Bismillahi-Rahmani-Raheem
This story is dedicated to all of the Muslims struggling to create a stronger connection with Allah. May Allah ease your affairs and bring you closer to him or provide you someone who helps you in your journey of repentance. Ameen🤍
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Baila's POV
All that was present was stillness. An agonisingly heavy stillness. A stillness that was interrupted by clanking of cutleries at constant intervals.
Sitted on the unnecessarily long twelve seater dining table is me and my dad. We were both sitted on the seats which were facing each other horizontally.
My dad was still in his police uniform as he ate. On days when he's in town, he'd always eat breakfast and dinner in his Force outfit, unless if it's a weekend day of course. Those Force attires always give him the terrific look, a look I can never get used to. Well anyways, Force outfit or not, my father always have that stern and forbidden look on his face. It's a nightmare I deal with every single day. When you see my dad's face, you'd think smiling or laughing is not in his facial morphology dictionary. But he does smile actually. But like once in a blue moon. I think the fact that he's very stoic in nature makes him even more perfectly fit to be the Commissioner of Police.
Yes, this man sitted across me, my father, this man in his forties, this man with a dark chocolate complexion, wide, alert eyes, sharp jawline and thinly trimmed moustache with not a single strand of white hair is Mr Nasir Kumurci, popularly known as NASS. He had created a reputation for himself since he assumed office, upholding law and order and making everyone mute whenever he trespasses with his deadly aura. He's the man that no criminal in this town wishes to even as much as hear his name being uttered. As I was saying, he's my father.
I'm Baila'u Nasir and I'm fated to have him as my father and live with a living example of a God of War.
I gulp hard, gathering all of my energy. I wanted to tell him something. But I'm so freaking anxious. But there's no other way around it. I just have to say it.
I grip hard at my fork, unleashing the words.
"Baba..." I stated
He halted picking a spoonful of eba for a few seconds before raising his eyes from his plate for once and looking at me. There and then, my heart dropped. His gaze is just that cold and threatening you see. Immediately, I felt like peeing.
I opened my mouth to speak but he beat me to it.
"How much do you need, Baila'u?" And I almost face palmed myself. Not everything is about money misterr! Though I think I somehow caused it. Or we caused it or whatever. Me and my dad rarely talk. Unless normal everyday greeting, I don't talk to my dad about anything that's not money or school related. That's why he guessed that even now, it was what I was after.
He should even think about it. Why would I need money now, when he literally sent me 500k two days ago when I informed him that I'd be going back to school soon. Though should I ask for money, he wouldn't even ask what happened to the money he had sent me two days ago and would straight up send me the new amount I requested. Yup, my dad is THAT rich.
"I-it's not that" I complained.
He raised his eyebrows, indicating at me to go on. He was dropping his cutleries beside his plates, rounding up his eating.
"Talk, Baila'u. I don't have time." He ordered, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.
"Today's my birthday" I blurted out. Usually I don't give that much of a shit about birthdays. I'm turning nineteen and I don't think I was this excited for it when I was turning the legal age: 18. I know that I'm excited about this nineteen since I can actually tell my dad that it's my birthday. Because he always forgets. It's not even forgetting that he forgets. He just literally doesn't care.
This year I just, I just felt like I want to make a change. I want to be a happier person. I have everything in this world. It's only joy that I lack. I want to have it. And in order to have it, I must first establish a closer connection with my dad, as he's the only one I have in this world. Yes. I have no friends and all of my dad's siblings are as successful as he is and branched in different parts of the world.
My paternal grandma calls me "apple of her dad's eye" but I doubt that I am. Sure there were occasions in the past which proved that I am... Provided that I'm also the only one he's got. But I also feel like I'm not because if I am, why isn't he showing it? Why do we live like strangers when we share the most important bond in the world? Why do we not talk to each other as if we have a grudge against each other? Why do we have zero understanding, why does it seem like it's only a parasitic financial relationship that I have with my own dad?
I wanted to change that. Since my dad wasn't making the move, I decided to.
He exhaled disappointedly as if he was expecting something more serious. As if I had just fed a piece of garbage to his ear.
Then he looked at me and said very blankly and in a forced manner.
"Happy birthday Baila'u."
The embarrassment I felt...I only wanted for the Earth to open and swallow me up. My relationship with my dad will never change. The part that hurts most is that it's not even like I've ever offended him or anything, talkless of knowing what to apologize about. He has been like this ever since. He's been like this for as long as I remember. Probably since mom's death.
