The living room wafted
of fried beef and onion. Greetings and talks rented the air as we welcomed our
long-awaited guests- Khalid’s parents.
Khalid’s parents sat on
the green sofa while Khalid, dressed in a red t-shirt and black pair of chinos,
occupied the wooden chair opposite Rasheedah. They exchanged glances and
communicated with signs while both parents discussed.
Khalid’s father was
dressed in a white-laced kaftan and red cap. He was a tall and rotund man with
dark skin. Khalid’s mother wore a sparkling blue-coloured iro and buba and gold
scarf. She had fair skin, the colour of papaya. Her lips were thin, and it
looked almost inexistent, save for when she smiled. Khalid’s skin colour was a
blend of the two; chocolate. With the way they were dressed, it looked like
they were returning from a ceremony…but they weren’t.
The trays placed in
front of them contained samosas, mint sweets, and fried beef. As I dropped two
bottles of water on the table and was returning to the kitchen, I overheard
them talking about how they enjoyed their short trip to England.
I returned to the
living room and added an extra tray of fried beef on the table in front of them
as I cleaned my sweaty palm with the tip of my veil.
They muttered thank you,
and I smiled in return. I was heading to the room when Dad called my name.
“Rafiah, you should be here. You’re the eldest child and should partake in
decision making,” he stated, and I grinned and took a seat beside the TV.
I glanced at Rasheedah
and noticed that she and Khalid were communicating through texts. I couldn’t
help but stare at them with a look of jealousy. I might not admire the setbacks
of their relationships, but they were definitely in love with each other.
I imagined Munir taking
the place of Khalid, but I winced instead. I hadn’t been able to imagine myself
and Munir as a couple.
Khalid’s father’s
croaky face drifted me back to reality. He was talking about the main suspect
being a strong opponent who was contending with him for the senatorial
position. Therefore, he believed the person must have a hand in the threat.
“He is trying to scare
me from contesting by threatening people close to me, like the wife-to-be of my
only son,” he said, and Khalid’s mother nodded in agreement.
“We have reported the
case to the police and, believe me, necessary actions have been taken,”
Khalid’s mother added.
“I have also reported
the matter to the Executive Governor. He is solidly behind us. He has assigned
security agents to monitor the actions of Honourable Olowolayemo. I promise you
that we have his full support,” Khalid’s father chipped. “I’m sorry for causing
you great panic. I cannot imagine how you all must have felt. We deeply
apologise for the inconvenience and are assuring you that everything has been
settled. You will never receive any letter of threat again.”
“Eh, we brought some presents from England,” Khalid’s mother grinned
as she handed a large package to Mom. “Please, help us manage it.”
“Ah, manage ke? This is too much,” Mom said as she
collected the package with a grin.
Khalid’s mother
adjusted her buba and stared at us
with bright eyes. “When are we resuming the wedding plans?”
“Immediately!” Mom said
with excitement. “I’ve missed planning my daughter’s wedding. It keeps me busy
and delighted,” she was saying as she turned towards Rasheedah. “Bring my phone
so that I can call the caterer. I hope someone else hasn’t been hired her for the
next two weeks. By the way, the price of tomatoes has increased oo….” She whined.
The wedding plans
resumed that very second. Mom had told Khalid’s mother about the attitude of
the wedding florist and how skilled the caterer was.
I glanced at Dad and
noticed that he was not excited about the news. Instead, a look of worry was
evident on his face and I knew that he wasn’t convinced everything was fine.
***
Two weeks had passed,
and our lives had returned to normal. There were no more letters of threat, and
we had almost forgotten that there a night where we all sat in the living room
with quivering lips and wobbly legs.
Things had returned to
the way they used to be, and I hoped it continued that way. Rasheedah would be
getting married in a week, and work had been fun. Munir still spent lunch with
Asmau and me. Moments spent with Munir were always fun. We would talk about
politics and entertainment as we devour plates of jollof rice.
I was at the office,
staring at the screen and pretending to understand the text that appeared. I
squinted my eyes and yawned loudly. I couldn’t keep my eyes steady. I opened my
bag and brought out a pack of bubble gum to save myself from falling asleep.
Mrs. Bola appeared that
very minute, her high-heeled shoes making clacking sounds as she sashayed into
the office. “We have a meeting at the board room, now!” she said with a wide
smile.
Mrs. Bola was dressed
in a black pencil shirt and grey shirt. She wore black stiletto heels, and as
she graced the office, her strawberry-flavoured perfume wafted through the air.
“It will be a brief
meeting. Five minutes tops,” Mrs. Bola stated as she walked out of the room.
I grabbed my jotter and
pen and headed to the board room with Asmau beside me. When we got to the board
room, almost everyone was seated. A seat to the far left of the room was
unoccupied, and another in between Joe and Chuks. So Asmau and I split and I
took the one at the far right.
As I took my seat, I
looked up and noticed Munir smiling at me. He winked, and I smiled shyly,
opening my jotter and placing a biro in between. I will be lying if I say there
weren’t butterflies in my stomach.
I read the last content
I scribbled on my jotter and wondered what the meeting was for. Then, I felt a
nudge and whipped my head up. It was Esther handing a note over to me. I knew
it would be from Asmau. I opened it to read its content.
Who
knows what warrants this meeting on a hot Wednesday afternoon. But, it had
better be worth it. Before Mrs. Bola made the announcement, I was planning to
go to the kitchen and have a brief nap.
I chuckled, and I tore
a part of my jotter and wrote a note.
