Bichara's Heart: Chapter 6

So much for a family reunion, Rahman thought as he took in the multitude of people – familiar and strange – that filled Nana’s expansive ballroom. She must have invited the whole of Nigeria! He had spotted two Amiras already, dressed the part in royal heirlooms. He sighed. Usually, Nana would receive her guests at the door. She hadn’t done that this time. How was he supposed to find his own family in this crowd?

He stepped into the room, his wife’s palm gently grasping the crook of his elbow. He couldn’t wait for the baby to come. The pregnancy was wearing her down. If she wasn’t getting bigger, he would have thought the baby was draining her blood, it was definitely sapping her energy. She was getting more and more fragile by the day; he was scared to even touch her.

They had just arrived, and Rahman felt exhausted in advance from engaging in draining banter and smiling with people he’d rather not be in the same room with.

“Masoyina!” He caught a flash of silver, a stately turban, as she moved briskly toward them, his grandmother.

“Kaka,” he replied briefly before she pulled him into a full hug. She was too strong for her petite eighty-two-year-old figure. He hoped it meant she had long to live yet. He tried to move out of her grasp, but she held him in, scrutinizing his appearance. She seemed to be satisfied with his grey kaftan two-piece as she smiled up at him. He had ditched the hula even though it was supposed to be a formal event. Nana did not seem to mind.

“So…, it took a grand party to lure you from Rima…, that palace of yours, ba…!” She exclaimed loudly, pausing as she acknowledged Bichara who stood silently by his side. “Ah, kyaun gani! How are our babies?” Nana had this ridiculous notion that they were going to have twins.

Bichara chuckled nervously, walking into Nana’s open arms, and feeling enormously comforted in the kind matriarch’s embrace as she pecked both cheeks. She stepped back and noticed Rahman glancing around them, already itching to be in motion. He was a restless soul, he always needed to be doing something. She, on the other hand, valued precious peace and stillness. They were so different in some ways, and those differences seemed to be creating a hole between them every day. She knew exactly when he spotted a diversion, someone he knew maybe. Times like this, she could read him like a book, other times…

“Who invited him?” She followed his line of sight and was confused for a second until she realized his question was directed at Nana.

“Ahmad is family, Rahman. The Rufais are family. Ni da kaina na gayyace su.” Nana had a knowing look on her face, and Bichara was curious. She knew the Rufai and Bello families had been business partners for about two generations, and friends even longer. Obviously, Rahman and Ahmad did not share the feeling of brotherhood their fathers and grandfathers had. It made sense, Rahman never talked about them. Their names never so much as slipped during any of their conversations which, to be fair, weren’t that many.

“Babban labarai,” Rahman muttered, and Nana excused herself, giving them leave to enjoy the soirée, spotting other important guests stepping in to join the glittering assemblage. He felt Bichara shift uneasily against him and bent his head toward her.

“I need to use the restroom, Rahman,” she voiced softly in French, looking very pale and uncomfortable. He was more than a little concerned.

“Should I come with you?” She shook her head.

“No. Stay. I’ll be fine.” She assured him with a feeble smile. He gave her form a once-over and relented.

“You remember where it is?” She nodded and moved away from his side, eager to get away, expertly maneuvering herself through the crowd of guests. He watched her retreating figure, wondering if he should follow her anyway.

“ Jarababbe.” Rahman flinched. There was only one person in the world who called him that. It was a private joke, one he didn’t want his wife to hear. He glanced in the direction of the call, straight at his cousin. He hadn’t seen Siddiq Abubakar in eleven years and about a month. It felt like an old dream, seeing him in front of him after so long. He had two actual brothers, but Siddiq had been more of a brother to him than anyone in this world. They hugged as soon as he reached him.

“Siddiq…” Rahman trailed off as he grabbed a half-full champagne flute from a passing tray, trying to put himself, his emotions, under control, surprised his cousin did not take one glass for himself. He sincerely never thought he would see him again after he cut off all contact with the family, with him…, and literally vanished during a RuBel-sponsored tour of the Middle East.

A myriad of questions flitted through his mind, directed at the man he thought he knew more than anyone else in the world. He shoved them aside, for now, content with being happy for his return, hoping he hadn’t changed too much. Already, he saw a seriousness in his eyes that was not there before. Siddiq was always the laidback, breezy one who got them both in countless trouble back in the days.

“Cousin…I trust we have a lot to catch up on…” This time, Siddiq’s smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. “Like…I heard you now have an exceptionally beautiful, exotic wife.”

Rahman chuckled at his cousin’s not-too-far-off description. “Who told you that? Not back one week, and you’re already privy to rumor mills,” he drawled before taking a full sip of the sweet bubbly. He wondered why they weren’t jumping at each other, why they weren’t more excited to see each other. Maybe it just wasn’t the time and especially not the place to show real reactions.

