THE SUGAR BABY.

ZAINAB DANJUMA'S STORY.

BEFORE THE MURDER - SS1.

**

The dining table was silent as usual. The scraping of spoons against plates was the only thing that could be heard. The Dangumas were each preoccupied with their own thoughts but that was not the only reason that they were silent. Ibrahim Danjuma, the man of the house, craved silence. He always wanted to focus on the food, he always told his children and wives.

The wives, Alhaja Amina and Alhaja Amira were enemies. They hated each other with a passion, which was funny because they had similar names and looked alike. Alhaja Amina was from Senegal while Alhaja Amira was from Nasarawa but they both had smooth dark skin, wide hips and fat lips.

In another life, they would have been best friends. They would have gone to the market together, betrothed their first son to the other's first daughter and when someone called one of them, they would both turn and say together, "Me?"

But in this life, they competed for the attention of their husband. They both had never thought that they could marry someone like him. They had both read too much books and wanted a knight in shining armour. What did they get though? An Hausa farmer with a big belly that looked as if it had all of the whole beers in Nigeria in it. A man who reveled in the attention his wife gave him. A man who hit them whenever he wanted to sleep with them because he "enjoyed it better" to watch them cry.

Alhaja Amira had it worse. She had had Zainab when she was still in Nasarawa. She had fallen for the sweet words from a man's mouth and when he left, her father beat her till she was sure that she had lost the baby. She hadn't. As an act of desperation, her parents married her off to Ibrahim Danjuma, who sold his fresh vegetables and fruits to people in the big city, Lagos.

Lagos would make her more sensible, her mother told her. And because she could get pregnant at the ripe age of twenty-two, she would become a child bearing machine for Ibrahim in no time.

Sixteen years later, Alhaja Amira was now thirty-eight years old and the only time she had ever pushed was for Zainab and Alhaji Ibrahim resented her for it.

No food on time? Slap. She looked at him wrong? More slaps. She existed? A full on beating.

Because she could not possibly resent a man, for being a man... Alhaja Amira turned all her hate to Alhaja Amina and her son, Idris. Ibrahim's biological son.

Zainab watched as her mother snatched the tube of salt from her co wife's hand and she let out an inaudible sigh. Dinner with her family was exhausting and... depressing. No one spoke and the only thing she could hear was the sound of chewing. So colour her surprised when her father started to speak;

"We will have a visitor today," He spoke slowly, making sure to chew his rice very well. The visitor must have been important because Alhaji Ibrahim never spoke while he was eating.

Zainab looked over to her mother to see if she would meet her eyes and mouth the visitor's name to her but Zainab could not tell if she was looking at her or not because Alhaji Ibrahim had just hit her again and her face was swollen.

Zainab sighed and tried to suppress her frustration towards her step mother and brother. It was not their fault and to be honest, Alhaja Amina was nice to her, trying her best to let Zainab know that she was not the enemy. Idris was well....Idris. He was quiet and Zainab had once had the thought that he was a mute which could not be possible because when he was younger, they had been best of friends and Idris definitely knew how to speak. He had just stopped talking all of a sudden when he was six and Zainab, a nine year old that time, tried and tried but nothing happened.

Now, they had some type of agreement. They comforted each other, held each other's hand when the Alhajas got beaten. Idris was not a small person by any means. He was 5'11 and he would kill anyone who ever thought to harm his stepsister. No words were needed to understand that.

She sought his hand under the dinning table and he glanced at her. Zainab raised an eyebrow at him, asking him if he knew who their father was talking about. He shook his head once. No.

"Oya, eat fast nau," Alhaji Ibrahim's fiat landed on the table harshly. "Did you not hear me say that we were going to have a visitor?"

The whole family quickly gobbled up their food. Within minutes, they were done and the table was cleared. Alhaji Ibrahim was watching NTA news and the rest of them tried to keep themselves busy while waiting for the visitor.

When Zainab was done with washing the dishes, the visitor had still not arrived and Zainab insulted her father mentally for rushing them unnecessarily.

