The Lives We Lived

30: Prayer Time

“Zainab, let me do the dishes na,” Farida whined from the marble island. Zainab whipped her head around, shaking it at her friend who leaned against the island.

“Tah, look at you. You look like you could bust at any moment.”

“I’m just pregnant. This isn’t my first child you know,” Farida leaned against the cream marble top of the island, watching Zainab dip her hands into the soapy water.

Zainab kept her eyes on the plate in her hands. She loved the kitchen here. It was spacious enough to contain at least 50 people. Everything had it’s place and the red and black furniture theme covered everything from the bar stools by the island to the cabinets above and under the sink. There wasn’t  a thing out of place. Everything had its place. Spices were in their different containers, pots and plates and other utensils were out of sight, except for the dishes on the dish rack beside the ceramic sink.

“I don’t care if this is your third time of carrying a child. I hate sitting around and feeling useless." Zainab unclogged the sink and watched the soapy water spiral down the drain.

“You’re talking as if this isn’t your first time of carrying a child.”

Zainab wiped her hands dry with the serviette that laid on the counter. Farida’s words was like a hammer against glass, breaking the illusion of an idyllic break from her marriage. She stared at her ring finger. Even though she had been away from her husband for a week, the mark of her wedding band was still obvious.

“Wait-” Farida started.

Zainab didn’t want to give Farida any chance to ask questions, she didn’t want to answer. “Yes, this is my first pregnancy.”

Farida gasped and hurried to her. “Are you serious? But you got married before me. You and your husband even-”

“Yes, I know. Sometimes, it’s not about how fast you begin.” Zainab took a seat by the marble island. She did not want to be reminded of how she had sold her soul to the devil. She prayed for forgiveness and forgetfulness.

Zainab placed her head on the hard marble. “Sometimes, I think God wants to punsih me.”

“Why would you say that?” She felt Farida wrap her hands around her as her palm rested on her stomach.

“All those times that I should have listened. If I had listened, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Zainab’s tears watered the marble stone. She thought marrying Bode would bring her fulfilment and it had but only for a short while.

He had stripped her of all the layers that made her human, starting from her joy then her confidence, then her faith until she was nothing but the perfect puppet. “ I wouldn’t have committed shirk”

“Haba, Zainab don’t talk like that.” Farida’s Fulani accent was clear in her words.

“I made him a god. I made him a god and God punished me for it.”

“Ssh… don’t talk that way.”

“I don’t even-”

Zainab tried to force down a tear but it held her access to air captive in it’s chocking grip. Farida’s hand resting against her back barely helped.

“It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re here now. Safe Allah brought you here,” Farida crooned comforting words but Zainab barely heard them. All she could think about was all the times she could have turned back. She was done with him. She had to get her life back in order.

She sat up and threw her back up so she sat straight in the chair. Her palms wiped away the tears from her eyes. “That’s enough. I won’t cry for him any longer.”