Short Story

By Maryam Muhammad Lawan

They both entered Ammi’s room with crestfallen faces.

“Ammi, I don’t know what’s wrong with this boy. I saw him in the afternoon wandering about the street with those ludicrous coteries and now with a gamepad instead of a book!” Yaaya exclaimed. 

Ammi sighed as if she could not utter a word.

I know she could, for she has been trying her best. Anis would only pick his book to study when Ammi sounds emphatic. Not sure if it’s hearty, for he would start to sleep shortly after he starts reading, and that will be the end. 

Yaaya broke the silence in the silent room with a query. “What exactly do you want?”

Mentorship! I answered the question for Anis quiescently.

 He continued, “Unless you straighten up and fly right, our efforts will be fruitless.”

Anis is blessed with a quick cognitive capacity but is prone to play.

 “I’ll try my best and make sure he get his acts together, but he’s listless now. Tomorrow will be a better day,” I said to myself. 

The Next Day

I stealthily entered Anis’s room and met him ironing his sport wears. 

 “This is supposed to be done before today, my friend,” I said teasingly.

 He replied amusingly, “I heard you, but not well. However, I may hear you well when you go out and say Assalaamu Alaikum.”

Deep down, I know he’s trying to requite, for this is always what I say whenever he bangs into my room without saying the Salaam. 

I went out, said the Salaam and entered. 

I soothingly asked about his preparation(s) for the forthcoming exams.

 “Which preparation?” He asked. “Y’all should know that this JAMB is just luck,” he added. 

“So you wrote the exams before, wow! What was your score? “I uttered innocuously. 

“Look, Anis, can you please give me a listening ear?” This time around, it’s more of motherly. 

He switched off the iron and turned his attention to me. 

“Last year, when I did my JAMB examination, were you not proud of my score? Were you not the one that added that to your status with ‘can ur sis be brilliant like this’ as the caption? Do you remember how that result trended? Why? It’s all because of the score, Anis. I wasn’t the only one that wrote JAMB that same year, but mine trended most.” Can you remember how I read hard? Why don’t you do that, Anis?”

The room was silent for a while.  

“There’s nothing like luck, except that in almost everything, there may be a refutation. Some candidates may prepare well, but fail, while others will pass without preparing, but this is a hen’s teeth. I want you to train hard and pray harder, please, dear. Will you do that? “ 

He astonishingly answered in the affirmation. 

“I remember how some students mocked us (me and my friends) just because we were preparing hard. How foolish? None of them scored more than 130. Karina was among them; she scored 98. I know you can still remember that. So, in case you come across those sets of people, get them the cold shoulder. But, eventually, we shall smile together,” I said. 

“It’s almost 7:30 am. Let me leave before your school bus arrives. Peace out, bro, I said and added “no procrastination please,” when exiting out of the room. 

“Anis!! I shall celebrate with you as well, “I said this when I saw him reading voraciously after coming back from Islamiya in the evening. 

I could see happiness in Ammi’s and Yaaya’s faces. 

It’s time for the Maghrib prayers, so the young boy must keep everything and pray. 

He stood up while uttering, “So help us, God.” I wasn’t the only one that said “Ameen.”

Yaaya was at the parlour, ready to move on to the mosque, while Ammi was there to pick the phone she left at the dining table. I, Yaaya and Ammi said that Ameen happily.  

The young boy moved on to the restroom to perform his ablution.

 He held Ammi and Yaaya in awe, they happily prayed for him, and they both left. 

Maryam Muhammad Lawal wrote from Kaduna via mmafamam@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam Imam

Looking at her eyes, it was clear that the decision taken by her parents wasn’t favourable. Soon, a shiver began to run down my spine that I couldn’t help standing, but fell to my knees. My hands supported my head, and I quickly sank deeply into the thought of how our love led to the ruination.

Hot-felt tears had already begun racing down my innocent cheeks; I felt drunk with the world playing magic to me, turning around like a bicycle wheel peddled by a fast rider. However, I couldn’t tell about happenings around me.

I got started when her soft hands held both of mine tightly. She lifted me and drew me closer to her; then she whispered into my ears: “I can’t let you go, dear,” she said with her engrossing eyes which tore my heart out looking into mine, then continued “, All creatures have various can’t do-without things. Your love is to me as water is to a fish.”

“It’s indeed known to everyone that we love each other and no word can describe our relationship – it’s, without a doubt, incalculable and immeasurable,” I responded, paused, cleared my throat and continued, “this is our destiny, and we’ve no option but to accept it.”

“I have an idea,” she said.

“What can that be?” I quickly interrogated.

“We shouldn’t run away to save our love and get a secret marriage elsewhere,” she suggested.

“Certainly no! Love is a sacrifice, and now it’s my turn to pay you back, for I’m indebted to you beyond the settlement,” I said rather emotionally and added, “if you really love me, accept it.”

“I do for your sake. But a favour, please! Don’t forget me for whatsoever reason. For me, you’re undeletable; the blood that pumps by my heart and circulates in me.” She retorted hopefully with misty eyes.

