•Bilal

Do you know why all the good girls go to hell?

Because—they were never good from the start.

Like the rotten insides of a fruit, you'll never know till it's skin is being peeled off of it's decayed body—and in some cases when it starts showing signs on the skin, it's because it has gotten to a stage where it's effects are irreversible.

Likewise with human beings—you'll never know till you get entrapped in the scaffold of the ventricles of their secretive, abominable life.

That was my Bilan—Ruqayyah—the love of my life and the beautiful woman that is still nurturing my children. May Allah bless her soul.

I believed for so many years that she was the one for me—but until today—I didn't know she had spirits of lasciviency instilled in her and I knew, it wasn't recently they possessed her.

For a woman of such virtue I thought she'd had more morals but it was on the contrary. If it wasn't for my eyes I'd say her phone was an agent of destruction with the aim of maiming our semi-blissful marriage.

And who is Adnan? He had the guts to leave a married woman messages even I as her husband couldn't utter except in rare moments of our past adventurous encounters during the first days of our currently loveless marriage.

I would've been ashamed to say I was reduced to nothing but a harbinger of surreptitious thoughts that surrounded a wife that has proved to be untrustworthy to me but I was far from feeling elements of shame—all I felt was rage in different shades. Hopefully I didn't strangle her before nightfall.

Today was my third day in Baidoa. And like the loving husband I was, I visited Bilan at a quarter past noon whenever her parents were out working and it being the period the kids took after school lessons.

Like my first day here, I visited—she dragged me to a spare room in her parents house, seduced me and we ended up repeatedly making love; which was disrespectful—to her parents of course.

Not long ago, we'd taken a shower and I'd been waiting for her to return with food she'd ordered the maids to prepare for us.

A single beep interrupted my failed attempts to contact Baba Imran but I ignored it and continued to finger the call button with my thumb.

Another beep blared loudly again and I turned away, fighting the urge to snatch it off the coffee table sitting opposite the bed.

Two more beeps and I was irritated. I dropped my phone and grabbed hers from where it layed.

I pressed my thumb to the home button and to my surprise It opened. Years ago, we gave each other our passwords and marked our phones with our finger prints as a sign of unyielding trust—not until her inexplicable travel to Somalia with the intention of never returning to Nigeria.

Three messages flickered across her screen from WhatsApp, Facebook and Instagram. None caught my attention except one from someone she saved as LoveAd❤️.

Quickly, I tried to save his number to my phone and proceeded to call some people to help me with my investigation but changed my mind once I noticed the number was already saved on my phone with another name.

I thumbed the WhatsApp application and immediately a page with her recent chats appeared.

A few chats belonged to her with her mother, a cousin I met during our wedding, some friends and the most recent—one with the man I soon found out was Adnan Danmusa; A business associate T&K housing limited worked on a contract with him.

How did she even get to know who he was? I was ready to confront her after reading a series of nasty exchanges—which were evidence of her infidelity.

Why couldn't she just say she was willing to leave the marriage instead of sinning and procuring a passage to hell for oneself?

"Baby, I'm back!" She catwalked into the room, smiling as if I'd gifted her a billion dollars.

She dropped the tray in her hands on the center table and proceeded to push it a bit closer to the bed for us to eat.

She dropped onto the bed tiredly beside me and pecked my cheek before offering me a crispy chicken lap which I dejectedly rejected.

"What's wrong?"

I watched her smile melt into a gloomy shadow of what it was before as she noticed her phone in my hands.

"I can explain." She started.

It was as if she knew her time was up—she was caught red handed.

"The money was wired to me by your assistant when I told him I was swimming in debt. Don't sack him, I lied to him that I'd already asked you."

"What are you talking about?" Her phone slipped out of my hands to the floor and she rushed to grab it immediately before it hits the floor.

She unlocked her phone and saw her WhatsApp messages with Adnan Danmusa and she started sobbing uncontrollably.

"He said he likes the way you look in 'those' dresses, what else have you shown him dear wife?"

