Chapter 1
It was Friday morning, thankfully, the end of a tough week. Omolara had spent the week attending various meetings, overseeing operations in one of the departments, and working on an ingenious marketing idea for their existing company portfolio, one she assumed would increase her company's profits, yet the outcome wasn't promising. Most prospective investors she met were novices, and the word 'risk' seemed off-putting. Moreover, persuading foreign investors to buy into a business concept from a country with a government that remained rotten and impotent was a far too gruelling task, which left her feeling drained and uneasy as she got herself together for work that morning.
Shoving away every unpleasant thought, Omolara reached for her car keys and touched up her lipstick one last time in her hallway mirror to avoid looking like a zombie. She would not refer to herself as a narcissist, but a quick glance at the mirror, and she was instantly flooded by self-adulation.
She had tried to keep herself in the prime physical condition of a thirty-year-old woman; she would still refer to herself as newlywed since she is still fondly referred to as "Amariya", a bride in the Hausa community.
In the absence of Nathaniel, she had preoccupied herself with aerobics. She would attend her 5.30 a.m. ten-kilometre jog starting from her new residence at Sultan Road, detour through Magajin Rumfa Way, come out along Ahmadu Bello Way, come down to the roundabout and turn left back home.
She moved closer to the mirror, her eyebrows tangled in a cranky frown, as she took a deep breath, still looking upon her plump image and the snug fit of her clothes. Despite her attempts to stay fit, her constant battle with loneliness and boredom had led her to seek comfort in food by consuming copious amounts of snacks, ordering pizza for dinner, ice cream for dessert and chips while watching TV.
It now dawned on her that the traditional African belief that newlyweds gained weight because of marital bliss was a fallacy on her part. Rather, the constant feelings of loneliness and drudgery exacerbate depression, lead to a desire for more food and, consequently, weight gain, an intricate web of events.
She opened the front door, and a blast of hot air struck her face, making her sweat. God, this heat is stifling, she thought in irritation.
Walking to her car, she pulled the scarf loose, dropped it on the passenger's seat and closed the door. The drive from Sultan Road to her office at First Bank on Murtala Muhammed Way seemed never-ending. Traffic crawled along the road, but she didn't mind. As the Assistant Head of Operations in the bank, she enjoyed driving a comfortable and air-conditioned Honda SUV, with all expenses paid. She beamed confidently, happy with how well her sacrifices had paid off.
She admired the rows of well-built houses with nicely mown lawns through the windshield. Some home garages were open, revealing expensive cars ready to join the highway. Children with lunch boxes waited eagerly to start another day at school. She glided gently through the serene settlement on the macadamized wide-laned road.
She marvelled at the sharp contrast between here and the neighbourhood she grew up in, Sabon Garri, a sprawling cosmopolitan neighbourhood in Kano primarily inhabited by non-Hausa residents. This area was bordered by the enormous Sabon-gari Market to the east and the airport to the west. This place had a life of its own, different from the strict Islamic moral principles that guided the daily social activities of the Hausa community. The wide streets were lined with shanty houses in neat rows bordering each side of the narrowly tarred roads, periodically dotted by annoying potholes.
The clashes between the communities were prevalent, primarily stemming from new political, religious, and economic disparities. These conflicts often had their roots in economics and religion. However, despite the tensions, the desire to survive strengthened the determination of non-residents. Consequently, the overall atmosphere gradually shifted from hostility to a begrudging indifference, accompanied by mutual respect.
This transformation ultimately paved the way for a peaceful coexistence among churches, mosques, and motels, albeit in an uneasy truce. Local law enforcement played a crucial role in maintaining this fragile peace, as they had become highly efficient in suppressing problems, no matter how severe they escalated. Valuable lessons from the 1991 riot had been learned, resulting in a more proactive approach to preventing conflicts from spiralling out of control.
