Rabiat’s Diary (VII)
“Has it ever occurred to you that I had been reasonable with Mohammed? Sometimes I wonder how people could build their happiness on someone else’s misery. I had to be his wife and do the right thing...”
“But you were not his wife! You were just the woman foolish enough to think that you were.”
“You are sure there was no commitment...?”
“Oh bloody hell! Let’s forget all that. I don’t care about anything but you.”
Mahmud smiles, showing his even, white teeth. This is my dream man, I said in my mind.
“I don’t really understand why it’s that... God knows what it is. I don’t quite understand much of it. All I do understand is that life is too precious and one wastes so much time doing things one does not want to do,” I say.
I stop to stare at him. He looks quite eligible in his blue caftan and cap to match. His silver—plated wristwatch has done justice to his dressing. What a personable man.
“You see...,” I continue, then pause.
“Well, go on! What are you waiting for? Would you — could you — will you —. Of course, whatever you are asking But I won’t be deprived of the truth. I love you. Yes, I wish to marry you! Of course, yes, but I have to have guts. I have got one, of course but you had always made me hate it. You might think I am weak in being angry, but I am not. it was because I loved you, and I still do; that is why I am here. I had tried getting married to some girl but it didn’t work. I broke off the engagement.”
“Where and when?” I ask, stirring with jealousy.
“in Kaduna.”
“Nobody told me,” I lie. Then I ask, “Why didn’t you get on with the marriage?”
“She wasn’t my type. it was a match. She has got no brains, no manners, no charm, no intellectual interests... There’s nothing that could make her worthy to be my potential wife; the one thing that she has is something that I shall be tired of in three months!”
I keep quiet.
“I hope this story has done nothing to you,” Mahmud says.
But it does!
“Listen, Mahmud. You can’t afford to wipe me off your slate, I know, and if you can somehow manage to keep that handsome mouth of yours shut for a moment, 1 will tell you the way things were in Kano.”
“if you don’t wish to know about my former engagement, why would I want to hear about yours?” he enquires teasingly “Anyway, tell me!”
Thereafter, I find myself telling Mahmud the absolute truth about my second marriage to Mohammed.
After listening he keeps quiet for some time, then he says:
“Look, Rabiat, do you love me or not?”
“Of course, you know I do, Mahmud,” I answer softly; looking at my feet.
“Then prove it by welcoming my proposal to you. I want to marry you.”
I look up at him, searching his eyes, feeling immensely glad, realising that our concern for each other has actually survived. And in this critical instant I see our friendship that had been bruised, battered and apparently unbeaten, still shining amidst the ruins of our vows of marriage. I hear myself saying love conquers all and everything.
“Friendship, like diamond, is forever;’ says Mahmud, smiling.
“Apparently’.”
We all laugh heartily.
Then he says, “Try to experience some genuine happiness for a change. You deserve it, Rabiat.”
A few minutes later, he’s gone.
I am too dazed with happiness to care that the visit has been so brief. Moving briskly around the house like some housewife anxious to welcome an expected guest, I go to my mother’s room to tell her what has happened.
The following day, I wake up with the fact that I am really going to marry’ Mahmud. Mother, in her excitement, gives me a bear-hug. “Thank God for his mercy!” she utters.
‘Mama, he said he was ready to marry me and he did say it with genuine admiration in his eyes.”
Later in the evening, father comes back from Lagos. Mother tells him about the situation. Afterwards she comes to tell me that he has given his blessings. Those were exactly the words I wanted to hear. Much later I go to welcome him back.
I must say;” begins my father as he pours some tea, “it’s a great relief to me that you have got someone whom you love and understand and he the same to you. It made up for the way’ you’ve steadily wasted your opportunities. However, if you wish to turn over a new leaf we will say no more about the last marriage.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I simply nod.
OCTOBER 30th
I lie down on my bed to watch the television so I can relax and think over things before Mahmud comes. Yes, I not only have to think. My wedding is just around the corner. I have to calculate and consider, balance and weigh, assess and examine. In fact, make a decision. Mv decision included what I would wear for the wedding ceremony, when should the wedding luncheon take place, people I shall invite and so on. Meanwhile, my mother and aunties would make the decision about exactly when, where and how the ceremonies are going to take place.
