By Maryam Altine Baba
Chapter six
No one ever thought that history would repeat itself. Certainly, Malam Tijjani hadn’t. So, it has been told that karma always got around. He did not think that things would come aroundg too soon to stare him right in the face.
His wife Khadija entered the room after saying the salam to which he answered.
She had a tray with two bowls that contained his meal on top. He mostly took fura da nono especially when the rainy season came. That day, he had asked his wife to prepare tuwo da miyar kuka, to which she had complied. But unfortunately, his appetite was gone.
Nothing appealed to him anymore.
She walked up to him and kept the tray by his side. He wanted to ask her to take the food away but he couldn’t. He had earlier on wanted to tell Baba Jauro off his business or his family affairs too, but he could not either. He just sat and swallowed every pill shoved down his throat, took all the blows dealt his way. He figured he deserved it and that it was the only way to start some sort of atonement.
“You should eat Malam.” Khadija said with concern. “Your lunch is getting cold.”
“I will, just keep it for later.”
“No.” she was adamant. “You haven’t had anything in your stomach since yesterday. You cannot continue like this.”
Frustration laced her voice, though she spoke with a low voice. The pressure clearly had gotten to her. The activities of past of their daughters certainly were alarming. They had not finished dealing with the disappointment of Asma’u and now rebellion of Zainab.
Asma’u’s was easier. Zainab’s dilemma was a whole new level. She’d insisted on marrying someone who wasn’t willing to marry her as well. And she didn’t want to see reason. Now she has caused him public embarrassment and humiliation.
“I am really sorry.” He heard her say in a sad tone and noticed her body shook tremendously. Her eyes glistened with tears.
He quickly went out to her in a consoling manner, “You are not entirely at fault Dija my dear. I have a share in the blame too.”
Since they were in Malam’s room and alone, he drew her to himself and hugged her. It was to reassure her that everything would be alright. He wanted to say it out loud but was afraid his voice might betray him.
He had loved this woman he hugged since the beginning of time, learnt to respect her and hadn’t for once, regretted it. What he did regret was how their young minds threw caution to the winds and cared less about the world before their marriage.
Yes, they were young and thought the world was at their feet and they were happy their love had triumphed against all odds. Maybe they shouldn’t have gone out of turn, what was meant to be would be after all. If their destinies had it that their paths would cross, they definitely would have.
As a young man, Tijjani had attracted the young beautiful damsels in and around their village. With every marriage ceremony known as the Ajo, his popularity grew. Even if he didn’t know the groom, he attended a good ceremony and whisked away the hearts of young girls.
He was a smooth talker and coupled with his charming personality, he held the world at a ransom. He courted every beautiful girl and paid the local vocal artist to praise her and professed his undying love and adoration. He was romantic and every girl sought out for him.
Now that he thought about it, it was about his ego and his ability to make the most eligible man top list and maintained it. He did maintain it for years. All the girls fell for him or his charm and insisted on marrying him.
Every father’s mission then became how to prevent his daughter from falling in to his trap. But in spite of all warnings, they still fell, hard and deep.
His parents were always put on the spot regarding their son’s reckless behavior. He was known as the Romeo of his time.
When many fathers chose husbands for their daughters they revolted and insisted on marrying him. He however, fled from village to village and avoided any wedding proposal. His parents were left to deal with his mess. That had cost them a lot.
Dabbo and Malam Musa lived in a village called Yam, north-south of Gaji village. Malam Musa was born and bred in the village and subsequently became a Qur’anic teacher and scholar, while his beautiful barori wife Dabbo was a full-time housewife who reared domestic animals. They were relatively rich in those times because as a scholar, Malam Musa had more than he needed.
People gave him alms, a religious offering and gifts too. He was well taken care of by his community and in return, he taught their children how to recite and memorized the Holy Qur’an. It was a very prestigious position not attained by many.
Being endowed, the third son of his father, Tijjani never bothered to learn any art of business or even the Qur’anic recitation. Only his step brothers did, for Malam Musa had two other wives and five boys from them.
He did manage to master the art of consumption though, for he squandered every dime of his parents’ while he broke the hearts of many innocent girls. He cared less.He was young, handsome and nothing else mattered but him.
Young Tijjani earned himself the title of the village vagabond; ‘rago da wutsiyar kare Dan Malam’, albeit his parents’ efforts at making him a better man. At the age of seven, he was sent to an Islamic school like any boy of his age. It was common practice then that even if one was a scholar, he sent his own child to another scholar in order to teach him. It was so the child would study hard when he was away from his biological parents.
But Tijjani gave his teacher a tough time. He was always placed in mari or chains for his propensity to take off and return at his will. Soon, he ran off to the unknown. For years no one heard of him. His father died in his absence. Only Dabbo, his sister Maijiddah and his other brothers were left to deal with their loss.
