Flawed Perfection

Chapter Seven: Delivery for Mr Kallamu

Evening,
22nd January, 2007.
Abuja, Nigeria.

"Ibraahima, people from that family came for Aisha's conveyance and you told them to leave with wedding guests? What is going around in your mind?" The air walked around with an urgent intake of oxygen. Clutched within it's confines were the first words that registered in Aisha's brain, in a voice stiffened by cold, it almost made her shudder.

"I'll take her myself after she regains consciousness." Another voice resonated in calm words.

"Why would you do that? Call them back and give her to them like that. She will regain consciousness in the car_ if she is not lying about this to begin with. Who stays unconscious for more than two hours? Ibraahima, Aisha is the way she is because you have been spoiling her. I pray she does not make you regret this." Now the words traveled against the air quoted in spite and naked of the simplest warmth. Just like that, Aisha realized she was crazy for making her topmost priority in life avoiding marriage but for thinking she could get away with it in a family like her own? Maybe she was both crazy and naive. The Makamas clearly didn't seem like they were ever going to let her off the hook. If she had died today, Aisha wouldn't be surprised if Baba suggested her corpse be burried in her room_ if she had one, somewhere inside Abdullah's mansion.

"No. No one is calling anyone. If they come back for her I'll send them back with empty cars this time around. I would not give Aisha away, at least not until she regains consciousness and you need not to worry, I would take her to her home myself once I am sure everything is fine with her." The words came out stamped by finality. The fog had broken down a bit, Aisha knew the owner of the voice that had just spoken was Uncle Ibrahim.

"I am not appreciative of this in anyway. But do what you want." Baba's feet stamped hard against the earth in strides untill the sound vanished.

Slowly but surely, Aisha peeled her eye lashes away from thier embrace and used the heal of her right palm to ease away the sudden throb in her head.

"Alhamdulillah, my baby is awake." Uncle Ibrahim vocalized, his eyes raided by tears.

"I wouldn't just die like that y'know?" She assured. Her voice weakened by fear as she realized not dieing might just be the greatest try out of her life.

"I know. My baby is a strong girl." He whispered, patting her head softly.

A few feets away from them, Mama stood with a pained, terrified and shattered expression.

"Still. I would kill you myself if you ever scare me like that again." Zainab said, her eyes mirroring the hot shade of pink Hajiya Maryam's eyes housed.

"Don't say that. Zainab how many times am I going to warn you? Stop speaking about death like that, it's no joke." Mama scolded.

Chuckling lightly, Aisha's eyes left her elder sister and roamed the room in search of other faces that maybe, just maybe carried thesame expression as the ones she had just seen on the faces that stared at her as if she would vanish if their eyes left her for a second but found non.
It was supposed to be a sight that broke her. Not when she'd been left to singlehandedly put together the messy remains of herself everytime she was unwanted by her own family.

Out of all the plethora of families in this diverse universe, her Lord had placed her into one that made her bear a lot more pain than she was supposed to endure and everytime she looked up from agony, all she ever had was a few people_ her own father had never been a part of them.

Then again, behind the beards, prayer beads and hijabs that posed as their front, the Makamas were just a bunch of humans with love and acceptance issues.