“I won’t!” I said. “You’re indeed unforgettable. Even though the thought of losing you would have soon killed me, my life won’t be for nothing because I have very good news for my friends and relatives who have gotten their residence permit in the great beyond many years now – the story of our exemplary love,” I managed to say though in a shaky voice.

For the uncertainty on when our next meeting shall be again, we departed after getting our point across to each other. I stood to leave but only to feel forcefully halted; as I turned, it was her hand clutching the tail end of my kaftan. She smiled, then words flowed on her blessed lips, “we’re destined to each other. So I know we’ll reunite again.”

Her words created in me the reflection of the stream of affection we’ve passed through. No love tangle had ever existed in our voyage since we began crushing on each other. So that our relationship had always been quarrel-free, I found it difficult to reply to her words. Instead, I nodded and smiled warmly. But inside me, my mind grew heavier and my heartbeat at the rate of three times a second or so, I thought, making me doubt my chest’s ability to bear it.

I didn’t wait for a taxi or bus. Therefore, I made for home and arrived after a trek of more than an hour. I entered my dilapidated room, laid on my ramshackle and crumpled bed with my head conveniently placed atop a decaying pillow made of dirty old clothes, looking high up to the dusty and unworkable ceiling fan. I was, all this while, trying to discard the thought of my execrable situation with which I became like a conjoined-twin, but yet failed. My heart was enveloped with the flashback of my first encounter with Aisha, to mention her name.

After four years of silence, one blessed Monday on my way to call on my friend, I saw a pretty girl of about eighteen, the apparel of whom I instantly admired, the beauty of whom shouted for attention. I tried but failed to hide my surprise that was now all over my face, so she couldn’t notice.

As she came nearer, the pleasant scent of the Malaysian perfume, she wore struck my nostrils. She gave me an attractive, though tricky, smile.

The girl alluringly passed by without uttering a word. Her beauty is indeed beyond description. But, to my utmost surprise, seeing the girl for a brief moment, I suddenly began to feel a strange feeling descending on me. I couldn’t figure out the meaning of this peculiar feeling, but a few days later, I got to know what the feeling was all about. And I also came to know her name and her address.

She lives in a mansion and is fathered by a well-known rich man in Kano. My heart was full of fear of rejection. But interestingly enough, I was lucky! My proposal was accepted.

In the spot of our existence, we became the talk of the town, whereas our relationship travelled far on the lips of our contemporaries. Thus, she couldn’t deny me a gingering and auspicious text if she denied me her face, and so did I.

Nevertheless, no sooner had her parents stood on our path than we started calculating the ramification that led to the break-off of this journey. Love, from then, proved itself bitter, not better since it produced something short of sweet. Indeed we’re knifed apart as our dreams fell apart.

Uzair Adam Imam writes from Kano and can be reached through uzairadamimam@gmail.com.

By Salma Yakubu

I sat on a bench under a neem tree behind the Faculty of Education lecture hall. I stared emptily at nothing in particular.

‘Hey! Karima!’ My classmate, Siyama, snapped me out of my thoughts.

‘What are you thinking?’ She scowled as she sat down.

‘The test, I hadn’t studied well.’ I complained.

‘You should have studied enough. You know that lecturer is very tough, he wouldn’t hesitate to fail you. Plus, you are not so good in his course.’ She blamed me.

‘Shut up!’ I roared in anger while already in remorse.

‘I should have studied.’  I murmured to myself.

I was still nursing the pain when Aliyu, the class rep, walked up to us. Aliyu is a young and vibrant student of average height and in his early twenties.

‘Oh, you guys are here; I have been looking for you.’ He said.

‘What’s up?’ I held my breath to hear if it was about another test, assignment, or attendance.

‘Mr. Bashir, statistics, asked me to call you.’ He said. My heart skipped a beat.

‘Why?’ I asked before I sprang to my feet. ‘Did I do anything wrong?’ I enquired.

‘I don’t know. He only said I should call you.’ He replied. I turned to Siyama, who was also in awe.

‘Okay, Aliyu, I’m right behind you.’ I threw my stuff inside the bag and started walking. Siyama followed me.

Two lecturers were leaving as we got to Mr Bashir’s office door. Immediately the door closed back, I knocked.

‘Come in’, Mr Bashir responded. So Siyama and I entered the office.

‘Karima only,’ he said without looking at either of us. Siyama and I exchanged a glance as she slammed the door behind her.

‘Sit down,’ he pointed at a sofa across the room. I sat anxiously and clutched tightly to my bag.

‘You…called…for me…sir.’ I stammered.

‘Yes, Karima.’ He removed his spec, dusted it off and placed it in the spec case. ‘You failed my statistics test, do you know that?’ He furrowed.

‘Yes,’ I nodded. He sighed.

‘You score seven out of twenty points. This is going to affect your grade. How do you plan to stop that from happening?’ He focused his eyes on me. I lowered my gaze in silence. ‘Study harder for exams?’ He asked.

‘Yes,’ I mumbled.