Like
thirty minutes could have passed on a regular time…but meetings? We’d still be
at five minutes.
I folded the note and
gave it to Esther, who rolled her eyes and passed it over. Asmau grinned at me
after reading and gave a thumb up.
Mrs. Bola finally
appeared, and I adjusted myself on the seat.
“I’m sorry about the
impromptu meeting,” Mrs. Bola waved a hand. “I promise to keep it short so that
everyone will resume their duties. So, our very own couple, Tolu and Najeebah,
are getting married this Sunday!” she squealed in excitement, and colleagues
banged their hands on the table to celebrate with them.
Sadness engulfed my
face as I surreptitiously glanced at Najeebah, whose eyes flickered with
happiness. Suddenly, my mouth turned bitter, and I wished I had faked eating an
infected meal and spending hours in the toilet. I wished that I hadn’t accepted
Tolu’s proposal. I could have been neutral like Asmau, Munir, Esther, Chuks…and
everyone whose hands did not shiver when they see their ex every morning.
Mrs. Bola talked about
everyone contributing two thousand naira each to buy a lovely gift and
celebrating our colleagues’ big day by making sure that we grace the event. The
board room burst into merriment, and I tried hard to fight the hot tears that
were struggling to flow through my cheeks.
“How will you spend
your honeymoon?” Joe said, and people cackled in response.
“Janet, I keep telling
you to say yes to me so that we’ll make another beautiful couple,” Adekunle
chides Janet and people laughed.
I forced a smile and
watched as people wished them a successful wedding. Finally, Mrs. Bola
dismissed the meeting, and we all returned to our desks.
As I prepared to resume
my boring task, Mrs. Bola’s PA walked towards my desk. “Mrs. Bola sends for
you,” she said.
Asmau smiled at me and
drew a love sign as I walked out of the office.
About two minutes
later, I was in Mrs. Bola’s richly-furnished office, and she had gestured that
I take a seat. Mrs. Bola’s office is the definition of ‘exquisiteness.’ The
walls were painted orange and white and contained pictures of Mrs. Bola, her
husband, and her five-year-old daughter.
I’d seen her daughter
once during the last end-of-year party, bawling her eyes out and requesting more
chocolates. As I watched Mrs. Bola type furiously on her keyboard, I wondered
how she managed to run Fulaan and spend time with her family.
“I’m so sorry, Rafiah.
I just need to send this mail,” she said as I watched her rounded spectacles
reflect the light emitting from her computer.
Finally, she raised her
head and smiled at me. “How are you doing?”
I was taken aback by
her question. I stared at her with confused eyes. “Err…I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, Rafiah?”
Mrs. Bola had a unique
way of pronouncing my name, with the ‘r’ sounding a bit weird. Asmau and I
would giggle about it… but right now, I was confused. Would I be losing my job?
“I’m fine. Is there a
problem, ma?”
“Well,” she started and
took off her glasses. “I understand it must be mortifying to see that your ex
is getting married.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I totally understand,
Rafiah. You do not have to pretend. What’s worse is that Tolu ended it on his
own accord. You would have wanted you two to be together. Look, I’ve been there
before. Before getting married to my husband, I had once been in a relationship
with a colleague at my previous place of employment. He was a top official in
the company, so it made everything complicated. People started spreading
rumours that I was sleeping my way to the top. I would work hard to get
promoted, but people would attach my success to my love life. When the
relationship finally ended, my fellow colleagues openly mocked me. I would cry
profusely before resuming work every morning. I tried my possible best to
concentrate at work. It was tough, but I scaled through all of it. Starting a
romantic relationship with a fellow colleague is a risk; sometimes it works,
and sometimes it doesn’t,” Mrs. Bola held my hands and looked me deep in the
eyes. “I wish you the very best, Rafiah.”
“Thank you very much,
Mrs. Bola,” I said with wet eyes.
“You’re welcome,” she
smiled at me as I walked out of her office.
As I was returning to
the office, I continued to gasp in surprise; knowing full well that I’d just
discovered Mrs. Bola’s soft side.
So, with the strict
rules and scowling looks, Mrs. Bola could be nice! But I changed my mind as I got
to the entrance of the office. I took out my phone and sent ‘Let’s meet in the kitchen!’ to Asmau.
I pretended to take
water from the dispenser as I waited for Asmau. She arrived seconds later and
hurried to where I was standing. “What’s up?”
I told her all that transpired
in Mrs. Bola’s office, and she widened her eyes in surprise and shock. Asmau remarked
that she had no idea Mrs. Bola could be kind and considerate.
We took a seat, and I log
into Instagram and checked Tolu’s profile. How could I had missed out on the
post he made this morning…about being eager to tie the knots with the love of
his life?
“Rafiah,” Asmau took my
phone. “It’s time to let go of this obsession with Tolu and Najeebah’s
relationship. It’s time to move on,” she said in whispers.
“Okay,” I replied.
“Will you attend the
wedding?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I shrugged.
“I won’t be attending. I
have a doctor’s appointment on Sunday. So it’s okay if you decide not to…” she
was saying when my phone chimed.
I grabbed my phone from
her to read the message.
Will
you be attending the wedding?
-
Munir.
I
don’t know yet. Will you?
-
Rafiah
If
you decide to attend, let me know. I’d like to be your date. I think it would
be great if someone keeps you company. You don’t mind that I accompany you to
the wedding, do you?
-
Munir
I smiled and replied:
No,
I don’t mind at all.
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Well done
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