By Maryam Altine Baba
Chapter Ten
She wasn’t turning her back at her sister, Asma’u consoled herself for the umpteenth time. She had sensed trouble and had left before it spiraled out of control.
Ever since the start of the fiasco, Zainab had been stubborn and disrespectful. She hadn’t minded that, and thought her behavior was justified since she was in love. And love was blind. Her case was no different either. In fact, Asma’u’s case was unique.
She had met and fallen in love with Ya’u, the commodity trader during one of her market outings at Gaji market on the morning of a market day. Ya’u sold beauty products such as pomades, make up accessories, beads, and perfumes. All the girls flocked to his stand to purchase whatever product was new.
That morning, there was a red loose powder that had ‘Asma’u’ tagged on it on a small rounded plastic container and the picture of a flower by the side of the engraved wordings.
Ya’u had claimed he had it specially made for her. She didn’t know how to read or write but knew it was a harmless banter. She liked it any way.
Ya’u gave her stuff for free even if she did not go to the market. From there, a relationship sprang like a flower from its bud. Ya’u sent his parents for his formal introduction.
That was when Aunty Maijidda intercepted, she didn’t approve of Ya’u, because he was from a lowly status family of fawa, professional butchers.
And like the joke of the century, Ya’u’s things were rejected and returned to him without an inkling as to what she might go through. No one really took notice of her broken heart or silent tears. No one cared enough to.
Then came Nura, a boisterous promising young man with a teaching career at the Gaji Primary School. She was hesitant to accept his love advances at first. But eventually, he won over her heart and soon went knocking at her father’s doorsteps to ask for her hand in marriage.
Dabbo went against him too, leaving Asma’u more shattered than the first rejection. Her grandmother had hand- picked Garba, a son of an influential business man who hailed from the neighboring village of Zalli.
Garba himself had vied for the councillorship seat then, under a very popular and accepted political party. Although he didn’t win the election, he was nominated the youth leader of the party. He had two wives and eight children. He was quiet a comfortable and easy target for exploitation and manipulation too.
Dabbo and Maijiddah had shamelessly taken a lot of money and gifts from Garba and had promised him Asma’u’s hand. Even Imran had taken two plough bulls from him. So, it became apparent that she was going to be married to Garba eventually.
She hated Garba, had made sure she voiced it out. But no one listened. In fact, Aunty Maijiddah made sure she was dealt with whenever she protested against the marriage. She was beaten severally on many occasions by Imran on his mother’s authority.
No one dared to save her, not even her mother, from such daily dose of brutality. That was when she’d almost lost it. She thought the granny-aunt duo were out to frustrate and eventually kill her, and so she vehemently insisted on marrying Murtala instead, when he came along.
There was a time during Malam Tijjani’s absence that Imran had barged in to their room, dragged her out, held her firmly to the ground face down and tortured her with a red-hot iron rod from fire on her back. She had screamed, cried and wailed the whole day.
Their mother had attempted to stand up for her against all the atrocities she faced. But Dabbo had ordered Imran to beat both mother and daughter to pulp and sent them away.
They were saved by the neighbours though and taken to the hospital for treatment. No one from the house dared to look their way. They stayed on exile for several days with Malam Tijjani’s siblings at Yam village till his return.
Although Malam paid for their treatment and was briefed on what had happened that day, he didn’t as much as squeak. It was as if he was forced to a vow of silence over their conditions.
She still had the marks on her back. And it still hurt her as much today as it did two years ago. She never forgave her aunt or her son. And it was the only time she remembered their mother’s efforts to protect her. Although it didn’t go well.
They reached out to help, to reconcile and resolve the issue amicably. But their efforts were met with cold and stern warnings from Dabbo. She had sworn she wasn’t going to be shamed by Asma’u or her daughter in-law Khadija. Malam Tijjani couldn’t stand against his mother’s wish as well. The queen of the throne reigned supreme and had to have her ways at any cost.
And then it was done. Asma’u was married to Garba against her wish. Her father had begged her to accept and try to stay happy at her new home. In consolation, he’d purchased the latest furniture for her. He also had to buy new ones for Dabbo too, because she had ordered him to do so.
Bikin ‘yar gata, was what her wedding was tagged. Malam Tijjani had tried to give her a lavishly extravagant wedding, just so she could heal and forget her past ordeals.
