BAUCHI STATE, NIGERIA.

Mahnoor was forced to come down to Bauchi State to grieve her own husbands death courtesy of her father-in-law. She even saw Aman at the burial, she was inside a car waiting for everything to happen in front of her, he was accompanied by bunch of police officers one had think they were there to guard him instead of making sure he won't run away. That wasn't her concern though, she is more focused on her husband's body lowered to the ground. He knew he was going to die, he knew it. He wanted to tell her something but she wasted time thinking he has more left.

She suspire, it's already the seventh day and she could feel his death still burrowed deep in her. Not waking up in his arms, not able to feel him around her or call him whenever the hell she wants to. Not even his own calls to ask about her health and how she is coping without anything to do in the house except arranging and rearranging their furniture. She missed those little calls to ask her not to make dinner and they can go on a date that evening. None of them come now, her phone stopped ringing with that special ringing tone she's used for him.

The story behind her coming to Bauchi State.

The minute she finally rearranged her thoughts and feelings, she took her phone and called the only person she could think of, Fadwa, Asad's older sister. At first she didn't answer the call so Mahnoor messaged her that it is urgent and related to Asad too, she called herself. When she told her about the death, Fadwa was quiet then Mahnoor heard a loud sob and hung up the phone because she doesn't want to start crying too in the hospital. She needs to know what needs to be done before she cries.

But she broke down right there, shoulders wracking violently and the cold tiled floor underneath Asad's bed is sending unpleasant chills all over her body. He lied there motionless, his face closed with white cloth. She wanted to shout, throw away things but remembered how sinful that sort of crying is and she wants nothing but his peaceful rest. Her only glint at that moment was the fact that a nurse comforted her that her husband's last words were beautiful and he shall rest in peaceful abode. That doesn't mean she cannot cry for him, she did and is still doing so to her pillow every single night since his demise.

She is now always lost is her squalor, not even her son's death hit her like this mainly because her son was murdered and her only peace was getting justice, she didn't dwell on that fact much until later, maybe that was why she didn't cry buckets but Asad's, she cried with the mere remembrance of him. Something he's done for her, someone doing something just like he does especially living inside the main manor.

She refused to go to the one she's lived in with Aman, too many memories there that promise sleepless nights and endless pain. Her son, all the memories she has with him is there and then her son's murderer also lived there and there are lots more memories of Asad there too so that wasn't even an option. Coming here is enough persecution, she is going back to Abuja, her husband's house and do all the necessary things a widow is supposed to do after her husband's death. She wouldn't just permit them to take him away while she rot there in Abuja without seeing her husband buried.

There are so many people now in the house, more than hundreds of them from geriatrics, young adults and children of all age. Before going to give condolence to Hajiya Hadiza, they stop where she is currently sitting to give it to her first then move forward. Her eyes are downcast, all she wants to do is go to her room and sleep for forty eight hours and not wake up till much later. She just wants to keep sleeping so she can stop hurting like she is doing. So many losses, she cannot do it all alone.

A lady walked in looking disheveled, mucus rushing down her snobby upturned nose, her eyes so red you could barely detect the whiteness in them. She is wearing on a grease abaya and pine green chiffon veil wrapped around her head in low shoulder style, it is also frowzy but tractable. She is looking around the house in horror, everyone is now quiet and staring at her because the way she rushed in breathing heavily got second of thirds attention in the room and it's no secret Nigerians or everyone likes to gossip so they turn to the source of attention.

She slowly traipsed in, throwing away the tote bag in her hand on the floor. Standing perfectly in the middle of the living room, she looked around again as if waiting to see something and when she caught it -eyes on Hajiya Hadiza's hijab cladded form, Zubairu Ajuji sisters' eyes filled with tears- she wailed and drop to the carpeted floor. Startled, the people in the room were forced to stay where they are and only moved when they noticed that she is really crying hysterically and her words are muffled inside the carpet. Mahnoor didn't move, only frowned at the drama.

Her husband died but she didn't do this nonsense but this drama queen that's probably just a girlfriend or crush out there is coming here with her charade. She faced the other side of the room as more guests walked in. The Ajujis know way too many people from in-laws, business partners, other politicians and so on. She is tired of answering their prayers, not even able to answer most of the ones speaking Hausa. A few people came and greeted her in French, her parents are there too with her cousin sister Farrah. They landed the next day after Asad's demise.

She heard the muffled sounds of the girl talking in gibberish and some people trying to get her to stop crying. She wanted to hiss at them for caring what she does but left everything within her, she is not ready for another round of gossip in the society.

An older woman's voice was heard in the quiet room, the commotion got everyone silent. "Dear, what's wrong? Are you lost?"

Sniffs, sobs and then another loud wail of someone giving birth to a baby with extra large head. Pun intended. "Asad is really dead?" Maybe one of them gave her an answer with a nod because the outcry she let out this time around staggered Mahnoor to a standing position.

