Palmgroove Letters Part 4 can be found
HERE
Nafisat
climbed onto the steps of the aeroplane at exactly 8.37am glad that the flight
was to take off as scheduled. Although it was still morning, she wore her big
dark Chanel shades because the sun was already blazing in the sky.
She
wore a t-shirt with slim jeans and sandals, not bothering with heels for the
first time in a long while. She was still exhausted from her aerobics session
with Bayo last night. She had no luggage other than her black Hermes handbag as
she had clothes in Abuja. Her phone had been switched off since last night but
she knew she would have to call her boss soon to explain the hurried text she
had sent to him last night asking for leave. Nafisat strapped on her seatbelt
as more passengers boarded the flight, replaying the previous night over and
over in head as she dozed off.
By the time she woke up, passengers
were struggling with their luggage in the overhead lockers above her and making
a racket. She rubbed her eyes tiredly wishing she had gotten some more sleep.
She instinctively turned on her phone and saw a dozen messages which she
ignored. She called her boss and explained that her mum was ill and she was
just landing in Abuja, silently praying that God would not punish her. She had
so many lies going on she feared she would lose track. Her boss instructed her
to keep her phone with her and she sighed in obedience.
Nafisat frowned at the scorching Abuja
heat as she stepped out of the domestic wing of Nnamdi Azikwe airport. She got
into the first car hire that approached her and fell asleep again. She was
awoken by the sound of horns blaring and the driver cursing other road users.
Everywhere seemed unfamiliar because of the never ending road construction and
diversions. She directed the driver to her house but noticed that it had been
repainted a different colour. The taxi drove in through the huge congregated
iron gates upwards to the house.
Everything seemed different even the
interlocking on the ground. There was a supple garden surrounding the
house in spite of the scorching heat. The driver looked
around in awe, probably wondering how many people lived in such a grand house.
She paid him his highly inflated fare and watched him shake his head in
amazement as he drove away. The houseboy Adamu ran towards her
clearly surprised at her arrival. She hardly stayed at the house, preferring to
stay with Nuhu in his apartment, or at Farida’s.
She walked in through the tall double
doors into the cool house. It smelt of Arabian incense and Jo Molone
fragrances. Her mother was obsessed with scents. When she was growing up,
before all the positions, her mother would make fragrances herself and store
them in tiny coloured bottles that were blown out in Kano. She still did once
in a while when she had some time to herself. The fragrances were concentrated
and made from crushed flowers and incense leaves.
The living room
was ostentatious with an incredibly high ceiling manned by tall
white caste pillars. Gold damask curtains extended from the ceiling to the
floor and there were large French gold rimmed mirrors which made the room look
twice as big as it was. Her mum had seen the living room in a magazine and
flown in a decorator from Sweden to replicate it. Everything sparkled from
being barely used and polished every day. The stairs curved from opposite sides
of the room and converged at the balcony that overlooked the space. She walked
up the stairs and realised how little she missed this house. It was cold,
physically and emotionally, and she had very little attachments to. There were
huge pictures of her three older brothers and herself across the balcony along
with various military recognitions awarded to her dad.
She walked into her room which had just
been unlocked by Adamu and fell onto the bed. Her exhaustion was more mental
than physical. Clutching one of the dozens of throw pillows on the four poster
bed, Nafisat dozed off to the sound of construction next door.
She was awoken by the Adhan call
to prayer outside. It had been so long since she heard it, as she spent most of
her hours inside the office or on the road. It had also been a while
since she said any prayers. Her eldest brother Bello was the only religious one
in the family. He had quit the military and moved to Egypt to learn Arabic. He
kept a beard and did not drink alcohol or engage in the long list of activities
which he considered haram. Bello currently lived in Qatar and was
supposed to be working for an oil company but spent most of his time studying
to be a cleric.
Her dad had been trying to convince him
to return to Nigeria where he hoped like his peers, the pursuit for money and
power would distract him from his fanatics. Her mum had been trying to get him
a wife, also hoping that this would bring him back home and back to his senses.
Nafisat had not spoken to Bello in months as they had nothing in common. He did
not approve of her dressing, lifestyle or her outspoken attitude and did not
hesitate to tell her how each strand of her exposed hair would burn in hell.
Nafisat was not one to be back down and the last time they had spoken she had
told him his hell awaited in Guantanamo with his terrorist brothers.
She smiled at the realisation that
Bello had not crossed her mind in months. Her family were not close, and their
father was the glue that held them together. On the outside though, they
appeared picture perfect because they were all good looking, rich, well spoken
and educated. Few people really knew them beyond the picture perfect
image they portrayed Few people knew for example, that her
youngest brother Abubakar was currently in a private rehabilitation centre in
Zurich being treated for drug addiction. Even Bello did not know
this. She lay on her bed thinking about how much she missed him.
