Dedicated to Zeynerb Muhammad, alpha reader of life. 😍

"And Allah does not test man (with hardship), except to cure him."     – Ibn Al-Qayyim.

Kano, Nigeria.

Walida slowly opened her eyes to greet the new day. She sat up shivering, as the room had turned chilly due to the heavy rain that fell the previous night. Putting on her slippers lying by the right side of the bed, she walked across the room to close the window.

As she returned to the bed, she let out a gasp: today wasn’t just any Monday, but one that marked a year since her late husband’s demise. 

It never fails to amaze her how death could wipe away one’s existence in a second, leaving behind only snippets of memories that receded as time goes by.

Walida knew she’d never forget Habib: the man who opened her heart to love and held her hand through it all. Her chest heaved as she recalled his last moments on earth. “Be happy.” He had whispered. And she wished him the same.  She’d have wanted to stay single so they could reunite in Paradise.

But as fate would have it, she married again, uncertain about spending the rest of life with someone else, but hopeful anyway, for it was Shamsudeen, her brother-in-law. Life with him was different, but she realized that it was just what she needed. 

She turned to his sleeping form beside her, as a smile made way to her lips and gratitude filled her heart. With him, she found a new home; with him, her boys were able to move on from their loss. 

•••
Forty five minutes was all it took to prepare breakfast, but Walida wished it would be enough to prepare the boys for school. It would’ve been easy if they didn’t have to bicker and fight all the time. 

“Ma, see Abdul o!” Five-year-old Uthman (her first born), called from the bathroom.

Walida shook her head while stirring a hot pot of Kunun gyero (millet gruel) on the gas cooker. 

Then there was a loud splash followed by a shriek: “Ma!” said three-year-old Abdullah, his shrill voice startled her so much that she almost bathed her white sleeping robe with the kunu.

“Kai!” Shamsudeen bellowed from the bedroom—a few feet away from the boys. 

Walida smiled, That ought to keep them shut.

…

Shamsudeen grabbed his seat at the round oak brown marble topped dining table which complemented the brown cushioned chairs surrounding it, while the boys settled across each other, leaving one vacant chair for their mother. 

After having his share of hot akara balls with kunu, He rose and picked his brown cap next to his plate to cover his soft brown curls, leaving a peek of the black smudge (mark of prayer) on his forehead. He was wearing a light brown jumper with dark brown leaf designs on the collar and wrists. 

"Uwargida, sannu da koqari–well done. ” He smiled at Walida, who stood at the shoulder level of his six foot three frame. Her custard-like complexion a shade lighter than his. 

“Oya,” she turned to the boys and they shuffled out of their chairs to the living room for their school bags. 

Shamsudeen picked his car keys from the glass center table while the boys trailed behind, dressed in crispy white shirts and dark green shorts. 

“Wait, oga.” Walida called to Abdullah who turned to her. She squatted before him to rub off a dry kunu stain from his left cheek. 

“Ma, I can clean it.” He tried pushing her hand away while Uthman snickered behind them, earning a glare from Abdullah. 

“Oya, Uthman, come let me look at you too.”

Shamsudeen beeped for them to hurry up. He opened the passenger door for Abdul while Walida opened the back door on the right for Uthman—who had to be lifted into the seat, despite his numerous protests. Walida shook her head then moved to Shamsu’s side. 

“Uwargida.” He greeted with his usual easy smile, a trait he shared with his late brother. 

“Toh, a dawo lafiya.” She said.
He nodded. “In sha Allah.”  He turned to put on his seat belt. 

“Ehen, she called his attention. “Remember the lace I told you about.”

“Which one?”

“The one for Barrister Maimuna sister’s wedding.” 

“Oh right, but I thought we agreed that you’ll give me a sample of the lace so my boys can check for it today.”

Shamsudeen owned a big and popular store that sold fabrics (Atampa/ankara), printed wax, laces and materials in Kwari market (popularly known as Kantin Kwari).

Walida shook her head. “Don’t worry, Umm Afnan has bought it already. I just need the money to pay her today.” She stated as his frown deepened. 
“But you know I can get you the best quality na.” 

