Chapter 25

"Good evening, sir," Uche greeted as she placed the phone on her ear, hunched over and squinting at her laptop screen. "I'm much better now. Thank you.....she's here."

Huma, knowing it was her father, winced but continued to fold her clothes into her corner of the closet. The calls never bothered her before: there were times when he contacted Kazeem if he was unable to reach her. Now they did. Now she cringed. How embarrassing.

"Okay, I'll let her know. Goodnight, sir."

"Your dad says he's back from his trip," Uche told her.

Huma turned around, smiling widely at the pleasant news.

"—and he wants you home tomorrow, so he'll be coming to pick you."

Then she remembered broken promises, and her elation soon dispelled. Another weekend had breezed by--how time flew. She had been avoiding his chat messages these days, because most of them were her mother's complaints against her. Although her father rarely got angry but she felt certain they would have word, which meant trouble.

"You didn't fold that properly," Uche said, and she looked down at the cloth in her hands. The sides were asymmetrical. Without argument, she refolded while thinking it was needless hassle. Uche's corner always looked tidy, so much that no displaced item escaped her notice; a stark difference from Huma's cluttered area. She missed her room where she could be an unashamed slob. How could someone be so precise anyway? Was it a super power? Maybe she was a witch. A witchy duckabit.

By the time Huma finished sorting out the clothes in order of similarity and use, her arms weighed a ton. Since when did she have so many clothes? She went to the kitchen for some water then sat on her bed, sighing. Face glum, she gazed at the ring on her finger. Sometimes she forgot it was there tethering her to reality back home.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Huma blinked at Uche who was typing furiously, lost.

"Your home," clarified Uche, "It's just....you have the look." When Huma inclined her head in question, she added. "The whole world is against me."

It may as well be. Nothing had gone entirely right with her family since that day. Paradise? Yes. The house was a huge upgrade from where they used to live, but the people in it were indeed troubled. She started to smile and shake her head then reconsidered. Here was someone who never lived a sheltered life and had encountered numerous eye-opening experiences. Although Mrs Ehana had become like a mother to her too many issues stayed secret between them—she couldn't reply her messages now without a niggling sense of guilt. Her father was busier than usual; her mother? A dead end. Besides, there was still a lot about Uche she still didn't know. And she wanted to know.

You have to give to be given, he told her that. Huma nodded instead. Never one to initiate conversations, she hesitated, braced herself. This would be the first time she divulged a very personal matter.

"What would you do if your mother hated you?"

"It depends on why," Uche fixated on the screen, typed, "why would my mother hate me?" The neck of the shirt she was wearing slacked further down one shoulder, exposing more of her cleavage. Her breasts fell freely. Sometimes Uche went outside the room this way: braless. Accustomed to wearing a bra almost all day, It still amazed and dismayed Huma how apathetic the girls around were towards their bodies, unbothered about the men. Such a strange place.

"Were you adopted?"

No, she was not. Her father had done a secret DNA test for paternity years ago, even though she resembled his mother in more ways than one, especially since they hadn't been able to conceive another child after her. You can never be too sure. There were unrelated people who looked alike.

Besides, she'd heard tragic stories of how wives deceive their husbands into catering for children of illicit affairs, which often ended in more deaths than divorce- the men simply lost it. So she understood her father's decision.

"Were you conceived from rape?"

It would have been a good enough reason but Huma felt certain it wasn't the case, since her father was her father. Moreover he wouldn't do something like that or keep such an important detail a secret for this long. Or love her so much.

"Do your parents love each other?"

Of course they did. Very much.

"Then you're not hated."

Huma scratched her head. The incident must have caused the rift then.

"Unless you were a really bad girl. Either you got pregnant before eighteen, seduced her husband from her or killed someone." Uche looked her dead in the eye. "Which is it?"

Eyes wide, Huma waved her hands frantically, refuting the appalling theories. She had always been closer to her father but seduction? Did her mother really think that way? Sometimes the woman made aggrieved remarks of being painted as the enemy. Could she have unwittingly compounded the already existing discord and further deteriorated their relationship?

"Huma, I was joking. "

But she was serious, Huma thought. Her tone of voice had held no banter. Just plain cold. Her jokes need some work. So scary.

"So, where were we? Why your mother hates you?" Hearing her say it made Huma wonder if she should continue this conversation but stopping now could make room for awkwardness afterwards, so she forged on.

"Something happened. Not any of what you mentioned. Since then, we don't see eye to eye. We can't bare each other's presence. We don't communicate like mother and daughter anymore. Lately, she has been even colder towards me, more rigid, and I don't know why. I think I'm making matters worse somehow."

The next question Huma expected was, 'what is this incident?' instead Uche surprised her by saying, "Apart from the attitude change, has she mistreated you in anyway?"

Not really. Just that one time she hit her.

"After that I presume you threw a fit, locked yourself in your room, and now you don't want anything to do with her directly."

Amazed that Uche's guesses were spot on, Huma stared.