He chuckled. ‘You lost thirteen marks. That’s too much. You are most likely to fail the exam.’ He leaned forward. ‘But you have nothing to worry about. I will help you.’ He then retracted. I breathe in relief. ‘You know Karima; we have an unfinished business.’ He gave me a flirty stare. I felt chunks in my throat.

The very day Mr Bashir introduced himself as the statistics lecturer was the day he invited me for lunch, and that was in the first semester. I turned him down. And we never talked about it again. I have forgotten or almost forgotten we had such an encounter. Even the following morning, when we met in school, he didn’t say a word to me.

‘Are you with me?’ He lurched me out.

‘Yes, sir’

‘I still like you,’ he walked over to where I sat. I swallowed hard as he leaned in. ‘Karima, you are  beautiful and smart, but statistics break your egos.’ He laughed devilishly. ‘ In your last result, you got “E”. Do you know what comes after an “E” grade?

I was dumbfounded.

“Fail.” He said as if that means a well-deserved medal of honour. ‘You might repeat the same course.’ He squirmed. ‘Aren’t you worried about not graduating with your classmates?’ I lowered my gaze again. ‘I’m not only going to help you pass the exam but also provide you with a private tutor.’ He dropped his contact card beside me and returned to his chair. ‘Think about it.’ He said and sat down. ‘Oh! My bad! What will I offer you?’ He snapped out.

‘Nothing, I’m okay. Thank you.’ I faked a smile, and thankfully, just then, my phone buzzed.

‘What is vibrating?’ He asked.

‘My phone.’

Before I could answer it, the phone hung.

‘My friend is calling. We’re going home.’ I told him.

‘Oh, I am sorry to have kept you here.’ He slid out three thousand Naira notes from his pocket and forwarded them to me. ‘Please, fare with this,” he said.

‘I have transport fare, thank you.’ Then, in astonishment, he said okay, and I left.

By the time I got home, it was past six o’clock. My Abba was sitting in the parlour, his attention on the television when I entered. I greeted him and headed to my room.

‘Karima,’ Abba called out. I stopped halfway. ‘I’ll like  to talk to you later.’

‘Okayyyyyyyyyyyy,’ I said.

After a cold shower, I sat on the bedside drawer, towelling myself. My phone buzzed inside the handbag. While I was trying to locate the phone, Mr Bashir’s contact card fell off. I picked the contact card up and plugged my phone into charging while I threw on a long multicoloured chiffon gown and went to Abba. His focus was no longer on the television but a book on his hands. Edge of politics, I read the book title as I sat on the fur carpet by his side.

‘How are studies?’ Abba asked while his eyes were still searching on the book. How can I tell him the truth? Aren’t that studies fine?

‘Study’s fine,’ I lied. He shoved the book aside and turned to me.

‘Karima, you are doing well in a lot of things, especially your education. I’m proud of you.’ I smiled. He continued. ‘I want you to do whatever it takes to graduate with good grades. Don’t worry about a job; I am making arrangements for that. I don’t want you to fail, never.’ He said in a mixture of advice and threat.

This is the problem with Abba; he hates any excuse for failure. Did he know my academic challenges? No, he doesn’t. He consistently gives fare, feeds and if there is any need to buy, he gives the money. Abba thought he must have covered the basic problems in my studies. When I told him once about my difficulty in statistics, he laughed it off, saying that I was mumbling because I wasn’t paying attention and also hated the course. It was not true.

I also told Abba about my coursemate, who was willing to tutor me freely, but he rejected the idea. I know he hated to hear me call a male my friend.

‘You see this male tutor? They are fake. They will drive you into falling in love with them and end up messing with you. In the end, you will lose both love and tutoring. The same with girls, too. Don’t be too close; else, you will end up homosexual. You are just 19. Have you ever imagined what your life would look like when you let a boy or girl a mess with you?’ He would say, and I would squirm.

Since my Abba doesn’t like close relations with the same or opposite gender other than Siyama, who was his friend’s daughter, everyone is either a university mate, department mate, neighbour and nothing special.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ His voice drew me back to our discussion.

‘Yes.’ I replied.

‘God bless you.’

‘Thank you, Abba. Can I join Umma in the kitchen?’

‘Yes, she’ll need you.’

‘Take this to your father.’ She served hot jollof rice and beans on a soleplate and arranged them on a tray.

I carried Abba’s food to the dining room, where he asked me to share the food with him. That was the most thing I derived joy from, eating with my father. I left the food halfway and told him I would observe Isha’i prayers.

I went to my room, performed ablution and observed my prayers. Still, on the prayer mat, I picked up a book from the bedside drawer to read; the thought of Abba’s words pinched me at heart. I nurse them deeply. My father might not be a rich Dad, but he was always on top of his responsibilities—a prestigious father. I would not want to either disappoint or do what he disapproved of me. But, the fear of statistics lingered at my heart and let blood flow on my face. I know or perhaps believe there is no way to pass the exam; worse, I scored so low on the test. Yet, my father saw the light and prospect in me, and I must keep that glittering.

Since I couldn’t disobey Abba to have a good tutor and Mr Bashir is offering to help me, I have no option but to take the first step. So I picked the card from my bedside drawer and typed the number on my phone. I managed to keep my breath steady and dial-up. It rang for few times before he answered.