The Kano riots, which used to be more widespread, had decreased to just two days of rampage. The first day was typically the most frightening, while the second day was mostly for show, as the element of surprise was gone and everyone was prepared. By the third day, businesspeople had formed lines on opposite sides of the road: non-indigenes on France Road and Hausa business communities on Murtala Mohammed Way. They eagerly awaited the opening of the market, which was located between these two roads.
The Sabon-gari market was the weak point of Kano during these crises. Every Kano resident relied on the market for their livelihood, and it was inconceivable that hooligans could hold the town hostage. The troubles usually began with a well-coordinated stampede by the hooligans, which emptied the entire market in just a few minutes. There were rarely direct attacks inside the market; there were no specific targets, just people conducting their business. Kano could easily be Nigeria's most peaceful and accommodating, but religious bigotry, politics, and worsening economic conditions caused social unrest. These events were orchestrated by a disgruntled political adherent who manipulated religious sentiments and recruited hordes of poorly raised boys from neighbouring states to unleash terror.
The Sierra Leonian district is decrepit, with houses worn and rundown. This neighbourhood's hard-working artisans called it their home, from bricklayers to plumbers and electricians. The district's burgeoning population led to the proliferation of various establishments - hotels, brothels, churches, and even the occasional mosque. Amidst the chaotic scene, loudspeakers screeched with a piercing intensity, shattering the tranquillity of the evening air. It was an experience that left you feeling bewildered and disoriented, down to the very core of your being. Seeking solace, many sought refuge in a nearby beer parlour, where the promise of a few cold beers and a steaming bowl of pepper soup provided a brief respite for their frayed nerves. It was within the confines of this neighbourhood that she had spent most of her childhood and adolescence until the day she married Nathaniel.
Her social status changed significantly in over two years, but she was proud of her humble beginnings. Now, Omolara lived in a government housing development for high society and expatriates. She missed watching children playing hopscotch outside, some digging holes and sandcastles at the playground. And yet, Omolara loved Kano with its ancient city walls and hot weather all year round. It was unthinkable to live anywhere else, especially when she couldn't deny that her heart yearned for Nathaniel.
She pictured his charming smile and how his blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity whenever he spoke about a new interest. He was the perfect gentleman with short brown hair, neatly combed to the side, and a well-trimmed beard accentuating his strong jawline. Nathaniel was all she ever wished for. They met on his first visit to share the good news about Jide's scholarship.
A sense of deja vu returned to Omolara's mind as she remembered their dramatic wedding ceremony; it felt like it had happened yesterday. From their traditional African Yoruba outfits to the vibrant church ceremony at the Saint Thomas Cathedral on Airport Road, the same place her parents got married. The smell of the food, the harmonious music, and beyond-usual guests...She closed her eyes to ponder again on the perfect exchange of their vows to the wedding reception with a hundred invitees held in a garden to the surprise romantic slideshow played by Jide. A local Punch newspaper featured their wedding story, calling it a fairy tale with a spark of energetic African culture. The most thrilling moment was when Nathaniel said, "You will always be my African queen."
It still made her feel dizzy with excitement.
Pushing back the trance, she arrived at work a little later than planned, where the ever-cheerful security guard, Solomon, opened the gate. She went through the lobby and took the elevator to the second floor. Although it was only 8:30 a.m. Ola Adams, the bank manager, and the other employees were already working. Ola didn't like the staff coming in late - he said it was wrong for business, set a bad example for other employees, and impacted the company's productivity.
Ola stood six feet tall and had broad shoulders; Ola would pass for a price fighter if were not donned in the usual black suit, blue shirts and red tie, which is their dress code. He is handsome with a square face and a beautiful, heartwarming smile that spreads ear to ear.
She stepped into his plush, well-furnished office.
"Good morning, Ola."
Ola looked up. "Come in, Omolara," he said honestly to her, a look of grave concern in his eyes. "I have disturbing news and an awkward assignment for you". He whispered through clenched teeth, almost in a hoarse whisper, but holding his gaze while she reeled into the room and sank heavily into the comfortably padded leather seat across from Ola's desk, fearing he could hear the sudden thundering beat of her heart.