Walida knew he’d be upset. “I just don’t want to stress you.” She said, but didn’t mention that her friend had bought the most expensive of the lace, so they could stand out at the wedding. 

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll transfer the money when I get to work.” 

She beamed and nodded. “Allah ya tsare–May Allah safeguard you.” She waved as the black
Honda civic drove out of the compound, but not before Abdul peeked out his head, calling out,
“Mummy, cook Indomie for me.” 

“Yes sir!” 

Walida was one of the primary five teachers at Aisha Humairah Nursery and Primary school. Though she preferred teaching in a secondary school, but the one she wanted were yet to take in new teachers.

She sat on her usual spot in the staff cafeteria during lunch break, going through her phone when her best friend, Aisha Kabiru (Umm Afnan), strutted in. As usual, she made sure to get everyone’s attention with her sparkly yellow satin gown which subtly hugged her slim frame, and a small white veil hanging loosely around her head, she never bothered with makeup, but always made sure her dress took all the shine. With her petite stature and smooth ebony skin,  one would think she was still a young girl and not a mother of four. 

“Walisco,” she waved, taking her seat across Walida. “Ya ne?”

“You this woman,” Walida shook her head. “don’t tell me you’re just coming.”

Aisha let out her tinkle bell laugh and leaned back. “I was busy.” She shrugged.

“Busy dressing up abi? Ji wani gale dan Allah,” Walida pointed at her veil. “Sekace ba matar is ba?–As if you're not a married woman.” As much as she loved Aisha, she never relented in pointing out her wrongs. 

“Hey madam, it was my husband who dropped me here and he didn’t complain.” She gestured with her hand, open over her shoulder, like the one about to take an oath in court. “Kuma kin san bana son shisshigi–You know I don’t like meddling.” She turned to her white bag on her lap for her phone. 

Walida chuckled. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t dress fine o, but at least, “ she gestured at the five male teachers gisting to their left.

Aisha rolled her eyes, “Toh, they should lower their gaze.” Then she changed the subject. “Ana nan ana ta jindadi,” She gestured at Walida’s attire which was the dark pink version of her’s, sewn into a skirt and blouse with a part of the material used as a veil wrapped around Walida's head down to her waist. 

Walida rolled her eyes. “You’re not serious. Hope you brought my lace o.” 

Aisha gasped and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oops.”

…

After the school closed for the day, Walida followed Aisha home to collect her lace, she intended not to stay long as the boys would be home for lunch before going to Islamiyah (Islamic school). 

“Ehen, which tailor are we giving our lace to?” Aisha asked, carrying a large white bag as she joined Walida in the sitting room.

“Ah ah, the usual tailor mana,”  Walida replied, collecting the bag. 

Aisha narrowed her eyes. “Chab, I’m not giving my clothes to that mumu man o, have you forgotten what he did to me last time?” 

“But he’s one of the best in town na,” Walida said, taking out the different colours of laces wrapped in transparent nylons. She held up a light green one adorned with butterfly-shaped white beads in appraisal. “Kai…” She placed it against her body. “Ya Kika gani–how do you
see it?” 

Aisha gave her a thumbs up. “ Kut! Za a ga shanawa a bikini–they will see a show at this wedding. Even Maigida won’t know what hit him.”

“Kedai bari Kawai.” Walida folded the lace, placing it on the arm of the cream sofa she was sitting on. “Ehe, speaking of Maigida, I forgot to remind him about the money.” She rummaged through her pink handbag for her phone. She dialled his number and it rang, but he didn’t pick—which was very unusual. “Ah-ah,” she grumbled after two more tries.

“Maybe he’s busy off-loading new deliveries,” Aisha said, stretched on the sofa to Walida’s right, operating the remote.

Suddenly, Walida's phone rang and she quickly answered thinking it was Shamsu. “Hello dear,” she greeted. Then she frowned, hearing her dad’s voice. But what he told her caused her to sit up, eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, wait, wait. What?” She turned to Aisha, pointed at the Tv and mouthed, “News.”

Aisha quickly tuned to AR tv, where breaking news read: Fire razes shops in Kwari market! 

•••

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F. I Uthman