For TheOlajumokeHera  thank you baby.

And, Maymunatu_Bukar Thank you Gimbiya.

Y'all please leave votes. And comments too. Xx

He watched the sprayer add some water to the wheat bran, he stepped back to the applicator and turned it off as the seeds had all been evenly watered and ready to be dried.

The concept of making flour was a long one and he was at the beginning of the production line, doing the heavy work of lifting and carrying. He loved how it tasked his mind, how it took his mind off his tragedy of a life. 

He carried a small white sack of crushed cassava tubers and poured it over the wheat bran waiting to be dried using the industrial drier, distributing the cassava evenly. Stepping back to measure his work accurately, he decided to weigh some more cassava tubers and add them to the waiting wheat bran. Soon, the crusher began to roll.

He took down the ear pods that had been playing Surah Yusuf recited by a Madinah based sheikh from his ears and stuffed his ears with puffs designed to muffle the sound of the crusher.

He put his hands on his waist, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat that bad gathered on his ebony sheeny skin with the sleeve of his shirt but he'd never been a person who could stand stains on his clothes. So, He signaled a worker who had the job of watching the crusher part of the production line. When He saw that his co-worker had gotten the signal, he turned and began to feed the roller with more wheat bran.

As the sound of the crusher pouring its contents in an industrial blender died out, AbdulRahman took out the muffs and pressed play on the recitation. He visibly felt some more weight lift off his shoulder as the sheikh recited the part where all that Prophet Yusuf had was patience and trust in Allah's plan for him. He shrugged, leaned back and measured out some more cassava tubers to spray over the now wet wheat bran.

He knew the most about patience, but trust was his truest test of his patience. He had no trust in anyone, he couldn't even bring himself to pray for weeks after his family died in that helicopter crash. He just didn't get the point of his life and stopped doing anything that meant he had trust in Allah. 

He heaved a sigh and took out his pods again, plugged the ear puffs back in and stopped thinking, concentrating on making sure the industrial blender did a good job crushing all that had been put in it. 

The little stony bits that appeared on the after crush tray satisfied him who sent a signal that his coworker Alan accepted and sent back a similar signal of his own. He then stepped back from the machine, as it was his last measurement of the day. His arms were sore and all he wanted to do was go to bed after a good hot bath to ease his sore muscles. 

The moment the door of the industrial area shut behind him, he put in his card in to clock out and read a message on the clock out screen that the head industrial manager was asking to see him. He went to nearest bin and took off his industrial light weight cap, tugged off the gloves he had to wear all day and walked up the stairs into the office area of the flour milling company. 

The woman waved him in and asked him to sit while she finished the call she was on when he arrived.

He took that time to secretly stretch his legs, making sure to massage his ankles. He wondered how to make life easier for the people who worked on the milling floor of his company, to ensure that at the end of the day, their ankles did not ache like his did. 

"I'm so sorry, I kept you waiting." The black-asian woman apologized with a smile directed at him, he shut his eyes before nodding and wondered if they'd caught on that he owned his own flour mill or she just wanted to talk. So he nodded gruffly in acceptance of her apology. 

"I called for this meeting because I'd like to know if you're ready to be a permanent staff. You've been here six months and now very good at your job. Management would like to know if you're ready to go on with us, or you're still interested in your temporary agreement." He nearly chuckled at her very inclusive language, he had to send his human resource people to learn how to be this empathetic and inclusive. He also mulled over agreeing to another three month long stint, since his Dada was already getting antsy according to her, He'd left his cousin at the helm of affairs for far too long. 

"I'll take the three month probate agreement. For now." He saw how she visibly felt bad, knowing her, she wanted him to have his full benefits but he couldn't commit to anything while he still had to go deal with his demons in Abuja. 

"Alright then," She took out a sheaf of papers and handed to him and when he took them, his name had been spelled wrong again. He pointed it out and she had the gall to feel ashamed, asking In a low voice for him to pronounce it. 

"My name, is AbdulRahman Barkindo." He watched as she pronounced it properly, with the emphasis on the 'R' in his surname. Nodding in satisfaction, AbdulRahman skimmed through the contract that would tie him to this place for another three months. He added a letter to his name that was misspelled at the top before signing it. 

The woman received it and got up and ushered him out of her office. AbdulRahman ordered an Uber as he left the flour mill complex, he was too tired to walk to the bus stop. As he folded his long, lean body into the backseat of the suburban car that appeared as his Uber, he took out his phone and removed it from the airplane mode that he put it twelve hours before. 

Chimes of several messages and emails hit his phone and he turned down the ringer, so that the driver would not be irritated. He opened the phone and watched as his WhatsApp messages flew into place with a flurry, he could see some messages from everyone asking if he was good. 

He frowned and opened one from his good friend Tahir, he saw that Tahir has quoted a thirty second recitation that he had posted before leaving for work that morning. AbdulRahman facepalmed before answering that he was okay. His tone brokered no argument so he watched as Tahir saw the message, type for awhile and no message came in. 

Once the driver swerved into the familiar part of the Swansea area where he stayed, he saw the lights of the small mosque on his avenue light up, he told the driver to end the trip, paid the driver and dragged himself, sore body and all into the ablution area of the mosque. 

He stepped out after offering maghrib prayers, walking on the cobblestone street to the Indian restaurant on the corner to get his usual evening order of naan bread and goat curry sauce. Thai food had lost its taste after his wife died, she used to make food from everywhere for him, claiming she was engaging his palate.

As he walked, flashes of his children rushing out of the house to the side of his car unfailingly each evening at his return from work brought tears down his eyes and he finally dried his eyes with his sleeves. Nai'mah was not here to see it or complain, Muhajeed was not there to ask him to swirl him around at sunset, nor was Aaisha there to bug him for the little chocolates he always had in his breast pocket. None of them were there, it was just him, AbdulRahman. 

He unlocked the door to his one bedroom flat and after shakily setting his dinner on the coffee table he had finessed at a flea market for three pounds. 

He slowly took off his coat, his shirt came off next, then he shed his trousers and Socks, padding carefully to the small bathroom, he turned on the shower to hot and shivered a little as he waited for the water to heat up a bit. Once it had heated enough, he jumped in and suddenly remembered that Nai'mah would never have let him bathe with water this hot, she would have regulated the water to warm, saying she didn't want him to look like her uncle when she was out living her best life. 

It occurred to him there and then that Nai'mah could no longer live her best life and all of his plans to do life with her was over. He slowly covered his face with his hands and sobbed, not minding the heat of the water. He sobbed into his palms and afterwards dropped to his knees letting the jets aimed at him wash his tears and pain down the drain. 

*

******

Hello people. 🥰

Missed me? Or our babies? You just met my newest hubby AbdulRahman up there, how was he? How did he do? Be nice to him, the man is broken.

Sha, please leave a comment, vote please, share with your friends if you think it's worth reading. I hope you think it is 🥺

See y'all soon. Soon.

TheOmoope 😊😊