***
ABUJA, NIGERIA.
Four weeks.
One, two, three...and four. Four whole weeks.
But, why wasn't she as happy? Wasn't that what she'd wanted and worked for? Then, why was her mind and heart saying otherwise? Why was she feeling otherwise? Could it all be the hormones? Yes, it was probably that...it was the hormones that were going to be with her for the next 30-32 weeks.
Ramlah placed a stiff palm on her belly. Question marks flying through her mind, doubts filling her very self - it was a cluster of emotions -different emotions- and they were all too overwhelming.
Ramlah glanced at the clock on a wall beside the bed, 2:18 p.m., more than an hour until Asr. A nap should clear her mind, she did just that.
An hour -or so- into her deep siesta, she awoke to the Adhan for Asr.
Stumbling from the big canopied bed, she tramped to the ensuite to micturate -as she did every few minutes as of recently- and make wudoo. It wasn't long before she was setting the rug for her four-unit prayer after connecting her phone to its charger.
Once done, Ramlah was on the couch in the living room, the tele remote in one hand, and her phone in the other. A comical drama was playing on the huge screen in front of her, however, she was not just as interested. "You promised to call," Ramlah stared blankly into space.
"Sorry." Amina winced at her friend's four word statement. She did promise to call - no tell. She said, "I was factually so busy...with stuff." The tacit following her resistance was quite obvious.
Ramlah sighed. She missed her best friend, the only real friend she's ever had her entire years of living, till then. Amina was in Kaduna - something about her 1-year transfer to the company's branch over there. So it was just she, left here in Kano...with her boring as hell husband.
"So," she drawled. "Am I forgiven, now?"
Ramlah rolled her mouth in amusement and feigned thought. "Hm, you owe me that Prada." Amina huffed in mock annoyance, "you know you can get yours, right?" She reminded.
"Deal or no deal?" Ramlah plainly questioned. The line went silent. The black Prada purse Amina procured on her voyage to Athens one time, caught Ramlah's interest the first time she saw her friend's Instagram post, three months ago, with it. It was a limited edition item, which luckily for Amina, she was amongst the first seven people to have purchased it at a surcharge of $1,887.
Yes. Amina could do or spend any amount for fashion. It was dizzying at times.
"Fine."
That word brought a smile across Ramlah's face, then it slipped off. There had to be a bu-- "But I'm lending you that 2,000 dollar purse," she estimated. "It's my baby."
Ramlah sighed exasperatedly. "Every expensive item you buy's your baby," she pointed.
"Right," the other, drawled.
"Ina oganki? [Where's your Mister?]" She changed the topic with a tease.
That absolutely ruined the mood.
Her mouth curved downward in a frown. She simply responded with, "work." As though Amina could sense the dampened mood, she voiced out, "everything okay there?" She was genuinely worried, Ramlah smiled at her friend's concern.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Everything's fine," she assured, but, the other lady did not believe the faked enthusiasm. She knew Ramlah more than she'd known herself. If she wanted her to know what was up, she'd tell her in a heartbeat. "If you say so. Just tell me when you're ready, I know something's up, o--"
"Iampregnant." Ramlah cut her words off.
"What?" Amina grew confused, she hadn't understood a word she said.
Ramlah released a breath she had no clue was stuck in her throat from the lump it formed. "I am..." She let out, "I am pregnant."
Silence.
4, 3, 2, 1...
She screamed.
Ramlah pulled the phone from her ear, thankfully, the damage hadn't been done. She halted any movement when she heard Amina's next words.
"I'm going to be a mother?!"
What?
She replied herself, upon the silence from Ramlah.
"I AM GOING TO BE A MOTHER!"
Oh Lord.
***
"I really do not get why you keep smiling and zoning out of convos, every few minutes."
"..."
"Yazid?"
Silence.
"Yazid."
More silence.
"Yazid Suleiman Abdulfatah!"
The head of the man in question jerked from the aggressive mention of his name. Yazid frowned. "What?" He growled, the edge in his tone was confusing, yet, clear as day. His already p'd off cover did not work on Ibrahim.
"You weren't listening, the whole time I was talking, were you?" He raised a brow.
Yazid's deadpan mirrored his disbelieved look. Ibrahim huffed in puzzlement. What'd gotten into his head now? Air? 'Cause it certainly wasn't a brain.
"What were you saying again?" Yazid pinched the bridge of his crooked nose. "Nevermind."
"So how's marriage life treating you?" Ibrahim queried.
That brought a smile onto his face. "Nice, good. Sweet." Any positive vocable one could think of. "Hm..." Ibrahim's hum was a teasing one. "See? I give the best advices."
Yazid sucked his teeth. "Your ego, your problem. I did all the work."
"And who adviced you on how to do all the work?" Yazid kept silent. "Exactly. I did, man. I did." Ibrahim patted his shoulder in mocked empathy.
Yazid smacked the hand on his shoulder away with a deep scowl. "Don't touch me," he warned. Alas, this was Ibrahim, did he ever take a thing seriously? Answer, no.
He began clearing his desk.
Ibrahim whistled, "Ah-ah, na Ramlah. Already missing wifey?" He asked rhetorically, mirth sparkling in his orbs.
"I had lunch about four hours ago, I'm starving," he answered nonetheless, as a matter of fact.
"Can't eat anything from the cafeteria now?" He furrowed his brows. If ever, Yazid never joked with his meals. Everybody knew that one quality of his.
Swiping his tongue over his chapped lips, he told him, "I want my wife's food."
"Others' tastes like cardboard."
^-^
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