"Typical spoiled brat reaction."

Spoiled? She wasn't. There had never been a reason to hit her, that's all.

"I'm quite surprised. Not many people can say there weren't smack or flogged almost on a daily basis during childhood."

"It's normal to be beaten?"

"Yes, very. The average African child is as stubborn as they come. An average African parent believes in negative reinforcements, which they dish out more readily than the positive: they praise less, scold more. Whatever they can find, they use. Shoes, koboko, belts, you name it. In the end, as they believe, the child grows up perfectly disciplined."

"Does it work?"

"Can't say. More or less."

"But that's horrible! Isn't that abuse?" Here she was feeling indignant over a slap when being coporally punished was the norm.

"Not when you deserve it, though. Wrong doing, remember? As long as it isn't mindless beating, that is. A little whooping is not so bad. With the right intent. It's kind of like sentencing a criminal or paying a fine for a crime." Huma looked completely appalled at Uche's complacency with the logic. "Look, if you don't like it, you can go to court and contest it or become a senator, minister or whatever and pass a bill alright? 'Don't beat your children; try alternatives' like countries abroad practice. Whether there'll be an improvement? I doubt it. There are still thieves, liars and the likes everywhere despite. Maybe it does help correct some, maybe it doesn't," she shrugged, nonchalant. "Perhaps someday you'd conduct a research regarding the efficacy, and just maybe you can argue away generations' worth of madness."

Perhaps, she would. One day.

"Would you look at that? We got off topic." Huma hadn't noticed. The woes of children had momentarily taken priority. "This incident, whose fault would you say it was?"

"Mine."Although she had been a child but things would have turned out differently if she'd been more careful.

"Have you ever considered that maybe she feels it's hers? A mother is pretty much blamed for how the children turn out, disregarding external influences." Focusing on her laptop again, Uche began typing. "Put yourself in her shoes: This incident included, how would you feel if you had you for a daughter?"

Ashamed. Worried. Guilt-ridden. Hurt. Huma pondered overnight and realized that her mother's behavior was plausible under the circumstances, making the woman blind to the strides she had taken to achieve some individuality. Every day she was in that house was a constant reminder of what had happened. Perhaps her mother was truly as hurt and guilty as she. Too restless, she didn't study.

**********

As soon as class ended, everyone flocked outside the lecture hall with a characteristic eagerness. Standing off to a side, Huma observed their bleary eyes and dragging feet. The exams were forthcoming. It wasn't unusual to become a zombie during this period. Although she hadn't slept a wink last night, she felt oddly rested. Her phone was on vibrate for when her father texted. When it did vibrate, she jolted. All through the lectures, Huma had been on edge. It seemed absurd to be, because the man had been nothing but jovial and accepting. What if he was angry? Even the text seemed angry.

I'm here. So short. So emotionless.

Looking up, she saw Kazeem walking towards her. She waited. Leaving now would make it obvious that she was avoiding him. But he already knew he was being avoided, and believed what had transpired with her 'fiancé' still lingered between them, that she hadn't forgiven him completely.

"I apologized. I really I'm sorry."

Of course he had misconstrued her reason. The real reason was his girlfriend. She had given what Fatima told her some serious thought. They had been mostly strangers before now. How they grew closer remained a mystery. Yes, she had depended on him in the past for academic related difficulties and he had been more than willing to aid her in acclimatizing to the new environment. However, they hadn't started eating together and exchanging texts until recently.

Maybe he pitied her seclusion. If that were the case, she would rather remain alone. Just maybe she had come to depend on him so much. Just maybe, somewhere along the line, something had joined the mix—Huma couldn't be sure. But one thing she was certain of was the need to end any unnecessary attachments and face her immutable future.

"You're heading towards Eko right?" He asked, yawning. "I'll see you off." He look really stressed out, which puzzled Huma, because Kazeem hardly ever showed signs of exhaustion. He slept in class, and always seemed to be everywhere at once these days. When she inquired, he said their project supervisor was demanding. He had errands to run. Lots of topics left to cover.

This worried Huma. She didn't know anything about Kazeem but he wasn't a slacker. Out of the corner of her eye, she descried Fatima watching from a distance. As politely as possible, she declined his offer and left, promising to chat with him later. Huma didn't miss the mild astonishment on his handsome face.

*******

She didn't feel penitent, not in the least but as Huma sat opposite her father whose head was lolled on a shoulder, snoring while he slept, she schooled her facial expression to be perceived as so. Her mother soon joined them, looking particularly grim. She was in a robe that matched her husband's, which Huma concluded to be new. Sitting beside him, Zainab tapped Nadeem, frowned when he wouldn't rouse then shook him.

His snores ended in an abrupt snort as he came awake. Huma pressed her lips tightly together, suppressing the urge to laugh.