During his wandering years he’d engaged in everything he could to survive. He’d stolen whatever he could lay his hands on, disposed of it to use the proceeds to smoke weed. He’d also learnt how to drive Lorries and trucks from Tukur, a man he met when he ran off to a remote town called Dengi.
Tukur managed his father’s business of buying animals from the northern part of the country and sold them off in the southern part. In return he bought palm oil and sometimes kolanut and returned to the North and sold them off for huge profits. He bought other stuff too. It depended on which part of the country he went to at a particular time.
Young Tijjani’s job was to accompany the driver then, but as time went on, he became the driver. He enjoyed exploring the world, with women, his specialty. He never bothered to return home even after he’d heard of his father’s demise. He couldn’t bring back the dead now, could he?
One day, six months after the death of his father, he decided to visit home, to see his mother and then take off again. Staying wasn’t on his agenda. On his way, he’d stopped at a village due to his broken truck. It had developed a mechanical fault and had stopped in front of a house that was almost at the end of the village.
While Ado, his travelling companion had gone to Gaji to fetch a Mechanic, he became thirsty and needed water. He usually bought it from where ever he went to. But no one sold water in these parts. People usually offered it for free. All that was needed was for one to ask. He hadn’t been away for too long not to remember that, surely.
He then looked ahead of him, the mud house almost stood alone from the rest of the village. He remembered going through the village previously and had not seen the particular house. It must be new. He half-prayed for anyone to pop out from the house so he could ask for water to drink. It wasn’t his lucky day as not a single chicken did.
Huffing out some air from his lungs, he’d boldly approached the house and stopped a few meters away before raising his voice with the salam more than three times. He was about to turn away after considering the next house when a very beautiful girl appeared at the doorway.
She wasn’t too tall, but was fair in complexion, like a Fulani tribal girl. She wore the ankara, though the dress material was different from the wrapper, she tied it very well and looked pretty in them too. She wasn’t covered with the veil and her slim figure appealed to him. She was pleasing to look at with the eyes.
She spoke in a soft but raised voice so he could hear her, “My father is not at home.” She had concluded his reason for being there.
He just smiled, “Does that mean that I cannot get a cup of water? I am thirsty.”
It was a dose of his charm he had displayed for he couldn’t afford some young girl to scream and shout the wrong scenario to drag unnecessary attention.
She seemed mesmerized and smiled too. Then suddenly the world seemed to have stopped for him. He had met with many pretty girls, but she somehow, stood out.
“I am sorry. I will get you some right away.” She disappeared, which made him miss her presence. It almost scared him then as he stood glued to the ground and waited.
She hurriedly went back with a drinking clay bowl filled with water. He drank it up all at once. The water was so cool and soothing. He’d asked for another, to which she obliged with her warm smile. He was impressed by not just her mesmerizing beauty but by her innocence as well.
He smiled too, thanked her and asked for her name. She was a bit reluctant but gave it to him anyway, “My name is Khadija.”
“Your father thought well to give such beautiful name to a beautiful lady.”
He’d flirted, she’d looked away timidly and something primitive in him stirred.
“Aren’t you going to ask me for mine?” His voice croaked a little and he cleared it.
She’d looked at him a bit and ducked her head low, before asking, “Are you new here?”
He widened his smile and nodded, “Not really. As a matter of fact, my home village is just three villages away from here. I was passing through here when my truck broke down.”
She’d looked past him to the vehicle. “It is bigger than the ones that pass through here to the Gaji market.”
He’d laughed and said, “Well then, the vehicle is new here. But I am not. You still haven’t asked for my name.”
She still had her head ducked low, “Why don’t you just tell me? It is wrong for a girl to ask a man of his name.”
“Why? Is that a crime around here?”
She’d looked past him again, not particularly looking at anything or anyone, “No. But father says it is bad manners to ask a visitor of his name.”
“But you can give a visitor yours?”
“You’d asked, that was why I gave it.” She looked a bit flustered.
“Just say you don’t want to know my name, I will understand.”
This time, she looked at him, but only briefly, “Why would you say that?”
“Maybe because my name isn’t as beautiful as yours?”
She looked at him again, bewildered, “I didn’t say that! I am sure your name is beautiful too.”
“You can only say that if you know it. Supposing you see a lion about to attack me in an ambush, how would you alarm me?”
She laughed heartily. Oh, that sound could melt the blazing sun and freeze the ice. At least that was how he felt. It was warm and contagious that his heart squeezed little at a time each time she flashed her perfectly white dentition at him until there wasn’t any space left that she hadn’t touched within him.
Of all the girls he’d known, she was the only one that touched beyond what the others couldn’t.
“I can’t.”
“My point exactly!”
She now beamed to show off her extra charm which left him dazed, “Only because I don’t know how a lion looks like. I have never seen one before and I have heard that they no longer exist around here.”
