Fembleez1:



She sat down - head rested, eyes staring into the white painted ceiling in a calculative mood. Her eyes had been following the whirling of the ceiling-fan but she within seconds, became lost in thoughts.


It was getting cloudless to her reasoning faculty. She felt woozy and it seemed all were just happening out of this world. What was she going to do in this dreadful time?



Should she keep it to herself and not ask him anything? Nah, she just couldn't. Even the Quran did justice to this sort of matters. She has to at least find out what really is the matter and if possible he knows about it, she would find a way to make it known.



Menacing palpitation swept her heart and she knew it was something common. She felt this way once she suspects something. No one would keep the thoughts to oneself if such thing occur to them.


At one instance, it occurred to her Salisu might know something about all that is happening. Yes, she would know, she concluded. Wasn't he acting funny the other day? Hmmmmm! She wrung her eyeballs and contemplated again.



This was really getting out of hands, out of reasoning. If eventually Salisu knows about all this, then it spelt doom for her. Wasn't he asking about a document he expected Mariam should have dropped for her the last time? And after that day, she tried to recall; No, since that very day, he has been acting cunning.



What might even be in the envelop he expected from her? Yes, he had said documents but what documents and why is Mariam involved in any document. Wait, she put a hand on her lips and peered at nothingness. Salisu is Mariam's father's younger brother; and he has part to their father's share of the property. Could Mariam be conspiring against her father to steal a property documents for Salisu?



Yea, it is true Mariam doesn't like her father that much cause he is never home to have time for her and her siblings. But could she let her hatred span thus far? Nah, it is incomprehensible, she thought.



Wait o, what if she is doing it for money? Or rather, she is being manipulated to do it out of threat?


Something struck her head and she had a headache in the process. The thoughts were just too much for her small head and running wide, they might make her mad cause she wasn't going to arrive at a definite conclusion.



And now that Mariam is nowhere to be found with rumours that appeared true confirming she is dead; oh Allah, please save me from this earthly shame as much as you would save me from eternal shame. How would I even bear it if my husband has a hand in it?



Though she had never had reasons to doubt his good repute and personality but words called for caution at this point. Didn't the saying goes thus, `trust no one.' Everything at this moment requires a close attention before one arrive at a denouement.


May be I should confront him with the allegations. But how would he feel? Like I'm doubting him or so and that would be disastrous if he doesn't know anything about it. She stood up and paraded the sitting room thoughtfully with her hands illustrating what she was thinking about.



She bellowed, “let me call her again, may be she has forgotten I said I want to see her,” and picked her phone off the middle table.



Needing to be in a secluded area where no one could hear her conversation, she toddled into the kitchen. She dialled the number repeatedly but no one picked the call.


She was perplexed. Her head went hot and she felt her cheeks with her right hand; her thoughts manoeuvring.



Why is she not picking her call? She thought. This is getting to look as something I can't, will not be able to handle.

If nothing was wrong, Fatimah should have picked her call. She never even replied the message I sent to her the other day. She couldn't claim she had not seen it, she thought unreasonably.


But why is she not picking the call right now? At least, if she didn't see the message, this call was enough to get her attention. Perhaps she might have gone out with her christian friends, she admitted.



Walking towards the fridge, she opened and shelved out a pack of 5alive juice. She shook the content as she went towards the crockery-cupboard - to pull a tumbler out. She was going to cool her head off with this cold drink, she felt a bit relaxed.

Placing the tumbler on the dining table and filling it half way, she place the 5alive pack by its side.



“I really need to speak to this girl,” she cried, staring into the painted cream wall.


My husband's movement calls for suspicion, she thought silently. He doesn't even stay home as before, though he never even stayed home anyway. But these days are something else. He never even tell me what he is up to or where he is going. These all points to the fact why I'm having a doubt about him.


She culled the tumbler of juice up to sip but stopped as a thought struck her. She nodded in affirmation to what she had thought about, then dialled a number on her phone.


The phone hadn't ring for long when the receiver picked.



“Hello, Mama Fatimah,” she began in Guinea, “I'm trying to be fine. Yea, I left her house some few minutes ago. I just want to ask if Fatimah is around.”




“She went out but I'm not certain she is back,” Fatimah's mother replied in Guinea, the continued in english, “let me check her in her room may be she's back.”





“Okay, my wife,” she smiled dryly.




She heard as Fatimah's mother got off from where she was seated and her trundling legs, then the door opened.




“God!!!,” came thunderously out of the receiver, “Fatimah! Fatimah wake up!! Allah, I'm dead. Fatimah!!!.”



Salisu's wife was lucky to hear the first shout before the phone went off, thudding on the floor and went dead.



“Hello, hello, hello,” she shouted into the phone ominously not knowing the call had ended.

Rising up rapidly, she offset the tumbler and raced out of the room en route Fatimah's house at once. The tumbler danced here and there and came reeling towards the edge of the table. As the door got slammed as she went out of the house, the sound disturbed the tumbler that was holding on to its last lifeline; it fell crashing on the floor in a dithering bashfulness - the whole family reducing to dust, one after the other.