She stood watching the girl wail on and on, people peeping to see whether it's genie. So much attention in a house filled with people that are grieving. Whatever attention seeking method is this needs to end right away. She walked to the girl, raise her head a bit but the lady wasn't having it, she yanked her head away from Mahnoor's hold and bury it into the carpet to continue crying.

Gritting her teeth, Mahnoor asked through clenched teeth. "Who are you and why the hell do you think you can just come in here and cause an upheaval? Don't you know we are grieving and have no need for entertainment or attention seeking peasants?"

At this, the girl stopped sobbing, it came to a cessation like someone removed a battery from her body but her shoulders continued to wrack excessively. Slowly, the girl raised her head and look up at Mahnoor in scrutiny then stood up like she's been injected. Mahnoor raised one left fine carved brow at the movement but said nothing, waited for the girl to talk to her with eyes filled with recognition. Mahnoor doesn't know her anywhere though, she's never seen her so why is the girl looking at her like she knows her somewhere.

"You!" The girl hissed, invading Mahnoor personal space in what should be an intimidating yet threatening stance.

"What? Do you know me?" Mahnoor cocked her head to the side with profound inquisitiveness, waiting with forced patience for the girl to say something.

She only narrowed her eyes then decided to drop the bomb when she saw the little lilt of annoyance in Mahnoor's eyes, she did it intentionally. "Yes, I know you pretty well. I'm Azima, Asad's wife."

The whole room got more quiet, not even a gasp was discharged albeit each and every single one of them is surprised and galvanized to the core. No one dared to move a feet or change position of their hands, no one even dared to let out a cacophony, afraid the moment will disappear. No one hates drama, everyone crave and lust over it and this is coming for free like those in movies. Another wife? Just what in the fucking hell is going on in this house? They should be grieving but instead, more drama is emerging from each angle.

Mahnoor chuckled innocently, totally disregarding the seriousness in her words and eyes. "Yeah, and I am Queen Elizabeth."

Filled with fury, the girl narrowed her eyes. "I am not joking. I am Asad's wife or should I say, his first wife. He married me few months after your son's death before he started developing more bonafide feelings for you. I didn't know he remarried until he died though I've seen so many signs, I never paid any heed." She crossed her arms." So you are the second wife." She looked at her with a look of distaste, filled with hatred and loathe.

Okay, this is not a joke. Mahnoor looked at the girl for a few minutes then her mother-in-law whose mouth is now scrubbing the whole tiled floor back to her sisters-in-law that have their brows knitted like a baby woolen cardigan. It's official, this woman's doesn't know what she is saying and the last thing Mahnoor want is drama when she's just lost her husband few days ago. She needs to go and pray for him some more, have time for herself and take the much needed bath she hadn't taken in three whole days. This woman shall be dealt with after that.

Pivoting to the other occupants of the room, Mahnoor smiled at them. "I'm sorry but I'll have to cut this short. I'm going up to my room for a much needed rest. Thank you all so much for your prayers, it means a lot. I hope you all get back to your homes safely. Goodbye."

She left the living room rubbing her forehead to keep the splitting headache from dissociating her head into two. She's been carrying around migraine without taking medicine or resting so it keeps augmenting with new tensions striking up from nowhere. Like this girl that's trying to make things hard for her.

Making it to the room they gave her, a guest room with grey theme and white here and there. She made it to the ensuite, strip out of her cloth and took a quick bath then walked out in a short towel only to gasp at the sight of the lady she left downstairs. She scowled, who gave her the permission to come into her room like that? She needn't have to say a word for the girl to meander around, her eyes promptly lowering to the floor as though she's never seen a woman half naked. Mahnoor rolled her eyes, the girl is really getting underneath her nerves now.

"I'll wait for you outside." She announced, already making her way to the door.

"No, don't come back because I will not entertain you." Mahnoor called out at her retreating figure and she stopped, frowned then turn to look at her, her eyes not wavering low now.

"You would want to know what I'm going to talk to you about. Whether you believe it or not, I'm your husband's first wife. Just like Asad was your husband, he was also mine and I have a lot to tell you. That's if you want to know as they are crucial too." She maintained eye contact, her eyes piercing Mahnoor's.

She's learnt her lesson for not listening to what Asad had wanted to tell her before died, she should not make the same mistake twice. One lesson is enough. "I'll search for you when I'm ready to hear about it. I need rest and I don't want to hear anything that will rob me off of that."

Not satisfied with the answer but she still nodded and left the room. Mahnoor suspire, she is starting to believe what the girl is saying but she doesn't want to do so because that is like not believing her dead husband. But then again, men can never be trusted a times. Maybe he didn't tell her because he thought she wouldn't have married him? But this is important like her co-wife had said and even Asad too. Maybe he wanted to tell her about this too? God, why are things getting so convoluted now?