"I received a letter yesterday from the board of directors. I'm to lay off some employees, including you." He retorted.
Omolara's heart sank deeply to the pit of her stomach, eyes widened and grew misty in shock and disbelief. She rubbed them to keep tears from falling.
"This can't be happening," she said in confusion as her voice turned to a whisper.
Ola stood up and tried to console her.
Her tears were now like raindrops from a tiny cloud.
"This is a dilemma I can't escape," Ola said tightly.
"Since implementing the new economic policy under this bloody military government, we have lost many promising business investments, which would have increased turnover. We are doing badly, and even all your creativity and ideas are ineffectual. We might be heading for liquidation if we don't lay off some employees." He ripped a page from his notebook and pushed it across the desk to her.
"Here are the names of the employees; write their letters of termination and deliver them, please. And Omolara—I did everything possible to stop them. Believe me, I did."
"I guess it wasn't enough," Omolara said.
She stared at him in disbelief, trying to understand the situation. But deep in her heart, she knew that Ola would really have done his best for her, and judging by the degree of remorse, she understood he could only have managed to take this decision at the threat of losing his own job; he is a nice man to have worked with.
Still in a state of shock, Omolara unsteadily entered her office and began to type the termination letters for herself and her colleagues. As her fingers furiously worked the keyboard, teary-eyed, she was undergoing convolutions of deep-seated emotions such as dejection for losing the job and having to say goodbye to her colleagues. She felt sorry for the Manager who made a tough decision that he was forced to make. She also felt anger at the circumstances that led to the termination, followed by the fear of the insecurity of being unemployed.
She felt gratitude, too, for the opportunity to work with the Manager and the colleagues who were supportive, friendly, and professional and consequently, the skill and experience that she gained brought an eerie sense of hope as this will allow her to pursue other interests.
At noon, she'd contemplated skipping lunch altogether, engulfed as she was in dolour, but choosing to sulk all day may not be a better alternative, so Omolara got to her feet abruptly, took her bag and walked briskly out of the bank premises; if for nothing else, she needed the air. It was bad enough that the head office had decided; recapping the situation a million times added more salt to her wounds and made her feel bitter. It was time to look to new beginnings, just like her father would say, "You will never get far if you waste your time fixing broken glasses."
She settled at a table in The Pounded Yam Joint, a prominent restaurant across the street. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief before anyone noticed she'd been crying the whole time. The garden area was her best hang-out. It was where she watched with detached interest the guests coming in and out, most of them professionals working with some of the banks and finance firms across the road. It wasn't an unusual sight, especially around noon.
There were opportunities to take up better jobs with other multinational companies. Still, she had chosen to remain in her current position. She had grown to love it here because, unlike other banks, her daily work life wasn't pestered with furious customers making snide remarks or petty jealousies from colleagues or supervisors. Any new sales she made for ongoing projects earned her bonuses as an addition; she thus enjoyed regular training, all-inclusive holidays, and a company car to ease mobility while on a customer call. She was admired by her colleagues, who never treated her with disdain for her ambitions. It was her dream job. Although it wasn't always rosy, she, Ola, and the other employees made a remarkable team with their minds synchronized at every stage regarding new business ideas and projects.
An elderly waiter greeted her by name as he approached her table. "Let me guess, Ms Omolara." He said, smiling gently, bowed cautiously and continued,
"Are you having rice, beans and plantains?"
"Exactly! And a cold Maltina," Omolara said as a brief smile touched the corner of her lips, soothing the turmoil in her soul for a second.
She was here almost every week and ordered the same meal, which was recognized by the waiters. He placed the Maltina on the table before her. She picked up the glass and looked around the garden as she sipped, still observing the guests engrossed in their small talk. They all seemed to be in a good, infectious mood that brought her temporary relief from her worries.
A father and daughter walking hand in hand, exchanging smiles, stirring up some painful and fond memories in her heart.