Since Mahmud has given the dowry; which was quite a moderate amount (I had been handed the money since the day he came, as it is enshrined in Islam for the bride to spend or save what she wants to in her dowry money) I have to start distributing the wedding cards tomorrow if Mahmud brings them. I am sure Aunty Bilkisu is coming. And what about A’isha? 1 guess she wouldn’t be allowed to attend. I can imagine Tani feeling relieved I am not going back to disturb what looks like their peace, and Mohammed might be relieved I am not on his neck anymore, as he would have said. Almost twelve years of near confusion. it was a lifetime I am leaving behind, and such lifetimes are not easy to shed, either mentally or physically, but I am trying to put it behind me.
More worrisome is my daughter... if at all I have to have a worthwhile future, I should chase those thoughts out of my mind. It isn’t easy, but I will.
Am I setting myself a tiring task by wanting to go to Zaria to say goodbye to my grandmother? No, that is the custom. It is true that there is just a limited time to the wedding ceremony: day after tomorrow, still 1 must have grandmother’s blessings even though father has kept her upto-date with everythig So I decide to go today. Typical of grandmother, I meet her giving Musi a piece of her mind while some relations, including Labaran, beg her to keep her peace. “You know he is a humble, mannerless idiot,” Labaran says, looking at Musi accusingly.
The corners of my grandmother’s mouth drop in surprise. She didn’t like Labaran’s words for Musi. “He is not that bad or. . .“ starts grandmother. I found that funny
“Come to the room. I shall not stay long today,” I interrupt her while I hold her hands and lead her to her room.
After I told her everything myself, excluding the engagement, since she already knew about that, she asks whether I love this Mahmud enough to have a more pleasant marriage because she had become disappointed in my last marriage.
“I am, grandmother.”
‘Are you sure?”
“No one in her right mind, as I am, could choose a man like Mahmud to be her husband without knowing what she is in for because he is a straightforward person. The very idea of my not being his wife ever since sounds ridiculous.”
“Okay, I give my blessing. What would you want me to prepare for you?” she asks.
‘Anything you think fit and can afford,” I assure her, knowing that grandmother is an expert in saving money, especially as my father does send her much on a weekly basis.
As I come out to meet Shittu the driver, after having said goodbye to grandmother, I meet Labaran outside, waiting for me.
“Rabiat, aren’t you going to my house today?” he demands. “No, I am sorry Labaran, I have to rush back for preparations. My regards to your wife. I hope to see her day after tomorrow.”
“Okay’ then, safe journey. Regards to everyone!”
As I make for the car, I pause and regard him with some bloated seriousness.
“Oh Labaran, what about your second marriage? Is it still on?” I ask with shameless curiosity.
“No, I had made a mistake and had wanted to marry someone I wasn’t sure I knew In fact, she had no sense of humour. I could not imagine how I had once regarded her lack of humour as a charming seriousness, and at the terrible moment of truth I saw that. Although I respected her many excellent qualities, I never really knew her and would often dislike her very much. That was when I asked myself first how much difficult it would be to marry her and after I had married her how long it would take to finish up with her.”
“It is not fair on them both,” I remark, “to promise and break it.”
“Sorry, what could I have done? I shall look for another,” he explains.
“I am not worried about you, but I am worried about your wife at home and the victim you promised to marty You should imagine what hell you have made them all go through. take rime off from your romantic dreams and imagine what hell it’s likely going to be for both if you subjected them all in a public display, nailed with the inscription of victim and victor round their necks.”
“Yes, I wasn’t deceiving any of them really.. . ,“ argues Labaran. “I intend to marry her, the victim or victor or whatever you mean."
“Why, yes of course you intend to marry her. A gentleman always intends to marry the girl at first, doesn’t he? After all, he would’t be a gentleman if he doesn’t. I hope you would be sure to know what you want before frustrating your wife with just news. You have no idea what women in that situation go through. No idea at all.”
“I don’t understand who are you for? Amarya, the girlfriend or me?” he wonders with wide eyes.