The calmness in my voice scared me and prompted more of her tears.

"Nothing. I swear on my life!" She cried.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"Those are nothing." She lied.

"Don't lie to me. I'm already being lenient with you!"

"We may have gone out a few times."

I watched her grab tissue from the table and dabbed her eyes.

"You 'may' have gone out? And which money are you talking about? Don't try lying."

"Please don't give me a divorce. I love you!" She knelt down and held my hands.

"Don't tell me what to do! Just go. I'm coming downstairs now."

She does as she's being told to do and I leave, also, to join her in the living room.

"When do our kids come back?"

"In about thirty minutes."

"Ok, I'll wait for them." I stand up again after deciding to leave, "I'll return later to see them. I can't be around you right now."

"Just listen to me, ok?" She tries to drag me back into the house with little effort while crying.

Her nose have become swollen like a clowns' with her red rimmed eyes. The spot in my heart fighting to forgive her and rush to hug her back died when I saw a car park in the driveway.

"Who is this now?" I ask as a man emerged from an old model Range Rover clad in a jallabiya and aviator sunglasses.

"He's-he's-just... Ignore him. Let's go in. I'll handle this."

I rip my arm out of her sweaty hands and stand by the foyer to welcome the unwelcomed guest—who probably came to visit my wife.

"Ya Allah save me." She sighs, panting as if she has just finished running a marathon.

I could feel the nervousness ooze off her body in waves as she moved uncontrollably—back and forth—with her hands on her waist.

"I suggest you say your final prayers because this man may just be the reason you aren't married in the next five minutes."

The man walks past me without acknowledging my presence and crosses over to her standing by the door.

"*Dhalo sidee tahay?" Baby how are you? He takes off his shades before turning his direction to me—and immediately—he looks back at her.

"*Waan fiicanahay." I'm fine. She frowns at him with her hands folded across her chest.

"Miyuu saaxiib kale yahay?" Is he another boyfriend? Mr aviator glasses says—another sentence I'm yet to understand in their conversation, "Sii daa gudaha." Let's go inside. He makes for the door but she refused to let him in, shaking her head in the negative.

"No. Please go." She begs him.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your boyfriend since he doesn't have the courtesy of saying a Salam to a fellow Muslim brother?" I jeered, eyeing both of them with my hands stuffed down in my pockets.

"He's not my boyfriend." She calmly replies.

"Then who am I to you?" Finally he spoke English! And without a doubt, it was fluent.

I guess he probably knew who I was from the start but chose to disrespect me.

"Nothing. Just go away." She yells.

"Is it because of this *Ibn al kalb?" Son of a dog? He yells.

"Don't call him that! Just leave."

He shakes his head and spits on her face, "*Tozz feek!" Screw you.

"How stupid are you to disrespect a woman like that?" I grab a fistful of his jallabiya, screaming.

A smiles steals it's way to her lips and she looks away with tears in her eyes.

He starts to grab my shirt too and pulls with force, "Do you know what I've done for her? Do you even know for how long we've been together?"

I punched him and yelled, "What are you talking about? She's married and you still decided chase her."

"Married? I thought she was divorced again?" He staggers back, wiping the blood on his busted lip with the sleeve of his jallabiya as he lets go of my shirt.

Divorced again? How many marriages has she had?

She looks away, ashamed at her boyfriend's revelation.

"Bilan what is he talking about?"

"So he's the husband? I can see he loves you. But why do you choose to do this to us? I love you too!" Mr avaitor glasses yells, spitting blood on the floor, his voice already cracking from shouting so much.

"It's not like that..." She gulped.

"Don't lie to him Bilan. Tell him everything, from the start." He rips the glasses off his eyes and puts them in his front pocket.

This would be interesting.

"We can't do this here. The kids would be back any minute. Let's meet in the night and I'll explain."

"Let's meet at my hotel. After Magribh?" He offers.