‘Hello!’ I propped up. ‘Karima speaking.’ I listened to him ask which Karima, but he didn’t. Instead, he was awed.

‘How are you?’ He asked calmly.

‘Sir, I don’t want anything to delay my graduation, not even statistics.’ I mumbled. He chuckled and paused a bit.

‘Calm down. You shouldn’t fear. By the way, my birthday is tomorrow, and I’m inviting you. Will you come?’ He asked.

I mulled for a while before I answered him. ‘Yes’

‘I will send my address tomorrow.’ He said. I hung the phone and breathed in. By then, the sweat on my palms turned cold.

The following day, I woke up and, as usual, did chores. Then, I went to collect clothes from Umma’s tailor before  Kaduna’s hot sunset.

At 4 p.m., I sat in front of my mirror and applied cake powder, eye pencil and lip-gloss. Then wore a long black-stoned abaya and a yellow veil. Finally, I sprayed body perfume and picked my handbag.

I went to meet Umma, reading in her room.

‘Umma, I’m off to Siyama’s house.’ I said to her.

‘All this dressing for Siyama’s house?’ She asked. I knew she suspected nothing, but she always thought I sophisticated dressing for simple outings.

‘Siyama’s friend is having a birthday, so she invited me.’ She nodded and said, ‘Be careful. Return safely.’

‘Thank you, Umma.’ I smiled and left.

That is one thing my parents have for me: trust. They never question nor stop my outings. They believe I would never hurt them.

The cab drove me from Unguwan Rimi to Kigo road. We stopped at Balin hotel while I re-checked the address to ensure I was in the correct location. I brought out my phone and dialled Mr Bashir’s up.

‘I’m at Balin hotel.’ I said as he answered the phone.

‘I’m coming,’ he responded from the other end.

So, I paid and freed the tricycle rider.

After a few minutes of standing and clutching my handbag, a car hunk and stopped beside me, when I looked, it was Mr Bashir.

‘Salam Alaikum’, he greeted, winding the glass down. Without a word, I hurriedly sat in the car. I wouldn’t want anyone to recognize me, and thankfully, the car glass had a tint. He drove off to the end of the lane and cornered into the last street. It was two minutes drive into a three-bedroom flat. He parked the car at his garage, and we came out.

‘Welcome’, he said and led the way into the house. I was expecting to meet people, a lot of them. Thus, I arranged to shield myself to avoid running into somebody I knew.

‘Where are your guests? There isn’t seem to be anybody here.’ I rolled my eyeballs around.

‘On my birthday this year, I decide to invite only you.’ He smiled sheepishly. My heart skipped a beat.

‘Only me? No, I can’t stay with you in this building.’ I protested. He ended up reminding me of why I was there in the first place. My body chilled down instantly, and I followed him into the house. He walked me straight to the dining room. We sat down. Varieties of food and drinks were already served.

‘Is today truly your birthday?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘Yes,’ he replied without looking in my direction. ‘I only need both of us here. That’s why I invited only you.’

‘Happy birthday.’ I said.

‘Thank you. Shall we eat?’ He asked. I told him I was full, but he insisted I eat the food.

After the meal, I thanked him and stood to take my leave. I had expected him to see me out, but instead, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me to the sitting room.

‘I have something for you.’ He whispered. With his hands wrapped around my waist, lumps began to grow in my throat. One of his hands still held me while he used the other one to take a shopping bag from the centre table. We sat down while he unwrapped the stuff. It was a brand new phone, a wristwatch and shoes. I liked them, but I didn’t want to take them from him.

‘It is from my heart. You must go with them.’ He said. I had explained that my parent would kill me if I went home with the gifts. I started to leave, but he came behind and held me tightly. I went numb. Before I could bring myself to know what was happening, he threw me to the cushion and pinned me there. I tried to wriggle but couldn’t.

‘Stop!’ I barked, but he didn’t stop pulling my clothes.

When he finally loosened me, I ran home panting as if a dog chased me. Umma asked what was wrong, but I went to my room without a word. I could feel her eyes taking a step with me, but I cared less. I went straight to the bathroom, showered and lay on the bed.

‘Today, I broke my parent’s trust. I won’t be that same saint they had as a daughter.’ I wept the whole night.

I didn’t come out the following day, so Umma came to my room and asked why I hadn’t prepared for school. I quickly wiped my tears and sat up.

‘I can’t go for lectures today. My body aches; I have a fever, Umma.’ I explained even before she asked. She sat beside me on the bed and felt my temperature with the back of her hand.

‘Your temperature isn’t so bad. Anyway, get up and get some drugs and see if it subside, or else we go to the hospital. I’m going out right now.’ She dropped some money in my bedside drawer and left.

I breathed down in relief. It would be easy for Umma to decipher what was going on if I made any move. But, if she saw my gait, I’d be doomed because I haven’t been able to walk since I woke up that morning. My laps were sour and numb.

I could not talk to, text, or call Mr Bashir ever since the incident happened. And when he does, I never replied. 

