Chapter Ten
The Snooker Spot Where his friends had concluded would be their meeting spot was a little over twenty minutes drive from Munir Adam's place. Due to the hot weather, he had decided to dress up in a light cotton T-shirt and dark sweatpants.
The rain had finally ceased. It had happened one night and had been accompanied by growling and ground shaking wind. The rain had started at around 11pm and had stopped abruptly by 4:30am. Munir took a moment to glance around at the crowd in the open snooker space while his opponent took his shot. Most of the guys had on jean trousers and light t-shirts, while others were putting on short knickers.
"Oya o, Oga. Your turn." His opponent announced, burgling his reverie. "Wetin you dey think?"
Munir smirked as he positioned himself over the snooker table. "You fail?" he asked his friend in Hausa as he placed the cue stick between the curve of his left hand's thumb and index finger.
His companion guffawed. "For where? Dey play!" The brown skinned and average height man clad in a short sleeved polo and overwashed ripped jeans jabbed. "Na you go pay today," he said and after considering added in good English, "it's our welcome home gift for you."
Munir snickered. He knew that the reason his friends had invited him out was do he could handle the bill, but he was glad they had done so. Since he'd returned back home, he had barely gone out. The only reason he had come back to Nigeria in the first place was because a close colleague and friend of his had invited him to his wedding.
As Munir studied the table with its two remaining balls, ready to make his shot a conversation began between his friends.
"Hassan," someone with a throaty voice called, "what about Hussaini?"
Munir's opponent answered the question without taking his eyes off the table. "He's fine," he replied. "He's in town sef. We came together. He'll be here soon."
"Abeg, talk true." Throaty voice ordered.
"Wallahi, Sani." Hassan laughed. "Momsy asked him to come so he could meet Fatty. They are planning on getting married."
The last sentence from Hassan's words shook Munir that it ended up costing him the game. He watched with unseeing eyes as the white ball bounced off the walls of the snooker table, completely missing its pot. He didn't have to rank his brain to figure out who his friend was referring to. It was Fatiha, his sister's best friend.
Munir let his hand slide down to his side as he thought about what he'd just heard. But she was engaged, he mused. Then why would she be getting married to someone else? Nothing was making sense, he concluded with a frustrated exhale. One time she's defending that faceless fiancé of hers and now, she's getting married to another man? He couldn't understand a thing that went on around that woman!
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" Hassan cheered as he grabbed his cue stick and charged for the table.
"What happened?" Another guy rushed inside with his phone pressed to his ear. His small eyes big in his small head as he scanned the open area for what could have possibly happened to eject such jubilee.
Sani shook his head, mirth evident in his big black eyes. "Nothing o, just that our Royal Architect has failed."
Munir shifted from the table to take a seat at the mention of his friends nickname for him. Ever since they had been young, Munir had decided to become an architect. So, when he had gone abroad to study his friends had began to call him the 'Royal Architect'. The royal didn't seat well with him but he couldn't blame them because he was in fact from one of the royal families in his town.
"Shey I talk am," Hassan bragged as he potted the last of the balls. He placed the stick's bumper up on the table and puffed out his chest. "I tell una say I go finish baba, una no believe. Pay up."
"This is gambling, shey you know?" The last of the guys grumbled as he pulled out a folded thousand naira note from his pocket. He was shorter, smaller and lighter in complexion than the rest of them. Isma'il pushed a rumpled note into a gloating Hassan's hand with what seemed to be amusement on his bearded face. And because he hadn't made any bet, Munir didn't pay.
He sat down, watching and listening halfheartedly as the guys discussed football, while pondering about how good of an idea it was to ask Hassan for further explanations regarding what he'd said earlier. Just forget it, he snapped to himself.
Don't think about her, don't think about her, don't think about her. He mentally recited but he couldn't help it. Once again his mind wandered back to her. Her dark round eyes. The jutted chin she rose at him with firm defiance whenever they had any tiffs. His mind wandered back to the look in her eyes during their last encounter. To the hot dislike she had for him and the fierceness to believe in the good of her fiancé.
