For all the women named Amina in my life. Y'all do so many amazing things every single day. Thank you for being you.

A fair skinned, chubby cheeked woman in a blue hijab opened the netted door to the creche room and cooed when she saw her child, her nine month old son gurgle at her. He seemed to be aware of her very presence and smiled showing off his four teeth.

"My AbdulKareem." She called and he made noises and stretched out his caramel complexioned plump arms to his mother, as though motioning for her to pick him up. She complied after putting down her handbag and he seemed to sag against her immediately she put him on her body, as though basking in her warmth.

"Mummy's baby. My Duduke⁴." She called and he hummed as though he could comprehend all that she had said. She laughed out loud, kissing his forehead, his chubby cheeks and the tip of his straight nose.

She adjusted the knit cap that she lovingly knitted while he was still in her belly, put him on her hip and walked to the creche room teacher who always let AbdulKareem and her have their own time with one another. She had read it somewhere that it helped mother and child bond with one another.

"Miss Vera. Good evening." She greeted Vera who smiled very heartily and leaned forward to tug on Kareem's chubby cheeks that seemed to invite tugging everytime and everywhere.

"Good evening, Miss Adepoju. How did you fare today? I hope work was not stressful?" At Vera's inquiry, She sighed softly and shook her head, clearing away thoughts that would weigh her down if she let them in for too long, it was why she left the house each day and lovingly taught the children of other people, moulding them in their formative years.

"You know I love those kids. Nothing they do stresses me. I enjoy being with them. Thank you for asking, how did you fare today too? You're the most hardworking one, dealing with over fifteen toddlers and babies. Na you oo." Vera smiled, a dimple popping in her left cheek that made it so easy for her to leave Kareem with her everyday without qualms. Vera truly loved her job, loved the children and never complained about it, she seemed to share her happiness with children under the age of one.

"How was AbdulKareem today? I hope he wasn't fussy?" Vera shook her head, handing Kareem a little rattle toy from her table, took out a medicated wipe and wiped the toy down before handing it to him.

The toy shook and made a cacophony of sounds when shaken. She took the toy from AbdulKareem, not wanting him to wake the other children fast sleep waiting for their parents. Vera used to say that AbdulKareem seemed to have a biological clock that intoned the time mummy would arrive. He would wake, either lie on his side or hold unto the railings of his school bed. He usually just waited for his mother wide awake and ready to smile.

"Kareem isn't a fussy boy and you know it." She laughed at Vera but handed her a little voucher she had saved from a visit to her her elder brother over the weekend. Vera's mouth dropped open but she took it, smiling so thankfully. She nodded and walked back to the place where she left her bag.

Turning herself, she in one magical swish of her hand put AbdulKare on her back. Silently calling her Ya Rahman to save her from the habit of always thinking that each time she swung Kareem like that, he would fall to his death.

Kareem fussed, grabbing hold of the chiffon scarf she had fashioned her hijab out of, but she took it from him and tucked it into her top. Kareem, upon seeing nothing to hold unto, began to fuss louder, prompting his mother to pat his diapered buttocks for him to calm down.

"Let's go home. Daddy is waiting." Kareem gurgled in baby speak, seemingly agreeing with the fact that daddy was waiting. She used that distraction to strap him properly to her back, pick up his diaper bag that Vera put at the door for her and her own handbag.

She greeted everyone she met on the way with a smile, they all waved a hi at Kareem, a huge smile on their faces as they all tried all types of baby speak just to make him happy. She had to break the conversation Kareem seemed to bring out in every person that they met, it was his power, it was just the way he was. Kareem.

"Alake!¹" Oshogbo could be likened to a sleepy city. People liked to say that it could be called therapeutic, she rather would call it quiet. It was the reason she left loud, bubbly Ibadan where her parents lived and grew up, moved with her civil servant husband to live in the sleepy city, it didn't open it's eyes until daylight and by nighttime, Oshogbo would slowly shut it's eyes, it was an unspoken rule to be home early.

"Nibo Len lo²?" She blinked before she told the driver her bus stop. The market. She had to get ingredients to make a new soup for Amala that would be made that night.