Abu was her favourite sibling and had
always been the smartest of them all growing up, achieving the best grades and
participating in every school activity from sports to politics. As soon as Abu
got to Switzerland to study French and Philosophy, he seemed to lose all focus,
and after several years of changing courses, eventually dropped out. Her dad
finally lost his patience and stopped sending him money. When no one heard from
him for several months she decided to leave New York to search for him. She
found him living in a volunteer shelter for a group called ‘Friends of the
Earth’. He was planting trees, taking part in Green campaigns and making
organic honey for sale. She thought he had finally lost it because he looked
and smelt like a hobo, but he was still as brilliant as ever. He spent the
whole time passionately explaining to her how CO2 emissions was eventually
going to wipe out the planet. He did this entirely in Fulani, which was no easy
feat, but he was intelligent like that. He had also picked up French and German
living in Zurich and still spoke the best Hausa amongst them.
Farida made him stay with her at the
hotel she was lodged in, and they stayed up all night talking about everything
but the reason she had come. He showed her the best parts of Zurich and took
her to the beautiful vineyards in the countryside which overlooked the whole
city, enjoying the long summer days. They sat on the grass enjoying the long
summer days, smoking cigarettes, weed and drinking locally made wine. It was
here that Naffy pleaded with Abu to go back to school and get his life
together. He listened attentively as she explained to him how he was wasting
his life and potential. She even offered him the opportunity to come back to
New York with her and start school again.
He simply smiled and said ‘Ba na so, I
cannot come back'.
The thing all the members of her family
had in common other than their towering height was a silent stubbornness. She
knew that since he had made up his mind, there was not much she could do to
persuade him.
Nafisat gave him some money and a phone
and made him promise to call. She knew he would not because he was convinced
that the waves in mobile phones had links to cancer. He promised to write to
her. She thought this meant he would email her.
However to her surprise, she got a
letter from him a week later. He wrote the letter in Fulani, and even though it
took her a long time to decipher what he was saying but she cherished it. He
wrote about his work, his protests, environmental research and how he was
hoping to travel to a village in Bolivia that self sustained on recycled
materials. There were some sentences in English because there simply were no
such Fulani words. He wrote to her every couple of weeks but she could not
write back because he left no forwarding address. Sometimes he would send her
pictures and poetry. On her birthday he sent her a necklace made with coloured
pebbles and a hand painted card with a Fulani poem in it. She kept every single
thing he sent her.
This went on for over a year until all
of a sudden the letters stopped. After two months without hearing from him, she
got on another flight to Zurich.
This time Zurich was freezing and
covered in snow. The city was nothing like she remembered and the people seemed
just as icy. She headed straight to the Friends of the Earth hostel that he was
in the last time and was told that he had moved out a few weeks ago into his
girlfriend’s house. She sat at the hostel reception for hours, waiting
patiently for someone who knew where Abu's girlfriend lived. She stared at the
hobos coming in and out, in awe of their passion. A girl named Vanessa
eventually came in with some information on Abu’s her. Her name was Marianna
and she was a Colombian asylum seeker. Vanessa confessed that Marianna had
gotten Abu into hard drugs and when the hostel had found out, they threatened
to kick him out. He had moved into her house and no one had seen him since. She
offered to take her on her Moped, but Nafisat insisted they take a taxi.
They arrived at a set of dejected high
rise flats and walked up six flight of stairs to the apartment. She could not
believe Abu, who had the opportunity to live a life of complete luxury, chose
to live here. It was cold, damp and smelt of desperation and urine. Vanessa
pounded the door of Flat 16A with all her fists to the surprise of Farida.
After several minutes, a girl opened the door angrily. She had olive skin with
a full head of curly locks and was extremely beautiful. Vanessa paid no mind to
social grace and burst into her apartment yelling Abu’s name. They started
arguing at the top of their voice in German, and Nafisat stood outside the door
completely clueless. Eventually Nafisat had to interject to ask Vanessa what
was going on. She walked out angrily and explained that Abu was in hospital
admitted for overdosing on heroine. Nafisat’s heart stopped beating for what
seemed like hours and she stood completely still. She knew Abu experimented
with drugs but always believed he could take care of himself. Vanessa jerked
her out of her state of panic and pulled her hand back towards the stairs. Her
legs felt wobbly and she broke into a sweat despite the freezing temperatures.
