5001

She woke up to voices whispering above her head. She dreamily rubbed her cheeks on the soft covering, the material rich and downy. She wondered if it was from the Middle East or Asia. Her Aunt though she had never had a formal education apart from the Islamiya,  she was so worldly and was the most intelligent person in her life. 

She could spend hours listening to her talk. She wished she was her mother or at the very least she that she would adopt her. 

She had the idea that she would ask her. Today! Why not?

Toh! kin yi bakuwa. A voice that was not her aunt said not unkindly describing her prone form as a "visitor". She wanted to get up angry and say something. 

But she didn't, she lay there wanting to prolong this time in her aunt's presence for longer. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling and wanted to run her fingers over the material. She was going to ask her aunt to give this covering. That way she would always remember her when she travelled. She was always travelling. And then there was school for her. 

Why was the world trying to separate them she thought, she could feel her body heat up and tense. She was going to have to get up and stop pretending to sleep as it was getting obvious she was not. 

She opened her eyes and saw the "nasty" woman lean into her aunt and placing her mouth on her aunts. 

She was frozen but something clicked in her. She recognised herself in this moment. Something became clearer to her about herself. 

Her aunt did not react to her friends action, except for a slight move of her head towards the bed. Towards where she lay pretending to sleep. 

Did her aunt know she was pretending? 

"Tana bacci", her aunt's friend said, looking towards the bed. Ki ce dai, bakiya so na, she sounded bitter. Her aunt did not react to the taunt. Of course I like you, she responded. Then gestured towards the bed again. 

Her aunt's friend did not seem convinced. Friends can be close she responded. Tell me the truth. Have you found someone else? 

Her aunt looked at her friend sadly but said. Should we get something to eat? She is going to be hungry when she wakes up.

Why are you always concerned about her, and if she eats?  I want to eat too but you don't seem to care about what I need. 

Her aunt walked to the one of the set of boxes and brought out some expensive looking materials. Come and have a look at this, she said. I got this at a steal from a visitor from Mali. Have you seen colours like this?

Her friend walked towards her, the anger leaving her body some. She took the edge of the material while her aunt held the other end and stretched the material so they could see the graphic designs and weave patterns. The colour is so bold, and it doesn't wash off or fade. Malian's have gone far. 

Yes, yes they have? Her aunt looked at her friend and  raised her hand towards her friend's face. They have gone far she said as she brushed her chin. 

Her friend lowered her chin as her aunt cupped her face. It was such a tender gesture that Duniya had to get up. She did not want to intrude. So she yawned loudly and stretched on the bed. 

I see your "bakuwa" has woken up. Her aunt's friend said not pulling away. 

Yes, my aunt said looking at Duniya on the bed, smiling. She knew. My "bakuwa" has finally woken up. 

Duniya felt embarrassed but pretended to rub her eyes. She sat up and said, Aunty where have you been I have been waiting for you.

Her aunt replied does your step mother know where you are? 

Duniya did not reply but stared at her aunt's friend's face and aunt's hand still reaching out, touching her face. 

Is this your friend, Duniya said to her aunt. Yes, yes she is my dear dear friend, Tsoro. Tsoro, this is my nosy cousin Duniya. Who must go home before her step mother gets her into trouble again. 

But I haven't eaten anything Duniya said. You know I am always hungry and they don't give me anything to eat.

Duniya, her aunt said. I am not your mother. Duniya looked crest fallen at her aunt's harsh words. Her aunt went into her purse and took some notes. Here she says, buy yourself something eat on your way home. 

Duniya was not happy but money meant sweets and treats. Besides she really must get home. It was almost "Maghreba" and her father had warned her she must be home before the Maghreb prayer. 

I'm going to use the toilet first she announced. Did you see my bike, I rode my bike here. Well it is not my bike, its Hamma's but he doesn't ride it. It might as well be mine. 

Yes her aunt said, I saw the dirty bike tracks all over my house. If it wasn't late I would make you clean it before you left. 

Duniya jumped up excitedly. I could clean it tomorrow? I could come back tomorrow and clean the mess. I don't mind. I could tell Yaya, that I made a mess in your house and you said I had to come back and clean it as punishment. 

Her aunt looked at her gleeful face. I might not be home Duniya when you come to clean the mess. Duniya felt crestfallen, she wanted to see her aunt. She wanted to be around her aunt. She had so many questions, many, many things she wanted to know or be around. 

Things she did not know but she understood like how she understood the sun brought warmth to her skin but did not really know how.

Her aunt's friend Tsoro was folding the material they had been holding slowly. Not looking at Duniya or her aunt. 

I thought you needed to go to the toilet, her aunt asked her. 

I did, I do. Duniya got up and walked towards the toilet, it was outside of the aunt's rooms, away from the main buildings. It was a row of cubicles with a toilet fitting on the the ground which Duniya squatted over and eased herself. Thinking about what she had seen and heard. 

Would Tsoro be there tomorrow when she came to clean up the mess her bike had made? She had made up her mind that she would come tomorrow regardless of what her aunt said. She would tell her stepmother, Yaya tonight. Take her punishment which was probably going to be the strike of a thin tree branch to the back of her calves. 

It was going to be excruciating, especially as her calves were already sore from the cycling. She would find a salve for it, maybe her aunt would apply a salve on her.

That would be nice. Almost worth the thrashing she was sure to receive tonight. She thought of the notes of naira her aunt had given her. She had left in on the bed. 

She reached for water in the "buta" and rinsed herself. She shook the excess water, rinsed her fingers and pulled up her pants. 

She walked with purpose to her aunt's apartment, noting the outside lights had been switched on? The "mai gadi" must have returned to his post. Or had he been around when she had arrived earlier today but refused to answer her salaama?

The sneak, she thought. 

Assalamu alaikum, she said as she pulled back the curtains to her aunt's apartment and walked straight to the room without waiting for her response. 

Her aunt was lying on top of the cushions on her bed with her friend Tsoro lying next to her, facing her and talking quietly. 

Her aunt laughed and her chest moved with the action. Duniya stood and stared. The recognition hit her again. She stood there confused. 

Here, Tsoro took the money she had left on the bed and handed it to her. Don't forget your pocket money Duniya she said, in a sing song voice Duniya did not trust. 

She walked over to the bed, took her money, looked at her aunt and Tsoro. 

Well, she said. I am going. 

Good night her aunt said not getting up. 

Good night Duniya said. 

And reluctantly left the room. She wasn't hungry anymore. She took her bike and walked out the compound. 

She did not ride her bike, not caring if she got home before Maghreb, she walked past the area of her tormentors, spoiling for a fight but they were not there. 

She heard, the call of the Adhan, for prayers and continued walking. At least she had left her veil on the bed. She would have to return to collect it she justified to herself. 

What was Tsoro and her aunt doing. There was something between them she was sure of it. But was she? She had a vivid imagination her step mother had told her often. She saw meanings in things that was not there. 

But she had felt a recognition. She had felt that she was around someone like her. She did not know the name of it or the feeling. 

She did like boys, of course she did. She had a boyfriend after all. 

She had a friend who was a boy who had told her at nine years old that she was his wife and she was going to marry him. She did not object to the presumption. That is what women did. They grew up and married men. The cooked, cleaned, maintained the house and had babies. They were respectful to their mother in laws and did whatever their husband's told them to do. They made their husbands happy and in return they went to paradise where Allah would reward them with all their hearts desires. 

She had never questioned that and was looking forward to excelling at being a dutiful wife. 

What was thistoday? What did she feel? What was this thing. This recognition. This home.