Chapter 7
Professor Bello's Pov
As I stepped off the plane, the dry harmattan air enveloped me, carrying the scent of dusty earth and dried leaves. The airport's familiar sounds welcomed me back to Nigerian soil. I made my way home, comforted by the sights and sounds of Abuja.
As I pulled into the driveway, Fatima and Hanifa waited by the door, their faces lit up with warm smiles. "We've missed you so much, Daddy," Hanifa whispered, her voice filled with emotion. I wrapped my arms around them, holding them close as we savored the warmth of our reunion.
After a refreshing bath and prayers, I joined Fatima and Hanifa in the dining area. Fatima had prepared my favorite dish, tuwo shinkafa. The aroma of steaming hot rice and savory stew filled the air, making my stomach growl with anticipation. Hanifa teased, "Mum can finally eat well now that you're home. All she talks about is you. My ears can finally have some peace, and maybe she'll stop nagging me to go back to my husband's house."
I laughed, feeling a warmth in my heart. "Hey, I'm glad to be home," I said, smiling at Fatima. "And I'm sure Hanifa's ears will still be subjected to plenty of nagging." Fatima playfully rolled her eyes, and Hanifa chuckled, but her smile faltered for a moment, revealing a glimpse of her underlying worries.
Moments later, Hanifa's phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her expression changed, her eyes clouding over as she listened. After ending the call, she forced a weak smile, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.
---
As we settled into the comfortable silence of the evening, I shared my plan to travel to Kano the next day to bring Humaira home. Fatima was glad with the idea, since she knew I haven't been able to reach Humaira's mum since I travelled, while Hanifa's expression changed, her eyes narrowing in concern as she sat up straight on the couch.
"I don't think it's a good idea, Daddy," Hanifa said, her voice firm but laced with concern. "I'm only here temporarily, trying to sort out my own issues. Adding Humaira to the mix might make things too complicated." Besides, you don't really know enough about her family. To be honest, I'm worried about her fitting in with us." Hanifa's face scrunched into a frown. "I feel like it's a bad idea, Daddy."
"I think she deserves our help, Hanifa," I replied gently. "Her father's passing has been tough on her. Being with us will provide the support and love she needs right now.
Hanifa sighed, her shoulders sagging in resignation. "I just worry about how it will affect our household dynamics," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Fatima, who had been quietly observing the conversation, spoke up, offering words of comfort and reassurance. "We'll make it work, dear. We always do."
As the evening wore on, the tension dissipated, replaced by quiet conversation and comfortable silences. We enjoyed each other's company, the warmth and love in the room a reminder that, despite our differences, we were family.
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Humaira's Pov
Seeing professor Bello was quite surprising, I had removed all hope to ever see him.
I clenched and unclenched my fingers, trying to steady my nerves. Would he have a good explanation for his silence? Would he still want to help me? Or had he simply moved on, forgetting the promises he made?
I swallowed hard, bracing myself for whatever explanation he was about to give.
Professor Bello apologized to Ummah, his expression sincere, and they spoke in hushed tones. After a while, Ummah suggested that we have a discussion with Uncle Shamsudeen, as he had already begun making arrangements for my marriage. She insisted that he needed to agree to the change of plans before I could leave with Professor Bello.
As I lay in bed that night, staring at the wooden ceiling above me, my mind refused to rest. The thin mattress beneath me felt harder than usual, every lump and crease pressing into my skin. I turned onto my side, listening to the soft hum of the night—the distant croaking of frogs and the faint murmur of Ummah's Qur'an recitation from the other room.
Would Professor Bello be able to change my uncles' minds? Or had I been foolish to believe in his promises?
I thought of the way my uncles had spoken, their words heavy with finality, as if my future had already been decided. The memory made my stomach clench. If Professor Bello failed, what would happen to me? Would I be forced into a life I didn't want, bound to a husband I hadn't chosen? The mere thought made my chest tighten with dread.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but the questions kept swirling in my head. Only time would tell.
---
Professor Bello's POV
The next day, I arrived in Kano, a weight of unease settling in my chest. My absence had been far too long—I could only imagine what Hajiya Zaliha and Humaira had thought of my silence. Had my absence irreparably damaged the trust between us?
Would they even trust me now?
As I stepped into their compound, I saw Humaira and her brothers busy with chores. The moment she noticed me, her face brightened with a hesitant smile. She rushed forward, her hijab draped neatly over her shoulders.
"Assalamu alaikum, Humaira," I greeted, my voice warm despite my nerves.
She returned the greeting softly, her gaze searching mine for answers.
The boys, Abdulkareem and Qasim, were sweeping the courtyard, their small hands gripping worn-out brooms. They paused, grinning widely as they greeted me in unison, "Wa alaikumu assalam."
I placed a hand on their shoulders, my voice gentle. "How are you both?"
"We're fine, Alhamdulillah," Abdulkareem replied with a spark of enthusiasm. Qasim nodded eagerly beside him, his energy undiminished despite the morning's labor.
For a moment, I watched them work, admiring their quiet resilience. Even in hardship, they carried themselves with dignity.
Then, my gaze shifted to the doorway, where Hajiya Zaliha stood. Her expression was unreadable, but the stiffness in her posture told me all I needed to know. Without a word, she turned and walked inside.
I exhaled slowly, preparing myself. I had a lot to make right.
"I apologize, Humaira," I said, my voice heavy with regret. "I wish I could have been here for you sooner."
Humaira's face softened, but hesitation flickered in her eyes. "It's alright, sir," she said, though the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her hijab told me she wasn't entirely sure.
Stepping into the living room, the pungent aroma of yaji (Hausa spice mix) filled the air. The room felt heavy—not just with the weight of the past, but with something unspoken.
Hajiya Zaliha sat on the couch, her shoulders rigid. The lines on her face seemed deeper, worry and exhaustion etched into her features.
"Assalamu alaikum, Hajiya," I greeted, my tone warm but cautious.
"Wa alaikum assalam, Alhaji," she responded, her voice clipped, her gaze piercing.
I took a measured breath. "Hajiya, I want to apologize for not showing up when I promised. I was called away on an urgent trip abroad and had to rush to catch my flight."
I hesitated before continuing. "I misplaced my phone at the airport in the chaos. I had no way to contact you, and for that, I am truly sorry. I can only imagine the distress my absence caused."
For the briefest moment, something flickered in her eyes—hurt, maybe even understanding—but she quickly masked it.
"It's too late now," she said, her voice firm but edged with something almost like reluctance. "We've made arrangements for Humaira's marriage."
The words landed like a blow to my chest.
"What?" My voice rose, unable to hide my disbelief. "Humaira is still a child! How can you—" I stopped myself, inhaling sharply. "How can you even consider this?"
Hajiya Zaliha's jaw tightened. "The decision has been made, Alhaji. It's too late for discussions" she said, her tone unwavering. But this time, she looked away, just for a second, as though avoiding the weight of her own words.
"The wedding will take place in three weeks."
A cold wave of panic washed over me. My heart pounded as I struggled to find the right words—something, anything, that would make them reconsider. I had to think fast, had to come up with a solution before it was too late. But before I could even open my mouth, a movement at my side caught my attention.
Humaira.
She stood there, her hands trembling at her sides, her face pale with anguish. Her dark eyes, usually filled with warmth and quiet determination, now shimmered with unshed tears. She swallowed hard, struggling to steady her voice.
"Ummah," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "You can't do this to me."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her words settling over us like a thick fog.
"Hajiya, please," I began, my voice calm but firm. "Humaira deserves a chance to continue her education. Marriage can wait." I searched her face, hoping for even the slightest flicker of reconsideration.