SUNDAY,  DECEMBER 10 2006

Rabiat’s diary (IiI)
Grandfather, who had an attack of stroke two years ago, is dead. To say that he died instantly is an exaggeration as he had lived after the attack. He spent the days in a coma and he never regained consciousness. What a merciful release!
Death is all right because we must all die some day, but it is the idea of dying that is the nightmare.
People from all over Zaria, Rigachukun and Kaduna come to condole us at our family house in Zaria. Grandfather had been a 'man of the people,' so I hear. I knew he was.
Father being the only son of grandfather is outside the family house receiving visitors with Uncle Aliyu, his cousin, Uncle Musa and Uncle Mudi, both his second cousins. In fact, father and his relatives are demonstrating how a genuine grief can be displayed with dignity by not shedding tears as women do. They hold on to their prayer beads and make some rounds chanting the Qur'anic verses that beg for the deceased's soul to rest in peace.
Meanwhile, inside the house, there is more noise as some relatives go about distributing food while some sit dewy-eyed, with swollen faces and sad expressions.
"May God forgive us all and grant us paradise, amen, my grandmother prays.
"Amen!" we all chorused.
Aunties Hajara, Bilkisu and Halima are in the visitors' section, busy distributing drinks and food for the numerous visitors. Old, young, near and far relations fill the house to condole us.
Mohammed and his relatives come, too.
A relation of mine, a foolish but kind-hearted girl who came with grandmother's sister from Rigachukun, snuffs and sniffles entirely throughout the afternoon, as I sit beside her.
"Uwa, here is your plate of food. Have some so that you could go and help grandmother distribute other dishes to her friends," I tell her.
"Hmmm," she answers.
I sight Aunty Bilkisu looking about her, probably looking for one of her children to see if they have eaten. She had wept ceaselessly yesterday, and grandmother had to lecture her about accepting God's will, before she sobered down. Musi weeps in the most vulgar way, as could be expected. Shouting lamentations and asking about whom would be his father now that God has taken back 'his father,' he laments that he has never loved even his natural father the way he loved grandfather.
Suleiman has ventured into the house since he is a relative and says his condolences to the women and grandmother, while Mahmud sent an old lady from outside with his own words of comfort.
It's quite a reflective day. It is the following day, being the third day of mourning) that Aunty Hajara starts the talk about Mohammed.
We are all sitting round grandmother, who has been more silent than ever. I am sitting next to them when Aunty Hajara says, "Mama, it's a pity uncle has not been destined to witness Rabiat's going back to Kano. It's so sad!"
"That is God's will," replies grandmother.
"Life is nothing, Rabiat," says Aunty Hajara, looking sideways at me. "Give Mohammed a chance."
"Did I say life was more than what it is?" I shoot back angrily.
"Don't be rude to your aunt," grandmother cuts in.
I get up from where I sit and go over to another group of relations. My mind jumps to the last time I saw grandfather. It was in the hospital. It was after he had taken his usual lunch of pap mixed with water that we started talking.
"Rabiat, what have you been up to these few days? Isn't the rest from the marriage enough?" he asked teasingly.
"You know, grandfather, I wouldn't want to go back. I had told you everything," I answered.
"It means then that I have finally 'snatched' you back again, but don't I have another rival?" he asked jokingly.
Sometimes grandfather liked to call me 'wife' in his less serious moods; in the Hausa-Fulani custom, it is alright for grandparents to address their grandchildren as spouses. The relationships between grandparents and grandchildren is of playmates rather than serious relationship like in the case of father’s uncle and brothers. So it is alright to feel free with grandparents. We are pampered, teased and played with as grandchildren.
"Soon I hope to settle down, granddad," I had replied, laughing heartily.
"In God's time you will," he had prayed.
"Thank you, 'husband';' I had said happily.
There was a pause.
"Rabiat," he said, adjusting his head, which was propped up on the pillow. "Be truthful and guard your conscience against whatever you do. If you do so, whatever mess you get into, you shall come out of it. God willing"
"I heard you, grandfather."
"Here is a philosophy for you. Know that what you give is what you shall receive in terms of good or bad. This is the only kola I can give you now that I am in the hospital bed."
"I understand. Thank you grandfather. It's good of you.
'Yes but I am a bad man, Rabiat."
I sat up, surprised.
'Why? What's wrong?" I asked, electrified.
"Of course, I am a bad man because I say what people only think. When the rest of the world decides to accept the mask in place of the face, mine is without the mask," he explained cryptically.
Without grandfather explaining more, I understood fully what he had meant. In short, he was a realistic and unpretentious person, to say the least. Looking at his frail body on the bed, I felt tears well up in my eyes. He looked so serene, peaceful. In that sacred rest I left him. Let him remain undisturbed.
And now as I ponder, my lips motionless, I pray quietly: may his gentle soul rest in peace.
JULY 31st
It's been three weeks since grandfather's death.
I go this afternoon to see grandmother and deliver a message to her from father. On our way I tell Shitu the driver that I would like to spend the whole day there in order to visit some friends and relations, and he answers, "No problem, ma." Also, I inform him that he could have some rest while I do my rounds on foot.