‘All of you,” I finish, hurrying past him to the car I sit in the car and think. I have seen crucifixions in my time. First of all, mine. Bebi’s. Amarya’s. Aunty’s Bilkisu’s. So many others. The men go off scot-free while the women end up cheated, distraught. Oh, I’ve seen it all! So take my advice dear men: for our sake — and most of all, for God’s sake-stop being so bloody selfish and naïve!
I arrive home to see Mahmud about to get into his car.
“Why; Mahmud, you look so composed for a groom!” I observe as I walk up to him.
"I usually compose myself with tobacco smoke!”
We laugh.
“I just came to see you,” he says.
“Okay, let’s go in.”
“No, just to see u. That’s all. I have an appointment with the painter. He has finished his job and might wonder where I am.”
‘Are you coming tomorrow?” I ask.
“The house would be busy with visitors. I shall see you in the night, maybe?” he suggests.
“Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight, my darling,” says Mahmud.
Much later in the night, as I get ready for bed after such a tiring day’, I remember that goodnight my darling
“Good night, my darling,” I repeat again, imitating Muhmud’s soothing voice. Dizzy with sleep, I remember Shanice Wilson’s song: When I close my eyes I break down and cry. There is something about the way you love me.
If I haven’t been so sleepy I would have broken down and cried with relief and happiness.
NOVEMBER 3rd
It is a cool November day, and the rain whips across the roofs. All doors have been closed while the owners of every house enjoy a warmer atmosphere inside. I look out from the window. It’s raining heavily’. Today is my wedding day and to me it is a blessing Soon, the rain would stop.
The whole place appears to be waiting for something. Yes, after the rain this afternoon, my engagement will take place; my wedding Fatiha. Mine with Mahmud Mine with my love. The word echoes in my’ mind. I am going to do what I wish to do at last. It has taken me twelve years but I got there in the end. Who says patience doesn’t pay?
I am being my true self, the self that had been denied me.
“Laraba is on the phone;’ Uwa’s voice interrupts.
Laraba has phoned to say she is coming as I had told her it would be excellent if Aminu would let her come. Then in comes Aunty Halima and Aunty Bilkisu, bringing with them coolers from the bus they had hired, containing some food and assorted delicacies.
I rise to go to Mama’s inner room to welcome them after I put down the telephone.
“Well,” sighs Aunty Halima, “here comes the bride!”
“Bless this marriage,” mutters Aunty Bilkisu, looking at my mother.
‘Amen!” answers Mama.
“We must change into drier clothes as ours are wet,” notes Aunty Halima as she heads for her small suitcase.
After some minutes, I excuse myself to go to have my bath. I come out of the bathroom to meet Aunty Halima sitting and waiting for me in my room.
“You know, Rabiat,” she says, not looking at me with my short towel around me, “it had been a pleasant surprise. If there were any rewards to be had for what you have gone through, it would be to have the kind of husband whom you love and who loves you.
“I am so happy, auntie, I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Yes, we all are,” she nods. “We heard that he had been engaged but he broke it off. God had already promised him to be your husband and you his wife.”
“He had put that marriage or rather that engagement behind him, as he told me the first day I met again,” I explain.
“So he had told you himself?”
“Yes, aunty, he did.”
“You must forgive us, Rabiat. We didn’t know what hell it had been for you, but now I understand.”
“But of course I forgave you and anybody that never understood. Why wouldn’t I?” To bear a grudge would imply that I dislike and resent most people and I find it too tasking to do that. Grudge, envy and the likes are unhealthy emotions I need to conquer and ignore if I am to have a worthwhile life. Besides, bearing them is a behaviour that is quite unbecoming of a realist.
I still smile when I remember how I had felt when Mahmud told me he had been engaged. Although I knew the muscles of my face never betrayed me, I had felt the knife of jealousy revolve below my heart. Yes, jealousy is a basic human instinct. It is a normal feeling, but when carried too far, it is a destructive feeling. In fact, it is a feeling that is highly misused and misunderstood to this day How sad.
NOVEMBER 6th
As I wake up, I know it’s my wedding celebration day. My glance falls on the photo of Mahmud and I on the dressing mirror. I smile because I know how much easier it would be for me to join him in creating a new life which bears no semblance to the old. I have been amazed by some changes already. Mahmud has changed his car for another brand new He has had our three-bedroom bungalow tastefully furnished. When I asked him if he would allow me to work or do something that would give me a sense of purpose, he said I should wait. When last I spoke to him on the subject, he had said he was planing to open up a gift shop for me.