As a little girl, she'd carry her sketchpad everywhere, often leading to frequent school punishments. She recalled picking up scraps of materials from a woman called Mama Moji, who taught her everything she knew about dressmaking and being a confident woman.
Mama Moji owned a tailoring shop a few blocks from their house. She was an exceptional dressmaker who could transform any fabric into an eyecatcher. Unfortunately, she'd lost her husband and two children in an accident. However, despite her traumatic experience, she still exuded self-confidence, positivity, and an air of relaxed calm, attracting admiration and even scorn from people in the neighbourhood. Some gratified themselves by spreading false tales that she'd been responsible for her family's accident.
To Omolara, it was appalling and unbelievable that people would think in such a manner. But even as a young girl, she knew it was a way to discredit Mama Moji, whose shadow of early widowhood was already seen as a harbinger of bad luck.
Mama Moji wasn't a jeans and t-shirt kind of person. She was elegant but not dainty, classy but not snobbish, and no matter what she wore, she always had a commanding style in every detail. Her head-tie was one of a kind, perhaps something only seen in an African historical movie. Her elaborate multicoloured costumes led neighbours to give her the title Madam Peacock. Her dyed fabric was paired with African prints and local coral beads. Omolara considered them an artistic depiction that accentuated her curvy figure.
She wasn't only the best dressmaker on the street but also a changemaker who fought against injustice, particularly amongst the other market women. Many young women around Sabon Garri compared her to the brave Queen Amina of Zaria. A few of her employees were school dropouts. Mama Moji didn't care about qualifications, tribe, or social status. She was kind and saw the greater good in people.
After school, most children dispersed to their homes; Omolara went to Mama Moji's shop, watching with interest as she cut, pinned patterns, sewed, straightened the fabric's ends, and worked on new designs. Sometimes, she'd been allowed to go to the nearby market to purchase buttons and materials from Mama Moji's supplier, which she used to design her vibrant patchwork outfits. Over time, she'd grown a sudden fondness towards the lady who accepted her like the daughter she'd lost. She learned various techniques about clothing designs and how to combine fabrics for clients in line with their skin colour. Soon, she too began sewing cute dresses for her dolls with needle and thread in Mama Moji's shop.
One evening, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over Mama Moji's tailoring shop, Omolara and Mama Moji decided to take a leisurely stroll after closing hours. The bustling sounds of the day had mellowed into a gentle hum, and the aroma of sizzling barbecue of 'Suya' and 'Balangu' wafted through the air, enticing passersby with promises of savoury delights.
Both Suya and Balangu are roasted beef popular in Nigeria, especially among the Hausa people. However, they have some differences in their preparation and taste. Suya is a term that covers various kinds of skewered meat that are seasoned with 'yaji', a spice mix made from ground peanuts, chilli peppers, garlic, ginger, and other ingredients. Suya is usually grilled over a charcoal fire until cooked and crispy. Suya can be made from beef, chicken, or offal.
On the other hand, Balangu is a type of roast beef that is not skewered or spiced. It is simmered in a pot with fat and juices until tender and browned. It has a smoky and meaty flavour different from suya and is often served with sliced onions, tomatoes, and peppers.
The two ambled toward the source of the tantalizing scent, where a skilled artisan named 'MaiSuya' expertly roasted beef skewers on an open flame. The flickering fire cast intricate shadows on the ground, illuminating the faces of the customers eagerly waiting on an extended bench arranged in rows for their orders. Mama Moji's eyes lit up with curiosity, and a nostalgic smile spread across her lips as she watched the skilled hands of MaiSuya.
Amidst the crackling of the fire and the soft chatter of customers, Mama Moji began to speak, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken sorrows. She admired Omolara's creative prowess, appreciating the meticulous fabric combinations on the dolls she crafted.