Well, I guess that's it. I'm going to give up on getting happiness through communicating with my dad. Perhaps my dad is still miserable from my mom's death. Perhaps he'll never recover from it. But he's got to! He can't live joyless like this forever! And even if he is miserable it doesn't give him a reason to create a miserable life for me.
'Why are you always like this! When will you ever change!'
Was what I wanted to tell at him as he turned his back and began hailing upstairs...but I couldn't. I remained stemmed where I was, clenching and unclenching my fists.
Well what can I do? Probably this is my fate. I just have to keep pushing... Distract myself with my studies until I get married to someone... someone who cares, someone who wouldn't forget my birthday, someone who would give me all of his attention, someone who would shower me with endless love.
I'm sure life would've been much better if my mom was alive. I can't really recall what kind of person she was because I was so young when she passed, but I'm sure her presence would've made a great change.
I sighed and began clearing the plates from the table. Now I'm going to wash the plates and warmers and finally retire to my room.
As much as I have everything; have unlimited money to spend, have my clothes washed, have my room cleaned and basically everything you could think of that's luxurious in life, there's one luxury that I'm unable to enjoy. The joy of eating food cooked by someone.
I'm probably the most spoilt brat on earth who's probably good at nothing, but I have something that I can do which I'm proud of. Cooking.
Yes I can cook.
At first, I was reluctant learning how to cook at my grandma's place. Growing up, my dad wasn't always around so I often stayed with my grandma. As much as my grandma enjoys buttering me, my dad strictly ordered her to make sure I learn how to cook. One time he had come over and saw me throwing a fuss because they asked me to pound rice. He nearly slapped me.
I don't know why my dad strictly made sure I could cook. But ever since, as long as I'm home, I'm the one to cook for him and no one else. I'm certain that on days I'm away in school, he always eats from grandma's place or orders. My father would never eat food cooked by a house maid. Like, it's such a huge atrocity to him. And it's not like we don't have maids in our house. We do. He just doesn't trust them at all. I'm sure if not that he likes an extravagant life and hence why we have such a huge house that he knows I can't clean, he wouldn't have hired any worker at home.
An incident occured when I was young which caused him to detest domestic workers. He had come home one day to meet the nanny he had hired for me maltreating me. She always told me harsh words and occasionally hit me when my dad wasn't around. I was always a quiet child. Me and my dad's complicated no talking relationship had infact been on for as long as I can remember. That nanny used to do all of this to me. She occasionally told me insulting words too. Sometimes she would starve me, sometimes she wouldn't bathe me until she's aware that my dad is coming soon. If I played with my toys she'd ask me to arrange them. If I spilled anything in the house she'd ask me to clean it up myself. But it never crossed my mind to tell on her. Not because I was scared of her or anything. I just, didn't care. I was probably too traumatized, because I wouldn't even cry if she hit me. I was just numb to everything.
Anyways Allah exposed her that very day and since then, my father had hated each one of them. Since then he wouldn't leave me in the house when he's not in town. He'd take me to my grandma's place. It's all his fault anyways. My grandma had offered that I should live with her since her house is also here in Sokoto. But he adamantly refused. After that incident, he had always made sure to drop me off at my grandma's place whenever he had something to do extra-town.
I wiped off the slimy soup and washed the dishes. We're actually Hausa but my father likes all of them Yoruba dishes like eba and egusi, gbegiri and what have you. I had to learn all of them dishes. I think it stemmed when he had to work in one of them Yoruba states once. Since he worked in the force, he had gone on tons of missions at various places around the country, before he finally settled here after becoming Commissioner of Police. Not just that, but from my late mother's surname, she might probably be a Yoruba offshoot. I really don't know anything about my mother you see and unfortunately, my father won't tell me any thing.
Crash!
I heard sound of a glass shattering. I don't remember dropping anything in the kitchen so where did the glass shattering sound came from? I quickly wiped my hands on my skirt and rushed out of the kitchen. I surveyed the dining room and parlor without noticing anything aloof. Then I looked at the stairs where I saw my dad and my grandma. He looked absolutely enraged. Apparently, he was the one who shattered a bottle.
"Mama kiwa Allah da annabi ki qyaleni! Wai meye haka(mom I plead to you with Allah and his prophet to leave my life alone)!" He shouted at her.
"Naqi in qyaleka din! Kasani in qyaleka(I won't leave you alone! Make me to leave you!)!" She shouted back.
Oh dear, my dad's relationship with his mom keeps going down the drain. Why they always get into arguments is something I'm still unable to pin my finger on. But it seems as if my grandma is complaining about one certain habit of my dad that she wants him to change; which he's clearly unwilling to. Him on the other hand gets aggressive because he thinks she's meddlesome. I can't even excuse my dad. Even in his wildest dreams, it should absolutely be forbidden to him to even dare shout at his own mom. It's not appropriate for me to say this, but there are a lot of things that are soo wrong with my father..