After I have stayed with grandmother for a few minutes, she tells me that my friend Bebi has come to condole her and that she sends her condolence to our family in Kaduna, too.
"Are you dropping by to see her today?" she adds.
"No, I shall go round to other relations' houses. I would like to see Cousin Labaran. Bebi's house will be next time," I explain and grandma understands.
So I go to Labaran's house. His section that was built inside his father's compound is very clean.
I announce my arrival from outside and walk inside after exchanging greetings with some women outside the room. Labaran's wife, Amarya, is writing something on a piece of paper. She stops and gets up to welcome me from inside the second room of her palour. I must say I find her looking disturbed and wearing a very unfashionable dress, which is too loose and has different pieces of material on it.
I feel like saying to her, "Why, Amarya, what's wrong with your dressing? You look awful!" But I restrain myself from saying so. Since I would not like things to be concluded about me by mere appearances, so it is my duty not to say anything to her until she needs to be told.
"Hello, Rabiat," she says coolly. "Welcome."
After greetings she tells me that Labaran has gone to the market to do some shopping and she has been writing to her father to report him about something
"Hmm!" I grunt.
"So maybe you are not supposed to see me looking like this. I even forget I was dressed this way, wearing a different wrapper from my dress," she says apologetically and promptly breaks down, sobbing.
I stand there, arms akimbo, not knowing what to do or say.
'Your cousin is getting married soon," she continues in between sobs. "I am not staying with him anymore; I am fed up. And to cap it all, he is marrying a secondary school leaver. I have not been to school, you know He has been making so much noise about it, telling me that soon he is going to feel that he is a man.
She gets up and goes to the kitchen to start preparing for lunch.
I watch quietly, still at a loss about what to tell her. I am brooding when Labaran comes back.
"Hello, Rabiat. You today in our house? Hmm!" he feigns a surprise.
"It's you I came to say hello to," I answer.
Sitting down, he picks up a copy of a weekly newspaper and starts to browse through it.
"I hope to get married soon, Rabiat."
"But it's too early, Labaran. You have been married only eleven years:' I retort, trying to dissuade him. "Must you marry again at all?" I add pleadingly.
"I have had no intention of marrying until I fell in love with this girl, and I had never done anything ever since I met her except think of her”, he explains helplessly.
Just then, I hear a male voice announcing himself. It's Nasiru, Labaran's childhood friend. I am glad to see Nasiru after so many years. There he is, looking distinguished and his usual handsome self. He had once sent me a love letter when I was in secondary school, to which I never replied.
Nasiru takes his seat in the small, compact sitting-room and asks after me and my mother, whom he says he hasn't seen for some time.
"Oh, we are all fine;' I reply
"Why Nasiru? Maybe you've got married ever since without letting us hear about it," I say to him accusingly.
"No I haven't, Rabiat."
"You are long overdue, Nasiru," I observe earnestly.
"Well, I couldn't get a wife."
'Are you serious? You!"
"Of course, I am. Since you are around, would you marry me? And when?" he teases.
"Tomorrow. I am not doing anything tomorrow", comes the teasing answer.
We all laugh heartily.
"No, I am serious, Nasiru. Why aren't you married? I really want to know why," I insist.
"It's because I once said I loved you when you were in secondary school."
"Not because of that," I say sourly.
"You see, Rabiat, I've had so many relationships and have even got engaged and called it off. I prefer to stay unmarried for a much longer while."
''That is not a good excuse.
"Yes, but I had no intention of marrying until I find a woman who could communicate with me on the levels other than the horizontal, and since I myself was apparently unable to do anything except look at women in that way, this paragon of womanhood has proved to be as elusive as ever. I want a less boring company."
"Then you ought to marry a robot woman with a high I.Q.”, I tease.
"Is that what you really advice me to do?" Nasiru is looking at me in a way other than the one I know
I look away.
After lunch I take my excuse to go.
'Why, Rabiat, are you going too soon?" asks Nasiru.
"No, I have stayed two hours."
"I am not tired of seeing you, Rabiat."
After saying goodbye to Amarya, who says she would like to have some discussion with me when next I come to Zaria, I stand up to go.
Nasiru tells Labaran to sit and wait for him while he walks me to the car.
"I am not going straight to the car; I am going to Aunty Halima's house”, I tell him, almost defensively.
"Oh, is she still living in her late husband's house?"
"Yes."
Outside, he asks me of my telephone number, which I give him.
Before turning back, he takes a look at me and says softly, "I love you, Rabiat. I still do."
After seeing Aunty Halima and Aunty Bilkisu, we drive back to Kaduna this late evening. Later in the night when I return to bed I sleep off immediately. Tired. A few hours later, Nasiru's husky voice tears into my mind, telling me he loves me, and I wake up. What's wrong with me? Am I a flirt or what? Maybe I am in love with his frank, simple, affectionate ways. Maybe. I open my diary to write this confession out of my mind. If I have not had a relationship with Mahmud and love him more, I would have given Nasiru a chance.
I must confess in these pages that the man has interested me, attracted me and forced me to like his ways. In those two short hours, he had warmed his way into my high estimation..

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