Mummy wipes the sweat that settles on her forehead, and I notice the splotches of dark patches blemishing her face. The sun of December afternoons reminds me of the witch in Snow White I watched as a child; cruel and apathetically cold in the way it has dealt with my mother's fair skin. She gives the deep freezer one last push and lets out an exhale, arms akimbo, and a small smile at the silent victory of her solo work.

"Hopefully the repair man comes this weekend like your father promised," she says.

Iffat looks up from her phone, her eyes schooled in that bored way. But behind the boredom, just like behind her every expression, I see the worry lurking there, coiled in anticipation of her JAMB results. There were issues with the results of those who wrote the exam on the first day, and it added to the torture of the wait she had to go through. I wonder if she feels those invisible hands reaching out to play with her heart like a stress ball.

I steal a peek at her phone, and her thumb is hovering over the JAMB page, one I have seen her finger swipe down on several times to refresh. Mummy heads back to the kitchen just as the smell of the Jollof rice becomes more pronounced, the burnt aroma carrying with it the strength of curry and Maggi.

Iffat stands from the couch and goes to the deep freezer. She holds her nose before opening it, and then when she sniffs inside and doesn't smell anything bad, she looks surprised.

"Mummy deep cleaned it," I supply to her as an explanation. Mummy had taken her time to scrub the insides with hypo and detergent, so soapy and strong that it choked my eyes and caused nausea to climb up my throat. She had rinsed it thoroughly, and when I told her of my worries about food returning to something that was washed that way, my mother had brushed it off with a hand.

"Nadeen, I've rinsed it, abi?" My mother said in a bid to end my concerns.

"Imagine someone being locked inside this," Iffat says, staring into the deep freezer.

"Why would you imagine that? It's disturbing," I tell her.

"Something that Daddy can do."

"Iffat...," I hate the way she sometimes paints Daddy as a monster, like an assistant Shaytan.

"Did I lie?" She retorts. Iffat lifts one leg and puts it inside the deep freezer. My eyes go in the direction of the kitchen, the scraping of a spoon against the bottom of the pot, waiting for the second Mummy comes out and catches my sister.

Iffat puts the second leg inside and crouches in the freezer. She gives me a full grin before closing the lid over herself.

"Iffat!" I make sure not to call her out loud because that could get her in trouble with Mummy. Iffat opens the freezer, seized in a fit of cough.

"This is a murder chamber," she says as she quickly climbs out. "We should throw it away, not use it."

A popular song comes on the television and Iffat bops in an uncoordinated dance. I laugh as she dances with her butt directed at me, and she makes a silly attempt to twist her waist, rolling it in the way kindergarteners do with plastic hoola hoops. From the kitchen, Mummy sings an Asalatu song I have heard from a neighbouring mosque countless times.

There is a certain way my body comes undone in some period of the day. On these very rare days, my spirit relaxes, like it has been let out of some kind of prison. I recline on the chair, tossing my legs atop the seats, adrenaline gushing through my veins at the break of some invisible rule I had mastered, like so many other unspoken ones that had been set, a natural way we followed them without questioning who set them. These pockets of time, rare and short, are when I am happy for no reason.

Then a car horns from outside the gate.

Something slams back in my chest -- the spirit roaming around too freely. Mummy stops singing, Iffat stops dancing and sits, tucking her phone under her top, the rectangular shape of the device gutting out by her left flank before she removes it and hides it properly between the tight spaces of the couch. We all come in order, everything finds a way of being arranged, cushions in place, sweet wrappers picked off the floor, center table dusted off, the channel switched to a documentary. We don't know who did what, or when, it's like instructions hardwired into robots to obey.

If anyone walks in, we look like a good family, well-behaved, perfect. Expectant eyes waiting to greet the head of the house. I think of us this way, perfect, while I stuff the unwanted fear that snakes its way through my body. But it remains, seated like a full figure next to me, waiting for its verdict, to know if to possess me or leave.