All the girls from their village talked about the dream wedding. But Asma’u was unperturbed. She had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to stay with Garba even if she was given the world and all its riches.
She made her point clear, when on the night of the wedding, after every one had returned to their homes, and the new groom had entered her room all draped in his white brocade and smelled nice with his concocted perfume, she had waited for him to relax a bit. Then she made her move.
She set the room on fire and walked out and headed for her father’s house straight. It took her a while to reach there, a full five hour walk through the thickest and bushes. There were farmlands too.
By morning, the news had spread all over. Although the fire was put out, all she possessed was ravaged and gutted by the fire, and so were two other rooms in the house; that of Garba’s first wife and the granary. All the grains he had stored for the year had perished at one go.
Dabbo had fumed and cursed Asma’u and her mother. Aunty Maijiddah followed on the supporting cast, and Imran swung in to action. But like a movie, Asma’u had prepared for her defense. And as Imran took a swing at her, she unexpectedly brought out a huge knife and stabbed his foot. He almost lost a fore toe then.
Blood spilled everywhere and by the time Aunty Maijidda had made a vengeful move at Asma’u, she too was cut deeply on her left arm and left with a heart filled with seething hatred.
It was the best satisfying climax!
The whole neighborhood couldn’t contain Asma’u’s rage that day. She was a wounded tigress set free to unleash her fury on her foes. She’d had more than enough and had fought on from that day.
She had a knife tucked by her side everywhere she went and one other under her pillow for whenever she slept, in case there was an impromptu attack on her. No one missed out the fact that she was a light sleeper too.
It took the intervention of Malam Shehu, the Police, Village head and Malam Tijjani’s brothers to reconcile the two warring parties. After a hectic and almost impossible reconciliation, Asma’u had won the war and she was then married to the husband of her choice Murtala.
Her second wedding was the complete opposite of the first. Dabbo had ordered that no furniture should be bought on her account. And after the wedding fatiha, she was to leave the house for ever. Except that that never happened.
Murtala had claimed that their marriage was so sudden and abrupt that he didn’t have time to prepare. He’d asked for time so he could build her a befitting room in their family house at Bauchi, where they were going to live. That never happened too.
Looking back, Asma’u thought, for all the trouble, all the pain, Murtala was not worth it. At all. Zainab was right after all. Murtala had brought shame to both of them, and the life that was nestled within her. His child.
She thought of the times he had visited and took her out to his friend Habu’s room. They were conjugal visits, she thought with dismay, only intended to satisfy his raw insatiable desires. It was there they consummated their marriage, and her child, conceived.
Malam Tijjani had to save her from further embarrassment and provided a room for them in his house. So, whenever Murtala came to visit, they spent their times there.
Murtala supported her financially at first, even though she was taken care of by her father. Gradually, the money stopped coming, then the man vanished in to thin air, without a trace.
Well, they tried to locate him but were unsuccessful. All addresses he had given were either fake or dead ends. She was afraid, Murtala had used and dumped her. She wanted to think that there was a mistake somewhere, maybe he would turn up someday and explain how wrong they had assumed everything to be. With each day that had passed she waited in vain; for eight months.
Her pregnancy was a reminder that she was a failure, a big mess. If only one could read exactly what was on someone’s mind. She would have been saved the torments and pains she had been through. She still hoped he turned up someday though. Not for her sake, but for the sake of their unborn child. But as far as everyone understood, he was a hoax.
That was why she wanted to save her sisters from such heartaches and pains. She didn’t want them to make her mistakes. But Zainab had purposely walked in to a hot blazing fire all in the name of love.
What was it about love that people went berserk about it? As if the world was not upside down enough!
She sighed in indignation. She can no longer save Zainab now. She would have to face her problems on her own. She had many of her own on her platter. First was to keep healthy for a successful delivery, and second, to try and raise the child dutifully. On her own too.
She wiped her tears and washed her face. The Leng festival which usually came in October was fast approaching. Soon all harvests and the dry season would be celebrated in a big way.
The main purpose was to thank the Almighty for reaping another season of bountiful harvests. All neighboring villages celebrated it on one huge location. After that, all farmers would eat from their hard work and sweats.
She was supposed to finish with plucking her groundnut so she would take it to the market on market day to sell after the Leng festival. With the money, she would buy all her baby’s necessities.
So much for love. It did nothing but hurt deeply and badly. It also deviated from what was real and illusion. She was done with dreams. She now faced reality.