The conversation flowed, revealing Mama Moji's passion for sewing, a skill she hoped to nurture into a talent for dressmaking. Her hands gestured gracefully as she spoke, illustrating her dreams with every movement. Omolara listened intently, her eyes tracing the lines of Mama Moji's face, where the marks of time were etched alongside a hidden pain. With each word, Omolara sensed a well of grief within Mama Moji, a profound sorrow that resonated in the depths of her being. Despite her cheerful demeanour, she realized Mama Moji harboured a deep sadness.
At that moment, Omolara felt an ache in her heart, recalling the void left by her late mother. The shared experience of loss bridged the gap between them, creating an unspoken understanding. Sensing Mama Moji's need for solace, Omolara gently took her hand. It was a subtle gesture but spoke volumes, offering comfort and empathy.
Around them, the evening continued its dance, but time seemed to stand still within the cocoon of their shared emotions. Mama Moji's deep, dark eyes, usually twinkling with humour, now reflected the depths of her soul. In that vulnerable gaze, Omolara saw sadness and resilience—a strength that had weathered life's numerous storms.
They continued their stroll, their steps synchronized, bound by an unspoken connection. The aroma of barbecue lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of friendship, and understanding. In that serendipitous moment, amidst the fabric of their intertwined stories, they found solace, reminding each other that even in the face of loss, there existed the possibility of healing, one shared moment at a time.
"Sometimes, I think you are just too wise for your age," Mama Moji lamented as she gently squeezed Omolara's hands, understanding the strange camaraderie between her and this young, emotionally intelligent child. She gently dabbed her eyes with a tissue."
Months later, a prominent theatre company in Kano offered Mama Moji a contract. Omolara would watch with curiosity and admiration how she experimented with the Yoruba traditional Aso-Oke fabric, combining it with the Ghanaian Kente print to design all sought-wrapped dresses and kaftans for the actors and actresses.
One of the happiest days of Omolara's life came about after one of the young actors fell ill and couldn't attend her fitting. Mama Moji persuaded her to wear the Fulani dress made from cotton fabric with a colourful matching bead, and she'd used her measurements for the fitting instead. While Mama Moji checked the design for mistakes, Omolara stared at her image in the mirror, knowing at that moment that she wanted nothing more but to become a fashion designer when she grew up.
Her dream of becoming a fashion designer almost came true after she graduated from secondary school. Mama Moji offered her dressmaking training through a friend who owned a fashion school. Her father rejected the idea, telling her to face up to reality and study something with a better prospect instead. Omolara, an excellent mathematics student, scored highly in her West African and Joint Admission and Matriculation Board exams. Her father thought she would be successful if she majored in banking and finance at Bayero University.
Life had only sometimes played fair with them. Her father had met with terrible misfortunes during one of the pogroms that saw his franchise razed to the ground by miscreants during a heated local election in the state. Her father had very much retired to a reclusive existence and was later forced to take a job with a modest salary.
They lived extensively all years of her life and were finding it hard to navigate the new economic reality. Promises of governmental compensation were never met, and they had to liquidate properties to offset business debtors so they could at least earn their peace of mind. They could barely pay the house rent and other bills, let alone afford her tuition fee. There seemed to be little chance of her achieving what her father hoped for.
She took Mama Moji's offer and started training at the fashion school, which later became a blessing in disguise. The experience she gained from Mama Moji enabled her to succeed at fashion school. The world of colour palettes, patternmaking, textures, and fashion figures came quickly to her. In her free time, she offered her services to those who needed their clothes altered or redesigned.
Omolara made her breakthrough after she designed an outfit for a wealthy Lady for her 60th birthday who paid greatly for her services and, in turn, spread the news about her talent to her circle of rich friends. Her designs quickly gained popularity, attracting many customers and generating much start-up capital needed for her tailoring business after her training.
Months later, she received a partial scholarship to study banking and finance from Bayero University. She was torn between following her dreams and being loyal to her father, so she decided to educate herself in banking and finance and later started a small tailoring shop. These were her plans for a bright future.
