KATSINA, NIGERIA. 

MAY, 2007

She'd chosen it for the acceptance. It wasn't perfect, but to her, it was the best. The best dress to wear when she met him, her mother had said. 

"Marriage" she tested the word with distaste on her lips, she clutched the dress to her chest and stood in front of her tall frameless mirror, and tried it with a little chivalry. "Wedding," she whispered faking a grin.

She covered her head with her veil, trying a coy "Nikaah". 

Nope, nothing was working. No sparkles, or butterflies, no rumbling fear or excitement; like it always happened to her. She flung the pink dress carelessly over her bed. 

Pink, it was supposed to bring out the beauty of her dark skin. Her mother said pink did that to her. It brightened her complexion and made her glow. But Maryam loved black more. She didn't know what was wrong with black. Or what was wrong with her relationship status that her parents wanted to courier her to a world afar all decked up in pink, yelling "take me, accept me because no one wants me."

She grunted.

It wasn't a secret hidden tightly in the Pandora box,  it was well known that Maryam Muhammad Maigoro was a drag and a nuisance. At least someone would have her. She huffed out some air. Just a nuisance.

That was Maryam's thought on Monday. Monday was the worse day of her life. But it may become the best day of her life from now onwards if they wanted her. 

She was startled when her door flew open.  The wall forcefully stopped it with a thud making her wince. 

"Maryam you are not taking a backpack to Europe!"

Hajiya Aisha stormed in the room looking horrified. There she found her daughter sprawled on top of her bed. Everything was in its place. The room with twin separate beds, mostly brown with a cream smooth bedspread on both beds. On the one her daughter occupied, except for a tiny dent made by her daughter's small derrière the room looked untouched, a brown and creme rug covered the floor- no suitcase in sight- unlike a room of a twenty-two-year-old girl travelling to Europe for the first time,  the next day.

"Where are your things?"  She asked, her eyes wide, were fixed on the sole bag in the room.

"Mama, I'm not relocating there, do you want me to pack the whole house? They will send me back from the Airport."

Hajiya Aisha pushed into the room, her eyes roamed the small room two of her four daughters shared.  She opened the closet door to see if her daughter had her things stashed somewhere in there that would be worthy of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they'd gotten.

"What will you use there?" She flipped through the first rows of black jilbaabs. "Ya Allahu. Are these what you used to wear? You have no clothes! You don't have a single coloured dress, Maryam."

"I have four, and I've packed all four of them. I've also packed a toothbrush, some underwear and a deodorant, you need not worry about that. Besides, I can always shop there." Seeing that her mother would soon go hysteric on her, Maryam moved forward and held her mother's shoulders tentatively with both hands, who despite being of moderate height, was a head shorter than her.

"Breathe, Mama, I've read somewhere that I can mix and match and get to wear six pieces of clothes for 3 weeks. You see? I'm covered. I got two extra outfits. They are new and coloured too. I can use some time while there and shop a bit to last me the days until I got settled."

Hajiya Aisha placed her fingers on her forehead as if to support it from falling off her face. 

"Maryam, look at me, you will not ruin this. Not this time, not this one. Do you get me? So now will be the right time to drop all the drama, and get things done the way they should be." There was finality in her mother 's voice. 

Maryam held her lips between her teeth, refraining from saying anything that she was sure would not sound good to her mother's ears. She was not doing that. Instead, she nodded. 

"Good. Now get a trolley, perhaps The Pierre Cardin." She muttered, exasperated then gave her a dismissive hand and moved towards the door.  

Maryam stopped herself from telling her mother it was fake. 

Her mother, Hajiya Aisha was beautiful, of medium height and graceful. She was so fair and supple, she glowed. Those genes passed on to her other siblings. Her mother always had her sweet smelling hair beautifully styled or braided into thin cornrows that came down her back, at least she got that part of genes passed down to her. 

Her mother cherished the gold ensemble of her jewellery collection, which was why she refused to let go of them even after their drastic lifestyle change when her father made a slightly wrong investment choice that cost him his position on the top echelon of the Katsina Sesame seeds market. It was the first time he had tried something out of the family business -expanding the horizon he had said- and it was the last time he brought in business for the family. They liked to call it the dip.

Her mother's dresses were always exquisite, that's why she thought Maryam should only wear the finest of clothes, especially now when she was going on 'the journey' of a lifetime. Her feet always painted with henna, red so bright sometimes dark. Her mother was beautiful. But all that her mother was, Maryam wasn't. She wished her mother would get that someday. 

