Chapter One
Tawakalt is the one month old wife of Mahmud Bello, an enterprising young man putting his engineering degree to good use in a construction firm in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city. He’d moved to Abuja for about a year before his nikkah to his college sweetheart Tawakalt, after which they both had been basking in the euphoria of their newly established union.
He’d studied her quite well best he could during their courtship days but of course nothing beats living together, some of her tendencies have only left him bemused. It’s 9;30AM and he’s just turning around in bed, having slept back after Fajr prayers, it’s a Saturday and its always a relief to be home. He squints his eyes to adjust to the morning rays filtering through the window, at the same time the aroma of freshly made Akara rented the air and he can tell his wife had been making breakfast and was now probably done. He smirks and focuses on her from behind.
She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, armed with a mirror and facing the window. She touches her temples and attempts a fake smile to see the impression her dimples make each time she gave a smile, the dimples surfaced on both sides of her cheeks, satisfied, she then lets out an authentic smile. Then she made a gentle attempt to widen her eyes, she always for some odd reason attributed genuine beauty to big eyes, pleased again with her assessment, she smiled fictitiously into the mirror. The whole time her husband looked on with bemusement, she though was lost in her oblivion. The fascinating thing is that he had seen her do the same routine almost every morning whenever he was home, she prioritized brushing her teeth first thing in the morning and after Fajr, she would apply some moisturiser on her face and then faintly put on some lip-stain, yet she hadn’t taken her bath nor was she planning on leaving the house.
She just seemed to find her own self amusing and cosy. He nearly roared out with laughter at the oddity of all that charade, instead he got up briskly and she turned to him startled, they both smile as he walks up to her, holding her by the shoulders he croaks out ‘assalam alaykum, ya Habibty’ and she replies ‘wa alaykum salam my love’.
He smiles and says ‘I love you, very much’, she took quick note of his same smile that’s charmed her since they had first met. In a voice laced with sarcasm, she probes ‘are you sure’ and he goes ‘absolutely yes, I love you more than you love your face, hahaha’. She bursts out in laughter as he makes his way out of the room wearing a winning grin.
Once in the living room, she serves a breakfast of oatmeal and Akara, they eat and drink from same bowls while he watches the Sports Highlights on TV, he puts a morsel in her mouth every now and then. As he excitedly smacks his lips, lost in the highlights, Tawakalt makes to look at him properly again as was her silent ritual. Being a meticulous woman with eye for every little detail, she took her time to observe her salat, tend to her home, spared some time for vanity thanking Allah for her beauty and faith. She resumed looking at her husband, starting with his hair she thought ‘how gorgeous! Black and good textured. He probably didn’t even think it was anything to have such rich hair, probably never spared it a thought, what an incredibly inattentive guy. ‘Well’, she thought again ‘I who knows the value of it will thank Allah on your behalf anytime I behold this hair of yours’ she imagines her unborn son having the same kind of hair, guaranteed, that alone would make for a handsome child. She betrays her thoughts and laughs out loud, her husband turns too her asking ‘what’s the matter, why did you laugh like that?’ ‘Never mind, you know my thoughts never leave me’ she replied. He gives a slight grin as he tries to focus again on his TV, he’d seen her burst out with laughter like that a couple of times claiming she ‘recalled something’.
Tawakalt proceeds with admiration of her husband, ‘skin, goodness his skin!’ a whopping 60 percent pass mark, Subhanallah this dude is fine’ she thought. She checks out his fingers, pleased again, then to his toe nails ,’ Subhanallah’ she screamed in her mind, this guy will never change, what is so hard in grooming his own nails that he would rather keep claws!
Her scrutiny is called off by the unpleasant sight she just caught, she picked up her phone, fiddled with it for a second then packed the plates just as her husband was done eating. She busies herself with tidying up the kitchen when Mahmud’s phone began ringing, it was his mother and after exchanging pleasantries, she asked to speak with Tawakalt, more pleasantries and mama announces she will be visiting soon. Tawakalt responds ‘ok ma’, please bring Akamu, locust beans, dry fish and dry pepper, those are the things I really miss here’. Mama assures her of her cooperation, they exchange byes and phone hangs.