Her first year at the university came with many struggles, from low grades, especially in accounting, to her dad falling ill frequently. It felt like the wind of fortune had changed direction, leaving Omolara and her father in the dark, ominous cloud of fate. Her only option was to stay resilient for her dad and Jide, her brother, who was still a child then.
She juggled sewing designs for students on the weekends, taking care of the household chores, bringing her dad to his regular check-ups, and still finding time to attend lectures, which she missed on a few occasions because of her predicament.
Omolara graduated with a Second Class Honours and started her job as a junior consultant at the bank. She was financially independent and supported her dad and Jide.
Years later, days before receiving her promotion as an assistant manager, her dad slumped while coming from one of his friend's shops and was pronounced dead. The autopsy report said he'd died of a heart attack. She'd warned him to rest more, but he said he felt better, and those afternoon walks would do him good. Though his body was gone, his principles and love were lodged in her memory forever.
He was a towering giant of a man in physique and character, stockily built, enviable and regal. Nothing about him connotes unease because a small crease at the sides of his lips leaves a glimpse of a fading smile and happy face. Her father also possessed a stately presence, exuding a dignified and imposing aura that commanded respect and drew people quickly to him. He was distinguished in every aspect of his life, showing authority not only in his appearance but also in his mannerisms. His regal demeanour resembled that of a monarch.
"No, thank you." She replied with a charming smile.
The exuding air of familiarity and friendliness suddenly jolted her to realize that she had unconsciously blanketed her husband Nathaniel out of her mind; something you would find among willed solid individuals, they could easily strip emotions from the context of problem-solving as their mind goes into override to find immediate solutions; but this is no ordinary situation, this one has potential to alter or redefine reality subtly or drastically.
She squirmed on her seat uneasily, then pondered how Nathaniel would react to her dismissal. Her job was her solace, the bedrock of her identity and her acceptance there was the glorious confirmation of her character. And now her pillar of existence has come crashing. If she contemplated this and saw it coming, Omolara would probably have resigned to forestall this sinking feeling that she had been "tossed away" like a used rag.
They'd been at loggerheads recently, and he'd been begging her to relocate to Europe. Mama Moji and her dad wouldn't want her to wallow in self-pity. She had dissented then, but maybe a relocation was a chance to pursue her dreams again. Her mind echoed these thoughts.
She caught Asabe out of the corner of her eyes as she approached her, with trepidation, a look of concern. "Omolara, are you alright?" she turned to face her.
Asabe, an intelligent and hard-working woman, worked in the accounting department; they had been employed at almost the same time, and they'd been close work buddies ever since. She was a few years older than her and married to a successful lawyer, with two children, Aisha, and Ahmad.
Within a few months of employment, she had risen through the banking industry ranks with her skills and dedication. She is also a loving and caring mother who balances her career and family life gracefully and efficiently.
Asabe had flaws, however. She tends to be nosy and intrusive in other people's affairs, especially those she considers friends and relatives. She likes to gossip and offer unsolicited advice, often meddling in matters that do not concern her. She was also stubborn and opinionated, refusing to admit other perspectives. Despite these shortcomings, Asabe was a loyal and generous friend who always stood by her loved ones in need. She had a good sense of humour and enjoys socializing and having fun.
Omolara put on a fake smile through gritted teeth. "Yes, I'm fine."
"I was returning to the bank; thought I should say hello."
"Omolara, you seem different today. I don't believe you are fine."
Asabe seemed determined to get through to Omolara, who had also become very good at stretching Asabe's curiosity; the more you tell her, the more she wants to know, so there is no need to spill her depressing news yet, she will continue to toy with her imagination. Omolara mused to herself.
She knew Asabe well; she came to the restaurant for a reason—this wasn't her usual visiting hour. Her eyes revealed more than she was saying. Omolara wouldn't be surprised if the cat had already been set loose. Most of her colleagues were hungry and curious for information; they were addicted to all the bits and pieces of news they could get on the grapevine, but some respected others' privacy and were genuinely concerned.
