After several bruises on my body as a reminder that I should always pray nothing bad happens to their children—because if anything goes wrong, I’ll face the consequences—I thought they would throw me out of the house. Instead, I was ordered to clean and prepare their meal while Mrs. Shola headed back to the hospital. That only meant Olumide had been admitted, which explained why they poured their anger on me. With my bleeding bruises, I dragged myself to the kitchen and began cooking. For some reason, the tears refused to flow anymore, and strangely, my strength kept increasing. I forced myself to finish all the chores before their return.
Bolanle: (entering the kitchen) Aren’t you done cooking? We’re starving here.
Ayomide: Yes! I don’t know what you’re cooking that’s taking so long for you to serve us.
Mustakeemah: I’m sorry… it’s almost ready.
Bolanle: Almost ready since! If our parents come back, I’ll report you for starving us.
Mustakeemah: It’s ready now, I’ll bring it soon.
Ayomide: Add salad to mine—and plantain too. Make it snappy. (she exits the kitchen)
Mustakeemah: Okay. (continues working silently)
Bolanle: Did Mum and Dad injure you this way?
Mustakeemah: (she sadly nods)
Bolanle: (takes a deep breath, then exits quietly)
Mustakeemah: I better hurry up…
I couldn’t focus at work today. My mind kept drifting back to that girl. What if they kill her? Why are people so heartless? Where are her parents? How could they abandon their daughter to such evil people?
When I got home, I didn’t realize my family noticed my sad mood. I headed straight to my room and locked myself in. The image of her suffering kept haunting me—her bruises, her pain. I wanted to help her… maybe even call the police.
Mum: Okomi! Come downstairs, dinner is ready! (standing by the door)
Abdulhakeem: I’m not hungry. Good night.
Mum: That statement is not for me. Open the door, Akeem!
Abdulhakeem: (angrily gets up and opens the door) What is it?
Mum: (enters and shuts the door behind her) What’s wrong, my son? I’m not happy to see you this way. You’ve been moody lately. Please, share your pain with me.
Abdulhakeem: (falls onto the bed) Nothing.
Mum: (sits beside him) Talk to me, what’s wrong? I’m ready to give you all the attention you need.
Abdulhakeem: (stares at her for a few seconds) Who am I to you, Mum?
Mum: (confused) What do you mean? Why ask such a ridiculous question?
Abdulhakeem: Please answer me.
Mum: You’re so strange sometimes. Of course you’re my son! I carried you for a whole ten months—yes, not nine, ten. I breastfed you for one and a half years. I love you so much and I’ll forever love you. Be grateful you have a mother like me. There are homeless children out there wishing for the love I give you.
Abdulhakeem: Exactly my point. I met a girl… suffering physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. She’s praying for love and freedom, but all of that has been stolen from her.
Mum: Your sisters told me about the girl. They said you approached her.
Abdulhakeem: (nods) My question is, Mum—can you love someone else’s child more than your own?
Mum: No! Hell no!
Abdulhakeem: Can you at least love them equally?
Mum: Yes, definitely.
Abdulhakeem: Easy for you to say. But I can’t believe some women could be so mean… so heartless.
Mum: (frowns) Where exactly is this conversation going? Are you saying I could ever be the cause of a child’s misery? That I could be mean to another person’s child? All I’m asking is what’s wrong with you, but you’re just confusing me. Anyway—your dad is back from his trip. Go and see him.
Abdulhakeem: (eyes widen) He’s back?
Mum: Yes. And I want you to talk to him. Tell him how you feel about your choices.
Abdulhakeem: I can’t!
Mum: (she holds his hand) You can! If only you know how much I love and cherish you, son. I want to see you smile and be happy for the rest of your life… because you are my son, and I love you so much.
Abdulhakeem: (exhales softly)
Kenny: (barges into the room) Mom! Taiye has started again oh, and I swear I’ll break her teeth tonight.
Mum: (angrily gets up) You children won’t kill me! Let’s go. And as for you, sir-dam, come downstairs—your dad is waiting for you.
Abdulhakeem: (nods and falls back on the bed) Mustakeemah… how do I help you out of that tunnel, out of that prison, out of that hell you’re living in? This is why I want to study law abroad, but Dad keeps forcing me to chase his dream instead of mine. Gosh, I hate this family.