A few weeks or about a month later, I  began to have itches around my lower abdomen. Then, it developed into a burning sensation, reddish rashes and lumps, and waist pain. Finally, it got worse that I couldn’t walk or urinate effortlessly without crying from the burning sensation. I told Umma about it.

‘How could you be so careless?’ She struck at me. ‘Let me see.’ She opened my legs, and I saw the situation by herself. She screamed out. ‘Is this what you have been living with?’

‘I’m sorry, Umma.’ I cried.

‘Let’s go to the hospital right now.’ She helped me walk down to her car and drive off.

We met a gynaecologist at the hospital. He immediately took a swap from me to the laboratory. After some time, he returned and asked Umma to follow him. Umma returned with tears. She sniffed and shook her head.

‘Umma, why are you crying?’ I asked.

‘Karima, you have gonorrhoea.’ She replied. My heart skipped a bit.

‘Mr. Bashir has finished me.’ I wailed.

Umma paused and faced me. ‘Who is Mr Bashir?’ She asked with curiosity. ‘What did you have with him?’

I narrated everything to her. I saw Umma weakened to her bones. But, even without a word from her, I knew she was pressing herself not to injure me.

‘Forgive me, Umma.’ I cried.

‘Where is he? Where is the dan iska [rascal]?’ She yelled.

‘He should be in the school.’ I said.

She stomped out of the ward.

By the time she came back, it was with my Abba. I almost peed on the bed. I threw my face away in shame.

‘Karima, I heard what you did.’ He turned his back to me. ‘I hope you know; I will never trust you?’ He said with all bitterness. ‘The so-called Mr Bashir whom you trust as your statistics god, the one who put you in this condition, has escaped my retribution.’

I was surprised but dared not ask him. Umma left the room as Abba set to say the final words. ‘He’s dead. The bastard is dead.’ He raged.

Cold ran down my spine.

‘What happen to him?’ I asked.

‘A tanker fell on his car yesterday as he was leaving the school.’ Abba said.

‘Noooooooo’ I screamed out. Abba’s heartbreak was boldly written in his eyes.

‘He can’t ruin me and die like that.’ I cried.

For the first time in my life, my parents were angry with me. Unfortunately, that would be the price for disobedience and too much fear. But, If Abba wasn’t too strict, I would have been tutored by my classmates, and things wouldn’t have been this way.

‘Abba, I was ready to do anything for you, to make you proud.’ I said while holding tightly unto his hand. That was when I saw tears roll down his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry, Karima. I cause this upon you.’ He held me, too.

‘Your exam is next week. I hope you will be able to read, okay?’ Abba said.

Salma Yakubu is the author of Behind The Moon. She can be reached via princessbeautynigeria111@gmail.com.

By Khalid Shafi’i

“Officer, please accept this small change make we kuku japa for here. We dey in a hurry abeg,” I said, mustering all the courage I could. “Oga, open dis booth before I slap you now. You’re wasting my time,” he asked angrily. 

***

“Officer, my mother taught me to respect my elders, so I’m not going to say what I’m thinking,” I lamented. I didn’t even know where I summoned the courage from. 

“I’m sure she’d be proud to know you still remember those lessons, but I heard what you’re thinking.”

“Then I’m sorry you had to hear that,” I joked.

“You’re funny, but fifty naira is too small. Add something sharp sharp and go.”

I instantly went for my wallet and gave him all its content. I didn’t want to have any more malarkey with him. ₦1,000 was all I had left after the spending spree at SFC. I would have offered it in the first place if I knew things would get serious. I was, I mean, we were lucky. I was prepared never to take such a chance again.

Immediately, I drove to a remote location around the Naraguta axis to dump the body. Leila insisted we search the body for valuables. She took his debit card, phone, wallet and handed them all to me.

“But how is the debit card useful? I don’t want to land in trouble, Leila,” I asked.

“Think about it, Omar. You can use some of the money in his account to start a business. Don’t you want to marry me? You could pay my bride price, you know? Don’t worry; I know the debit card pin and the phone password,” she assured.

It was like Leila worked some magic on me. I found myself doing as she bade. I had a tenuous grasp of reality. “I definitely won’t mind marrying her. I mean, who wouldn’t? I was sure the body we just dumped was an accident. “Leila is no Killer”, I assured myself again. I’d scout the world for a wife like her.” I thought.

Three hours ago, If someone had told me I would be aiding and abetting murder, I’d probably sue him. Those three hours were like a movie. They weren’t idyllic for me. 

I never envisioned my life committing a crime. Why would I? I was raised right. I went to a local but decent primary school. Immediately after, I was enrolled in an Islamic secondary school. Eleven years after, I was a degree holder. I had no ties with criminals. It was like foraying into an unknown world. Nevertheless, I was determined to make the voyage if it leads to me having Leila for myself. 

“What are you thinking, Omar? Let’s go!” exclaimed Leila. 

“Where to? It’s late. I can’t take you home with me, Leila. So go home, we’ll meet tomorrow.”

“No, I can’t go home. Find us a place to stay the night together, Omar. I’m scared. And don’t you want to know my story?” 