"I have a bag," Maryam called after her mother and plopped back on her bed. Missing her pillow she hit the headboard, making her groan. That must be for almost rolling her eyes at her mother. "Astagfirullah." She mumbled.

"I have a bag full of clothes I hate, and now I may go to Europe headless." She massaged her head with the heal of her palm, alternating between the two. A jarring buzz startled her before she realized it was coming from her pillowcase, a place she hid her phone just to get away from the outer world. 

"The owner is dead." She said into the mouthpiece and switched the phone off. She sometimes really wished she was. 

She sighed and leaned back, this time making sure not to miss her pillow, it took a lot to die and dying must hurt, her head still hurt. It would have been a pathetic matter. But she was sad to actually find that somewhere in a corner in her deep dark heart she really wished she would just die. She didn't want a backpack, she didn't even want to go to London. 

They wouldn't even call it that, they called it "Europe" to make it sound exotic. Or to make people believe she was actually globe-trotting. Yeah, she really wished she could just die and go to Barzakh and keep waiting for qiyaamah. Maybe, just maybe in Jannah, someone may actually take her. The real Maryam.

Yes, and there she would gist with the real Nana Aisha. Even better. 

She drifted to sleep, dreaming of Yogurt and gardens and a young beautiful Arab woman. 

Nana Aisha, mother of the believers.

*****

"Maryam Muhammad Maigoro, wake up don gidanku." 

Maryam scrambled up from her bed, disoriented. She scratched her burning thigh with vengeance. "Why are you mad Feenah?"

"Why am I mad?" Her friend smacked her again. 

"Ahh!"

"Who is travelling without telling me?" Smack! "Who is getting married without me?" Smack! Smack! "Who is breaking the sacred-bond vow? Who is mad?"

Maryam's hands went up in defence. "Ouch! I get it, I get it. I am mad, don't you dare hit me again. You are going to finish my flesh." 

"You're going to get married! Who will go to school with me, what about our plans? We're starting our masters here, ring a bell? Who will I call at midnight to diss about my day? Who would I whine about my monthly breakout with?"

"No, I'm going for a short while, there is a phone network in London, you see? There is a difference, the marriage part will only take place if I don't meet the groom-to-be, and believe me I have every intention of meeting him, so be rest assured, I will be back in a few short weeks and our vow still holds in sha Allah."

"Graduate together, marry together. Just not each other's husbands, because I'm going to kill you if you lay your eyes on my man."

Maryam rolled her eyes, pushing her friend's ankara head wrap backwards it almost fell off her head.  "As if they ever see me. By the way, we graduated together." She scooted off the bed and ran to her closet. She came back with her backpack.

"Now that you are here, you can help me pack. Mama keeps saying this is not enough, I wonder what else I should put in here. I've got everything. I'll get a sweater when I go there. Baba gave me his long coat, can you believe it?"

Nafeesah's mouth went slack as Maryam plopped her backpack on the bed. She walked past her friend to the closet, coming back with an armful of clothes. She climbed a side chair and peeped over the top closet bringing down a huge black bag, which was covered in white dust. She went into the en-suite only to come out with a wet rag. She began dusting the bag. 

"No, I'm not taking that!" Maryam shook her head vigorously, eyes wide. "Are you trying to smuggle me out of the country in that?"

"Yes you are taking it, no offence, but I don't want him to see you in your baggy black dresses, he would think you're mourning the wedding before it even takes place. I do plan on marrying Abubakar, you see, so, I'm not asking you to go there in your full-time-nun-mode. Go there, enjoy yourself- just don't get married there- I will kill you if you do. Now you are having a UK-poshed masters degree in a few short months, and I will be stuck here with my unfulfilled reading fantasy. Waiting to read what you write." Nafeesah finished, her teeth clenched.

  Maryam could only see one thing, she was crazy. If she had an insane best friend like Nafeesah, then she was officially crazy.

"Okay, pack away. You are going to check that thing in. There is no way I'm going to drag something that is twice my size into the plane. And I am going on a vacation."

"There are trolleys there, you know. Village girl. Vacation, masters or marriage whatever excuse they gave you, they are shipping you away from here."

"Whatever, I already hate married life."

Nafeesah narrowed her eyes at Maryam, "You haven't even met the groom, yet."