Daddy steps inside the house just as Mummy comes out of the kitchen to greet him. Iffat and I greet him too, and I notice the ease on his face, brows relaxed, gait unhurried, fists unclenched. Both Iffat and I mirror his smile, and my fear has no choice but to leave.

"Iya Iffat, sit down," Daddy says.

Mummy sits next to me, searching both Iffat and I's gazes, questions about if we know what this was about, or if she's in trouble. I shake my head. Iffat shrugs.

Daddy hands her a big nylon bag, and I catch the word Wears scrawled on it.

"I went to this expensive store to get you new clothes," he announces proudly.

Mummy gasps, then one by one, she brings out one gown after the other, admiring their different colours and designs. She thanks Daddy as she does this, her face bright.

"You shouldn't have," Mummy says after she pulls out the seventh and last gown. "Haba, we could have just used that money for something else."

"Wo, I have bought it, and you will wear it," Daddy smiles. "I got your sizes right, didn't I?"

"Yes," Mummy stands and holds a gown against herself. "They fit. Thank you, Daddy Iffat. This is a lot."

"Since you have refused to wear clothes that will appreciate your body well, I decided to buy the one you like oo, so that people will not say your husband is not spending on you," Daddy says, his voice light. The memory of the boutique flashes in my head, Mummy in her jeans, refusing to step out, Iffat interfering. The red welts all over Iffat's skin when we get home. I stuff it down easily, and it disappears like it wasn't there in the first place. This is a happy moment, and nothing will taint it.

I pick one of Mummy's gowns, my favourite so far, blue with white beads around the neckline and sleeves. My hand rubs over the soft material, and I put it to my nose, inhaling the brand-new smell of it.

Iffat grabs it from me, and Daddy sits up.

"Don't spoil it."He warns. "Each of those gowns costs me nothing less than 10 thousand naira. That even reminds me, Iffat, where is your JAMB result?"

Iffat lowers the gown to her lap. "It isn't out yet."

"Up till now?" Daddy asks. Iffat gives a vigorous nod, conveying her shared perplexity. "Is it that they haven't released it or you are hiding it from us?"

"I don't have any reason to hide it from anyone," Iffat says, confident. "I know I did well. Now it's up to JAMB to release it."

That seems to work for Daddy, for he rests back against the chair. "Like I said, you must get nothing less than 250, do you hear? After spending all that time at home you should even get all the 400 score of JAMB sef. O daa. Ehm...Nadeen, go to my boot. You'll see a little gift there, bring it."

I take his car keys from him, and I step out of the house, wondering what other surprise Daddy has in store. I unlock the boot, and sitting there is a spare tire, a jerrycan darkened with petrol residue, and a long, thin wood, just like a cane, and at the end are braided pieces of leather.

I look back at the house, and the car, wondering what the gift is. I pick the jerrycan, but as I am about to close the boot, I drop it, pick the cane, and take it to the house. Maybe Daddy bought it for me to hand over to my teachers at school, but if that's it, I would hide it, because this looks even more painful than the normal cane.

I step back inside the house, and Daddy beams when he sees what I am holding, and I know I picked the correct thing.

He takes it from me, and raises it, then slashes through the air, the sound a slice of something invisible.

"Nadeen, bring your Quran," he says to me. Confused again, I go to my room and fetch my Quran.

"Ehen, good," Daddy says when I return with my Quran. "So, open to...what was this verse this man said? Open to 4:34. Yes, I think that is it."

I open to Suratun-Nisa, the fourth chapter of the Quran, then trace my hand over the Arabic numbers until I reach verse 34. I recite it in Arabic, and when I am done, Daddy hands me his phone, and there is the English translation of it already browsed out.

"Read it," he says.

"Men are the protectors and maintainers of women because Allah has given the one more strength than the other," I start.

"Good, good," Daddy nods. "Just read toward the last part, that's all I want to hear."

"...And as for those women whose ill will you have reason to fear..."

"Nadeen, go to the last part," Daddy sounds impatient.