See the bottle that just shattered at the stairs, it's a bottle of alcohol. I'm certain. He thinks I don't know. But I do. Atimes, I'd wake up in the morning to prepare breakfast and I'll find him passed out from alcohol in the living room. I would take away the bottles and clean up the space. Whenever he wakes up he'd ask me if I was in the living room by chance. I'd say no cause clearly he doesn't want me to know. Then he'd assume it's the maids and fire them immediately for fear that they'd inform me what he's doing when I'm already well versed on it.
He noticed my presence and sharply stepped forward, using his long legs to cover the mess he had made and protect me from seeing the bottle he had just associated with.
"Ke kuma me kikeyi anan(what the hell are you doing here)?!" He ordered at me
"N-na...." I came to see grandma....
"Bacemin daganan kafin in debe miki qafafu(get out of my sight before I chop off your legs)" he interjected warningly.
I exchanged a solemn look with my grandma and hurriedly scuttled out of that space, out of the house.
I rushed down the pavement, around the fountain, towards the lush well lit lawn area. I sat under the huge gazebo there and wept out my misery.
Just, what kind of person is my father?
He couldn't as much as allow me to at least say hi to my grandma. He just shouted at me like that. Sometimes I genuinely feel like running away. Infact I had tried it. I ran away to my grandma's place. Bad idea. I didn't spend more than 1hr there before he came, grasped my hand tightly and uprooted me back to this miserable place.
This our huge house would be a definition of heaven for the people outside. With a sparkling fountain, greeny lawns, pavements and colorful flowers. My dad's four expensive cars and one for my own runs and his own personal stables where he has two huge horses.. Even the interior of our house is no joke. It's filled with all of the luxurious items in the world you could think of. Literally. With a barrage of rooms that's too much for just a forties man and his nineteen year old child. This house is paradise on earth. But I wish it was. I could trade this flamboyant lifestyle for a happier life than this. Cause this paradise on earth is synonymous with a torturous dungeon.
"Hello, are you Ms Baila'u?" I wiped my tears, answering the call on my phone.
"Yes." I tried to answer as normally as possible. It was an ambiguous number.
"I have a delivery for you" the man said on the other side. "I'm at the gate"
"Okay" I said, ending the call.
I called the caretaker to go and collect the package for me from the gate cause if my dad hears that I personally went to collect something it's another issue on its own. It's not even about the package or anything. It's just me going there to collect it by myself. His overprotectivity is seriously on a dramatic level.
I took my package and walked around the house to the back, where there's a spiral staircase leading to a huge balcony on the first floor. The balcony is connected to a hallway which leads to the upstair compartment, where our bedrooms and other rooms like the second parlor are located. I bypassed the main entrance because I was hundred percent sure my dad and my grandma were still at it. While I was under the gazebo I didn't see her leave, so she's still there and up to their non ending saga.
I entered my room and locked myself up. Time to be my real self; the dark, depressed and lonely person I was.
But before I dive deep into my world of melancholy, let me at least have a bite of my cake and celebrate my birthday even if it's a bit. Already, I didn't eat much of the eba because I don't even like it, so I can just devour some of my birthday cake that I ordered for myself as dinner. The rest I would share for the workers tomorrow.
I open my birthday box and meet a second catastrophic disappointment. I literally felt like a truck had jammed into me when I saw what was in the box. My pastel color burst cake with butterflies which I had ordered was totally damaged. And that was 15k I had paid for it from one of the best cake vendors in Sokoto.
Seriously! Can this day get anymore worse? I felt a second round of tears collecting in my eyes. I grabbed my phone and furiously dialed SallysCakes number. I deserved an explanation for whatever happened to my cake.
"So sorry Ms Baila'u. It's not our fault. It's from the delivery man" she had blankly said when I called her.
Seriously, that's all she has to say? I'm sure if she had known who's daughter I was, or if I had thousands of followers on Instagram that I could refer her, she would've offered to do something about my ruined cake.
"Ya ilahi" I whimpered, bursting into tears all over again.
"Happy birthday Baila'u" I wished myself admist tears, in front of my ruined birthday cake. "I wish you a day that you'd be genuinely happy..., days where you don't cry yourself to sleep."
A/n
Baila's dad is a weird one ain't he?😃
How was the first chapter y'all?! Do well to add your thoughts in the comment section and vote.
Love and light,
Huda🤍