"That's because there won't be a groom, I know him since I was 0-years-old. Which is why I also know that he will hate me at first sight, with that thing you're packing for me. Imagine him receiving me at the airport to find me carrying something that resembles our ancestor's dead body, bundled in black!"

Nafeesah squinted at her, "Okay, he will hate you a little if you put it that way, but he wouldn't meet you like that. You will be in your pink dress."

Oh, let me die already.  Maryam rolled her eyes.

*****

It had all began as a joke one month ago, a Monday in April. Coming home to her mother's smokey jollof rice was a dream. Maryam still hadn't figured out if her mother's jollof rice was smokey because she had finally nailed the original taste, or if she was always too busy with visitors to time the dish correctly, whichever was it, she loved her mother for leaving the bottom part for her. 

Eldest of four siblings, Maryam was expected to know all that a girl was supposed to know in the kitchen.  And she did, but she had no idea it all had to be put to use this soon.

 That evening after taking back her plate she did the dishes. Her sister, Surayya had come into the kitchen with stealth. Whenever Surayya did the stealth-walk it meant trouble. She was about to reveal something that should remain hidden.

"Baba wants to see you." She said.

"That is scary Sury."

Surayya nodded, confirming her sister's thoughts. "He looks scary."

"Oh my God, do you think he knows?" Her sisters and she considered her affair with writing to be their topmost guarded secret, so if it turned out to be an exposed affair, she didn't know how her father would take that. Especially if he knew the contents of her books.

"Just go in and find out. But Mama looks happy."

"Oh oh, not a good combo."

"I think they are planning on doing something, maybe they got you a car."

Maryam glared at her sister. Surayya knew her weakness over having her own car, it was her number two dream- after becoming the next Virginia Woolf-  but that was never going to happen because her parents were currently sharing her mother's car. And her mother would have a fit if she learned of her secret writing life. So, it would only be logical her father got himself a car first before he got her one. Even though she suspected he was holding back getting a new car on purpose. He had not replaced his car since the dip.  

 Her heart logged in her throat when she saw the exact expressions her sister had just described, etched on her parents' faces. 

"Baba..."

"Aha! Daaso, come in have a seat." Okay! This was a huge red flag. That was the queen's treatment, something worth crying was definitely coming. Her father always made sure she was relaxed before he made her cry, like when he told her that her cat had died. Mus-mus. He had given her a packet of eclairs, she was six.

 Then when he told her that she didn't get her JAMB cut off marks, six years ago. He made her eat ice cream, then he sat her down and told her the bad news. 

Now there was a sweating can of Maltina waiting for her on the side table and her mother was smiling, definitely odd, if it was bad news why would her mother be smiling? But a scary news was definitely coming. 

"So, I've spoken with your Aunt Kulthum, all the necessary arrangements have been made, hopefully by next month if everything is ready you will go there. See the city and when you get your bearings, you start your studies at the beginning of the school session. Your admission has been confirmed. But for now, while you are there you can have a talk with Mubarak and see what comes of it."

Maryam had missed the part where her father had just told her she was having her masters degree at a university in the UK in the near future, her brain sifted all that and only caught the part where they were sending her to see a man. Her cousin, and see if things would work out with him as if at twenty-two she was a hands-down, nobody wanted her, maybe if she was shown around the world she would be lucky enough. 

"Baba, how can you say what you just said?" Upon all people, she least expected her father to say that to her. To agree to anything of the sort to happen.

"Ke!" Her mother scolded, and she clasped her mouth with both palms, realizing her blunder. 

"I'm sorry Baba, but I thought you loved me, how could you gift me away?"

"Who said you were gifted away?" Her mother asked.

"Have you sold me then? Oh God! That will be worse, who will buy me? All bony and black?" Her father was not smiling. So this was not a joke, they were serious, and she was going across continents under the guise of some study-plan so a Man -her cousin- would assess her and see if she was cut to his taste and give his go-ahead for a wedding. Why would they waste their precious time and resources?

They should have just sent her mirror reflection to him and he wouldn't have any difficulties making the choice, after all, she was tall, frameless and shapeless just like the mirror standing in her room. 

It had been what, three? Four years since she last saw him? No man would want a wife like her, they should have saved their air tickets and all the time entailed in the process. They should save their millions and just pay a fraction of that for the same in Nigeria, her father could use the change and get himself a car.  

