“If he touched her, he couldn't talk to her, if he loved her he couldn't leave, if he spoke he couldn't listen, if he fought he couldn't win.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
It was almost time for Fajr, and Haniya hadn’t slept throughout the night. She had rolled on her bed, turning and tossing, sighing in between. The thoughts that disrupted her sleep were severe. She had wondered how she would break the news to Alhaji that she was pregnant with Chidi’s child. It was inevitable that Alhaji would do something insane, he wasn’t one to behave rashly, but she was sure this would drive him into insanity. The love she shared with Chidi wasn’t a mere fling/affair; it was love in its proper form; although it was unexpected, like everything sweet, this stuck with her.
Morning devotions in the Akachukwu household were obligatory. Chidi remembered long ago when he had wet his bed and was so ashamed to attend the morning devotions, so he pretended to be asleep. Mazi Akachukwu wouldn’t have it, and he said in Igbo: Ọ bụrụ na ina gbaoso n'ekpere n'ihi na i na arịa ọrịa, kedụ ka i ga-esi chọọ ka gwọ gị? (if you’re running away from prayers because you’re sick, how then do you want to get healed?) Today even as a lawyer who doesn’t live with his parents, his mere presence in the house still meant that he must attend the morning devotions. He hadn’t slept an inch all night. He came last night to visit his parents and inform them about his intention to marry Haniya. He had been excited when she mentioned that she was pregnant, but his excitement had been cut short by the overwhelming thoughts that both their parents won’t permit their marriage or even the child they may now share. Although the year was 2023, some things never changed.
Alhaji Gbadamosi was enraged. The last time he had felt this enraged was when he lost the LGAchairman’s position 15 years ago. Now what he felt was more like a betrayal. How could Haniya, the apple of his eye, be pregnant with the child of an Igbo boy of the millions of individuals worldwide? Although he considered himself a liberal and enjoyed his children's interactions with people from other tribes, cultures and religions, he had thought they knew what their boundaries were. You can play with them but can’t just marry them. It’s impossible. It can’t ever happen. Not as though he had any issues with the Igbos, but how would he save face? He was the regional commissioner for the party, and this past election season had created a lot of friction in their region between the Yorubas and the Igbos. His daughter getting married or birthing an Igbo child will give signals to his political enemies. His liberalism is already enough ammunition as it is. Alhaji Gbadamosi sighed. Everyone had warned him that he had spoiled Haniya rotten maybe they were right.
God forbid, Chidi. Mazi Akachukwu’s voice echoed through the entire house. He was a deacon in the church. What would the church members say? He, a Bible-wielding prayer warrior, has a son who married a Yoruba Muslim. If it were a Yoruba Christian, maybe, he could accept, but a Muslim, that was taboo. His mind returned to when he was a child living in the north. He had seen the atrocities committed after the Friday prayers, the way the Muslim mob had gone from one Christian house to the other, leaving chaos behind. That day had left a sour mark on his heart. Mazi felt like a failure; is it a bad thing for one to suffer himself to give his child the best education money could buy? Now the same education has turned his child's mind around and made him not understand the imaginary lines in their societies. Education might be enlightening, but it makes you blind to the obvious. His son was blind. It can’t happen, he muttered to himself. Over my dead body, he threw his right hand over his head and hissed.
There was a piece of land with an uncompleted building in their community. Everyone called it no man’s land because no one knew who owned the land and the property on it. That piece of land was where Haniya and Chidi met most days. They colonised the land. It was almost as though the land was a part of their relationship, and it was theirs. It was there they shared their first kiss. It was there his hands had first felt the warmth of her breasts.
