Haneed Was A Psycho

CHAPTER 13

On December 2nd, 2015, precisely 25 days after my husband's accident and memory loss, Waheed and Abdoul departed for Scotland as their holiday came to an end.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to see them off at the airport due to Haneed's admission to the hospital for checkups related to his internal injuries, which were causing persistent headaches.

My time was fully dedicated to caring for him in the hospital. The doctor mentioned that his condition was improving but stressed the importance of consistent medication and advised against him driving until he was completely recovered.

If I recall correctly, we returned home in the evening, and after taking a shower and changing, I went to the kitchen to prepare sweet potato porridge and hot cinnamon tea for both of us.

Upon arriving at the door of his room, I pushed it open without knocking, but immediately turned around upon realizing he was in the process of getting dressed.

Apologizing from outside, I waited for a few more moments before entering again. Feeling a tad embarrassed, I kept my head down as I placed the tray down without observing his reactions.

As I was about to leave, he requested cold water, using a rather formal tone, saying, "Can you get me a cold water?" I found it odd that Haneed was being so formal with me, but I couldn't find an explanation for it.

In less than three minutes, I fetched a bottled water and returned to his room. I found him standing in front of the mirror, gazing at his bare torso as if he was contemplating something.

Intrigued, I moved closer to see what had caught his attention, and I couldn't help but ask, "Is that a birthmark or something?"

He turned to face me, and my eyes locked onto the large scar that stretched across his chest. I initially thought it might be a tribal mark, but when I inquired about it, he informed me it was a scar.

I handed him the cold water, and then a sudden urge compelled me to ask how he had acquired the scar.

I still vividly recall the way he appraised me from head to toe, as if I was the cause of his injury, as he snatched the bottle away. While I understand that my question might have been too invasive for someone as sensitive as Haneed, his glare felt unwarranted. It was rather irksome, yet I swallowed my annoyance and maintained a façade of composure.

On the following day, I found myself confined to my room, overwhelmed by frustration and exhaustion. Making breakfast or lunch was far from my mind; I simply prayed to God for Haneed's recovery from his mental illness and for our lives to take a smoother course.

The gnawing sensation of hunger eventually drove me to the kitchen in the evening. I swiftly prepared two packs of instant noodles by adding hot water and spicing them up with chili.

Opting to dine alone in my room, I had no desire to confront that bewildering character once more.

Around 10 pm, I changed into my pajamas, layering a light turtleneck sweater over them, and headed to the kitchen to ensure everything was in order.

As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, an overwhelming smell of leaking gas assaulted my senses. My chest constricted, and my breathing grew labored; an asthmatic attack was setting in.

Summoning all my energy, I shouted Haneed's name, moments before collapsing to the ground, wracked by coughing and wheezing. His presence seemed to materialize as my vision blurred.

Though I couldn't see, I perceived everything occurring around me.

Haneed quickly guided me outside, where fresh air provided relief. He loosened the buttons of my turtleneck and instructed me to focus on deep, steady breaths until I regained control.

Leaving me momentarily, he returned with a cup of black tea, which I drank slowly to ease my discomfort.

We lingered outside in silence, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words. No "sorry" or "how are you feeling" passed between us, so I refrained from uttering a "thank you for saving my life."

The awkwardness was palpable.

Deciding to break the silence, I mustered the courage to address him. I informed him about the gas leak, to which he surprisingly responded that the gas wasn't leaking; he had merely left it on without using it.

My thoughts raced – was he attempting to endanger us deliberately? The confession, devoid of remorse, made me feel like I could explode with anger.

I contemplated giving his head a good kick for his recklessness.

He advised me to return to my room, but I was unwilling to comply, telling him to leave if he wished. Haneed seemed to assume my anger was solely directed at the gas incident. He attempted to apologize for his negligence, but I remained indifferent to his efforts.

I stood and left, but he pursued me all the way to my room, determined for me to listen.

An aggravating trait of his was his inability to discern when people needed space during their moments of anger. He persistently followed, not understanding that he was only intensifying the frustration.

On a positive note, I found solace in the fact that Haneed was capable of feeling remorse. He experienced emotions like anger, sadness, happiness, and remorse – a realization that was slowly becoming more apparent.

However, an issue surfaced: while he had emotions, he often struggled to express them appropriately in the right context and at the right time. Occasionally, he laughed at inappropriate moments or became disproportionately angry over trivial matters. Nonetheless, I recognized he wasn't as terrible as I had initially assumed, especially considering his skill in assisting asthmatic patients.

That day, I decided to test Haneed's judgment by pretending to be fed up with everything. I declared, "Starting tomorrow, I won't be a part of this household anymore," and closely watched his reaction. His demeanor exhibited hints of sadness and disappointment.

Despite sensing his unease with my proclamation, he advised me to "relax and postpone the discussion until tomorrow."

Early the following morning, around 6 am, I heard him knocking on my locked door.

After a brief delay, I rose from bed to unlock it. His radiant smile greeted me, and I couldn't help but return the gesture to that kind soul.

"If only Haneed were normal, it would be perfect to spend a life with him," I contemplated, making space for him to enter.

Entering my room, he wandered around before seating himself near the dressing mirror. Pulling out a bundle of 500 naira notes, he handed them to me without counting.

Though I had the intention of accepting his money, I silently demanded an explanation. I maintained a prolonged gaze until he began to stutter. "Ummm... I just wanted to pay you in advance, to... to encourage you to keep doing your work. And... Please, if you could forgive my rudeness and yesterday's misdeeds, I genuinely don't know what's wrong with me at times..." He paused for a moment, his face buried in his palms. He added, "Please, Rafi'ah, consider staying here. Even though I haven't been kind to you, I still want you around."

Curious about his intentions, I asked why he wanted me nearby. He revealed that he had been experiencing flashbacks of his brother Ameenu, who had been shot and killed by armed robbers on the Abuja highway. While Hajia had previously shared the story with me, I feigned ignorance, wanting to hear the tale from his perspective.

Haneed recounted the incident: the robbers had attempted to steal his new iPhone, and when he resisted, they began to assault him. His older brother intervened, and in a tragic turn, the robbers fatally shot him in the heart. He described how one of the men had slashed his chest with a sharp knife before fleeing.

Concluding his account, Haneed jestingly mocked my earlier assumption about his scar being a birthmark.

As my eyes welled with tears, I fought to maintain composure, but my efforts were futile. Overwhelmed, I broke into heavy sobs, unable to hold back my emotions.

Haneed tried to console me, but his words only intensified the tears.

Rendered speechless, he eventually stated, "I can't watch this anymore," and retreated from my room.