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She was trying to please her, following her and her friends. Bringing up conversations and actions to get her attention and become friends with her. She was trying too hard, she felt it. 

It was unnatural to her, this fawning and attention seeking. 

"Kwo?" Her twin answered in bored tones barely acknowledging her tale. Absentmindedly feeding her grandchild dressed in traditional clothes looking like a mini me of his father. 

"Kin san Mallam ya kara aure?" 

Mallam? Duniya racked her brains, which mallam had got married again? Then she remembered the northern custom of not calling male children by their given names especially first son's. 

Mallam, could be teacher or mister on any given day. And hadn't her twin called her first son Alhaji, instead of his first name as he was named after her father?

She had to make a better effort of remembering these things after all she needed this woman's help.

When she had left almost twenty three years ago after University she had not thought she would have reason to return. She had got her independence, a job abroad. 

It had been at a whim her application she never thought she would get it. No one got good jobs without "help". 

She saw the job application being drafted as she had escorted her cousin's aide to one of the many government offices waiting in the out room while they "yi gaisuwa" in the inner office.

She was restless and bored and had only meant to open the small fridge located by the end of the large desk heaving with official looking papers.

She saw it, right there asking for her to snap it up and she did. It was a circular for a 6 months internship in Cardiff. She had just completed some international online courses, had a passable degree in computer science even though she had never done more than a line of coding she knew what HTML, CSS and Java where meant to do in theory. She had copied the outline of another of her numerous cousin's CV. With a bit of cut and pasting on an old Dell PC. She emailed off the application and forgot about it. 

"Allah Sarki", she said absentmindedly trying to focus on the present. "Barka, yaran sa nawa ne yanzu?"

From her twin's expression she has said the wrong thing. 

"Yaransa nawa! Ba yanzu ya yi auwre ba?"

She hadn't meant to imply the new groom had had children out of wedlock. 

She had to pay attention but she had so many things on her mind. 

"Ato!" Duniya exclaimed if he has added a new wife how was I to know his first had no child with him. It is a fair question she said defensively. 

This was not the smartest tact. 

She needed her twin to vouch for her. 

It's was a weird moniker calling her her twin. She was dark and statuesque where her twin was slight and light skinned. There were from opposite parts of Northern Nigeria she from Sokoto, dry and dusty twin from Kwara green and dusty. 

They had met in boarding school when they were both 9 years old and had stuck together through exams and bullying from senior girls in school. 

Everything was as it should have been in her mind until the faithful day on the last day of school when her best friend in the world told her she was getting married. 

Married? At 14? She could not believe it. In her mind they were married to each other. They were perfect together. She was boisterous and loud while her twin was quiet and shy. She was good at maths and science while her twin loved English and literature. She was messy and impatient while her twin was ever the homemaker, ever the hostess. 

Their friendship was unlikely even then. Her twin's father had introduced a new wife and she was not welcomed home for the holidays. 

Duniya's parental life was no better, she herself was a child of neglect and within the neglect she had carved for herself a sense of freedom if not a sense of belonging. 

You can come home with me for this holiday if you like. She had told her childhood friend as she saw her crying into her hijab. My father has so many of us he would not notice another child. 

Besides he was never there. Neither was the stepmother du jour. 

It had not occurred to her how much her careless act of kindness her struck her twin until years later in their twenties when she had visited her twin in her husband's home after the birth of her second child. A boy was it?

No wonder. Mallam. Of course. It was at his naming ceremony that she had said how much her kindness then as children had meant to her. 

Duniya had brushed it off then. She had been in Kano chasing her most recent heartbreak and the detour to visit her twin was the tonic she needed. 

Well now she needed her twin's help. She had married well in hindsight and was now a woman of means and power in the insular Muslim society. 

They had broken apart when her twin had realised she would never "grow up". Duniya had not understood that for most of her "friends" it had just been a school game. For her it had always seemed right. The game was in writing love notes to boys in the neighbouring school. It wasn't real she hadn't know that one of those silly boys would take it so seriously until her dad had told her his father had asked for her hand in marriage. 

She tried to refocus to the present, remembering her teenage self crying in the alleyway worried she would be married off would not help her current situation. 

She had let her friend down by being herself. 

She looked at her watch. She had just been there for three hours. As a visit from a long time friend it was not uncommon. 

She was bored and impatient she wished she could just get to the point. But her friend was not giving her any quarter. 

The child started screaming it seemed to Duniya for no reason. Everyone started had the child fallen, hit its head, had something bitten it? Or pinched it? 

It wasn't even a cry, there was no tears just screaming noise.

Duniya needed to get out. "Bari na je nayi Sallah she said to her friend has rushed up even through it was that odd time between the Azahar afternoon prayer and LaAsr late afternoon prayer. 

It didn't matter she needed a distraction she needed something to take her mind of the dead end that were her choices. 

"Aunty anna kiran ki", said a small child of seven. "Ni?", she said puzzled. Who could be calling her. She walked to where the cars were being parked and stood in-front of a white salon car. 

"Shiga", a veiled voice said from inside the dark interior. Curiosity rather than sense overtook her. Who could resist a mysterious woman. She sat in the front seat and laid her head on the headrest as the car smoothly pulled away. 

The radio muttered a show in pidgin English which distracted her for a while. The unlit street making masquerades of trees and rocks as they drove by. The car seemed to be slowing down. She place her hand on the gear box just as the driver was shifting the gear to park and squeezed hard saying drive some more. The driver looked at her through the veil and pulled into the road. 

She loved being driven she didn't mind if the road was not tarred full of pot holes and open gutters. She enjoyed the feeling of being on a journey escaping from her life. 

More? The driver asked. She nodded in the dark. 

Then we will need some more fuel. She felt the harsh light of the florescent forecourt and the strong smell of petrol roiling her stomach. This was not her favourite. 

There were murmurs while the petrol attendant asked if it was a savings or current account for the card payment device. 

She must have dozed off she did not recognise the landmarks. Are we still in Abuja? She asked drowsily. 

Would you be upset if we were not? The driver asked. 

No, she didn't think she cared. 

It seemed like a farm with a guest house. Is this yours? 

The family's came the reply but we will not be disturbed. 

And if I want you to be disturbed she thought to herself. 

She followed the veiled lady into the low ceiling sitting room. Come to the bedroom you need to rest. 

She hoped it was not a euphemism because she was suddenly tired. 

I need help she said out loudly to the room. Her hostess looked at her. 

You want me to help you?

The question wasn't coy and seemed honest. 

Can you help me? Duniya cried out. 

For a price. 

The response made her laugh out maniacally. At last an honest response. 

The veiled woman stood apart from her with a worried frown on her brow. 

Am I scaring you? She asked belligerently.

She wanted to scare someone to be in control for once it seemed to her

Here, she was handed a glass of sweet milky tea. Milk was not her friend but there was something else laced in the tea. 

It was odd, how for a society that where alcohol was forbidden there seemed to be other forms of stimulants easily available. 

She felt drowsy and her body giving way. 

What do you need help with she heard as if from far away. 

I need to get my name off the list. 

Ah! The list. 

Why? What does it matter if it is not true you have nothing to worry about. 

Even to her cloudy brain the response sounded trite. 

I'm on the list. Truth has no baring. I need to get off. Do you know who can help me?