She fished out her phone and turned on her data connection, chuckling at how little messages came into her phone. She had very few people checking up on her, many of her friends left her when she adamantly married her husband. A man they thought she shouldn't have married, they said with the beauty and elegance that she exuded, she was wasted on her husband. It was too late to agree though, so she just took each day as it came.

She stopped her father twelve megabyte video from downloading into her phone and replied with a Salam to his own Salam. Her father sent her a large video file each day, never ever missing, it was either a video of the stories of one of the prophets, or a Duas for several things that she enjoyed on a normal day but today was an exception, she needed to conserve her internet connection for later, she was as usual short on money

Come home so you can collect money to cook soup.

She replied her eyes in exasperation, at her husband's insensitivity. He must have passed through that market on his way back home but didn't stop to do anything, now he would want her to go home, and then return to the market like she had nothing to do with her life. As she mused, another message came up in the chat box.

Don't use your father's money oo, you know I won't eat that soup.

She finally gave in to the temptation to hiss, doing it so loudly that the older man who was driving the vehicle turned to look at her. She looked away and wondered when he would change, when he would stop taunting her with her father's money and how she should have collected a lot of it to begin a busniess and put him at the head of it. It was this character of his though, that made the words stuck in her throat each time he pushed her to ask her father. So, she tamped down on her annoyance and asked him to use another way.

Transfer it, I'll use a POS point at the market.

Seconds later, another message came in.

🙄I don't know I can transfer abi? I have only cash on hand Abeg. Come and take it.

After a beat, he added;

These rats in your house have become too much oo.

She rolled her eyes again, but told the driver to take her to another direction, away from the market. The driver grumbled, saying she would cut him off from his other customers if he took that route. She pacified him by adding a hundred naira more to his fare, he agreed and continued to drive.

They passed the Oba's³ market from behind and She shook her head with another roll of her eyes. She was supposed to get things in this market and go home to cook, but one man's ego would cause her to do an unnecessary walk around Oshogbo.

"Ati de post office.¹³" She looked around, sighing, knowing she had gotten lost in thought again. She paid the driver a hundred and fifty naira and gingerly got out of the seven seater small bus that Oshogbo people nicknamed Alake.

Kareem seemed to have fallen asleep, so she put down her bag and tucked his hands into the wrapper around her chest and back before continuing her walk down the dusty street where her husband's family house was situated.

"Mummy Kareem!" A five year old dusty child jumped on her as soon as she reached halfway down the street, halfway was spent greeting several older people who sat outside their doors, gauging who passed and who didn't. They were the best to ask for information, they knew everything, no doubt.

"O se⁵ Aliyah." She handed the slightly heavy diaper bag to Aliyah who made sure to welcome her everyday. She usually told her elder brother that Aliyah's welcome and her shout of 'Mummy Kareem' was the best revitalization anyone could have.

Aliyah strapped the bag to herself, lugging it along until she reached the gate where she lived. She took it from the little girl, patted her shoulder and told her to go play. She usually took Aliyah in for a glass of water or juice on some days, but today, she had to dash in, dash out to carry a bag, collect the money and go to the market.

"Ekule oo⁶." She greeted as she entered. She was met with silence, she silently rejoiced as she walked through the compound to the stack of flats behind the house where she and her husband occupied.

She met him in the living room, his legs swinging over the arm of a sofa, as he laughed at a comedy skit on his phone. She recognized the sound of a particular funny comedienne and itched to go watch it too but she knew she'd be rebuffed.

He had many complaints this days, her breasts were too big, she'd gained too much weight, she smelt of milk- which she did not- or the one that hurt the most of all, she was too fat, she didn't suddenly outgrow her clothes.

She carried Kareem for nine months and after his birth, her mother in law, who ruled in the affairs of their house ordered her to exclusively breastfeed Kareem. She did not mind because she pumped a lot of milk, but it occured to her that if she had problems producing milk, it might been a huge bone of contention.

"Salam Alaykum." She said, hoping for once that he would take her bag or help her with Kareem. He raised his head, replied her Salam and went back to watching his video as though he didn't see her. She sighed and walked to the room. She changed Kareem's diapers, washed her hands and took him to the living room where his father was and asked for the said money.

"It's on my head fa. Can't you see it on the dining? Ode." She pursed her lips, walked back to the dining, took the money, two one thousand naira notes, one five hundred naira note and a dirty two hundred. She shook her head and went to ask what he would like to eat.

