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Rabiat’s Diary (V)
I immediately send the guard with the letter before I can tear it up.
Soon there is so much rumour about me once again. For once people are right
in their prediction about my going back. To console myself I think of how
happy A’isha will be to have me back. I dare not think of how Mohammed and
his amarya are going to behave this time around. Anyway; I should just
concentrate on the positive part of having my dearest daughter with me once
again.
Ten days after Uncle’s final discussion it isn’t a surprise when I receive
Suleiman’s letter from Jos.
If it wasn’t mother that told him, he might have heard it from somewhere, I
think. The letter makes me very thoughtful. It reads thus:
Dear Rabiat,
Allow me to congratulate you on your engagement. l am happy that at least
you are taking another step towards solving your life’s problems.
This step by worldly standards is quite splendid. Judging by your recent
confidence to me on the subject of marriage I have reason to believe that
this is not your doing. I never expected you to change your mind about what
we talked about
If you are quite certain that you wish to go back, good luck; if not don’t
try. It would be the greatest mistake to marry for worldly gains alone. lam
asking you, Rabiat: do you really love Mohammed? Can he make you laugh as I
do? I shall miss you, my love.
Please do not take offence at my letter. I am aware that you are a mature
woman of thirty. If you believe in your decision then I congratulate you
once again. But I feel dumped.
Yours, Suleiman.
I smile after reading the letter. Really he is a man with a sense of humour
and, oh, he’s made me feel terribly guilty. But what can I do?
Since guilt prevents me from being out and about, I stay mostly at home.
When I tell A’isha the news on the phone when I visit a friend’s house, she
is overwhelmed. Once in a month I go to Nitel to phone her, since our phone
line has been permanently dislocated because of some major electrical
problem; father’s mobile phone is always with him and he hardly stays at
home ever since he ventured into politics a year ago.
The night I am supposed to have my last sleep in my father’s house Mohammed
invades me in my sleep. He comes to meet me at the door as I arrive Kano.
His face isn’t showing any emotions.
When I abruptly wake up I pray he would not be as I saw him in my dream.
I must stop worrying. Worry is an enemy of a well-ordered mind.
The following day as I slam into my dependence I say bye to my independence
once again.
Mother wishes me good luck and soon I am on my way to Kano, escorted by my
aunties.
SEPTEMBER 3rd
As early as the end of August, the daily course of our lives has assumed its
settled direction, and we three- Mohammed, Tani and I- were as completely
insolated in our own section as if the house we lived in had been a desert
and the streets outside of the house seemed like the sea.
I could now on some leisure time begin to consider what my future plan of
action should be, and I might arm myself more securely at the struggle for
my sanity due to Mohammed and Tani’s atrocities.
I give up all hope of appealing to people, mostly my friend Laraba and
mother or Aunty’ Halima, for good counsel.
Since my love for Mohammed is not more in amount than my sense of reason, I
thank God. The outward changes brought about by psychological suffering are
there for all to see again on me. I have had my own observations. They are
not getting any better in previous months when I had been away. If people
had seen them together enjoying themselves, there would have been no cause
for alarm, but now that I am back everything that happens is like it is
being aired on the radio. Just as there are meddlers in any marriage there
are more in the mind. The meddlers believe I don’t know what they say or
plan between Mohammed and I. Sometimes Tani gets as much as she can of
stories about me from my so-called friends. The way she eyes me and hisses
whenever she sees me confirms that. I even learn that she has got supporters
too and has severally exchanged words with my supporters. Funny.
There are now real-life examples that show I am not meant to be in this
house. My only pleasure is in being with my daughter. To be truthful, that
is not enough. It is not enough for a woman like me in her early thirties,
who is sentimental enough to have a crush at the idea of a nice, sensitive
and understanding man. I can’t pretend to be seventy years of age as far as
my sentiments towards love are concerned.
Most times we watch films chewing at something:
chocolate or biscuits, while we watch comedy videos. I help A’isha with her
homework and sometimes we even go for a stroll, but still something is
missing. In truth it is. I don’t feel settled and there is no sense of
belonging on my side. I feel outside but yet inside.