His heart skipped a beat. He became more drawn to her. Her innocence radiated like the early morning sunshine.
And he’d thought he’d run out of luck earlier!
“You don’t get the point now, do you?” he chuckled. “It could be anything, not just a lion…okay, let us say it is a snake.”
“Snake?!” her eyes bulged out, her voice a tad nervous.
“Yes. Big, gigantic snake that can swallow a human being.” He was amused to see her scared face. This journey turned out to be the best he had undergone. “What would you do then? Won’t you call out my name to alert me?”
She shook her head, “No.” she asserted. “Because I am more afraid of snakes, especially the gigantic or whatever you described them. I would faint before I even think of your name.”
“Ya Allah! What to do with you?”
Before she responded, a little boy of not more than seven years ran in to the zaure and passed a piece of information to her, “Umma said to tell you that you have been gone for long now, and there are so many chores left un tended.”
And with a speed that could give the fastest man on earth a run for his money and put him to shame, she disappeared, leaving him with a longing he had never known. He already missed her, and with that realization, he promised to be back another day to pay her a proper visit.
Two weeks later, he visited the village of Gangar again. It was a dry windy Sunday afternoon of the month of October. The crop harvesting was in earnest now so as to beat the scheduled time of the Leng festival.
Oh, how he’d missed those days…the festival, the soups, the music and dancing, the damsels……
He shook his head at the nostalgic feelings. His only aim now was trained on a certain damsel who had plagued his thoughts. For all the days he had spent, he had only her in his mind all the time; in his sleep, when eating…
She wasn’t at home when he’d sent a little boy in to ask after her. Without further information, he was limited to pursue his goal further and opted to staying close by and waited. He hadn’t stayed for more than ten minutes when she appeared, with a pot of water made of clay perched expertly on her head. She’d balanced it so well on the padded piece of clothing she’d placed in between her head and the pot that she didn’t need to support it with her hands.
There was a smile on her face when she spotted him and that made his heart flutter again. “Kai ne, you’re the one?” her voice gave away her nervousness. She was actually surprised.
He shook his head trying to suppress his laughter, “Eh, nine. The nameless stranger. And now the thirsty, nameless stranger.”
She looked away, “Lah, let me get you some water to drink.”
With that, she disappeared in to the house, leaving him to bask in the euphoria of seeing her again. When she appeared several minutes later, she gave him the drinker filled with cool water and as he drank, he took in one moment, her appearance.
She was averagely tall, almost up to his shoulder level. She wore a white plain silky blouse and tied her ankara wrapper by her left side in a knot. Her choice of cloth fully matched his tazarce cream colored jamfa but without a cap. He’d never liked caps. They always felt like he carried a huge burden on his head.
“Thank you. You have saved my life.” He’d clearly exaggerated.
Her brows creased to a frown, “Is that why you always take water? Were you dying with thirst?”
He chuckled and gave her his killer charming look, “I was dying from so much more.”
She blinked twice, her mouth formed an O. “I have never seen a man dying before.”
“Then today is your lucky day.”
She looked petrified at the prospect, “Are you serious? Is it a disease?” she assessed him further, trying to take in everything at once.
“Well, it happens to nameless strangers like me. And when I will be buried, no one will know my name. Ya Allah, how would they know where to find my village to inform my brothers? How would any one pray for me?”
He feigned innocence and exaggerated more than was necessary. He was enjoying himself at her expense. He would live to cherish those moments all his life. When she’d looked at him, she surprised him with her answer.
“I will inform them on what they need to know then.”
“Really?” he folded his arms to his torso and trained his gaze on her lovely face. It was unadulterated beauty in the purest form. He was glad he went back to see her again. “And what will you tell them?”
She ducked her head again with her signature smile and answered, “I will tell them you are Ahmad Tijjani, from Yam village.”
He was tongue-tied as the shock sank in, “What?! How did you know that?”
She gave a smirk of her own, “Well, my mother and I went to Yam village the day before yesterday on a condolence visit to her sister who had lost her twelve-year-old son. It so happened that I met with that friend of yours, the one you were with the other day.”
He couldn’t believe that Ado had met with her! He’d not said a word about it to him either. He was truly surprised. “What else did you two discuss?” he was curious to know. Because he couldn’t think of a reason why Ado would hide about their impromptu meeting from him.
She smiled again, “I need to get back inside the house. My chores….”
“Wait.” He stopped her. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I am here, today?”
She shook her head, “One must never ask his visitor the reason for his visit.” She’d stated.
Oh, she was good. Very good at keeping the tempo and determined in burning the flames. Now he was stuck more than ever. He was sure to keep on returning.
“You’re not very good at asking questions, are you?”
