Our Stormy Ride

*33 °Ramadan With Luv

Nadia

The new Islamic month had kicked off with the joy of witnessing Ramadan. For most, it met them in good health and faith, while others were trying to deal with the trials that life had suddenly bestowed upon them. Such was the case for the Ziyad family a week ago and so far, they've been trying to pull through the terrifying nightmare. Unfortunately, the men who'd broken into aunt Safiyyah's home are yet to be caught, even though the investigations have been very thorough. It's scary to think that they'd go to such extent just to stop her from exposing their crimes.

When Jamal and I had gone to visit her at the hospital a week ago, we'd met her husband as well as her first son, Qaseem. Though it was my first time meeting him, I couldn't shake off the feeling of Deja Vu that I'd seen him before. If someone had told me both him and Usman were biological siblings, I never would have believed it if I didn't know their parents. Where Usman takes after aunt Safiyyah, Qaseem is like a complete duplicate of his father, uncle Suleiman.

I'd learned he was a writer based in Ghana and he'd taken the first flight back home upon hearing the news. They'd been arguing and trying to persuade her to drop the case, considering her life was now at stake, but she'd refused, saying she'd take her hands off when the criminals are finally behind bars. Though she can't join her colleagues in the court, she still dedicates all her time to work from the hospital bed, corresponding with her partners through calls and emails.

The first day of Ramadan had been a blast, my very first away from home. I was suddenly filled with nostalgia as I remembered observing tahajjud with my family, eating sahur together at the table, the fun we had in the kitchen while preparing for iftaar, and dad leading us in long taraweeh prayers.

A smile touches my lips as the glint of my wedding ring crosses my gaze. Whatever feeling of nostalgia had accosted me that day disappeared eventually as Jamal had filled in the spot where mom, dad and Zahra used to be. We'd began our recitation for the month together, prepared sahur together and fallen asleep after salat.

The strong harmattan wind chills my skin, cutting through my thoughts like an icy blade.
Ah, the perfect November weather.
I reach for the kitchen windows and lock them, pulling my beanie down to cover my ears properly. As much as I love the cold, harmattan season, the dusty wind that accompanies it never treats me kindly. It usually starts from an itchy feeling in my throat, to sneezing and coughing, along with irritating headaches, which sends my mood spiralling downwards. Nevertheless, I'm not going to let it affect my enthusiasm to make the most of this precious month of mercy.

Since it's the weekend, I finish up the little chores I have before settling down with one of my dad's Islamic texts. Though I've gotten used to the quiet ambience that settles in whenever Jamal is away, it doesn't hide the fact that I miss his presence.

He's currently in Nassarawa for a three day conference and will be returning today. We'd spoken on the phone earlier this morning and he'd told me he would be returning later in the evening. I'd been a bit disappointed, since I'd thought he'd like to leave very early. 

He'd been so excited upon receiving an invitation, and at the same time nervous. He reminded me of Jahid in those tiny moments when his vulnerability would show, and I love that I get to see that side of him and so much more. The way his thick brows furrow whenever he's deep in concentration, his relentless love for Fela's songs though he never gets the pidgin words correctly, his willingness to always help me even when he has a truckload of work to do and the way his dimples cause my insides to squirm with a thousand emotions. Ever since I'd confessed to him two weeks ago, he's doesn't miss an opportunity to make me repeat it over and over again, and I doubt I'd ever get tired of saying those words or seeing his reaction.