I’m writing my story so that others might see fragments of themselves. -- Lena Waithe

Dear Journal,

It's been one month since I have been living as Mrs Zainab Yakubu. How dreadful it feels to wake up with no sense of direction. I find myself wandering down the halls of the house looking for something to fill my idle hours. 

On the bright side,  I finished the book of rules given to me by Mrs Binta. 

But how am I supposed to strictly adhere to a hundred rules of decorum? 

The Lord will have to help me with that.  

Zainab's eyes drifted to the gleaming ring nestled on her left ring finger and she resumed writing. 

I got a surprise last week when Mrs. Binta summoned me and Danladi to the study room to exchange rings. 

According to her, it won't look good in the eyes of society if we are without a wedding ring.  

Of course, just like me, Danladi wasn't pleased with the new arrangement. 

An image of a scowling Danladi popped up in Zainab's mind and she suddenly had the urge to write about him.  

It comforts me to know that I am not the only one uncomfortable being married to a stranger. 

In the last month,  Danladi and I have only said a handful of words to each other. We remain solely roommates.  

I can't help but wonder if we would ever be more.

Is there a little hope that we could be more? 

Do I want us to be more?

 I'm burdened with so many unanswered questions. 

I believe I will stop here.  

Zainab dropped her pen and heaved a sigh. Journaling always made her feel better but this time her heart still felt heavy.  She put a key into the keyhole of the journal  and turned the lock. 

The last thing she wanted was for someone to be privy to her thoughts and the secrets of her heart.  

She slid her journal into the drawer and rose to her feet.  

What next? 

It was a few hours to lunchtime so she didn't have to rush downstairs. 

Her eyes roamed around the room looking for something to occupy her time but alas she found nothing.  

A glimpse of her life, before she became Mrs Yakubu flashed before her and she choked out a sob. 

Her days used to be filled with classes and assignments, tests and social activities. But now, she couldn't even call her friends from school. 

How would she explain to them that she became a married woman in less than forty-eight hours?  

Her leg suddenly couldn't carry her weight and she slumped onto the edge of the bed.  

Tears blinded her vision as more images of her past filled her memory. 

If she was still in school, she would have been working on her final year project and preparing for her final exams.  In fact,  she had picked out the dress for her convocation. 

Her body quaked as silent tears ran down her face. 

All her dreams and aspirations were dashed to pieces. Anguish mingled with anger for her parents pulsed through her. 

Their one decision ruined her life.  

There was no way out. 

Divorce is not an option. Her parents had told her and it was iterated in the Yakubu family book of rules. 

She was hopelessly bound.  

Minutes later, her tears dwindled to sniffles and whimpers.  

In the stillness of the room, the voice of her creative writing facilitator rang in her head. 

When something is important enough, you do it even if the odds are not in your favor.

It was a quote by Elon Musk.  

Zainab pondered on the words and her mind raced with thoughts and questions.  

Her dream was to bag a degree in journalism and become the voice of the voiceless. 

But how could she do that without a degree? 

Would the Yakubus allow her to go out in search of information?

Different questions flooded her brain and caused an ache to form.  She rubbed her forehead to ease the throbbing.  

She was ready to push until she fulfills her dream. However, she was uncertain about how to start.  

The notification ping from her phone drew her attention and she picked up the phone.  

She rolled her eyes as she saw that it was one of those spam messages. However, something in the message struck her.  

Start a blog from the comfort of your house," the message said and it immediately piqued her interest.  

Start a blog.  The words replayed in Zainab's head and an idea began to form in her mind.  

She turned on her laptop and began searching for information regarding blogging. 

With each piece of information she got, her hope increased.  

Fulfilling her dreams might not be so difficult after all. 

She let out a squeal and dialed the number of the closest person to her.  

"Hey, big sis," Amina's lively voice filled the line.  

Zainab grinned. "Hi, baby."

Amina chuckled. "What's new?" 

"I have found a way to achieve my purpose without upsetting anyone."

"Really? Tell me about it." 

Zainab giggled and narrated everything she had researched in the last minutes.  

"Whoa…blogging is such a great idea."

"I know, right?" 

"Congrats, sis. Things are looking brighter."

Zainab beamed. "I am grateful to God. However…" she drifted off as her excitement wavered as she was confronted with another question.

What was she going to write?

She aimed to tell untold stories, but how could she do that

"What is the problem, sis?" 

"I don't know what to write." she sighed.  

"Hmm, you can write about what you are most passionate about." 

"I am passionate about a lot of things. And whatever it is has to be appealing to the audience."

"Well, I suggest you make a list of all possible topics you can blog on and then  narrow them down until you find the perfect one."

Zainab's smile reappeared. "You are the best."

Amina laughed. "I'm your sister, after all."

Zainab chortled in response and after a few minutes, the call ended.  

She dropped the phone and a radiant smile bloomed on her lips.  Her legs bounced and she twirled around the room. For the first time in over a month, her future didn't look so bleak.  

Without further ado, she took her notepad and pen and began to scribble all possible topics that came to mind.  

After writing the topic ideas, she started to cancel the ones that weren't appealing until she was left with only five options. 

"Hmm…" she hummed as she surveyed the list.  

So far, none of them appealed to her as the subject she should work on.  

Start with your story," said a voice.  

My story? She wondered. 

I don't have a story. 

Are you sure about that? 

Zainab rolled the pen between her fingers as she thought. She searched her mind for something spectacular about her life that she could write about but nothing came to mind. 

Then the little voice laughed. 

You have a story to tell, find it.  

Zainab frowned as she mulled over that statement.  

What story could she possibly have to tell? 

She picked up her phone and sent a message to Amina. 

Zainab: Hey, Mina.  I'm stuck. Unable to choose a topic.  

Amina: Hmm, weird. Which one appeals to you the most? 

Zainab: None😩

Zainab's brows drew together as Amina didn't reply. After several minutes of no response, she gave up and dropped her phone.  She picked up her notepad and stared at the list of topics.  

Her phone pinged and the screen lit up, showing a message from Amina. A smile played on her lips as she dropped the notepad and took her phone. 

However, Amina's words caused shock to surge through her. 

Amina: I was thinking maybe you should start with your story. 

Zainab's mouth hung open as she digested the words she had heard twice within minutes.   

With shaky fingers, she replied. What do you mean?

Amina: Your mission is to be the voice of the voiceless. Your story represents the stories of many girls in your situation or even worse.  

Take Uwa for example. She was married off to Uba at such a tender age.  

Zainab let her sister's words sink into her and everything began to make sense. As her thoughts raced, a story began to form in her mind.  

Child marriage was one of the practices of her tribe which she considered horrible. Girls were married off to men several years older than them. 

The awful part was that many girls had to begin their wifely duties from day one which brought another problem of child pregnancies that sometimes claimed the lives of the girls.  

It was such a depressing state of affairs. 

One of her passions was to create awareness about such practices and she would do it. With or without a journalism degree.   

                        ★★★★★

Woohoo, things are finally looking bright for our gal😁

Blogging is a great way to get your stories out there. It is something I have always wanted to do. XD

Anyway, what are your thoughts on what has happened in the past one month of Zainab's life as a married woman?

I look forward to hearing from you. Don't hold back. 

Until next time, read a blog 😂