"I don't want to meet anyone, you should come and explain yourself to me tonight." I replied turning to Bilan.

He sighed and shook his head before muttering, "Whatever." Then he left to his car.

"It's better I do it with him there." She pleaded.

"I'll come pick you then you'll give me the directions." I say and leave to my car.

As soon as we I get into my car to leave, Amara, the driver pulls over into the driveway but I'm too angry for my children to see me this way so I'll return the next day to see them.

****

"You're driving since you know the place." I drop the keys into her hands and open the door to the passengers seat to get in.

She walks around the car to get to the driver's seat and joins me inside. Immediately, she started the car and in a few minutes we were on the road riding shotgun to the agreed location.

"Won't you talk to me?" She touches my hand, smiling somberly.

"I have nothing to say to you." I unlock my phone and text Baba Imran again since he hasn't replied my previous text messages.

Basma El-Nafaty crosses my mind and something sends my fingers to the Safari application.

I type out her name and click on the wording that reads images. A number of her pictures appear on my screen and I click on one that she was wearing the exact same clothes she had on the day we met.

Underneath the picture, I notice a link that led to an article. I debated silently on whether to feed my curiosity. Knowing that I would still do it in the end, I ignored the part of me that told me to leave the page entirely and clicked on the link that led me to another page.

The first thing above my screen was Daughter of Nigerian billionaire, Alhaji Ahmed El-Nafaty kidnapped at Abuja. The article was dated back to 72 hours ago—that was exactly when last I saw her.

All I could do was pray for was for her safe release. I added the page to a bookmark and moved on to look at her other pictures. It varied from her trips abroad to fundraisers and weddings.

I suddenly found myself imagining her as Bilan's friend since she was also an infamous philanthropist herself.

On getting bored, I returned to the website on her disappearance and I began to read.

On September 20, 2024, Basma El-Nafaty disappeared. A day later, her sister's received a bizarre note asking for their sister's hand in marriage. Her sister's offered to pay money—and even some members of the El-Nafaty family—expressed doubt that the woman really had been abducted. Basma El-Nafaty had often joked that she would stage her own kidnapping to get the attention of her family. She had always been known as a rascal in her teenage years.

The car came to a halt while I was reading and Bilan tapped my shoulder to tell me we had reached our destination.

"Who is that?" She poked her head down to the screen of my phone—exactly where a picture of Basma was pasted—frowning.

"None of your business."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Let's just go." I cleared my voice, sighing as I was already exasperated.

"We're not leaving here until you tell me who she is." She looked at my phone again, squinting, "I know her! She's Basma El-Nafaty. Why are you looking at her photo?"

"Can you stop raising your voice? Let's go now."

"Not until I get to the bottom of this." She turned off the ignition and dropped the keys in her bag—looking straight ahead—making no moves to exit the car.

"I'm leaving." I pressed the power button of my phone and slipped it into my pocket.

"You can go and get lost." She laughed.

I hissed, "Came we just leave already?"

"Who is she to you?" She questions, already raising her voice again.

"She's nothing."

Her hands slammed the steering wheel and she cried, "I guess I'm not the only one in the game, right? Answer me!"

My heart stopped at her slight display of animosity—leaving me speechless.

"I'm not cheating on you! I haven't and I never will."

"Now that you say that, I feel like a prostitute."

"I didn't say that. Let's just go."

"I don't want to go in here. Let's go back to your apartment and I'll tell you everything." She held my left shoulder, crying into it.

"The truth?" I implored and she concurred.

"But no funny business." I added and all she did was nod as she drove out of the hotel's parking lot.

From there, we left to my apartment and she escorted me inside. Since my return to Somalia, she's had me feeling like I was committing a sin—despit being her husband—whenever I was around her.

She sat down on a couch and dropped her bag on the center table in my living room.

"How about water, food or a drink?"

"Water." She squeaked.

I went into the kitchen and returned with what she requested for and took a sit beside her.

"So..." I bit on a date, "I'm listening."