I read the part quietly, my throat growing dry, my eyes on the cane in his hand.

"And lastly," I say. "Beat them, but if they return to obedience..."

"That's okay, that's all I need to hear," Daddy smiles. "So you see, even God knew how hard it is to handle you women on a daily. And I have three. I'm not trying to scare you or anything," Daddy raises his hands as if in surrender. "I'm just saying there are days that holding onto patience in men is thin because even if we hide our anger on Kilimanjaro, you women will go and find it. I don't like to beat or anything, it's not in my blood, but when you look for my anger, what did God say about women who you fear? Our Afa Nadeen has told us."

Daddy raises from his seat, swinging the cane with determination.

"This is koboko, and it is going to give me my peace of mind in this house," he says. "So that this koboko will not have any function, just give me peace, wallahi, it's not hard, that's all I want."

"Daddy Iffat, that cane will wound the children," Mummy says with caution.

"Ehn, who said it's not for you too?" Daddy says jokingly and dangles the cane in front of Mummy's face. 

Mummy chuckles. "How will you be using koboko to beat me?"

I try to wonder what difference it makes to Mummy for him to use his fists, his feet, his belt, rope, anything he could lay hands on in a fit of rage.

"I cannot even touch your fine skin with this thing ever," Daddy swears. "Start wearing those gowns tomorrow. Start with the yellow one."

"I like the pink," Mummy says, holding it up.

"No, the yellow is better." Daddy insists. "Wear the yellow tomorrow. Wear the pink one when you're going to an occasion. The blue can be saved for when visitors come over. Wo, see, Iya Iffat, e dakun, your husband is starving."

Mummy instructs Iffat and I to fold the clothes for her and she returns to the kitchen. Daddy heads to the toilet, and the koboko is hanging on the head of the couch we are sitting on, watching us like a disciplinarian.

"Let's hide it," Iffat says.

"What? No." I refuse. "He will know."

"And so? At least he won't beat us with it."

"He will buy another one."

"Ehn, then we should overpower him and beat him back."

"Iffat!"

"What?! We are not killing him now! We'll just tame him."

Sometimes, I wonder how Iffat and I are related; the kind of nonsense she spews, talking about beating her own father as a joke, and I can feel myself get angry.

"He bought it because of me, you know," Iffat says.

"Why would he buy it because of you?"

"He's waiting for me to fail JAMB," Iffat says. "That's why."

"But you are sure you passed, yes?" I ask as I fold the last of the gowns. I look at Iffat, waiting for her to answer me. 

"In shaa Allah," she finally says.

-

-

-

Talks about exams approaching buzz in school the next day during a free period, and again, Nasir is being hailed in class. Yusrah is sitting next to me, and she's talking about how Juwariyyah is showing off the new notebooks her mother had gotten her from her travels to London.

"This Juwariyyah is funny, it's not like her mother is the first to travel abroad na," Yusrah giggles silently when Aisha appraises the beauty of the shimmering notebooks. "Wait, did she pack everything her mother bought her to show off to us? There's no need for that."

 I watch as Juwariyyah brings out some pens designed as popular cartoon characters, and she rises from her seat and heads to both Yusrah and me.

"Hmm, Juwariyyah." Yusrah beams, her voice sweet. "Nadeen and I were just talking about your things from ilu oyinbo. Nadeen said you packed everything come to school."

"No, I didn't," I refute at once. "Don't mind Yusrah, she was the one who said so."

"Relax Nadeen, it's ordinary play," Yusrah says.

"Well, I told my mother to buy pens for my friends," Juwariyyah hands Yusrah a pen with feathers at the end. She hands me one with Avatar's face at the end, and then another with a Bratz doll head, which I gasp at how beautiful it is. Its hair is even real.

"My mother said to gift you two especially," Juwarriyah tells me. "She said you'd need it for all that studying you'd do."

"I love them," I tell her. "Thank you."

"Thank you oo," Yusrah says. "We like this will have to buy an extra pen if we finish studying with this one."

