Song: Neverending story by Stray Kids
Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER...
"Do you have to go today?" Daniella asked me while adjusting her glasses to look outside the car window, "It's clearly drizzling outside."
"I have eyes." I argued, clearly seeing the condition of the weather.
"You know..." Davina paused uncomfortably and turned her head to look back at me from the passenger seat, "you can't be doing this forever. Sooner or later, you will get tired. Then you will have to stop."
Despite how painful that sounded, I knew she was telling the truth. But it has been only two months, and two months felt too soon to be giving up.
I just stared outside the window beside me and only said, "I made a promise to him."
Neither of the double Ds said anything after. Also not aunty Vivian that was in the driver's seat.
Actually, aunty Vivian was always quiet whenever I was around and we've barely had a conversation together. The longest one we ever had was when she asked how kaka was doing and that was all. Just an entire four-word sentence conversation.
But with time, I know we will probably get along, even though we didn't end on a good note last Christmas in Mansur. The only reason why I was even able to stay in my cousins' house was because Kaka convinced aunty Vivian to let me stay.
"I will see you people at home." I said while breaking the little silence and reaching for the door handle.
"Don't forget today is the last signing of Kauna's adoption." Daniella reminded, "Aunty Rejoice will be very angry if you don't come."
Aunty Rejoice was the double Ds next door neighbour in their estate. She was an Akwa Ibom middle-aged widow who had two grown married children. But she looks after two other little children she adopted few years ago and Kauna was going to be the third one. She was a very devoted and loving woman who believed her purpose on earth was to raise children from poor backgrounds.
Kauna's original name was now going to be her baptismal name; Sarah. But we were still allowed to call her Kauna since it was now her middle name. And now that she was officially going to be aunty Rejoice's adopted child, she will be known as Sarah Attah and not Kauna Audu anymore.
"You know I can't miss this one." I scoffed at Daniella's last sentence while opening the car door, "I have never even missed any of their past meetings before. I will take keke after I'm done here."
"Take taxi." Aunty Vivian finally spoke.
Then it hit me that Davina has warned me countless times that her mother hates it when we use keke-na-pep or okada (motorcycle). Even though it has been two months, I was still trying to adapt to this new ajebo life in Abuja. It was so different from Kaduna.
"Okay." Was all I could say, even though I was still planning to use keke-na-pep. Sadly, my okada days were gone since okadas were banned from Abuja.
"Take the umbrella at the back." Davina said to me once I stepped one leg out of the car.
I picked up the green umbrella from the back windscreen side and finally got down from the car.
"Good luck seeing your school results." I said lastly to the double Ds who were on their way to school to pick up their third-term results.
They thanked me before I shut the door and stepped onto the nearest sidewalk. The car drove off and I just sighed as I watched it leave.
It was time.
I turned around and looked up to stare at the grey rainy sky. Even though it was still early afternoon, the grey clouds made it look like it was almost evening.
I crossed the road to get to the other side of the street and with each step I took, the rain kept increasing.
When I finally got to where I needed to stand, I opened up the umbrella and rose it above my head to stop the rain from beating me.
Then I looked straight ahead of me to stare at the Golden building across the road from me. The national mosque.
There was barely anybody around because all the Muslim men were already inside, praying. The only noise around were the distant cars and a man praying through the mosque speakers.
You might wonder, what am I doing here?
Well, this was my new peace-making view. I come here every Friday, just few minutes before the Muslim men finish their afternoon prayers. I only come here because this was the only one place that reminded me of him. Hamid.
After settling in Abuja two months ago, I called Kaka, who has finally gotten her voice back, to ask about any news from Hamid since she was staying in the same hospital with him at that time. But her only response left the hole in my heart that was still there.
He never woke up.
That was enough for me to understand what she meant and I never bothered to ask about him again.
Speaking of Kaka, she has now moved into Mama Zita's house with few other women who lost their houses during the riot.
The riot never took place again, now that Abbas Hassan Ribadu was released from detention since it was confirmed that neither him nor his people were the serial killer. But after the news of how he almost killed his son, Hamza, for being a cultist, the Shia Muslims forced him to step down as their imam. Ever since then, we never heard about him again.
Majority of the Shiite rioters were also arrested after the police found their hiding place.
It was confirmed that the people who caused the riot were Hamza Ribadu's friends and not the entire Shia Muslims. Some of them were not even shiites. They went about with their own personal revenge, while trying to cover it up with the name of religion.