As the taxi raced to the hospital, she heard Vanessa’s voice in the background
talking about how Marianna had introduced Abu to needles and was a terrible
person who should be locked up. Nafisat was lost in thought of the last time
she had seen him. It was at Zurich International Airport and he had bought her
some organic chilli chocolates which he insisted were amazing. He teased
her about how the cost of her Prada bag could build a classroom in Kano, and
made her promise to spend less on material things. She smiled the whole time
she shopped in duty free, knowing how badly he would disapprove. She felt
Vanessa’s hand tug her back to reality as they exited the taxi and walked into
the hospital.
They found Abu in a ward filled with
different types of addicts. The ward smelt of disinfectant and felt very cold.
There were electronic beeps coming from each bedside and lights flashing from
various machines. It was very quiet except for the intermittent ramblings from
a patient at the end of the Bay.
Abu was fast asleep with a drip
attached to his arm. He looked so handsome. He was tall and lanky with thick
dark curly hair. His eyelashes were long and dark and covered his big brown
eyes. He was darker than she was but had her distinctive North African
features. His long legs stretched out of the small bed and he was wearing a
blue hospital gown that was worn-out from being over washed.
Tears rolled down her eyes as she saw
his arms bruised with needles and how much weight he had lost. His face was
sunken and his skin looked pasty and dry. His pink lips were parched and dark
from smoke. She was scared to touch him because he looked so fragile. Vanessa
held her in a tight hug and she was glad for the company of this stranger who
seemed to share her pain.
She stayed with him for a week and
nursed him back to health. He rarely said anything and replied any questions
with one word. He slept for hours on end and stared into space when he awoke.
Nafisat decided to call her dad when she realised that this was beyond what she
could handle alone. Her dad flew in the following day and they checked him into
a private Rehab centre. That was about six months ago and had been the last
time she had seen him. They spoke regularly on the phone and he seemed to be
making progress. She decided she would give him a call in the evening to catch
up.
Nafisat suddenly felt painful pangs of
hunger; she never had the suya last night. She rang for the chef to bring up
some lunch while she had a shower and changed her clothes. Before she heard her
mum come in, she smelt her beautiful fragrance envelope the room. She turned to
see her mum, dressed from head to toe in baby pink smiling at her.
‘Naffy, sanu de zua. I
am surprised to see you since you haven’t returned any of my calls.’
She embraced her mum awkwardly, longing
for the mother daughter relationship they never had. Her mum was clearly taken
aback by her uncharacteristic show of emotion and seemed uncomfortable. Naffy’s mum was small compared to all her tall children. She was from Niger and had the characteristic long nose and long jet black hair with hazel eyes which Naffy had inherited. She was fulani from Niger and had the characteristic long nose and long jet black afro hair with hazel eyes which Naffy had inherited. She had tribal mark on both sides of her mouth in intrinsic dots that formed a distinct
‘Are you ok? You've lost weight. You haven’t been eating properly have you?’ asked her mum examining her at arm’s length
‘I was just about to have some lunch’ she replied feeling like a piece of chicken being examined at a market
triangle.She once was as slim as Naffy but had put on weight in the right places with the birth of her children. Despite her age, she was still extremely beautiful and put in a lot of work to stay that way, with weekly spas, facials and aerobics.
‘You need to take better care of
yourself Naffy. You have gotten so dark as well. Have you been using the
lotions I got you from Morocco?’
Nafisat chucked at her mum and said
‘Yes mum, I have. How have you been? How are your various organisations?’
‘Toh Alhamdullilahi’ You
know how it is, never ending’ she replied ‘Governor Ahmed’s daughter’s wedding
dinner is tonight so I came back to get ready for that. Will you come with me?’
she asked sweetly, already knowing the answer.
Naffy would normally roll her eyes in
reply, but her mum’s pleading voice made her feel bad. ‘I can’t mum, I have
plans’ she replied gently
‘Let me guess, some all important oil
contract will fall to pieces if you do not type up some papers?’ said her mum
condescendingly
Naffy sighed heavily, remembering
instantly why one must never feel bad for her mother.
‘Actually, I am going to see Nuhu’ she
replied
‘Oh, that’s nice. How is he? I was with
his mum the other day and she really wants to pick a date because......’
Nafisat tuned out instantly. Just 10
minutes with her mum and she had exhausted all the patience that Bayo had
taught to use her when dealing with parents.
‘Ok then. So where’s the stash? I smell
something new on you and I want it’ said Naffy with a cheeky smile, totally
ignoring her question. She opened her door walked briskly along the corridor
towards her mum’s room.
‘Naffy don’t you dare touch any of my
bottles....’ said her mum as she followed in tight pursuit with no smiles at
all.