Nadeem glanced at both of them and made a dismissive sound. He adjusted in his chair, cleared his throat. His countenance became stern. "We are very disappointed in you,"

Great opening, she thought. This was the first time he had used that word on her. Disappointed. It hurt. Over the years she had built resilience against anything Zainab did or said but Nadeem was different. His thoughts mattered to her the most. Now she did feel sorry. Her mother must have known that her father playing the bad cop would be much more effective.

Smart woman.

"You wanted to move for the sake of school. We let you, and trusted you to comply with the deal we'd struck," he made Huma understand how selfish she had behaved. "Several times, Zainab had contemplated drastic measures. If mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain.

She was glad Zainab wasn't familiarized with the area and Nadeem hadn't given her directions. Apart from public humiliation, Huma felt she couldn't let the two meet.

He—they—left her off with a firm warning. "If you keep this up, we will have no choice but to insist you move back into the house." They'd taken a risk. They weren't asking for much. A simple term, it was.

So she made up her mind to keep her promise. If by doing so, she got to be with Uche and watch over her, and keep her mother away, then she would.

In her room Huma sat on her new donkey chair, drawing. It had a storage drawer and an easel. Earlier, she had been overjoyed when she'd seen the beautiful thing by the window, marveling at the surprise over the next few hours. Art would no longer be a pain. Literally. Her neck and back were saved thanks to her father. How had he known?

Leaning back, she inspected the portrait, which was still a work in progress. Huma couldn't believe she had forgotten about it. Now she had one more reason to make the weekend trips.

Sometime later, a knock sounded on her door. Sighing, she went to let her mother inside. The next day Nadeem requested her presence in his study. When Huma entered, he was seated behind his desk, doing work, glasses perched on his nose. He still wore the robe. She waited for him to look up.

"What are you doing over there?"

She sat while he shifted papers around, gaze downcast.

"Did you like the chair?" Nadeem glanced at her from above his glasses as she nodded slowly. "I see that you're not happy with me. But you gave me no choice. Not when you lied to us." He held up rifled through a document. "You've never lied to us before. Did we make a mistake allowing you have your way? Perhaps this Uche woman is becoming a bad influence on you."

Understanding the consequences of what he meant, Huma's eyes shot to his face. Teary-eyed, she shook her head vehemently.

"You really won't make this easy," Nadeem sighed, dropping the act. Her tears were his weakness. He hated the sight of her unhappy. Allah knew she was suffering enough. He settled back in the chair, smiled. "Why couldn't you be a boy then I'd have no regrets doing my duty. Maybe she is right, and I'm spoiling you too much."

Huma stared a moment, puzzled. Then she realized. He wasn't truly upset.

"If you cry, I'll take the chair back, and"-- he leaned sideways and brought up a big bag which he placed on the desk—"you won't get the other goodies."

At the threat, Huma wiped her eyes, grabbing the bag covetously, curious about more surprises. The content consisted of several oils---even lavender. With them she could make her hair and skin products. He had gotten her the tea she requested, including the one Uche liked but wouldn't admit. They helped her sleep better. Although the nightmares remained, they were less frequent.

Nadeem chuckled, watching her child-like excitement. "It's all there. I didn't forget anything. Ah, here's one more," he gave her another bag. It contained a similar robe. As she assessed it, he said. "It's called a bathrobe." She knew that. Cody's mother wore it around the house a lot back when she visited her son. "They wear it a lot aboard during evening time or very early in the morning. It's very light and comfortable. Very sophisticated."

She put it on, not surprised to find it three times her size. Her arms were lost in its sleeves, the ends draped the floor.

Nadeem held back laughter. "The color suits you."

Huma didn't look impressed.

"Don't worry. It just needs a little cut here and there."

Emphasis on little. She pouted. He just couldn't resist a chance to tease her. Ignoring the size, it did feel comfortable. Trust her father to pick up foreign habits on the first trip. She could only imagine the outcomes of future trips.

He rarely got her clothes but she just couldn't wear —

"You know how I hate to think I wasted money we are now fortunate to have. I'm sure you'll treasure it."

And that was that.

"Notice anything?" Nadeem asked when Huma, ready for school, re-entered his study later. He stood in his Jalabiya, his arms wide apart.

She held her chin, eyeing him from his capped head to sandaled feet. He refreshed. His complexion had lightened a bit but that would be rectified in some days. Nothing else stood out.

Oh, the jalabiya was new, too.

"I lost some weight." Nadeem said, disappointed she hadn't noticed right away. "Can't you see how big it looks on me? We were part of this really strict exercise routine as a team. It was hard but I managed, and frankly, I do feel fitter than before." He placed his hands on his hip in that signatory market woman pose, the cloth tightening around his abdomen.

Huma stepped forward and poked his still protruding belly.

"That part doesn't count."

Crossing her arms, Huma gave him a bland look.

"My wife isn't complaining," he broke. "Maybe I did skip a session or two. Over an hour and thirty minutes of jogging. Then the hundred crunches. Who was that instructor kidding? I dreaded those exercises every day." He continued to lament, even as they walked out the door." It's only by Allah's grace that I'm still alive. Be grateful you still have a dad."