She choked on her water and spilled everything on her dress.

"Do you have anything I can change into before it dries up?" She solicited.

"No." I turned my attention to the wall clock—trying to avoid what was to happen next, "I'll turn on the ceiling fan and air conditioning, maybe it'll dry faster that way."

"But it's making me uncomfortable." She protested.

"Ok, just wait. I'll go and drop one of my shirts on my bed then you can go and change."

I climbed up the staircase to my room and found one of my shirts to give to her with a pair of wool socks to protect her feet from the cold of the air conditioning downstairs.

I came back downstairs and directed her to my room where she changed and returned downstairs in about ten minutes.

"Thank you." She pulled the shirt down to cover her knees before sitting down on the couch I was on.

"Are you ready now?"

"Yes." She sniffed, "It all started before we moved to Nigeria. Then, I was still living here with my parents."

"Go on." I urged.

"He was my first love. His name is Tadalesh Xirsi. We met when I was in 11th grade. He was in his third year in university. He graduated from the same secondary school I attended. His friend tried to beat me up at the back of the school when I rejected their gang leader then he saved me and since then we'd been close.

We became a couple after I graduated. He promised me we'd be together forever till my parents told me they were moving to Nigeria. We remained in touch despite the distance then we stopped communicating entirely after I went to university. He came to Nigeria to see me and my parents told him off and he never called me again.

My parents promised to curse me if I didn't stop talking to him because they felt he was a distraction to my studies. I didn't want to be cursed so I listened to them and eventually forgot about him when I met you. If you remember clearly, I never told you I love you because I felt guilty about saying it till I forced myself to stop thinking about him.

After our marriage he reached out to me but I ignored him because I didn't want to destroy our marriage especially since we had kids. Not until my return to Somalia I never spoke to him.

We met at a c-c-club when I went out with my friends at a hotel that coincidentally happened to be his and since then we'd always been together."

"Do you still love him?" I questioned.

She wiped the tears that had stained her face and my shirt with mascara before moving to the window. She leaned on the window pane and stared outside into the windy night.

I followed her to the window and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her body stiffened for a second before she releases it with a sigh and leans back to feel the heat of my body against her.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

She ignores my question and continues narrating her story, "Do you know that he has three wives? One is from Kenya, the second is from Ethiopia and the last is from here, Somalia. I refused to marry him because he was already married and because I still loved you. He had promised to stay by my side even if we aren't married.

I told him I was divorced because I still wanted his protection in the country and I was lonely so I decided to get back into a relationship with him. It was never supposed to be this way but eventually it became more than just friendly visits.

He seemed to still be in love with me so he continued to spend heavily on me and the kids. We had a fight one time and you stopped sending me money regularly so I had to get your personal assistant to send me some money. My parent's stopped giving money because they believed that I could live on the salary the company and Lilly helps pay me. After that you continued to give me money but he never stopped since he had no idea that we were still married.

If you're wondering whether he knows you or not, he doesn't but from the way you attacked him, he knew. Thank you for that. I actually do not plan on seeing him again after this."

"Is that all that has happened? What about the previous marriages and the other men? Danmusa especially."

"Adnan was just one of our biggest investors in Nigeria. He visited my parents some months back and since then we'd been seeing each other. About the other men, I was married to them. The first one was Warsame, I was married to him when I was fourteen but the marriage didn't work out because he was a drunkard.

The second one is Zahi, it happened when I was seventeen. At that point, I think my parents were just trying to get me out of their house but the marriage was a sham. He wasn't even a Somalian. He was from Mauritius. He pretended to be from Somalia just to take me for human trafficking. I ran back home the night his friends came to get me and I over heard them saying 'she'll fetch us a great amount of money'.

The third was when I was still seventeen. He was very nice but I just couldn't stay. I still wanted Tadalesh. He was all I thought of day and night.

Now, I'm stuck between you and him because the rest are just money donors to me. I do not care about them. I don't know how to feel about both of you. I'm literally torn between two world's." She turned and took me by surprise with a kiss to my lips.

