Inspired by wattpad - Cold rice

The wedding

She felt her before she heard her voice. Her heart racing mouth dry.  She felt hot, sat up excited and scared at the same time. Dare she turn her head, she couldn't help it she had to look. 

The thumping of her heart was so loud she was sure her aunt could hear it. Surrounded in room full of veiled women, covered in incense waiting for the bride to come in. 

There she was,  the cause of her excitement. Dark skinned intelligent  bright eyes, bold unapologetic loud. "Ina gaisuwa" the unknown woman said in Hausa to room brimming with women and children. No one answered the low murmurs of conversation continuing. 

Her skin nearly left her body she wanted to scream in answer to the greeting. "Marhaba", welcome. But she didn't. She watched the room waiting for someone to answer to respond to the greeting to invite this ball of energy into the group. 

Whether it was shyness, or the culture. She couldn't remember anymore what the culture demanded she was a stranger to her people, an oddity, an over exposed picture. None said a thing. They kept on talking to themselves. Scolding children, chattering away. 

"Asslama alaikum", the stranger said to the group again with bold confidence. "Amin wa alaikumul Sallam" the room chorused in answer. That always got them. She could she the triumph in the strangers body language. It was bad form not to answer a greeting of peace with an answer of peace in response. 

She walked in boldly, they scooted over giving her a place to sit. The stranger knew the game, like her she had been playing it since childhood. Unlike her she followed the path that was prescribed for her. 

"Hajiya, kin zo ne",  one of the grande dame's said. Like she hadn't seen the stranger walk in or heard her greeting. 

"Wallahi, ga munan", the stranger answered with a coy smile. Playing the game. 

She couldn't keep her eyes of her. She stared at her phone trying to keep the fidgeting at bay. She must speak to her, she must make this terrifying creature speak directly to her. The chance must not be lost. She grab her aunt's arm, squeezed while whispering, who is that woman. 

The aunt, sensing the urgency in her niece's question but choosing not to over look it said, "which one?"

Which one? Who else was there in this room, what else could make her this agitated, what else was worth the sitting in this heat, with the smell of party food and the sound of screeching children worthwhile. 

Her, the woman who just came in. Her aunt smiled. Oh her. She is my friend. Let me  introduce you. 

Kyakyawa, her aunt called out. Hajiya! 

She felt like she was going to die, right there on the over gilded sofa. Breathe she said to her self. Act normal. 

The lady her aunt called Kyakyawa, looked up away from the group she was entertaining with gossip about the vice president's son's wedding and smiled.

Hajiya Laraba, she smiled at her aunt from courtiers and walked over. They greeted each other and then her aunt introduce her. This is Duniya, Bappa Kaji's daughter. 

Kyakyawa looked at her and said really, isn't that Gameme's first son who married Sarki's last daughter from Gwagwa town? Yes, the aunt replied, you know their family, they are very prominent. 

Of course they are Kyakyawa smiled in that knowing way that had Duniya losing her mind again. 

Yes, her aunt said, "tana son ki da kawa". 

Duniya nearly lost her meal. How did her aunt know. It took a second for her to remember that in her culture there was nothing strange about a woman wanting to be friend with another woman. But the direct translation to her western mind was, "she wants you with friendship" and not the implied meaning, "she would like to be your friend".

Kyakyawa looked at Duniya again with that smile. Say something Duniya's inner voice said. Don't just sit there like a nincompoop. 

But Duniya, did feel like one, a nincompoop. She had always been tongue tied around woman she found attractive. She was hyperaware of her surroundings. This was not the place or the person or the country for that matter to express such feelings. At least not out loud. Not yet anyway. 

She found something bland to say in response which   must have acceptable because Kyakyawa was still conversing with her. Conversing with her and her aunt. 

This wasn't the place and she needed to get her head back in the world of the gentile muslim northern women. 

Aunty, Duniya said. Let me take a picture of both of you. I send it to you as a memento of the wedding. 

Both women smiled at Duniya. She got up and tried to focus the camera on both women even though the view founder only found one. 

This was getting serious, she needed to get out her before she exposed herself. 

Exposed herself as what exactly? Something she could not be. At least not here.