And as for those of us that lost our houses through the riot... well, not every story has a happy ending. We had to figure out how to handle our losses on our own since our government was not making any effort to help us. Neither did anyone from any part of the country offer to help us. We were all alone and abandoned. The only thing that gave me relief was when Kaka told me Mama's grave was still safe and sound and I could always visit whenever I wanted to.
A man that was selling newspapers passed in front of me and was raising up one of the newspapers in the air, advertising for any buyer on the road. As he passed by, I glanced at the front cover of the This Day newspaper in his hand to see Hauwa Audu's picture largely printed in the middle. It was the same passport photo that I saw in General Abdulkareem's office one time.
Although it has been over a month now, most newspaper articles were still publishing Hauwa's story like it was a new information. They never mentioned her name on the cover, they only addressed her as: The Mansur Lollipop Killer. And they only put headlines like:
'Mansur Lollipop Killer still not found'
'Is the Lollipop Killer dead or alive?'
'Parents of the Late Children are Begging God to Send the Lollipop Killer to Hell Fire'
Despite Asmau's order to her colleague the other day, the police still searched for Hauwa's whereabouts but never found her. And despite that Hauwa's threat letter to the police, there was no news of any new dead child, meaning that there was a possibility that Hauwa might be already dead because of her sickness.
Hauwa's story behind the children killings was never published in any of the articles because they wanted to keep Hamza Ribadu's reputation out of it. Only a few people from Mansur knew about her story. The newspaper people only explained to the public that there was no motive because she was a 'mad woman' possessed by jinn.
It sounded like a stupid story right? Trust me, people believed anything the media told them. Anything. As long as it was printed on paper and it looked presentable, they believed. Some fake witnesses were even paid to add more fuel to the fire of lies, and their stories actually did seem very believable. If I never met Hauwa in her house and in the police station, I would have believed their stories of her too.
Asmau, on the other hand, was sentenced to 5 years in prison for Hamza's death. Her story behind it was also covered up and the court ruled her killing as a first degree manslaughter, identifying it as a 'mistake' so that both the police force and Hamza's reputation will be protected as well.
All of this, truly, has proved to me that we lived in a fabricated world. A very very fabricated world.
In less than ten minutes, the Muslim men finished their prayers and started flooding out of the national mosque gate. I stood upright from the tree I was leaning on and came to stand on the sidewalk that was directly across the gate.
Most of the men started jogging out of the gate to get shelter away from the rain, while I stood there to watch. And this was the crazy thing I always asked myself to Hamid every time I see the men coming out of the mosque;
What would you do if you were here right now?
And the first thing I always imagined was Hamid walking out of that mosque gate in his camouflage uniform. His head would be bent down because he will be putting on his boonie hat back on his head.
After, he would look up and see me waiting for him on the other side of the road. Then he would do what he always did best; he smiles. He smiles so wide and raise his hands up to wave at me, making sure I see him very well.
Then he tries to cross the road and... he disappears. He disappears into thin air because none of it ever happened.
I felt myself shaking as I stood on the same spot with my umbrella above my head. I knew I was crying again. I could feel the wetness on my cheeks. No matter how hard I try not to cry whenever I come here, it still happens.
This wasn't the best peace-making view but it was the only thing that could give me peace about my promise to him.
The promise I made to Hamid, personally, was that I would never forget him. I wasn't just pained because he was gone, I was pained because I didn't want to forget him after everything we've been through. I didn't want to forget what he looked like, what he smiled like, what he felt like.
Standing in front of this mosque every Friday and imagining him was the only thing helping me not to forget everything about him, since I had nothing else to remind me about him. Not even a picture.
More and more men from the mosque filled the entire street, with most of them running under the rain. I knew I looked like a mess from the way some of them glanced at me as they ran pass by. I rested my umbrella handle on one shoulder and reached for my handkerchief in my purse bag to blow my nose before the catarrh comes running down.
As I brought out the handkerchief from my bag, one of the men crossing the road bumped into me and hits my shoulder in full force. I groaned in pain while reaching for my shoulder and the handkerchief slipped out of my hands and onto the wet ground, making this whole situation worse.
"Sorry, madam." The man apologized and ran off without offering to help me with my handkerchief. Idiot.
I exhaled in frustration before bending down to pick up my handkerchief. And before I could reach for it, somebody else quickly bent down and picked it up for me.
"Thank y-"
My voice suddenly disappeared the moment I looked up. I slowly straightened my body back up without blinking for a second.
"I wonder if it's gun inside this time." The person joked while staring down at my handkerchief.
Miriam, snap out of it. I said snap out of it.
But then...
"Long time no see," He added and looked up at me, "Mariam."
