maggot in it and I quickly spit it out. I tried another, and another, and another, but they were all the same. I asked the woman if I could change the basket. She looked at me with sadness in her eyes, “Aisha! You have made your choice” she said.

I started arguing with her when I heard someone calling my name repeatedly. I opened my eyes and Yusuf was staring down at me, “are you okay?” “What?” I asked. “I’m asking if you are okay, you were talking so much in your sleep” Yusuf said. “Oh! Yeah I’m fine, I had a weird dream that’s all. What time is it?” I asked raising myself to a sitting position. “It’s after 3” he replied. I was sweating profusely; power had been interrupted while I was asleep. I asked if Ibrahim had returned and what they ate for the afternoon. He said they ate soaked garri and Ibrahim was playing football outside the house. He handed me the cup in his hand; I thanked him and drank some water. Some minutes later I remembered father told me to come to his shop and I stood up to get ready.

Father’s shop was beside a highway that is always busy, so it took me few minutes before I was able to cross to the other side. He sat in his shop facing the road and saw me coming. The first thing I noticed was the vacant spaces at the front of his shop where he used to display his wares. And when I got closer I saw that the roles on the shelves where he used to arrange electrical appliances and some building materials held nothing but few ropes, tape rule with some cartons I guessed were empty. “Asalamualaykum Waramotullah Wabarakatu!” I intentionally greeted him in full before sitting down across the chair from him, and I received the expected response when he smiled before returning the greeting. He kept his eyes on me and I was surprised when he said “you are getting more beautiful by the day”. My cheeks became warm and I dropped my eyes to look down. I’m not used to getting compliment from father what was I supposed to say……thanks? I decided not to say anything and he went on. “Aisha! You are my daughter. I know you think I’m harsh on you but your mother understand and love you better. You are wrong. Everything I do was to make sure you don’t make decisions you might regret later. I only want the best for you and your brothers. You are not a kid anymore. You will clock 18 by June and very soon you will be going to university where you have freedom to do as you please. The only time to teach you how to live a respectable life is now” he paused as if expecting me to encourage him to continue. I risked a glance at him and was overwhelmed with the emotions I saw in his eyes. I quickly returned my gaze to the ground. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have friends but watch the kind of friends you keep. And if you have decided to get married before going to tertiary institution you can bring the man to me” he said.

I was dumbfounded. I’ve never had a private conversation with father, especially not to discuss my relationship. How did he arrive at the conclusion that I’m ready to be someone’s wife? It took me few minutes to recover from the shock and I told him marriage was not in my agenda at the moment. He searched my eyes like he was looking for a clue to what was going on in my head. After few seconds that seems like minutes, “alright!” he said with a slight dip of his head, “promise me you won’t get pregnant before introducing the person you choose to marry.” I promised him and was glad when he didn’t ask for my sexual status; the discussion was already awkward enough.