“That’s because you’re good at asking them yourself.” That said, she didn’t spare a second longer; she sped to the house, leaving him love struck and smitten.
That was the beginning of something they’d both found that was beyond magical. For the very first time young Tijjani felt like he’d found the one, with whom he would gladly spend the rest of his life.
Khadija had not just stolen his heart then but had succeeded in carving out a place for himself in hers too. From that day, he never looked back or even cared what the world thought. He’d found himself a reason to stay, to change.
And he did change, for he took a look at his father’s deserted Qur’anic school, the ashes of the burnt logs used as reading light by the students were almost blown away by the wind. It was long since anybody lit the fire or even recited.
The drive to retain his father’s legacy fueled by his love for Khadija made him did what no one ever thought he would. He had not just stayed back and left his old ways and habits; he committed himself to learn the Qur’an right from the basics in just three months and memorized it by heart within the three months that followed.
In what seemed like mission impossible, Malam Tijjani miraculously opened up his late father’s Qur’anic school and maintained it, until he was appointed as Imam by the District Head and was placed in charge of the Gaji mosque.
Looking back, he would have been more than proud of what he had achieved; he’d become a good and obedient son, a promise he made to himself to please his mother till one of them died between them, hence his undying love and respect for her. He thought he needed to make it up to her, so he would attain high rewards.
He had also maintained good relationship with his siblings, both his step brothers and blood sister. He never asked for his share of inheritance and strived to build his own wealth by himself.
But in spite of everything, he couldn’t get Khadija’s father’s consent to marry her, for his former reputation superseded him in that regard. Nothing he did pleased the old man.
He’d sent respectable elders to seek her hand but to no avail, until one day, Khadija went to him at Yam village crying her eyes out. A date had been fixed for her marriage and no one could make her father to change his mind. He was determined to break whatever hold Malam Tijjani had on her, as he claimed.
Malam Tijjani was worried, almost to the point of desperation. He did not want to lose the lady he had ever loved. As a resort, Khadija had suggested to take her father to court. It was unheard of at that time since their village was so small and remotely so.
Malam had considered the idea and decided it held weight, since he would be granted opportunity to marry the love of his life.
That single decision was responsible for whatever pain he was going through. He was the one that took Khadija to Mainamaji Court, helped her lodge the complaint against her father and stood by her throughout.
Her father had cried in the court and gave the court mandate to pass whatever verdict it deemed proper. But he vowed never to have anything to do with her again. Malam Tijjani and Khadija were married to each other in the court and were asked to leave.
Malam had however, planned to take his wife after a year or two of their marriage to ask for her father’s forgiveness. After all, if they returned with a child, it will seal all the differences between them. A grandchild always stole the hearts of its grandparents.
He hadn’t counted on his mother’s outright rejection of his choice and obvious hatred for his wife. But there was no going back; he had decided to stand rooted for his wife as she’d done for him no matter what his mother thought of her.
He still held on to her in their room, revered the fact that he had fallen in love with her at first sight. He still loved her and was glad of her companionship.
“I remember the first time you gave me Asma’u.” He’d spoken softly, his voice a little above a whisper. It held no regret. “I was ecstatic especially when I saw her beautiful eyes that looked like yours.”
He looked in to her eyes and she smiled that smile that always got to him. He beamed and continued, “Now, this is a smile I haven’t seen for a while.”
Khadija’s smile disappeared and was replaced with tears and sadness in her eyes. She remembered how elated he was when all of their daughters were born, and how he’d consoled her when she was told by the doctor that she could no longer have children after Hauwa was born.
She wanted a male child at least, even if it meant she got her shrewd sister in law off her back. Her idea of a complete family would have been realized. But her husband was contented. He didn’t care if he had a son or not.
“You should be giving me doses of your smile daily you know. With it, the world seems a small place and I would fight a thousand obstacles.”
Khadija had honestly forgotten how to smile or how to be happy. She just worked tirelessly to make her home and took care of it like she had taken birth for that solely. Life with their children and her husband had seemed complete.
She’d put in the best she could, until it no longer made sense. Her home hadn’t really belonged to her. Nothing ever did. She had lost her identity, herself- worth. She’d lost everything.
Was it a crime to fall in love or want to be with whom one loved? Or was it all about falling at the wrong moment? She believed Malam Tijjani belonged to her not just here even in Jannah. But the bottom line was that she was selfish, she searched for a life that wasn’t hers but was hers too. And look where that had landed them both.
Life meant nothing anymore and she got by every day with the hope of getting to another, until death caught up with her. There were times she thought that her being alive or death was the same for her children.
She removed herself from his embrace and tried to brace up. It wasn’t time to show him how weak or sorry she was. She walked up to the kitchen. Getting some work done would certainly take her mind off of things, especially the situation on ground. No one knew what or how things would turn out. Only Allah knows!