But Fatiha marrying Hussaini? Why would she do that? Rather than trying to decipher what was going on, Munir tugged himself sharply back. Why was he concerned about her marrying someone else? It was her life, so of course she could do as she pleased.
But why are you so bothered? A voice asked quietly from the recess of his mind.
Munir scoffed. He wasn't bothered was what he muttered under his breath, but the moment he laid his eyes on the kaftan cladded man who was supposedly going to marry his sister's best friend, Munir's gut twisted and he realized that it did bother him. And it was a whole lot.
"Munir, ya kaki? Long time o." Hussaini stretched out his hand for a handshake after greeting the congregation.
Munir forced on a smile before responding back. "I'm fine." He looked at his hands and found that they had somehow rounded themselves into tight fists. He pried them open and took his friend's hand in his, accepting the handshake. "How's everything?" he asked and muttered alhamdulillah for the miracle of not spitting the words out.
"Ah, lafiya, lafiya. Everything is fine. Alhamdulillahi." Hussaini grinned as he responded, his eyes sparkling in his face.
Munir found it irritating to watch the smile on the good looking guy's face. He had probably smiled that way with Fatiha, he thought and the idea of her smiling back enthusiastically almost pissed him off.
"I just met Fatiha," Hussaini shared casually.
With a smack of his lips, Munir nodded his understanding. He refused to say anything more because he knew it could possibly lead to something else. Instead he picked up his blue cricket face cap and pressed it down on his head.
"Oya, let's go!" Hassan announced with a clap and began the short trek to a small eatery around the snooker area.
As per their rules, Munir paid for losing the game then walked out in tow with Hussaini. The late afternoon sun lashed out at them the moment they stepped away from the shaded protection of the roof. The sky was a canvas of cloudless blue.
"This heat fah," Hussaini began as a way of small talk as they walked. He looked to his friend as if expecting a response, but got none. After two more steps, he tried again. "You always wanted to be an architect ever since we were young, how does it feel to actually do it?"
Knowing it would only seem childish and rude to ignore his friend, Munir gave a brief but clear response. "It is good, actually. I'm enjoying it."
"That's nice." Hussaini told him.
"Yeah," Munir agreed because it was the truth. He hadn't expected to love designing buildings the way he did during his years studying the course, but now, there was no other career he loved more.
They conversed a little and walked faster until they stepped into the shaded eatery. It was Saturday yet it was surprisingly empty. Hassan who was already ordering turned in time to grin at the two men as they walked up to their table.
"If it isn't our upcoming ango and Royal Architect." He hailed as they settled themselves into their seat, making trumpets sounds with his mouth. Munir scoffed while the rest of the guys snickered.
The round table was small but they huddled around it. Munir sat quietly as the guys spoke amongst themselves. They talked for a while about their friends before bringing Munir up to date about the ones who had married and the ones who had left town.
"So, how far?" Hassan asked his brother as he quaffed down his chicken pie. "You meet her?"
Munir paused in the middle of his drink. He gulped down half the bottle of chilled yogurt before putting it down all with a calm that showed disinterest in the ongoing conversation. But he was anything other than interested. He picked up his own pie and bit into it, his heart thudding as it waited to absorb more information.
It wasn't because he was curious, he told himself. He just wanted to understand what was going on. Same difference, the voice in his head mocked.
Hussaini nodded curtly to his brother and ended it there. It agitated Munir a little, but somehow he was glad. He didn't want Hassan talking about Fatiha because he knew nothing good would come from it.
"And? Is she still fat like before? Like a saniya? I'm sure she still is. Tell me na." Hassan urged his brother.
Like a saniya. The memory of that Eid day years ago when Fatiha had told Munir she hated him came back to him like a punch in the gut. He felt something weird and bitter rise to his throat, causing him to lose his appetite.
"If you don't have anything better to say or do, eat your food and leave here." Hussaini warned.
Undeterred, Hassan chuckled. "Why are you defending her so much? Have you fallen in love with her now that you two will be getting married? How romantic."
Hussaini who was the calm one amongst the two turned sharply to his brother. "Shut up."
"It's true then!" Hassan guffawed. "How can you marry her? Is she not too big for you? Will you be able to handle her?"