“I do, Leila, I really do. But I can’t spend the night outside my home. My dad would kill me.” I answered almost immediately.

However, a part of me wanted to spend the night with Leila. I wanted to know everything. And all of a sudden, she pulled my hand and started dragging me. “Don’t be silly; we’re spending the night together.” She giggled. “C’mon, let’s go”.

I couldn’t help but follow her. It was glorious. My hand still tingled where she grabbed it. 

“So, Omar….” She began again. I knew that tone of voice. It was dangerous.

“How would you like to spend the night? We can book a hotel using Auwal’s debit card. We could have fun tonight.” She whispered. She looked at me with a cautious smile. Her smile was infectious. I couldn’t answer her. I only shrugged my shoulders and looked down. 

“Do you Like me?” She asked.

“I do, but…..” 

“No but’s, you’re going with me tonight,” she continued.  

“Okay, let’s go”, I agreed.

***

It felt like a dream at first, I heard the door bang. I saw grisly images of the police coming through the door. After some seconds, it dawned on me that it wasn’t a dream. I mustered some strength and overcame the inertia I was going through to check if Leila was lying beside me. To my greatest surprise, she wasn’t. 

I tried to recall the previous night. I remember lying with her on the bed. After that, everything went blank. What happened? Was I drugged?

 
“Hol’it there, young man. You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” 

I was struggling to get up when all of a sudden, strong hands grabbed and cuffed my hands. Almost immediately, billows of tears started gushing out of my eyes. I knew it was over for me, but what baffled me most was Leila. Where is she? How did the police know our… no, my whereabouts? Did Leila frame me, or was she also arrested? 

TBC. Keep a date with me to know the answers to these and many more questions.

About the Author: Khalid Shafi’I is a graduate of Law from the prestigious Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. Also, he’s currently undergoing a one-year study at the Kano campus of the Nigerian Law School for the license to practice law. He loves reading and writing.

By Zee Aslam

It was a fantastic autumn evening. October’s weather had sedated, but the wind was blowing intensively. Mrs Busari’s car came to a screening halt after knocking down a beggar and her baby. The road was not busy as only a few pedestrians were retiring back to their houses due to the wind. 

The thud sound enticed a passer-by’s attention, who ran to the accident scene. The victim fell opined, and the baby keenly wrapped on her back popped out into the drainage nearby. Mrs Busari had leapt out of the car but reverted when she saw the passer-by approaching. 

In a jiffy, she started her car and zoomed off. “I’ve been away from Junior for too long. I need to run ahead to avoid being delayed here”, she murmured while driving fast. 

When she got home, she noticed her husband’s car parked in the garage and heard his voice echoing in the compound. He seldom returns home around this time, so she quickly turned the doorknob and walked in. The face of a worried, perplexed nanny welcomed her. 

“Babe, why are you are back so early and what’s with these faces you both are wearing?” She asked him. 

“I think you should ask this devil here. Could you believe she gave out Junior to a friend?” He responded, adding yet another question. The nanny began trembling in fear. 

“Who did you give my baby to?” Mrs Busari bellowed. 

The nanny’s heart was palpitating, and her hands were sweating. Words deserted her mouth. She only stood there motionless, staring. 

“PAU!” Mrs Busari’s impatient hand landed on her face, which made the words in her mouth gush out like loosened prisoners. “I always get paid for giving out Junior to a guy who disguises as a beggar so that he could earn himself money easily due to the pity”. 

“What! You gave out my son to a beggar. How dare you, what were you thinking?” 

“Call him now to return Junior, and if anything should happen to my son, I won’t hesitate to dismantle your bones and pile them up in heaps for vultures to feed on”, Mr Busari croaked out. 

After several attempts, the call was eventually picked. It was said that the phone was found lying beside the road, and it looked like the owner was the one involved in an accident. 

When those words hit Mrs Busari’s ears, she became utterly baffled. Some moments ago, she had recklessly run into a beggar and acted rashly. Could it be Junior that was wrapped on her back? No! It can’t be. 

As soon as they confirmed the hospital the woman and the small boy were taken to, they ran as their lives depended on what they were aiming for. A few minutes into the hospital, they were told the news of their deaths. They felt numbed.

However, Mrs Busari couldn’t control her emotions, owning that her son slipped away from her fingertips due to her carefree attitude. If only she had been more considerate and not selfish. 

The man that came through for the victims recognized her as the perpetrator. He beckoned on the policemen and pointed her out. They immediately approached the grieving couple, explaining to Mr Busari why they needed to arrest his wife. 

“She might be charged with vehicular manslaughter and possibly serve a jail term. However, if it is proven that the death was indeed a result of a genuine accident, it is doubtful that she will face criminal charges”. He watched as she was introduced into the police van, and they drove off. 

He got the nanny arrested after claiming the body of his son. It was indeed an October to remember, but he pulled through. 

Zee Aslam wrote from Abuja via zeeaslam19059@gmail.com

By Khalid Shafi’i

After our high school graduation, each day seemed to blur into the next. I had no structure or purpose, no reason to get up in the morning. I was going to bed late every night. I spent hours hanging out with friends at Amar’s house.