She changed into another comfortable set of cotton Parmesan gown with scoop neckline and regular sleeves. She lied down on the bed, forcing herself to stop thinking about Asad and think about the future. If she leaves this house, she won't be able to live alone in that house in Abuja where she knows no one. She might go crazy being all alone and confined in a house so she will just stay here for the one hundred and thirty days of iddah, reasonable excuse. Going back to her parents house is not an option at all, that's not even an excuse to a mad person.

Soon after, sleep enveloped her and she kept rolling on the bed till much later into the night around nine in the evening. It was a knock from the door that actually awoke her, she squinted at the person that's knocked the door and realized it was Jameela. All the sisters were very nice to her since she came but she is not sure if they are factual about it or just going with the flow because of her husband's death.

"Good evening, rise and shine. Oh, that's not it since it's already very much late and dark. I thought I should wake you up for dinner and prayers." She trudged in, talking in her quiet voice that's very much comforting.

Mahnoor sat up on the bed, leaned her back supine against the headboard. "You are such a sweetheart. I'm so hungry. I can't remember the last time I ate good healthy food, feels like centuries ago."

"When you have many chefs in the house? No, we don't want another sad news." Jameela acted like she is scolding her but her smile is unwavering. She placed the tray on the bed beside her where she won't be able to pour with a random turn.

Mahnoor beamed, draw the tray closer to her to view what is in there. Boiled sweet potatoes, beef sauce, cocktail and ice cream in another bowl. Her stomach growled so hard at the sight, indicating she shouldn't waste further more time and feed it. For the last three days, she only takes tea three times a day and that is all she needs to survive then the water she drinks here and there. Thank God for this great sister-in-law of hers, she is one in a billion for thinking about this.

She devoured everything in the plate then turn to the woman and burped unladylike. She smiled sheepishly, taking the spoon beside the ice cream bowl and started devouring that too slowly while striking a conversation. "What do you think about that Azma girl? Do you think she is telling the truth?"

Jameela sighed, her eyes fluttering close. "I believe her because he once told me about a girl he likes but I don't know when they got married. She won't lie about that, she knows who she is dealing with. Father won't let her go scot-free if she is lying so she'd better set up a good story."

Mahnoor felt a little pinch in her chest at the first sentence of Asad liking another girl before. Why didn't he tell her about it? Oh, Asad, why this secret of all things? He thinks she can cope up with things after his demise and she won't be jealous? If only he knows how she is feeling right now. She wants to draw every single strand of hair away from the girl's head then come down to her teeth and remove each one from her gums. Bitterness suddenly took over, something burning in her stomach all in the name of fucking jealousy. She hates this kind of feeling when the one she is being possessive over is dead!

"I don't know why he kept it a secret from me but I'll interview her now. Where is she?" She has lost her appetite, the ice cream long forgotten in her hand as it melts.

Jameela hesitated at the sudden movement, standing up recklessly. "She's in the bedroom down the hall, by your left. Be careful please."

Smiling at her good natured sister-in-law, Mahnoor nodded before leaving. She walked down to the room counting the doors then reached the one at the end of the hallway by her left, that's the only door by the left. She knocked once before entering, her mind more intent on avenging what she did to her by entering her room without permission. This girl should be glad she even knocked, she should've just badged in and startle the living daylight out of her.

She is there standing by the window staring out into the night expressionless. She yawed around and regarded her without surprise as if she was expecting her, Mahnoor scowled. This is not about the importance of what she wants to say, she just wanted to talk to her.

"Get down to business, I'm not here for pleasantries. What is so important that you had to badge into my room while I was in the bathroom?" Mahnoor remarked tersely, her shoulders bunched and expression pinched. She can't believe this girl is Asad's first wife, what the hell.

He really did marry her? Why? Oh, why did he do that to her? He should be lucky he is dead, fortunate bastard because she would've killed him with her bare hands for keeping this a secret.

Azima took her time, folding her arms underneath her bosom. She tilted her head to the side and watched her closely, as if trying to search out something she wants to criticize but came up with nothing. She gestured for her to sit on the bed or sofa but Mahnoor only raise a brow and tap her foot on the floor earnestly. Her long volume hair sweeping and jolting all around her back at the movement something that didn't escape Azima's eyes.

She would've married Mahnoor had she been a man, she thought irritably. No wonder Asad was smitten, she is drop dead beautiful. All cute and pretty with her small straight nose, ivory fair skin, bee stung sinful lips and nice body.

"I just want the answer, don't beat around the bush." Mahnoor pressed, too impatient to even pretend or force herself.

Azima gave a one shoulder shrug then lean back against the window pane. She twisted her lips first as if not wanting to say it but then, she did. "Your first husband Aman never divorced you. Your so called marriage with Asad was all a sham, a scum."