Mama and my aunties have gone to No. 2, Turaki Road, where we shall be staying with Mahmud. The furniture has to be arranged, the bed made, and the kitchen stocked.
All over our house there are clusters of boxes and cartons. In the evening I shall be led to my husband’s house with limited pomp and pageantry by relations, friends and inlaws. As a divorcee, the wedding doesn’t have to be any grand affair. Uwa will stay with me for some days to help me sort my house. Her wedding to Musi would take place soon after mine.
My sister Amina has been admitted to the University of J os, so she will not be here on this great day. She had phoned to say how she wished she was present.
I am happy Amina has changed her way of thinking about marriage now. Recently she confided in me that with the right person it is the best thing that could happen to a woman.
I was relieved. As for my state of mind, I can see a bridge called ‘New Life’ looming ahead of me, which represents the final crisis of a marriage wrecked beyond repair. The bridge is smiling enticingly at me.
I survey the next generation carefully. I believe that in A’isha’s time there would be much more understanding, which would form the basis of a good marriage. People would be more aware of what makes a good marriage and ignorant of what the surface rule preaches, i. e. beauty, opportunity and so on. in other words, hying and wanting to relate would depend on inside reason rather than the outside. if a man sees what he wants in a woman, he shall go for her no matter what and take the consequences. We shall see better generations that are more knowledgeable and more experienced.
The dinner party has been a grand affair, with Laraba and Aliyu, her husband, sitting next to us. We are having a swell time. Next to them sit Labaran and another girl I had never met. Laharan and his friend seem to be arguing over the girl or so it seems.
“Please Labaran, if you are not serious about this girl, leave her to me,” I ovearhear his friend plead.
“What do you mean?” asks Labaran.
“Of course I do want her for myself.
I ignore them and continue smiling at Mahmud.
“For God’s sake, lro, I’m in love with her! What’s the matter with you?” Labaran almost shouts at his friend.
When I see he was sincere, I feel more baffled than ever because I can see now with perfect clarity that he isn’t the least in love, no matter how much he wishes to be believed.
My recent experience has helped me grow up. Even though Labaran is two years older than me. my writer’s obsession with characters is steadily building up my perception of others. I look at Labaran again and recognise a man in a muddle, one who hides all sorts of problems behind a mask.
As soon as most of the guests are gone, we get up from where we are sitting and walk towards our car, with some few guests behind us. What an evening! I sigh.
Am I really being too optimistic if I write that I feel that my long-delayed happiness is about to begin? To me, I’m not being too optimistic. My marital happiness has begun and, God, may it go on forever!
NOVEMBER 8’
I must confess that the day I settle in my new home is my happiest on earth. I feel somehow filled with excitement about the whole affair. So is Mahmud. After the dinner party, we get into Mahmud’s car and are chauffeur-driven. As we sit at the back seat of the car, we look at each other, relieved, with our hands tightly-clasped. Mahmud dons a white caftan with a multi-coloured Hausa cap while I wear a lace buba with dotted, multi-coloured roses. I must confess that everybody that sees us comments on how compatible we look. As soon as we arrive at our new house, we get into the parlour and sit down for some time. After a while, Mahmud gets up and comes towards me and I soon find myself face to face with my husband. Then, we move into each other’s arms and embrace.
I think I have finished going through my diary. And this is where I stop. So all along what is my truth about? It’s about looking for a satisfactory adjustment to an unpalatable set of facts. Why brother? I sometimes ask myself. I just have to; I am a realist who is sometimes in love with fantasy. I could imagine people saying, Oh don’t mind Rabiat; she lives in a fantasy world! Maybe she is writing just to delude people. Does she ever look like somebody on such a creative high? Maybe she is just striking a bold pose.
The answer is just this: I love to write.
My books is about... Let me find the suitable word... It is about redemption. Redemption means to buy back. I need to buy back my stability. I should buy back my past so that I can reshape it in a way taht would fit my future. To me, that’s very reasonable.
So, I shall find my magic wand. That’s my pen, and I shall keep my cool as I write.
THE END