"Hassan, that is not funny," Usman, the smallish of the lot frowned his disapproval. Sani on the other hand didn't give any sign of agreement nor did he look uncomfortable about the ongoing topic.
"Abegi! Haven't you seen this girl? She's like-"
"I said you should shut up and besides I'm not marrying her." Hussaini yelled at his brother, earning surprised looks from the guys.
"Ah, be calming down jor." Hassan told his brother, his smile nonexistent. "Why are you shouting?"
"I'm just saying that I won't be marrying Fatiha because of you." He glared at his brother.
"Ehn, that is good for you o." The twin said with faux seriousness that turned into full blown laughter when he added, "Otherwise she would have choked you to death with her weight."
Before Hussaini could lash out at his brother a third time, Munir took over. "You haven't changed after all these years, I see." he said. "What do you gain from body shaming a woman? Does it make you feel good? Superior? These days people sue people for even the slightest things if you're rich or in foreign countries. You should be careful."
Unremorseful, Hassan sneered. "Well, thank God this is Nigeria. And careful for what? It is just a little bit of fun. Pesin no fit play again? And you're behaving as if you've never done it."
"No one said I was free of that sin, therefore I'll live with the guilt forever. However, I at least want to change. I thought you would have changed with time."
Hassan hissed as he gulped down his Maltina. "Sorry, but life is too serious for me to take things seriously."
Munir shook his head in pity. The guys had known themselves from a very young age and although time had passed they remained very good friends. But with the attitude Hassan was portraying, Munir knew it was better to cut off that anchor of friendship than get pulled under by stagnant water.
Because it was part of the rule, Munir stood up and pulled out some more cash from his wallet. He slapped it on the table. "When you are ready to grow up and realize that what you call fun can be someone's breaking point, then you can call me again." He said his farewells to the rest of the group before taking his leave.
Munir walked back to where he'd parked his mother's beatup Camry XV50 in long angry strides. He climbed into the car with such rage the door almost broke from its hinge as he banged it shut. Irritatedly, he turned the air-conditioning of the car to the fullest as sweat dripped from his neck down to his chest. With a little grunt, he held his flabby shirt and used it as a fan to cool his hot body as the cool air began filtering out.
"Munir." There was a rap on his window glass.
Munir turned displeased eyes to find Hassan's twin looking down at him with what could be nothing other than trepidation. With an elongated exhale, Munir wound down his glass.
"Sorry about what Hassan said," the guy apologized, fidgety.
Munir glanced down at his hand on the steering with a shake of his head. "You don't have to apologize for him," he told his friend, then added, "besides, Hassan was right. I was being hypocritical."
"You didn't know." Hussaini stated firmly, his hand grabbing the window pane. His dark eyes boring resolutely into Munir's light ones. "You didn't know that chair was broken. You just wanted to help. Hassan was the one who found you that seat, if anyone's to blame, it's him and not you."
Not you. It was the first time Munir was hearing someone other than himself say that to him. He had kept the little fact that Hassan was the one who had brought up the idea of giving Fatiha the seat from his parents and the elders when they had asked. What was the point of telling them the truth when the one person he had wanted so badly to tell wouldn't listen?
Munir offered a sincere smile to his friend for trying his best to elevate his spirit. "Thank you, Hussaini, really. But I'm also to blame for what happened to Fatiha back then. I should have helped her up instead of laughing like the idiot I was. I'll never forgive myself for that... And neither will she." He concluded bitterly.
There was a silence that lasted only a few minutes because Hussaini broke it. "I know you will both get along," he declared with conviction.
Munir snickered. He couldn't fault his friend for being so optimistic, but he wasn't. Even if there was an apocalypse, he was certain he would be the last person Fatiha would ask for help.
"I believe it, Munir. You're a good person and Fatiha would listen if you told her what happened." Hussaini urged.
Reaching out, Munir gave his friend's shoulder an appreciative squeeze but made no comment regarding his statement. "Let's talk more often." He suggested, then wounding his glass back up, he drove off.
There was no need to delve back into the past, Munir decided as he drove through the densely populated streets. It was just what it was; the past. And if anything, am apology was long overdue.
***
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Ma salaam 😘