"Amala, ewedu, shaki,⁷ edo,⁸ cowleg, gbegiri⁹." She felt like bursting into tears and refusing to go but she carefully put Kareem on the floor beside him and asked him to watch his son while she was at the market.

He made an offhand movement and she considered how fast it would be if she didn't have to lug the baby around, so she left the house before Kareem noticed. She heard his wail as she locked their front gate, but walked briskly till she couldn't hear him anymore.

She almost collided with her mother in law who taught at the Islamic school next door coming from her class. She greeted the older woman as happily as she could, receiving a lukewarm response, she shrugged. It was better than days of silence.

"Nibo lo da?¹⁰" She turned and told her mother in law she was rushing to the market. The woman nodded solemnly and she rushed out, not wanting to be interoggated any further.

She stopped a bike and got on it, effectively cutting off all types of greetings that would make her journey long.

At the market, it was as though she had fire on her bottom, she rushed through everything. Even the offal seller asked her if all was well, she was about to shake her head, when she felt pangs in her heart. So she nodded.

She walked around, looking for a store that sold Kareem's food, upon finding one, she paid for it and asked how many times they had it. The young girl who manned the shop, told her they had it all the time.

She nodded happily and left the shop, humming a nasheed under her breath. Kareem's food had to be brought from Ibadan at least once every fourteen days, it had become tiring. Mixing Kareem's breast milk with formula was a lot of trouble and she knew that her husband poured some of the food away just to make her feel bad and revert to exclusive breastfeeding.

She stopped another bike and rode with the breeze in her hijab back to the house. At the gate, she paid for the ride and entered the compound, feeling pangs again in her heart. She said a Dua against evil and asked Allah to protect her from anything that would make her cry, feeling some ease, she walked towards the back. Her slippers hitting the ground with flop flop sound.

At the door, she heard sounds of Kareem coughing as though he was trying to force out something and rushed into the house. The sight that greeted her eyes made her heart pound very heavily. Her husband asleep, Kareem on the carpet, choking on something, with blood flowing from his ears and nose. His eyes were white, in that look that people have before death. She did not know how she made it to him, but by the time she carried him and screamed for her husband, Kareem had fallen. Limp in her arms.

She carried him and ran into the street, stopping the first bike she saw. The bike rider told her not to worry and raced her and the limp bundle in her arms into a two storey hospital two streets away from them. She didn't know how she sat on the bike, nor how the bike man took her son from her while she disembarked, all she remembered was how she called several of Allah's names in her head.

Her son, she asked. Her son, she begged. Her son, she wondered.

"This boy is gone. Omo eleyi ti lo.¹¹" She sat down, slid to the floor, disregarding the chair. Her place was the hard floor, her joy was gone, her happiness, was all poof in the air. She could scarcely believe it, but it was true.

"Onikede. Aye e ti baje¹²!"

Glossary

1)Alake: A bus, a seven seater bus that takes it name from small goats that are easy to pull around. It's called Korope in some places and small bus in others.

2) Nibo len lo: You're going in want direction?

3) oba: King

4) Duduke: An endearing name babies began to get called after the song made by musician, Simi for her child. It loosely means heartbeat.

5) O se.: Thank you to a person younger or the same age as you.

6) Ekule: Hello House

7) Shaki: Tripe

8) Edo: liver

9)Gbegiri: A soup made from beans boiled till soft and then blended and cooked with oil. It's used to serve Amala and it's quitecomplicated to cook.

10)Nibo lo da?: Where are you of to? Unlike Where are you going? Nibo lo da is asking the one being questioned in a rude manner. Usually for errant children or adults who leave the house without permission.

11)Omo eleyi ti lo: This child is dead.

12) Aye e ti baje: Your life is lost, destroyed etc. You get the picture?

13) Ati de Post Office: We're at Post office. A bustop in Oshogbo.

********

Heyo special people. Welcome to UnderWater. You might see a different name from the one in the blurb from time to time.

Don't get confused, Amina is Onikede, Onikede is Amina. Yoruba people usually give their child a traditional name regardless of their religion. Like mine is Vivian, Opeyemi. See? Good.

I'll see y'all when I see you. Please leave comments and Votes, also abeg, please share. God bless us all.

TheOmoope 😊