She sat down on a couch next to Idris, who put his phone down when he saw that his step sister was near him.

"What are you doing?" Zainab asked softly, but Idris only shrugged. She was filled with an unexplainable longing to hear her brother's voice that she felt sad all of a sudden. Without his voice, Idris was broken, incomplete. Like a revelation, Zainab realised that she missed that part of her brother.

"Idris," Her voice broke on the second syllable of his name. "Please talk to me."

He froze and stared at her as if he was looking into her soul. He opened his mouth and her heart stopped. His mouth remained open for long seconds and her heart pounded in her ears and then, their father's voice interrupted them;

"Children, come and greet my friend."

Just like that, the spell broke. Idris gave her a small, distressed smile and stood. She had no choice but to follow him to the larger parlour.

In the living room, Alhaji Ibrahim was talking with someone in whispers. The children stood side by side as they waited for their father to finish up so they could greet the visitor and be done with it.

When they were through, Alhaji Ibrahim and his friend turned to them. The friend was tall, taller than Alhaji Ibrahim and his smile could literally blind a person. He was wearing a white t-shirt and slacks and his glasses...were like something out a cartoon.

"Good evening sir," Zainab and Idris said together.

Another smile and then he said, "Ahn Ahn! Sir keh? No o. Call me Uncle Kehinde. You can even leave out the uncle, eh?"

He laughed, loudly and Zainab was startled. She glanced at her brother and saw that he had the same bewildered look on his face. None of their father's friends were nice. One had even slapped Idris once for bringing him a dirty cup. This was weird.

They looked back at him but he was staring at Zainab with new interest in his eyes. He was taller than her and when he reached down to pat her head, she felt something in her heart lurch. All of a sudden, she wanted to do something that would make him pat her head again. She wanted his validation. Needed it.

"Oya, children, go and wait for me. So you can say goodbye to Mr Kehinde before he goes."

She and Idris walked to the small parlour and sat back down. After a while, Zainab said,

"He's different from Father's friends yeah?"

Idris nodded and yawned silently. Many minutes passed before Idris stood up and gestured upstairs, which meant he was going to his room.

"You're going?" Zainab asked quietly, her eyes wide with fear. "You know what father will do when he finds out that you disobeyed him."

He shrugged, meaning that he couldn't care less, gave Zainab a kiss on her forehead and went upstairs silently.

Zainab loved her stepbrother fiercely but she hated that he left her alone to deal with their father and his weird friend alone.

An hour passed, and Zainab must have started dozing off, when she heard feet shuffling near her. She opened her eyes and came face to face with the weird man.

She stood up with a jolt, "Ah, sir. Has my Father called me?"

"No, no," He said, waving her off. "He went to bathroom when we were done. Heard very loud noises and came to investigate. Turns out, they were snores. From you."

Zainab's mouth hung open in a rather unattractive manner. She was mortified. Did she really snore? She was even more mortified when he burst into laughter.

"I'm joking."

She was so confused so she said simply, "Okay, sir."

He tutted and said softly, " I told you to call me Kehinde."

The conversation was so wrong but Zainab liked it. She liked the way Kehinde looked at her like she was all he could see. No one ever looked at her like that, unless they wanted to fat shame her. He looked at her like he was proud of her for being her. Her father never looked at her that way.

Kehinde mistook her silence for awkwardness so he tried to fill the silence, "I would like to see you again. Tomorrow? At the Silverbird Cinemas?"

She took him in. He was probably in his late thirties. He had chubby cheeks and his height made her dizzy. His stomach was already round but not big like her father's. He was nothing like her father.

"Yes, sir," She said breathlessly.

Kehinde smiled then, his white teeth making Zainab swoon.

"Call me Kehinde."

"Yes, Kehinde."

**
A/N:

I don't even know what to say. Don't judge a book by it's cover? But then, this book's whole theme is about not judging the characters by what you see on the surface. That includes Faithy (I'm shamelessly giving you guys hints here)

Anywayssss...

Xoxo,

Ciao.