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Beatrice married Musa when she was 21. It was an unusual romance, everything and everyone was against them in the beginning but Beatrice was in love and nothing mattered.

Musa was dashing. A tall Hausa bloc who spoke four languages fluently… he had stolen Beatrice’s heart while she was still in the University trying to earn a degree.

Despite almost a decade difference in their ages, Musa and Beatrice thrived against all odds. The Muslim Northerner and the Catholic Westerner.

The biggest stumbling block was not even their tribal difference or religious beliefs, the biggest issue they had were their parents, especially Beatrice’s parents who were devout Catholics and would rather die than have their only daughter marry Musa.

Beatrice was in her third year when she got pregnant. Her parents were distraught, she had disappointed them and they would still not accept her choice of a man.

Beatrice moved in with Musa and had her first child Habeeb. Lost to her parents, her life took a new turn as she became the bride of Musa. She had only enjoyed 6 months of bliss before everything changed and her life experienced an unusual overhaul, one that would unleash a series of traumatic and life altering events.

…

I felt my body being hurled up and I opened my eyes, disoriented, I looked around me, a little crowd had formed around me, my wrapper was askew and the man who was trying to lift me up looked into my eyes, I saw relief flood into them.

“Madam, you fainted… are you ok” he asked me. I saw genuine concern in his eyes, but one couldn’t be sure, I have become wary of men who show concern.

“I am fine. Thank you” To show him I was indeed fine, I rose without his help and gathered my wrapper to myself. My bag was in a young lady’s hand, I smiled as I reached for it. I muttered my thanks and with my still dirty palms, I brushed off the dirt all over me.

The crowd had dispersed, but not before advising me to check myself into a hospital. I heard one tell another that I was pregnant. Of course I was pregnant, Baby Jesus needed a sibling and I was Mary!

I began my journey home…

Now I go around fainting, all thanks to Musa.

Tall, handsome, no, beautiful Musa… the father of my children, the man I want dead.

At 34, I looked like an emaciated 50 year old woman, my once delicate features had disappeared, all thanks to 10 years of bitterness and hurt and pain.

A small smile of sadness spread across my lips as I remembered how Musa had looked at me when he picked up the kids, he even had the guts to ask if I was fine… well, I looked like I was dying, of cancer.

Home, my keys in my hand, I remembered Habeeb had called me before my fall… My phone!

My heart jumped into my mouth… my phone was missing… No, not now… not my phone! I didn’t plan to cry, but the tears had started again.

 

To be continued….