"Do I have to go Baba?"

"Yes, everything has been finalized. We've already told you, your admission has been confirmed."

"Admission is not finality. I can go to Abuja or Kano or even continue in Zaria for my master's when I'm through. And why wouldn't he come here? I can just study here. Why do I have to go at all?"

"He is busy." Her mother interrupted again. Maryam blinked, oh now she saw it, it wasn't about her studies not even about a stupid vacation. They didn't even bother to ask her which course she wanted to pursue, they just assumed, or decided for her.

"He is busy? I am writing my PGD exams in a few weeks, Mama, I am also busy."

"You are on holidays. Besides, which is better? Doing your PGD here or having a stellar master's degree in Europe?" Maryam wanted to cringe at the 'Y' word again.  But her mother continued, "That way you two will understand each other more."

Somehow she felt her mother was behind all this marriage scheme. Even though Aunt Kulthum was her father's sister, her mother claimed her more for obvious reasons. 

She wouldn't be surprised if she was the one that first suggested the alliance to her aunt, which would be humiliating and doubly awkward considering, the cousin they wanted to pair her with didn't exactly have a 'stellar' record when it comes to marriage.

"Mama, he ran off on his wedding day, why would you think he wouldn't do that again?"

"He doesn't love that girl, his brother does, and that is why she is now married to his brother. Now shut up and go back inside, you need to start getting ready."

Maryam had turned to her father for help. But he shrugged. "Your Aunty Kulthum has called, she requested for you specifically. I've given my consent."

She didn't know why, but she just felt like her folder had just been menacingly signed, sealed and stamped, CLOSED!

*****

That was a month ago, now all plans had been set in motion, she was to leave to a country where she knew none but her aunt and her family, among which was a man who had no idea she was going to be his bride. They told her he didn't know yet, that she was to be a surprise. 

A surprise indeed. Who would reveal the identity of a nuisance before she showed face? From all the plethoras of relatives they had, they decided she was his match, everybody knew why. She wasn't taken, and he was the rebellious one, so they would make the perfect match.

Get ready Ya Mubarak our worlds are about to be toppled, for life! She mused. 

Her Aunt Kulthum had three sons and two daughters. Maryam had always fancied Bilaal, the middle brother, but he had always been closed off, so untouchable, sometimes she considered him boring, he only made sense when he talked numbers. He had helped her on some of her tough assignments whenever he was in town, after all. 

She had even tried setting him up with her friend Nafeesah once when they came on vacations from the UK, but he wouldn't budge. 

Ya Mubarak, now that she thought of him, since the beginning of all the commotion, she hadn't once thought of him as a person. She had only thought of him as the weapon of life destruction to her already skewed life. He wasn't doing much of a damage, the damage had already been done, he was just cremating her. 

He was more of the laid back type, an out there person, who had all the girls flocking around him, wherever he set foot in. She hated those ladies-magnet types, they seemed to think the world started and ended with them. 

Her cousin Mubarak was no exception, he had it all going for him, some hot-shot attorney working for his family's company which was a heavyweight in London's investment development and real estate financial market. With the good looks and an ego that matched. Mubarak was the 'it' man, and she wasn't exactly the definition of an 'it' girl.

Now, look what she got herself into. Where was the king and where was the street mouse? 

She was sure he was going to shout No! from the rooftop of his mansion or castle or whatever those kinds of people lived in. Better yet, he might even run away on their wedding day, that would be so cool. Her very own plot twist. Except she wouldn't have a replacement groom like his once-ditched bride did when he skipped their wedding. She would be lucky if anybody noticed her there. She always went unnoticed.  

On the rare occasions that she did get noticed, she was just there. Plain old, tall shapeless amoeba. Years ago people called her paper, some still did. Paper was her other name. 

Here comes your paper Mubarak Umar Bugaje. "A walking-talking paper." She whispered. 

*****

Okayyy here we are, and here comes Maryam. 😔

Though we have a lot of grounds to cover, do you have a glimpse of where we are headed?

I'm excited and nervous at the same time. This is my first try at a spinoff let's see what we can make of it.

So your thoughts so far...

Who gets Maryam?

Do you have a Nafeesa in your life?😂

Ma'assalam.

Tomorrow is Friday, in sha Allah. Remember to recite Surah Kahf and send loads of salawaat to Nabiyy SAW

Umm Yasmeen💞