Yemisi
Bonn, Germany
"My husband, Mr. Christopher Roberts. Are you sure he's the one you are talking about? There is no way my husband would vandalize public property. There’s no way he spent three nights in this prison. He—"
“Do you vant prooff, ma'am?" the police officer interrupts my incessant, vain defense with a worried expression on his face.
He'd had it with my ton of questions, but he's the one spewing out nonsense words here. What business has prison got to do with my husband?
"Yes, I want real and solid proof!"
“Very vell sen. I vill giffe you se address to an alehouse here in Bonn. Discuss vith se owner. Her name is Mrs. Jada Suarez and learn se real truth for yourself.”
Something about this doesn't sit right with me. The fact that there was actual proof, that there was someone — a known person that could give me answers I didn't want to accept made my stomach turn. I wanted to find out that everything I'd been told was untrue.
I know I'm being silly. I was the one who willingly walked into the police station because I saw Christopher’s car packed next to it. I was the one who cared enough to step in and ask them if they knew my husband. Now that I’ve realized they know my husband more than I'd thought they would (in a negative light), I am still bugging them and disturbing their peace.
I should stop wasting these people’s time.
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Thank you for this,” I raise the paper sheet containing the address in my hand for emphasis. “And...I'm sorry for taking so much of your time.”
I walk out of the police station, and in no time, I find a taxi by the roadside. I can only hope that this woman I'm going to meet understands the English language like the police officer I had spoken with because the amount of German language I had heard today alone was enough to make me deaf.
Thirty-five minutes later, I get to my destination, and I am now facing a tall, vintage-styled warehouse. The building looks ancient, but it is still in great shape. The bricks on the walls looked like they were imported from a quality brand.
As soon as I step in, a tall, slim lady dressed in a white shirt and a midi-sized black skirt approaches me with a professional smile. I need no soothsayer to help me decipher who she is.
“Hallo, gnädige frau,” The waitress speaks.
I take her words to mean, 'hello, madam' since that is what waitresses always say to a prospective customer before any other thing. So I squirm as I nod to her greeting.
"Err...I'm here to see Mrs. Jada Suarez, " I emphasize the 'Suarez' so it can ring a clear bell in her head that I am here to see her boss.
The waitress gives me a contemplating look for a moment, then she nods and walks into a room at the far end of the bar.
A few minutes later, I spot an old woman whose stance is similar to the woman I interrogated a week ago. The only difference is that she seems much firmer than the other lady. It looks like older adults are the ones God has destined to be my source of help in this country.
I know that this is Mrs. Suarez, the owner of the alehouse. She smiles curtly at me.
"Good day, ma'am, " I give a small bow. "Do you...understand the English language?"
YOU ARE READING
The Turbulence✔️ (#1 in the Our Side of The Dice series)
General FictionYemisi is a strong woman who has been sharpened through the hottest furnaces of life by having to deal with inhumane in-laws and the ills of patriarchy after the demise of her first husband but what happens when a betrothal that happened many years...