"Why did you do that?"

She smiled—tears slipping down from her tired looking eyes, "Because I can't help myself."

"Don't you know that I'm addicted to you?"

"And so am I. Mine may be a little worse."

I laughed and pulled away from her and retraced my steps to the closest couch.

"You should call your parents and tell them you won't be home tonight."

"You're letting me stay?"

"You're still my wife, why not?" I shrugged. She pulled out her phone from her bag and sent a message to her mother before dropping it on her lap.

"I still don't know what I did to deserve you."

"It's our destiny."

She shook her head, "I don't deserve half the good things I have after everything I've done to you."

"Come and sit beside me." I tapped the surface of the spot she left earlier for her to sit there, "You deserve everything you've gotten. At least you've gotten a well deserved punishment for your deeds."

She sat and wrapped her arms around my neck, "Karma is real. I'm sure I haven't seen anything yet."

"Stop saying that. I mean, this doesn't mean this is over. I expect you to go and sort yourself out. You're a grown woman, I won't tell you what to do. Just go ahead and do the right thing. And because I forgave you doesn't mean I'll forgive you if this repeats itself."

"Thank you. Let's go and get some rest."

Her phone rings in her hand and she hits the reject button and continues upstairs with me beside her.

"Who was that?" I held her hand, stopping her at the door of the room.

"Tadalesh. I'll block him, he won't be calling, ever!" She assured.

"Ok."

We go into the room and lays on the right side of the bed—where she likes to sleep—while I move to the bathroom to change into my pyjamas.

I joined her as soon as I was done and she wraps her body around mine and soon she falls into a deep sleep.

I realized I couldn't sleep so I detached myself from her sleeping body and moved downstairs to feed my greedy mind what it yearns to see.

Basma El-Nafaty.

Once I was in the living room, I opened the website and continued reading.

The ransom paid by the family remained rejected, even after the sister's received a letter from her on the day of her disappearance that read "Dear Sa'a and Afaf, I have fallen into the hands of that maniac. Don't let me be killed."ince then, they haven't been able to reach her. The El-Nafaty family members who did have the power—Hajiya Hafsy El-Nafaty and her husband Alhaji Isa El-Nafaty—refused to accept the proposal, saying, "I have 4 other children. If I give one child, I'll have the rest kidnapped children." For now her whereabouts are unknown and her family has vowed to find her, even without the help of the police force. It is believed that her kidnapper is Abuja's most eligible bachelor, Jameel Rufai, but no evidence has been found as it was received from a source that he has been in Dubai for a week.

An incoming call marks the end of my reading and I answer immediately, seeing it's from Baba Imran.

"Salam Alaykum Baba."

"Where have you been? I've been trying to get you on the phone!"

"I've also been trying to reach you since I saw your first message."

"See, just get on the next flight to Nigeria. It seems you've gotten in a tangle with the law."

"What happened?"

"You were the last person Basma El-Nafaty was seen in contact with so as of now you're a prime suspect. You'll have to come down here for questioning."

I should've seen it coming after reading the article. I was already connected once I spoke to her.

"Ok I'll be there as soon as possible."

"How is your family?"

"They're are fine Baba. How have you been?"

"I'm better than most days. I went to the hospital to get my drugs without any help. That's progress." He laughed.

"I'm happy to hear that. Baba Imran I want to speak to you about something after my return."

"Why can't it be now?" He asked jovially.

"Because it's too important to be said over a phone call."

"I'll be awaiting your arrival. Please stay safe and send my regards to your family."

"Goodnight. Sleep well."

I hung up and let all he'd told me ruminate in my mind till my 03:00AM alarm broke my chain of thoughts and I rose up to converse with my creator.
____________________________

Ibn al kald: Arabic swear word.

Tozz feek: Arabic swear word.

The rest are in Somali language.

I hope you enjoyed it❤️

~Aisha Safiyanu🥀