Nafisat watched the make-up artist tie
her mum’s head gear, playing with the jewellery laid out on the bed and
lethargic from the big meal of tuwo and miyan kuka she just
had. Her mum’s jewellery collection was scattered in banks all over the world
and was worth a considerable fortune. Although her mum’s lifestyle appeared
extravagant, she was extremely prudent and was the sole reason they were so
wealthy. It came partly from growing up in an extremely poor village outside
Niamey and learning how to survive on the bare minimum. There was also the fact
that her dad’s extreme generosity had to be kerbed to prevent them from going
to bankrupt. He was the type of man that would give the shirt off his back for
a total stranger. Her mum believed in helping out her immediate family alone,
and this was the main thing her parents argued about. She often overheard her
dad’s family call her mother a selfish bitch, but her mum did not care. She had
a thick skin and the only person’s opinion she cared about was her husband’s.
She wore the pants in their relationship despite the fact that her father was a
well decorated Field Marshall, the highest rank in the Army.
Although Nafisat could not say she
loved her mum, she had undying admiration and respect for her. She was one
tough cookie. She stared at her as she applied her red lipstick and wondered
what made her this way. Her mother never spoke about her childhood, her
parents, or her life before she met her father. She had told them that her
family were all dead and they were never allowed to bring it up.
Her mother walked into her shoe closet
which had every single colour and style imaginable. Naffy decided to ask the
now idle make-up artist for a make-over. It had been a while since she had seen
Nuhu so she might as well make an effort.
The make-up artist worked her
magic with different brushes and wands and she instantly felt prettier. She
then started on her hair and she instantly smiled. The artist pulled it out of
her characteristic tight bun and proceeded to give her a lecture on how pulling
your hair so tightly stunts growth from certain parts of the scalp. Naffy half
listened, happy that someone was playing with her hair. When she was younger,
he dad would play with her hair until she fell asleep. She thought about Bayo
again, for the 576th time that day. The artist used a curling
iron to give her full wavy curls. When she stared at herself fully made up, she
decided to change into a nicer dress. She put on a figure hugging floor length
floral dress and chose some heels from her mum’s closet which she had no plans
of returning. She felt beautiful and more confident and hoped that Nuhu would
be home when she arrived.
She caught up with her mum and one of
her aunts who were getting into the car. She decided hitch a ride with them as
she knew Nuhu would drop her off the next morning. They drove through the
Government Ministries in Central Area, the brightly lit roads empty. Driving in
Abuja was a much saner experience to Lagos, but she was a city girl and
preferred the chaos. The architecture, like the people, had no history or
character and felt lifeless. Abuja reminded her of Washington, full of boring
civil servants. They arrived at the brightly lit International Conference
Centre which was already full of cars. The military plate numbers and escorts
meant the gates were opened for them without question and her mother was
dropped off at the entrance with last minute pleas for Nafisat to join them.
Nafisat knew like her, Nuhu did not
like surprises, and contemplated calling him but decided against it. The driver
sped through the motorways at 140km/hr towards Apo legislative quarters where
Nuhu stayed in a dream bachelor dream pad. As they drove up the heavily manned
gates she got reminded of how much easier things were with her father’s car and
aides. She spotted his white Lexus parked at the front of his flat, and smiled
at her luck. She walked to the door of the terraced house and knocked gently,
adjusting her scarf over her voluminous hair. The door opened slowly and Ifiok
the houseboy opened the door with a surprised look on his face.
She walked in confidently, pushing him
aside as he stood by the door way like an idiot. She had little patience for
his sluggish behaviour. The house was engulfed in the smell of delicious home
cooking and the TV was on to the highest volume. Nuhu liked to be engulfed in
his surround sound. The flat was impeccable because he was, like her, very
meticulous.
She walked into the living room to see
Nuhu slouched on the sofa in an old t-shirt and shorts. His feet were crossed
on the glass centre table and he was laughing at the TV, holding his extremely
complicated remote control that looked like an Ipad. She stood for a couple of
seconds observing him before saying
‘Hey babe’
Nuhu looked up at her with a completely
blank expression on his face. She walked towards him and planted a kiss on his
cheek sitting next to him on the sofa. She knew he was still upset at her over
their last argument and resolved to make it up to him.
She pulled his face towards her and
said ‘Yaya de’. He opened his mouth to reply but was tuned out by
someone saying, ‘Dinner’s ready babe’
She looked up at the voice coming from the door, the exact way that Nuhu had looked up at her, and met Farida’s beautiful smiling eyes.
xoxo
Miss B