She couldn't afford the embarrassment of being the news of the month at work. It wanted to tell the truth before others allowed their imagination to run wild.
"Thanks for your concern, Asabe; I got fired today." Omolara blurted out to Asabe.
"What…why? I don't understand." She gasped, groping for words, paused and continued.
"What are you going to do? Have you told your husband, and do you plan on moving to Birmingham?" the queries came out in torrid, meaningless succession. She often does that; she asks questions, offers suggestions, and provides the answer in a haunting flow that's only typical of her.
"I don't know; I need time to think things over. It's more complicated than you think, Asabe". Omolara said.
Asabe lowered her head dejectedly, reached out to pat Omolara in a genuine display of emotion. "I am truly sorry, Omolara; this kind of thing should not happen to good people like you". She rambled.
"Now I guess you have no other option than to go and join your husband. I am sure as devastating as the news may be, he will be very pleased to have you close". Asabe retorted, and Omolara acknowledged.
"What will happen to your house and your belongings?" Asabe continued, prying further.
Omolara contemplated her intrusiveness for a while and decided the best way to get rid of her was to reply to her promptly.
"I'll inform the landlord, find someone to rent the house, or he will do it. I would need a family reunion visa, which is a little stressful." Omolara said, feeling more depressed.
Although Asabe wished her well, it felt like she was meddling. Her questions felt like an interrogation, even though she appeared devastated as she asked them.
Omolara paid the waiter, took her bag, and walked quickly.
"Call me! We can have dinner at my place or go shopping." Omolara heard hollering as she turned to go, but she had no intention of doing anything with anyone. All she wanted was to get her life back on track as soon as possible.
Back at her office desk, she placed two awards she'd won two years in a row and a group picture of her and some of her colleagues in a box. They'd taken that picture last Christmas. The Santa Claus hat still hung close to her table. She picked it up and threw it in the trash can. She stashed her other belongings in the box before walking briskly to the elevator. All eyes on her back, she paused and looked at her desk one last time. Her shoulders now straight and her head thrown back, she continued walking, hoping to hide all the sadness she felt inside.
What was she going to do, and where would she start? She stopped outside her car in the sweltering heat and opened the trunk. She barely noticed Ola, who had also made his way to the parking lot. Her and Ola's eyes met and held for a long moment, and Ola didn't say anything. Then he croaked, "Can I help you with the box?"
"It's okay. I can handle it."
"Omolara, are you sure there is nothing I can do?"
"Don't you think you have done enough?" Her eyes started to mist again; she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. She quickly changed the subject.
"I'll pick up my job referral soon," Omolara said before she started the car's engine and drove away from the bank.
Nathaniel reached over, grabbed the picture frame, and ran his fingertip gently across the woman's face in the frame as he pressed rewind on the memories of the previous years.
"If you don't marry her, you are a fool." Those were his mother's words when she saw Omolara at his dad's birthday party in Kano. He had taken his mother's advice to heart, and two years down the road, he had no regrets, although the distance between them sometimes caused frequent rows.
They were different in almost every way, but over time, he understood that opposites attract; just like a puzzle piece, they began to fit perfectly into each other. Omolara was everything he wished—intelligent, funny, pleasant, and supportive. Like most Nigerian women, her beliefs were grounded by God, which he truly revered. On the other hand, he was conservative, tended to brood, and overanalysed almost everything.
After their wedding, she advised him to apply for a job as a senior lecturer at the Department of Language and Art History at Birmingham University. She said he was the perfect man for the job even though he didn't perceive himself as the most qualified candidate. Her positive energy was contagious, and she had a way of bringing out the best in people. Ignoring how his life suddenly changed after their big day was difficult. He was ever grateful for her constant encouragement and motivation regarding his career and other areas of his life.
He glanced at his watch – it was a little after three and an excellent opportunity to make a quick phone call to Omolara. He dialled her office number, and she answered on the first ring.
"Happy anniversary, darling."