I phone Asabe to tell her I am going to see her new born baby which she got
two days ago. No, I shall wait till weekend when A’isha will not be going to
school in the morning. Tomorrow being Saturday, I am looking forward to that
outing. Mohammed? He doesn’t mind whatever time I go out. He seems engrossed
in his own time with Tani. I’m supposed to be just an addition to the
family.
There is A’isha the following morning, bathed and ready to go to see Asabe’s
new baby “When are you getting me a new baby; mummy’? I hope it will be soon
because I love babies. I can feed them and take care of them,” she says
excitedly.
‘‘I will try.’’
I can’t blame Aisha; she has spoken to me as only an only child could. She
has told me her thought as any child would. A child who doesn’t have an idea
that her parent’s marriage is on the rocks once again. An innocent and
blameless child who suffers due to no fault of hers.
I ask Mohammed for the car keys, as I can drive, since the driver is on
leave. He hands the keys to me without saving a word. Soon, we are driving
towards Asabe’s house. Soon we are in her spacious house.
I meet Asabe’s husband at home.
“It’s you, Rabiat! Do come in,” he says cheerfully as he meets us at the
door.
The house is still the same house but now they are richer in furnishings.
Asabe runs to embrace me while A’isha tags along and greets her obediently.
“Hello my dear,” Asabe says as she hugs A’isha.
“I must say you guys make a charming couple,” I compliment Asabe while we
are alone in the room. She has taken A’isha to the sitting-room to watch The
Simpsons on the TV.
“Yes, Rabiat, everything is okay now. I wouldn’t change him for a hundred
Umars. What about you?”
“Hmmm!” I sigh.
Then she says, “You know, we had a rough time in the beginning, but with
love and understanding we conquered all our problems, which had to do witH
living together. Whenever two human beings exist side by side, there have to
be arguments and differences.”
I rise to have a look at the baby. “Oh he is so sweet, your happiness seems
complete.”
The door opens and suddenly Asabe’s husband comes in, carrying with him some
roasted meat and yogurt. “Here you are,” he says to her. “For your visitor.
“You shouldn’t have bothered yourself...,” I begin.
“No. It’s my pleasure, anything for my darling wife,” he remarks and winks
at her as he leaves the room.
“I know he is not the easiest of men but I thank God we are living
peacefully,” says Asabe, adding, “That is what is expected of a couple.”
“I am a second rate woman to Mohammed,” I point out.
My friend’s bosom heaves, her dark eyes flashing And she sounds furious when
she asks, “Who says you’re second rate?”
“I saw it through his action, Asabe; it is quite a shame.” Happy with the
magnificent display of friendly loyalty, I tell her almost everything,
saying I may not last long in such a situation.
“Sure?” she asks doubtfully.
“Yes, but during our last quarrel he called me a jealous and useless woman”.
“You should tell your parents, Rabiat. You really should.” After some time,
I hand her the presents I brought for her baby.
“Thank you for coming, Rabiat,” she says when I stand up to go.
“Don’t forget to do what is right and see what good would happen.”
She escorts me outside to the car, holding A’isha by the hand.
“My God,” she says sympathetically, “what a life!” We laugh, drawing
strength from each other. Then I leave her and get into the car with A’isha
and drive off.
I stop by Alhaji Nurudeen’s house to see Aunty Hajara. After exchanging
greetings, she remarks, “I hope you are being tolerant enough Rabiat.”
‘Yes,” I reply stupidly.
“I phoned you last week and throughout the following day but didn’t get you.
What is happening?” she asks with concern.
“Nothing. It is just that my intercom wasn’t working,” I lie.
“But Tani used to take up the phone and say you were not in!”
“It’s not true. I had been at home throughout.”
After some time, I take my leave. A'isha has decided to stay on till Sunday
evening. I drive home thinking of the observation of Tani's behaviour
towards the phone call from Aunty Hajara. I don't know that I am going to
witness another bitter fate at home. I arrive, eat and go to do some general
cleaning.
Just as I am scrubbing the toilet, ready for Mohammed, since that evening I
will take up the cooking, I hear him open the door. He comes into his room,
picks up the telephone and starts talking with someone, maybe his friends.
Maybe his relative. All I hear is, ".....she doesn't have to love me or I to
love her."
Why? Who? I ask in my mind.
Then I hear him say arrogantly, "Of course, I'm doing her a favour by taking
her back!"
I feel numb.
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SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24 2006