She makes to return her husband’s phone to him when he grabs her by the hand, but she’s not interested. He cajoles her, but she won’t have it until he probes ‘what’s the matter, we’ve been good all morning until now?’ In response, she’s making a face and he asks ‘Is this anything to do with the call?’ And finally she announces ‘why should your toe nails be so long? ’. He bursts into laughter ‘since when were you checking my toe-nails that you went cold?’ You this woman ehn!’ she can’t help but burst into laughter too, pretending still to be angry. ‘The nails scratch me when we are sleeping’ Mahmud laughs out louder ‘hahaha, since when?’ she retorts ‘you won’t know, it is I who suffers it, that knows’. They end up laughing and curtains close.
Mama's Arrival
It’s been two weeks since mama called to announce her planned visit. She had left Lagos on that Thursday morning and both Mahmud and Tawakalt monitored her journey’s progress with phone calls. It was 5;30PM and Tawakalt calls her mother-in-law again ‘salam alaykum ma’ ‘wa alaykum salam oko mi’. ‘Where are you now ma, ask the driver to tell you your present location’ she can hear mama asking, and mama retort ‘we are at Gbangbanlada!’ Tawakalt is confused, she’s only been in Abuja one month and that definitely didn’t sound familiar, so she asks again ‘mama, are you sure you are still on your way to Abuja, what of the other passengers, hope everyone is there?’ Mama responds ‘everyone that we left Lagos together is here, we are in Gbangbanlada! At this point, people in the bus are laughing and a young man offers to speak to the other party, mama hands over the phone and the young man says they are in ‘Gwagwalada’. Tawakalt laughs mildly, thanks him and pleads with him to see that her mother-in-law is dropped off at Giri-junction where she was waiting to pick her. 6;35PM, the bus conveying mama stops at Giri-junction and as she alights, Tawakalt sights her, they embraced each other warmly, bag in hand, they make their way to the car. They continued to exchange pleasantries and asked about extended relatives as they drove home. Once home, mama is obviously overjoyed to see her son, who in her eyes is some bejeweled human, a living legend of sorts, fair-faced as the moon, the joy of her existence and a fond reminder of her late husband, gait and all….certainly, he was the centre of her world. Tawakalt observed her with broad smiles before returning to the kitchen to complete her cooking.
Mama was a retired matron and Mahmud was the first of her only two children; and she had suffered some delay before having children and now she was hitching badly for a grandchild, after all her friends were grandparents, some of them a decade old. Friday morning, Mahmud left for work and mama calls Tawakalt to the guest room where she had slept and inquires about pregnancy ‘mama I haven’t missed my period o’. ‘Ehn ehn’, when you told me you were ill two weeks ago, I thought it was early pregnancy.
‘No o!’
‘Hmm ok…lie down please, you know I am a trained nurse, I can’t be helping other people get pregnant, and my own child will be delayed’.
Awkward as it is, she obliges mama examines her tummy, gently feeling her abdomen down towards her pelvic region; it was the most uncomfortable feeling ever. Satisfied, mama says ‘ok, I have to treat you and your husband for malaria, had to check to be sure you are not pregnant, you may be and you won’t know, pregnancy sometimes hide in the leg. ‘Don’t worry my dear Allah will answer us very soon, your son will be light in complexion and brilliant, I saw him asking Mahmud for a pen in my dreams. The boy will really like book.’
Tawakalt isn’t sure what just happened but trusts mama’s intentions are for good, she brushes aside the feeling of awkwardness that kept nagging her, being shy and protective of her body, it was very much a big deal. They chat easily and go about their normal activities for the rest of the day. After breakfast Saturday morning, mama makes to set up drips for the couple, she came prepared. She would take care of them before returning to Lagos. Tawakalt was open since mama had once treated her with drips when she had typhoid but Mahmud would not be confined to a spot and his wife tried to persuade him ‘Mahmud, please take the drip now, you’ll only get stronger’ he agrees and mama is fulfilled. Exactly a week after her arrival, mama is set to return to Lagos and Tawakalt drives her to the bus station. On their way, mama suddenly mentions ‘I was going to tell you ‘it’s not right that you call your husband ‘Mahmud’. Tawakalt smiles ‘But why?’ ‘It’s just not right, out of respect you can’t call him by his name, find a pet name for him, something like ‘MB’. ‘MB’ asks Tawakalt, ‘yes, MB’ replies mama. ‘Ha-ha, mama, MB as in megabyte? She asks tongue in cheek, I can assure you Mahmud wont like to be called MB’.
‘Only you knows what the megabyte you are talking about means, I’m saying show your husband some respect and use the initials of his name, MB as in Mahmud Bello’.
In response, Tawakalt smiles, responding ok ma, I have heard you’.
To be continued..
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