Good-hearted Juwariyyah takes it as a joke and goes back to her seat. I elbow Yusrah lightly.

"It wasn't good how you were behaving to her," I say.

Yusrah frowns and adjusts her glasses. "How?"

"You're making it look as if you don't like the gift she got you."

"It's ordinary feathers on pen na, am I supposed to be making a big deal about it?"

"She only got pens for a few of us," I touch my Bratz doll's head of hair, a warmth spreading through my body. "And it's a big deal."

Yusrah doesn't say anything, and instead, uses her new pen to drum on the tabletop. She watches me put the pens in my bag, and she wraps her hand around my arm.

"I really hope they put the two of us together during exams," she says. "Me like this, nothing is entering my head so I'll just sit next to my best friend."

I smile at that, and I return to pondering if I should read my book or my Quran during this free period. I think about what I will do after school, maybe visit Abu Hurairah again. He has not been in Lagos for a long while, and I really haven't seen much of Zainab ever since I decided to take my studies seriously for the exams and go easy on going to Madrasah.

My eyes trail over to Nasir's side, and I find him looking at me. This time, he doesn't look away but raises a hand halfway, and waves with uncertainty. I wave back at him, and the guilt finds me. Can I actually be friends with someone I find a threat to my position as the best in the class? 

"How far, you didn't even gist me about your father again," Yusrah raises her head and looks at me. "What abnormal thing has he been up to recently?"

As she reaches for the sachet of water on the desk, something sinks in me at her choice of word to describe my father, something that reminds me very much of Iffat. I shrug it off, I know she means that my father does some things that are bad, not that it is abnormal; I'm just the one overthinking it.

"Did he beat your mother or any of you again?" Yusrah asks, wiping her wet lips. "Abi did he break chair on your head?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

Truth is, I just don't feel like telling her anything at the moment. I might eventually, but not at that moment, it feels wrong. 

It doesn't take long for our free period to end, and immediately Yusrah moves back to her seat, Omar walks past me and drops me a note on my desk. I whirl around to look at him, but he is speaking with Fateemah upfront and doesn't look my way.

I take the note and open it under my desk. The writing is familiar; Nasir's. I look up and see him looking my way, eager eyes waiting for me to open up his note. I unwrap it, and in the center of the scrawling, there is a huge lollipop sellotaped. I pull it off and read the note.

Hey Nadeen,

My mother got me sweets, and I saved this for you. Also, the birthday package I promised to give you is with me. 

P.S. Sorry if sending this letter is weird. It's easier for me.

Omar walks past, and I raise my hand to him, then whisper, "Tell him thank you."

When he returns to his seat, Omar speaks in Nasir's ear, and Nasir throws a glance at me, waves, and faces his front. I take the sweet and put it inside my bag, and when I look as Mrs. Tahir enters the class, Yusrah and Aisha are looking my way, and Yusrah has that knowing look on her face, the one that says I am going to gist her everything later. I really hope she doesn't ask. She knows nothing about Nasir and me's new friendship, and I want Nasir to keep it that way because as selfish as it may sound, I don't want to share my friendship with him with her too. 

Closing time comes after a blur of activities, and it is almost as if everyone is rushing to start the different chapters opening in their family lives. I am about to leave the classroom when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look back, and it's Nasir.

"Salam alaikum," he greets.

"Walaikum Salam," I answer. "You could just call my name instead of tapping me."

He looks immediately flustered. "I'm sorry, but I got you the gift box I promised. The one from my cousin's birthday. Sorry, it didn't come earlier." His excitement comes back on as he holds out to me a green birthday bag. 

I look around and take it. Inside the bag, there are many foreign candies which I don't know, but they do look expensive. It is a box at the bottom of the bag that catches my eye, and I pull it out.

"What's this doing here?" I say, holding up the box of a new phone. "You're dashing out phones as souvenirs now?"

"No, that is your own gift," Nasir says.

I laugh at him, waiting for him to join in the humour, but his face falls. He seems offended even.