That night Chidi tried reasoning with Mazi, but Mazi wasn’t ready to listen. He knew his father was stubborn, and the recent actions of a few Yoruba thugs during the last elections hadn’t helped matters. Haniya’s father was a senior politician, and his party had been responsible for some of the tribalisticutterances against his people—the Igbos during the last elections. Still, he knew Haniya’s father wasn’t a part, but his affiliation with the party had indicted him. Now listening to his father's screams, his mind wandered back to the first day he met Haniya. Of all the girls in the community, she was the most reserved. Her itinerary was as predictable, mosque, school, market, and home, in that order. She would always reply to the greetings and taunts of the boys the same way, with a bowed head and grunt. Chidi always had a crush on her, and all his friends knew. It was one of those childhood fantasies but unfortunately for him, this particular stuck. It wasn’t a coincidence that the first day he summoned the courage to speak to her was during Eid when she went to grind pepper. He had jokingly called at her and told her he was expecting his Eid meal too. She looked at him, smiled and went her way. A few hours later, she was in front of his house with a plate of Jollof rice, numerous beef and a bottle of malt. He was shocked, and that was how they became friends. The friendship led to an undeniable attraction which metamorphosed into a relationship. It was a discreet relationship. The relationship blossomed throughout his university days. She sometimes visited him in school, and he repaid her visits when she entered university. They continued seeing each other when he went to law school and moved out of his parent's house. Even with the distance, he always ensured they met in the only place that defined their relationship, the only piece of land that belonged to no one. The no man’s land.
It wasn’t that Haniya couldn’t date or even marry any eligible Muslim boys, but the problem was that she wasn’t attracted to them. When she had begun catching feelings for Chidi, she had prayed to Allahto help her quench those feelings. Alahji’s first wife had always told her about the importance of marrying a Muslim boy, so she was inclined to follow that path. Unfortunately, her love for Chidi hadn’t reduced. Instead, it increased daily. No boy had ever made her feel the way Chidi made her feel, not even Ahmed. Ahmed was her crush a long time ago, but she only realised that she was only infatuated with him. Fortunately for her, Ahmed was now a father of six kids from 3 wives. Ahmed was the first boy that called her Ummi in a way that made her stomach tingle, she had even dreamed of being a great Muslim wife to Ahmed, but unfortunately, at the end of his final year in high school, Ahmed was shipped to the north for his university education. He came back after six years with no degrees but two wives. Chidi also called her Ummi. Although his voice wasn’t similar to Ahmed’s, the gentle manner in which he called out the name melted her heart and sent shivers down her spine. How his tongue moves when he utters, those words makes her want to shove her lips into his mouth. Chidi wasn’t a Muslim, but he was closer to her heart in a way Ahmed or any other human could never reach. If love was insanity, then she was insane for Chidi.
When Chidi was much younger, he hated the story of Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare. He found it impossible. How can you love a person so much, to the extent that you’re willing to throw your life away for them? He couldn’t find a logical explanation for it, plus his literature teacher was more interested in the literary theme of the play than in rationalising the basis of the story. But right now, he could understand why Romeo made his decision. Hell, he would do the same and more for Haniya. At first, he wasn’t sure about his feelings for her, his friends had told him that after they shared their bodies in sexual intimacy, he’d find his feelings for her wavering, but instead, after their first night together, he had loved her more. She wasn’t his first, but she was his best. Her insides were like a well—deep and unending. They kept driving him insane, never satisfying him. The sin they shared was hidden, but it was honest. Now it has been blessed by a child. Sharing a child with Haniya was a dream come true. Fear and excitement formed in his throat, choking him.
Alhaji Gbadamosi sat in silence all day. Even during the meetings that filled most of his day, he barely spoke. He was scared, and he couldn’t even share his thoughts and fears with any of his friends. They would be disappointed in him. Many of them had warned him about how he treated Haniya, making it obvious she was his favourite. They’d laugh at him. Ah, Haniya has put him into trouble. How did she even meet that Igbo boy? The history he ran away from several years ago had come back to haunt him, the history behind Haniya’s birth, the reason why he had loved her the most among all of his children. He didn’t know how much his heart raced until he noticed everything blurry. But he knew he was having a stroke or heart attack.
To be continued.
This is totally beautiful. Chef wey no dey disappoint🙌🙌
Niceeee. Waiting for part 2!