---
8:30pm
Earlier I felt no pain, but now the pain is too severe for me to endure—both physically and mentally. Still, I struggle to prepare dinner, waiting patiently for my aunt’s return and praying her daughter is fine. But I’m starving, and I’ve been warned never to eat from the food without permission. My body shakes, I can barely move my legs, every part of me aches, my head throbs. The dried blood still stains my skin since I wasn’t allowed to bathe. Then I hear the sound of my aunt’s arrival, and my body begins to shiver with fear.
Mrs. Shola: Where is that witch? Where are my kids? (she enters the room) Baby, take her to the room while she rests. I’m so tired. Where is this girl sef? Mustakeemah!
Mr. Suraj: (carrying Olumide into the room) I’m starving, babe! And what are we going to do about your dead uncle?
Mrs. Shola: Abeg leave that one jare. He was useless already—only adding to my pain. Where is this witch? Is she ignoring my calls?
Mr. Suraj: Mustakeemah! Bring my food, I’m starving.
Mustakeemah: (struggling to move) Yes ma, yes sir. (she kneels) Welcome, sir. How is Olumide’s health?
Mrs. Shola: As if you care? God saved you nothing happened to my daughter, else you’d be dead by now. Uhmm, is dinner ready?
Mustakeemah: Yes sir. I’ll set the dining now. (she walks gently out of the living room)
Mrs. Shola: Useless girl…
*******************
AT THE DINING TABLE
Mustakeemah stands on her feet, waiting for her verdict.
Mrs. Shola: Baby, I hope you like the food?
Ayomide: Yes, Mom, it’s delicious. Imagine our lives without Mustakeemah… I wish I could be a great chef like her.
Mrs. Shola: Whatever! What’s smelling like this?
Mustakeemah: I think it’s me.
Mrs. Shola: Get out of my sight and go freshen up. I don’t want to see those blood stains on your body. This should serve as a lesson to you. And come back here—who is that guy trying to play rescuer? Let me guess, your boyfriend, right?
Mustakeemah: (sadly) No, ma.
Mrs. Shola: You think I’ll believe that? Next time I set my eyes on you two together, I promise I’ll strip you naked outside the gate. Try me.
Mustakeemah: Okay, ma. (she tries to leave)
Mr. Suraj: Have you washed my socks and polished my shoes?
Mustakeemah: (scared, stammering as she remembers) N-no, sir. I promise to do it now.
Mr. Suraj: (stands and slaps her hard) How many times have I warned you never to forget my personal chores? I don’t give you too much work, but you want to give me headache? Next time, it won’t be a slap—it’ll be my belt. Stupid girl.
Mustakeemah: (shivering, tears running) Okay, sir.
Mr. Suraj: Get out of my sight and do it! Those socks must dry tonight or else you’re dead. Move! Stinking girl.
Ayomide: Daddy, that’s too harsh. That’s not fair!
Bolanle: Yes, Daddy! You and Mum are too mean to her. She helps Mum with everything, yet you treat her like trash. Her whole body is covered with bruises—that’s not fair.
Mrs. Shola: Are you done eating?
Ayomide: You know what? I’m not interested anymore. (she gets up and walks away)
Mr. Suraj: Ayomide! Get back here right now!
Bolanle: Same here. (she gets up and leaves)
Mr. Suraj: And you too? Bolanle!!!
Mrs. Shola: Don’t worry, baby. They’re just kids. They’ll come back to their senses with time. Don’t let that trouble you.
Mr. Suraj: (exhales softly) You’re right, dear. That’s why I love you. You always calm me down when I’m about to lose it. I love you so much. Imagine my life without you.
Mrs. Shola: Imagine my life without you too? I love you more. Come here, baby. (she sits on his lap and they begin to kiss)
---
After washing his socks and shoes, I finally struggle into my store room with my leftover food. I’m too weak to undress or take my bath. The pain is unbearable. Suddenly, I realize I can’t move my hands or legs anymore. My body becomes stiff. Fear grips me. I try to force strength into myself, but nothing works. I want to call for help, but no one will care. Tears pour down as I cry out for my mother.
Mustakeemah: Mom… I’m in pain. Come and rescue me from these people. I think I will die in their hands. Please, find a way to rescue me… I’m dying here! (her cries grow louder)
Bolanle: (gently opens the door, rushes to her) Hey… Mustakeemah! Are you okay? (sits beside her) Stop crying. I understand how you feel… it’s okay.
Mustakeemah: (sobbing harder) I miss my mom…
Bolanle: It’s okay, dear. I’m here for you now.