"Wait, you're not joking?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's so that we could easily talk."

"Nasir," I hiss his name and stuff the phone into the gift bag before anyone around sees it. "You don't gift people phones!"

"But I have enough savings for a cheap one. It only cost me 35, 000 naira," Nasir argues. "It's just for us to talk. You said you cannot really talk to me because your sister is the only one with a phone..."

"I didn't say it to beg for a phone from you!" I try to keep my voice low. There's just something always going to set my anger off with him all the time.

"I didn't get it because you begged," Nasir says, all excitement already gone from him, like blowing out the flame of a wicker lamp. "I got it because you're my friend."

I turn around and leave without another word from him, and march out of the school gate. At the junction I am supposed to turn to take the bus, I see Yusrah with some of my classmates, and I know if I pass there, she is going to hound me for information about Nasir. So, I take the other route that's double the time for me to get to the bus stop, but I really don't want to talk to anyone.

It is until I get to the bus that I realize I am supposed to give Nasir back the phone, but anger had made me not to. I will hand it back to him first thing in the morning.

When I get home, Mummy Anu is in the compound with another woman. The woman has her hands on her hips, and the woman is cursing and cursing, and Mummy Anu sees me, then places a hand on the woman's shoulder to stop her.

"It's okay, it's okay," Mummy Anu tells the woman. "It's okay, ehn? You're complaining about your husband not always being home, yet look at me, no husband. You should be grateful. Nadeen, welcome oo, your parents haven't come home yet. I'm going to send the kids over so that you and Iffat help them with their homework, okay? You see, Mummy Tobi, if I had a husband now, is it not a lesson teacher that would be helping them do their assignment instead of my neighbours? It's only me catering for them financially."

I want to tell her that I am tired and still have to prepare for Madrasah, but I don't want to offend her. Mummy Anu has done so much for us already, it feels wrong to refuse any little help we could offer her.

The first thing I smell is iru upon entering the house, and I cough at the pepper that has tinged the air, worrying about the diarrhea I would have if I ate the food. Iffat comes out of the kitchen, taps the cooking spoon on her palm, licks it, and coughs.

"Omo, this stew is going to kill somebody today," she laughs. "Nadeen my sister, how are you? And who is that Ibadan woman swearing outside?"

"I think it's Mummy Anu's friend," I say as I pull off my hijab. 

"Toorh. I heard her saying that her husband sold her farm to marry another wife. The farm that she put in her husband's name," Iffat hisses and tastes the stew again. "Some women can be stupid sha. Stupid enough to get married and stupid enough to let men do everything for them."

I am too tired to argue with Iffat on her choice of words, and I stand to get myself some cold sachet water from the fridge. It isn't as cold as I want it, and when I return to the living room, I look at the malfunctioning deep freezer still sitting there.

"It isn't repaired yet?" I ask my sister.

Iffat shrugs. "Your father has refused to do anything about it. It's only 'I'm coming, I'm coming' he's saying every day."

I sit on the couch, and I bring out the squeezed birthday package in my bag. Iffat's eyes grow wide, and she snatches it from me before I even have the chance to show her.

"Eewo! See free gifts! Who gave you?" She asks. Thankfully, I have kept the phone away from her, and she sifts through the bag only containing the candies.

"You're sharing with me oo," Iffat tells me. I ponder about telling her about the phone, but I don't want to deal with the questions, I really don't want to deal with anything. 

Iffat rushes back into the kitchen, and I hear the cover of a pot clang followed by more coughing. I try to think up an excuse not to eat that food she's making, but knowing Iffat would be angry if I didn't, I decide taking a little, maybe just a tablespoonful, should be enough to satisfy her.

But when Iffat comes back into the living room, all signs of the earlier joviality on her face have been washed clean. In one hand is the cooking spoon, and in the other is her phone. I sit up and stare at her, my heart pounding. I don't need anyone to tell me that her JAMB result is already out.

"Nadeen," she calls to me. "I got 219."