"Just the man on my mind. Happy anniversary." Her silence afterwards seemed uncomfortable. He frowned.
"You don't sound happy. Is everything alright, or are you busy? I can call after work."
"Your wish came true after all."
"Omolara, what's going on? Why are you speaking in riddles?"
Her voice began to waver as she stumbled over her following words. "I received a letter of termination today, or should I say I typed my letter of termination. Our branch is on the verge of going bankrupt if the company don't cut their budget." She said, laughing and crying at the same time.
"I'm sorry, Omolara, but I don't understand why they would lay you off since you are one of their best employees. You've worked hard and contributed to many successful changes in the company." Omolara said nothing, just sniffled.
"I think we should take them to court," Nathaniel said, agitated by his wife's plight.
"Nathaniel, when it comes to making financial decisions, these corporate firms are stone-hearted. And there is always the risk of something going wrong in court. Consider all the money we might spend if this case lasts for years." She said, fighting the rush of emotion that threatened to bring more tears to her eyes.
"Well, shame on them for losing such a talented and creative person like you and who knows, perhaps this is a sign from heaven to leave that unstable country."
"I believe you're right. Nathaniel, have you seen the news lately? The activist Ken Saro Wiwa was executed for leading a rally against the government and some multinational companies. It led Nigeria to be suspended from the Commonwealth. It's just a matter of time before the southerners carry out their revenge, and if the conflict spreads to the north, this country might be headed for another atrocious civil war." Omolara said.
While he listened to her speak, he fought his rising panic. He recalled the violent outburst of the 1991 riot in many parts of Kano, with countless people beheaded and properties burnt down. Their saving grace was Commander Bradford, who snuck them out of Kano before daybreak. For months after their escape, he had lost all contact with Omolara and was heartbroken after his former assistant in Kano had broken the news of Omolara's mistaken death. But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again. The danger of another deadly riot was too heavy to ignore, and he wasn't ready to bear that risk.
"Omolara, we must apply for a family reunion visa and get you out of Kano; I cannot guarantee your safety. Please send in your application as soon as you can." He said.
"Honestly, I'm so confused about what to do."
"What do you mean?"
"My heart is torn between Kano and finding a new job and my loyalty as your wife. Nathaniel, I'm still trying to get the faintest idea if I'm ready to relocate. I want to avoid coming to Birmingham and being a housewife. I have heard of women who journeyed a thousand kilometres for love and were disappointed. And as a Nigerian woman, I don't know how people would react to our relationship. I'm sorry my heart is full of doubt, but it's a different world from mine."
"Why are you being pessimistic, Omolara? Or have you been reading too many tabloids about interracial marriages?
We have invested a lot over the last two years to make this relationship work. I don't know about you, but I won't allow anything to hinder our happiness."
"Easier said than done," Omolara said, her tone blunt.
"It's unlike you and unfair to think this way. You have no idea what life's like here; it's not a racist country, and the people here are civilized. Some foreigners reside peacefully here, and some have successfully integrated into the country. I understand it's a big and nerve-wracking decision, but a brave woman like you would thrive in my world. And it's not like I'm going to leave you to yourself. Even though I don't earn much, I'll do my best to make you comfortable and support you while you pursue new dreams."
"I'll apply myself to the embassy and send you the necessary documents to ensure no delay in your visa application. It is a lengthy process, but let's keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. We've always been a strong team, and this is another hurdle we will get over together."
Nathaniel's words were like a breath of fresh air to her aching soul. It wasn't just about his words but also how he conveyed them. His encouragement inspired her to try again. "Thank you, darling. I'm grateful to have you in my life, and I know we'll get through this together."
The following two months were some of the hardest she'd experienced. While some days were filled with positive thoughts, others she lay awake all night thinking about her current crisis. She would cry, meditate, and go for long prayer walks to pour out her heart to God and enjoy the serenity of nature. Nathaniel and his family showed their support by calling her regularly, and it felt wonderful to know that she didn't have to endure this season of her life alone.
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