As the door to their house opened, the boys immediately shouted, “Baba Jaddu!” and jumped on Alhaji Yusha’u. Walida stood behind them, smiling as he struggled with the four gangly limbs around his waist.

“Toh toh, sannunku.” Alhaji smiled and rubbed their heads. “I didn’t know we would have special guests today ai,” As he raised his head, his eyes fell on the two bags in her hands, then her glassy eyes and trembling lips.

Walida managed a small smile. “Mun zo hutu ne–we came for vacation.”

He nodded, “Toh, barkanku.” He opened the door wider and the boys disappeared inside.
Turning around, he said, “Ina da meeting yanzu. So go inside and rest. Akwai rice and stew in the fridge. Sai na dawo–see you later.”

Walida nodded. “Allah ya dawo da kai lafiya.”

He rubbed her head as he passed. She turned and watched him get into the car and drive out of the compound.

Once inside, she unpinned her veil, plopped down on the armchair and let out a loud sigh. What was Shamsu doing now? Probably gisting Grace about their fight. She winced. This was not the best time to be alone. She needed company. A clapping sound erupted from one of the guest rooms, making her wince once more. “Abdul. Uthman! Ku daina fa!” She called out and glanced at the black face of the tv atop its amber glass stand. She didn’t feel like watching anything either. Letting out a small hiss, she made her way to the boys. 

Three hours later, while the boys had their lunch. Walida dialed Kauthar’s number, but it wasn’t reachable. She dialed again, still, nothing. Then she tried Hajja’s number, it was busy. So she called Aunty Mamy. 

“Hello Assalamu alaikum, Walida?”

“Ae aunty, ya kuke, ya hanya?” She asked.

“We’re still in Zaria fa.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“Hajja said she wants to visit some old friends.”

She rolled her eyes. “Have you spoken to yaya Kauthar?”

“I tried this morning but her number is not going.” 

Was it more serious than they thought? “I also tried her now. Maybe there’s an emergency.”

“Haba, if there was, her husband will tell us na. I’m sure it’s just network.”

Walida shrugged, “Okay, I’ll keep trying. Greet Hajja for me and tell her to remain tsaraba o.”

“Aunt Mamy laughed, “Don’t you have her number? tell her na. Ehen, I’ve been wanting to ask, how is your friend, Aisha?”

Walida bit her lower lip. They hadn’t spoken since yesterday. “She’s fine.”

“Okay, send my greetings to her and the children.”

She nodded, a dart of guilt poking at her heart. She had been a terrible friend. “I’ll tell her. Let me know when you get to Lagos.”

“Okay, greet everyone for me.”

“Toh.” After ending the call, she thought of going to see Aisha. But today was Saturday so there was a high chance that she’d be somewhere in town–at a wedding, birthday, or one expensive store. But Aisha wasn’t the best person to talk to about her problem, all she’d do is mock her and perhaps, show off her newest toy. But then, that could also serve as a distraction. Who knows? Maybe she should also go shopping. Besides, Aisha always said it helped reduce her worries. But Walida doubted that. What worry could her best friend possibly have? She was living the life!

She went into the bedroom and got ready: switching her silk gown for an orange satin one with long sleeves, adorned with floral stones on the neck. She had only worn it once, but when she posed before the mirror and saw how it blended with her custard skin tone and accentuated her coke bottle curve, she was glad she brought it.

Wrapping her veil around her head, she ambled into the living room and saw the boys slumped on the center sofa, making up an open triangle. She shook her head and picked the pillows and torn paper littered on the floor. She also arranged the dirty dishes, certain that Abdul would wash them when he awoke. 

On her way out of the gate, she informed the gateman about the boys, begging him not to let them out of the house. 

When she arrived at Aisha’s house, she couldn’t help but marvel at the three-storey building painted pink with striped roofs and marbled pillars holding the gold metal gate. If she had a house like this, she’d never want to leave.

She pressed the bell beside the gate, which was connected to the gateman’s house and the main house. But no one answered. She pressed again and again. “Sannu Hajiya.” She turned to the male voice. It was the gateman, a dark skinned middle aged man with three tribal marks that ran along the length of both sides of his face. 

“Yauwa.” She replied. He opened the gate with his key and they went in. Walida fed her eyes with the multicolored interlocks covering the whole house, the car park by the right, shading two obviously new cars, including Aisha’s, and the grassy patch by her right, containing a marble table with four chairs, demarcated by different flower pots. It had been a while since she paid attention the details of the house. But now, she needed all the distractions she could get.

When she reached the short marble staircase leading to the Italian wooden door. She stopped to think of the perfect excuse for her behavior because she knew Aisha would definitely ask. Cramps, Bad mood? She wasn’t sure which to choose. Shaking her head, she pasted a smile on her face, so Aisha would see that she was in a good mood. Also, her ATM card was ready.

As her knuckle connected with the door, the door opened slowly. She frowned and went in. Aisha hated leaving the door open, due to a cat that once sneaked into the house when no one was watching. Also, Aisha’s husband hated cats. 

She went in, her heels clicking softly against the marbled floor. The hallway leading towards the living room was bathed in a dull red light. Walida wasn’t sure what the place was used for. When she got into the living room, the tv was on, the series, Lies of the Heart was playing on Zee world. Walida yelped at the chilliness of the room. She looked around: the sitting room was spotless as always, the cream khaki furnitures forming a perfect U-shape. The afternoon sun streamed through the open windows  in the dining room. 

“Aisha?” She called out, dropping her bag on the center table with hand shaped legs. Then she noticed something. Where was the box of tissues that were always on the table, as though they were purchased together?  “Aisha?” She called again, her legs dipping into the soft center rug.

As she ambled towards the marble staircase, that was when she saw a  flower pot lying on the floor, smashed into pieces, the roots in full view. Her eyes followed the sandy trail, all the way to the stairs. On the first step was a drop of blood, on the second, another, third, a thin trail slowly dripping down. Her mouth froze open, eyes bulged out. What was happening? 

On getting to the final step, her eyes landed on the source of the blood: Aisha, facing away from her, in a white singlet and shorts, with a deep gash at the back of her head.

Walida screamed.

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