I gasped and put my hands over my mouth in shock. No. No, it's not possible. This was definitely one of my many hallucinations. It was coming back for me again.
"Did you-" He stretched out my handkerchief to me but I took a step backwards in fear.
He didn't say anything but gently took his hand away from my front, not looking surprised by my reaction. I took another step backwards and cautiously looked at him from head to toe.
His entire light blue kaftan was soaking wet from the rain as he did not have any umbrella or shade on him. The only thing he had was his one-hand crutch that he was using as a support to make him stand. And there was no way he would have a one-hand crutch in my imagination.
But I still shook my head in disbelief. This was probably just an addition to one of my hallucinations. Because, why would he be in Abuja in the first place? How will he know I was here, at this exact time?
"It's temporary." He said, while staring down at his crutch, "The doctor said it's temporary."
He took his eyes off the crutch and just stared at the ground in front of him, not wanting to meet my eyes. Guilt was written all over his face and he exhaled before he began saying things I didn't understand.
"You must be wondering what I'm doing here. I am also wondering what you are doing here too. But actually... today isn't the first time I'm seeing you here."
I stared back at him in surprise.
"For three weeks, since I moved to Abuja for my National Defence College admission, I always saw a girl that looked like you standing in this same spot. Every Friday, I saw her. But I thought it was my imagination." He rested on his crutch and shivered under the rain without looking at me, "I tried, Mariam. I tried to come over and meet that girl. But every time, my mind told me it wasn't you. It kept telling me that she was still missing in Mansur like General told me. Like what everybody else told me. But I was still hopeful. I was hopeful that I will meet that girl in front of the mosque the next Friday. And the next next Friday. But even then, I was still never ready to believe it was you."
He gradually looked up at me, "But today, the weather told me it was you. The Mariam I knew, would never let the rain or tsunami or earthquake stop her from letting our destiny not collapse."
I clenched my umbrella handle in my hand and breathed heavily to control myself from breaking down.
"I really wanted to find you, and you to find me. Even if it took ten years for us to cross paths, I still wanted to find you. And tell you that I was alive." He paused and stared back at me in relief, "So... Mariam, it's me Abdulhamid. I am alive. I am really alive. And this time, I'm not going anywhere. Even if this rain should drown me, I will still be standing here."
Everywhere suddenly became quiet. Not like the rain and car noises stopped to become quiet. But the silence was from within. It was waiting for me, for me to say something. For me to do something.
The question I had to ask myself now was;
What would 'I' do now that you're here?
And the first thing I did was to let go of my umbrella, allowing the rain to overtake my body too.
I quickly walked over to Hamid's side and stretched out my hands before wrapping them around his shoulders and pulling myself closer to hug him.
He was taken back by my sudden action and rose his free hand to pat my back lightly in response. But I didn't let go. I was never letting go anytime soon.
With my arms wrapped around him, I felt like I could breathe again. I felt like the hole that was once in my heart was closing together.
And the last thing I did was what I did best; I cried. I couldn't say anything. There was nothing I could say at this point. All I had to do was cry to the point that I couldn't control my tears anymore. My tears became my words, the words in my heart.
Thank you, Hamid. Thank you so much for coming back alive.
On noticing my cry, Hamid stopped patting my back but didn't release himself from me. Instead, he lets his one-hand crutch fall to the ground and wrapped both of his arms around me to hug me back tighter, giving me all the comfort that I needed at this moment.
"Always welcome," He whispered and smiled, as if reading my mind, "My bread."
As we all know, every story ends in a sunny day with somebody smiling and walking under the beautiful sunny weather, while feeling so much joy and peace after all the battles they have been through.
But as for me, all I could do was stand and cry under the rain. After everything I have been through, after everything we have been through, the only thing left to do was cry.
Then after the tears, comes the strength and hope for a new day. And a new beginning of another path.
_______________________
END OF THE SECOND PATH
Can't believe we actually made it to the end of the story 😭💃🏾💃🏾.
Really going to miss writing this book, and I hate to say this but there will be NO book 2. I also doubt I am going to write any other book anytime soon because of my final year exams and law school. But for now, you can check out my other very clichè American book called The Cow Bee.
Also, you guys are the BEST readers any writer could ask for. Thank you sooo much for your patience with my slow updates. Thank you so much for all your very very very beautiful comments and messages❤️❤️❤️. I wouldn't have gotten to the end of this story if I wasn't blessed with supportive readers like you. I really do hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. God bless you all and wishing you all the best in life 🙏🏾❤️. Byeee xx
- Husseina Jafiya
BOOK COVER CREDIT: T Berry (@iamtberry on Instagram)