CHAPTER THREE

PRESENT DAY

June 24th

Ahmad sat up in bed, he already knew what time it was. He always woke up between four forty and four forty five am every morning. Lolo had a strict sleeping schedule. She'd always say "whilst living a healthy life, you must achieve a healthy night". Ahmad recalled how they didn't even need an alarm clock anymore after several weeks of the sleeping exercise.

He glanced up at the wall clock, it read 4:42am in bold letters. "As always" he whispered as he made his way to the bathroom.

He had fifteen minutes to get ready for the early morning prayer (Subhi) after which he would have his usual light breakfast. Ahmad performed ablution which was a form of spiritual cleansing that was done before offering any obligatory prayer. He washed his left foot last taking his wife's white towel from the hanger to dry his hands and face. He'd kept her towel, both of them. Her two favorite Abayas and her silk pillow case. Lolos mother, Hajiyah Ameena and her four sisters visited the house a month after Lolos funeral to pack all her belongings.

Ahmad remembered how cold the air was that day. He'd had a bitter disagreement with Hajiya Ameena during the early days after Lolos death. He wouldn't let her take baby Habiba. Hajiya Ameena had assumed she'd care for her granddaughter until she was old enough to be returned to her father. It was the normal custom, for a maternal grandmother to take care of the grandchildren if their mother were to pass away. According to tradition, it was believed a maternal grandmother was the second closest thing to a mother.

Hajiya Ameena's grief quickly turned into anger when Ahmad adamantly refused to hand over the child. She became quite bitter, screaming that he was a man and would never be able to take care of a new born child. She even went as far as to blame him for her daughters death. Ahmad remembered everything vividly, how she stood up from the two sitter couch with such force her sister who was sitting beside her had to support her from behind to prevent her from falling rather clumsily. Her tribal marks, three long thick lines on each cheek glowed with rage. She had pointed a finger at him, like a sword ready to draw blood. She had wagged it in his face like a mad dogs tail as she accused him of Habiba's death.

She had made a point to attack his wealth status because it was one of the best ways to insult a Nigerian man. Saying that if he had been a decent man with a decent income her daughter wouldn't have died in an awful hospital. Ahmad was a little taken aback by her statement but he didn't let it show, he had no idea she had something against his earnings. He had a full time job and other businesses. Lolos father Baba Bashir seemed satisfied with his means of income after asking Ahmad himself about it to ensure his daughter was in good hands. He had assumed that since Baba Bashir was satisfied, Hajiya Ameena would be too.

Clearly he had been wrong.

Hajiya Ameena went on to say that after taking her daughter away from her, he was going to take away her granddaughter.

Ahmad remembered how quiet he was, infact he didn't even feel much of anything. At that time he was consumed by his own grief, he didn't see much of anything else.

Ahmad knew that he needed help with taking care of his daughter, he knew nothing about children or babies. He had never had to change a dirty nappy in his life.

Ahmad had already arranged for his mother to come live with him and help him with baby Habiba. He had planned on discussing it with his mother in law but after her outburst, he knew it would only add more fuel to the fire.

He apologized for any inconvenience he'd caused his mother in law, not because he meant it but because it was expected of him. He added that he couldn't let anyone raise his daughter, she had already lost her mother and he would never stand by and watch her lose her father. He excused himself as Hajiya Ameena glared and shook her legs in anger.

After that awful day Ahmad kept out of the way of his mother in law until she called to let him know she'd be visiting to collect her daughters things.

Ahmad shook his head at the memory as he exited the bathroom. He knew his mother in law was just in a lot of grief at the time and he understood her outburst though some of the things she said bothered him.

"Wasn't it his fault though?"

If he had been at home when her water broke, she'd be here.

If he had taken her to the better hospital, the one they had both agreed she'd give birth in and not the one closest to them. She'd be here.

With him and his daughter. It was his fault that everything got messed up. After all, that was what he was best at. Ruining everything.

Ahmad threw on his crisp white jellabiya as he made his way out of the room. On passing the dining table which was directly facing the corridor to his room he noticed the journal he had written in the day before. He made his way to the table and picked it up but didn't open it. He had made a promise to himself to never read what he writes. The purpose of it all was to share his most intense memories with someone he could trust, not to relive them.

He held the book for a while remembering everything that had happened in the past seven years. Everything that lead to him writing a journal, if someone had told him he'd have a diary at that time of his life, he would've laughed at the person for being stupid.

Nothing seemed funny to Ahmad as he stood beside the dinning room he once shared with his wife. His dead wife.

Ahmad shuddered at the thought of Habiba trapped in clay pots in a tiny hole in the ground.

When a Muslim dies, the body normally gets buried without a casket. It is given its last bath which is a form of spiritual ritual to cleanse the body and prepare it for the after life. It is then wrapped in a plain white cloth and placed in a wooden plank which is also known as the last bed. Male family and friends gathered for the funeral escort the body to its final resting place. The grave was normally the exact size as the body.

In the northern parts of the country, after laying the body in the grave it was normal to break some clay pots and arrange them neatly over the deceased person.

Ahmad remembered how he thought the grave was too small, too small for his chubby Lolo. How he had watched as the broken clay pots were placed over her head, her body, what he thought to be her tiny beautiful toes.

Ahmad will always remember more than anything, how they had thrown dirt over her body, and how he had wept bitterly on her grave.

He made his way to the mosque with a heavy heart. With each step Ahmad took he said a prayer. He didn't pray to be cured of his grief, because it was the only proof of the life he used to have. He didn't know what to ask for or what to say, but he kept on whispering various supplications. His brain was at loss for words but that was the thing about praying to God, You didn't have to say anything.

"Ya hayyû ya qayyûmû (O Ever- Living and Sustainer of all that exists)" Ahmad whispered as the call for prayer reverberated around him.

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