Deedat, Abdul, Serdeeq, Amar himself, and I will cocoon in the tiny room so much more than the sum of its parts when it encourages the soul to breathe. We would play games, surf the web, and occasionally chit-chat. Moments I’ll hold unto for the rest of my life. 

And one fine morning, after returning home, my phone buzzed loudly, waking me from a restless sleep. I reached for it blindly, knocking it from the nightstand. It fell to the floor with a clatter. And one gaze was enough to recall the caller, Leila.

Leila and I met at a friend’s birthday party. She’s beautiful, alluring, and angelic. She has midnight-black hair that always flowed over her shoulders, and even though I had never tasted her honey-sweet-looking lips, I can tell they were lilac soft. After all, we are not married, or not yet.

I know Leila wasn’t the type to fall for a guy like me. Nevertheless, I made a botched attempt to ask her out. And since then, I never heard from her again. So, I wonder why she still held on to my phone number. 

“Hello, Omar”. She called from the other end of the phone. 

I took a deep breath. Even though it’s been a while I heard from Leila, I still recall how mellifluous her voice was. It always sends a chill down my spine. Like a form of therapy, her voice would heal a psychic patient.

“Hi, Leila. Is that you?” I managed to answer.

“I know It’s been a while, but I’d love to hang out with you tonight if you wouldn’t mind? Meet me at Southern Fried Chicken.” She ended the call before I could protest, but as soon as I caught her words, I was confused.

Leila sounded desperate. “This could be my chance,” I thought to myself. Immediately, I got into the bathroom, cleaned up, wore my favourite clothes, and headed to SFC. Upon entering, I sighted Leila seated with grace, like the Queen she should be. One look was enough to see the restlessness she’s trying so hard to hide. 

“Hello Leila”

“Hi, Omar, I need your help, please. Help me, and I’ll not only love you but also remain indebted to you for the rest of my life.”

“Whoa, whoa Leila, take a deep breath. Make an order, eat something and let’s talk,” I insisted. Of course, Leila didn’t want to do that, but I was insistent. I could see how desperate she was to talk, but I refused to give her audience.

Leila was not in the right state of mind to make an order, so I waved a waitress and placed the order – for us both. Immediately the waitress brought the food, Leila pounced on it like a hungry lion would pounce on a deer after starving for a month. I watched in shock as she devoured everything within a short period.

“Why wouldn’t she eat in the first place? Whatever is wrong must be so serious to prevent Leila from eating despite being this famished.” I thought to myself.

Leila suddenly stopped in the middle of her food and said, “Omar, I am pregnant for a guy I just killed.”

Like a break in transmission, the whole place became silent, at least, for me. I looked up to see if really that utterance was coming out of Leila’s mouth.

“Leila, did you hear yourself? Tell me you’re joking, please,” I quizzed.

One look was enough to make me register the seriousness on her face. After that, I didn’t know what more to say. 

Looks could deceive, but Leila is in no way a killer. I mean, how could she? She’s a lady, a beautiful young lady, for God sake. I raised my head to look at her face again. I wanted to see that ‘killer face’, but NO. All I saw was an innocent, scared young lady. I was lost in my thought when I heard her say, “won’t you ask me how it happened?”

“Yes, please, how?”

“It’s a long story, Omar. But I’ll try to cut it short.” She said. 

“Please, do,” I answered, almost nervously. 

“We don’t have much time now. Omar, please help me dump the body, and I promise to tell you everything.” 

“What! Leila, I…..” 

“It was an accident, Omar. Believe me. I won’t put you in harm’s way,” she interrupted. 

“what If..” I began again

“No what-ifs, Omar. Nothing will happen,” she assured. 

“Okay, where is he?“ I agreed.

I quickly went to the counter, paid for the food I ordered and in no time, Leila and I headed to her boyfriend’s house, retrieved his body and set out to dump it. I was driving, with Leila seated in the passenger’s seat and the body…. Well, the body was a tad uncomfortably lying in the trunk of my car when, all of a sudden, we were stopped by the police.

I was nervous, confused and scared. But, surprisingly, Leila was a little more composed than I was. How could she?

“What should we tell them, Leila? We’re caught. What should we do?“ I exclaimed. 

“Keep calm”, she retorted. “we’re not caught yet unless you want them to figure us out now, keep calm. Let me do the talking.”

“Hello, Madam,” the Police officer asked. 

“Yes, Officer, any problem?”

“No, we just want to see your particulars.”

I passed the papers to Leila, and she did the same to the police officer. He inspected the documents and went away to a patrol car not far from us. My heart began racing. The officer responded to a call on the radio and nodded. It looked like he was receiving instructions to arrest us.

The officer passed the instructions to his colleagues and came back to us after. “Oga, open your booth abeg. Make we see wetin dey inside,” he yelled in Pidgin. 

“Nothing dey inside officer, we dey in a hurry to go the hospital. My mama no well,” Leila answered in the same language. 

“Eyya, sorry ehn… just open the booth, and you’ll soon be on the way”, the officer assured her. 

I was confused. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t me. I wanted to say to him that I was only helping her. I knew it was over for us. What was I going to tell my parent? Would they ever believe I didn’t do it? My friends, oh my God, how would I possibly explain this to them. 

“Oga just radio us say make we dey check booths. Queue don dey form, driver come open dis booth make I clear dis road,” he uttered.

His face was not friendly again. If I don’t open this booth, he might probably shoot me, I thought to myself. 

I came out from the car, went round like I would open the booth, but I didn’t. Instead, I dipped my hands into my pocket, brought out a fifty naira note and offered it to the police. 

“Officer, please accept this small change make we kuku japa for here. We dey in a hurry abeg,” I said, mustering all the courage I could. 

“Oga, open dis booth before I slap you now. You’re wasting my time,” he asked angrily. 

To be continued.

Khalid Shafi’i can be reached via alhausawiy_esq@yahoo.com.

By Aeesha Abdullahi Alhaji

I winced while taking the journals I studied back into their bookshelf. Next, I rubbed my back slightly due to sitting in one place for so many hours. Then, I remembered I had a funeral to attend later in the day. So, I called Annabelle, my housekeeper, to prepare a light lunch for me to eat while I freshen up for the day’s businesses.

My junior colleague at the office lost his wife while giving birth. As I arrived at the venue, there was a commotion because Mr Andre, the bereaved, refused to allow his deceased wife’s body to be lowered into the grave. He was crying profusely. Looking at his unshaven face and unkempt beard, I knew he must have gone through a lot these past few days.

My eyes burned with unshed eyes, making me remember a fleeting memory of the worse day I pray never happens to any mortal on the face of the earth. I quickly shrugged off the bitter moment and walked over to the crowd gathered around Mr Andre. He was being consoled, but all was futile. He was devasted at the loss of his dear wife. After the burial, Mr Andre refused to leave his wife final resting place.

After an hour of waiting for him at his house to pay my final condolence, his older brother walked in, worries written over him. He attempted to explain to sympathizers how Andre refused to leave the cemetery. I smiled bitterly and told his family members I would get him.

I went back to the funeral ground, met him staring at her final abode, tears running down his cheek. I sat quietly behind him, asking him why he couldn’t accept destiny and let go of what had been ordained by the Creator. After all, death is a plane all of us will board.

He turned to look at me with a grief-stricken face saying, “Prof. Akin, you won’t understand. My wife and I have been through a lot. She had been through thin and thick of life trials and tribulations with me, but when my hard work is paying off today, she is no longer here with me. So what’s the essence of all I have endured getting if my loving wife is not here to enjoy it with me?”

I chuckled, swallowing a bitter taste that erupted in my mouth. I looked into his eyes. “Andrew, whatever has happened to you today, worse of it has happened to others, and I am one of them.”

My statement startled him. Yes, I nodded, adding: “Do you remember how often you asked me about my family, and I often shunned the topic? Let me tell you something today; I am the last of my kin.” Andre looked more surprised in disbelief.

Thinking about it, I started recollecting the sad memory.

“Darling, please, I have a senate meeting at the university. So I won’t be able to come with you to pick up our kids and their families at the airport but please, help me explain to them. But I will try to go home early enough for the family reunion dinner. Bye, my love,” I told my wife.

I hung up the phone with a big relief. I was not happy I could not pick up our kids coming home after a year abroad. But what could I do as official duty at times comes first?

An hour later, I received a call from an unknown number to come to a fatal crash scene involving a motorcade of cars. I ran out of the meeting; only God knew how I got to the accident scene with my sanity intact.

I could not believe my eyes until I saw the dead bodies of my wife, my three kids, daughters-in-law, seven grandchildren all lying dead. My world turned upside down. Though many people lost their lives in that accident, my loss was colossal. I lost my entire family that fateful day.

I later heard the cause of the accident was that they were in the traffic when, unfortunately, an oil tank lost brake and collided with many cars, going up in flames and affecting the other vehicles.

So you see, Mr Andre, your loss is nothing compared to mine. That tragic incident left me shattered. I go home every day from work with no family to welcome me. I have no family left, No kin to continue my lineage. I can no longer have kids talkless of remarrying because I am old now. My bones are crumbling, but what keeps me going is the sheer pleasure and smiles on my students’ faces. I take solace in them, seeing them as my kids.

So, be grateful at least you still have kids your late wife left behind. You better man up and start being a mother and a father to them. Please, don’t mourn for a lifetime because you have kids waiting for you to fill the vacuum of a mother and a father to them. Death is a whirlwind of fate that comes unannounced into our lives, but anyway, we are leaving the seasonal shade of life someday.

Mr Andre looked at me, dumbfounded. My life story numbed him. I patted his back and told him to go home. He stood up, smiling faintly grateful for my kind words and left. I stood watching the sunset in, a favourite pastime of my late wife.

Aeesha Abdullahi Alhaji is a student at the Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida University, Lapai, Niger State, Nigeria. She is also a member of the prestigious Hilltop Creative Art Foundation, Minna Literary Society, etc.