“Hardly a rumor. Nana’s had me staring at photographs since I got here. I think she’s trying to give me some kind of message… Not back one week, and she’s already trying to get me married. Where is this wife of yours?” Siddiq scanned the faces around them as if he knew how she looked and just where to spot her.

“She’s here somewhere…,” Rahman muttered and looked over in the direction of the two large exits and then around the circular room, past several familiar faces – some nodding in acknowledgment – as he searched for his wife.

She should have been back by now. He found her finally, among a small group of women. He recognized two as his distant cousins, and…was that the Sultan's fourth wife? Bichara probably didn’t recognize any of them. If she was speaking with them, it was Nana’s doing. She was always trying to mix her up with that crowd, but his wife had never felt comfortable in social gatherings.

He watched her awkward movements, smiling nervously and constantly patting her loose white hijab over her ear, probably meaning to brush her lovely curls only he had the honor of seeing, behind her ear, like she always did. She looked stunning. The white gown she picked was his favorite choice too, complementing her pale skin, flattering her body perfectly. So perfect, he was beginning to wish it was for his eyes only. And, the sedate emerald-stone piece around her neck made her light eyes sparkle.

Those eyes met his at that moment as she turned her head, subconsciously responding to his thoughts. There and then, he wanted to pull her to him and take her lips in his.

He heard a throat-clearing sound and remembered who was still beside him. He returned his attention to his cousin, finding his step-sister and her fiancé beside them.

“Sannu dan uwa,” Baraka drawled, her permanent smirk irritating him already. She had her arm around Siddiq, and Rahman remembered being betrayed by his cousin when he started becoming rather too friendly with his overtly brazen half-sister…all those years ago. There seemed to be no love lost between the two now.

“Yar uwa,” he replied, a tad bit sardonic, nodding at Umar Dansuki who was a junior executive at PerSua, his sister’s third engagement in the last three years. Men could smell new inheritance. He wasn’t shocked they usually ran away after a few months though. He was already priming himself to leave their company. “…Siddiq…you’ll stop by Rima soon, ko?”

“I mana!” Siddiq said, pulling his sister closer and kissing her cheek. Umar looked on and Rahman looked away, gulping down the last remains of the sparkling wine. The light vanilla finish made him wish he had picked a sherry instead. “Of course, we’ll see.”

Rahman left their side then, dropping his empty glass on another waiter’s tray. He needed to search for his wife again, but before he could, he was detained by another pair of family members.

Rahman smiled and spread his arms wide to hug his brothers, well, one of them. Hassan and Aliu were the last of his siblings, Aliu, from the same mother as Baraka. His own mother had died shortly after having Hassan. The only thing he remembered of her was her curly long hair and her calm, quiet demeanor, her sweet voice singing Hassan to sleep in the afternoons. When he tried to imagine her now, all he saw was…Bichara.

We took a long break, but we're back now, and with some insight into Rahman's big family. What do you think of Rahman's relationship with his family? Does it tell you anything at all about the kind of person he is? Are you as excited as we are to find out what part Siddiq will play in this story?

Find out more in Chapter 7, coming your way Next Saturday! Make sure you invite a friend because Nana's party isn't over.

Stone and the Three Kings: Part 2

But there was nothing. Only people going about their day, and a lone firefly buzzing about my field of vision.

“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked. She was concerned.

“Nothing,” I said, quickly relaxing myself so she would relax. The firefly buzzed around my face, so I swatted it away. “Let’s just go.”

While this wasn’t my first time being followed by something I couldn’t see following me, it was the first time it was happening with someone who didn’t know my secret. You can understand the intense pressure I was under - assuming you’re the kind of person who should be reading this. If not, I recommend you give this to your local akara or suya dealer; they’ll know what to do.

“You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?” Sandra asked for what was probably the third time. At this point, we had turned into her street; deathly quiet in contrast to the bright boisterousness of the main road.

“Wrong?” I asked, looking behind me. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“I wonder for you, na,” she complained. “You keep looking back at every little sound. Are you expecting us to be robbed?”

I scoffed. “Of course not.” I was expecting us to be murdered in cold blood on this quiet, lonely street. My head and body taken as a trophy for the powers that be, her corpse left to rot as a warning to my friends. I felt no need to tell her that, of course.

Her house was farther down the street, and I was counting the seconds until we got there. My fear of my father was no longer driving me – although it was still at the back of my mind. The world was deathly quiet, and the night was pitch black, save for some lights in some houses. My sword continued to shiver in my bag, and I shivered along with it. Sandra shivered as well.

“Chai,” she whispered, hugging herself. “How did it get so cold suddenly?”

I made an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “Climate change, I guess.”

She laughed. I laughed too. My sword shook violently.

I gave a little backwards glance, but I saw no one behind us, save for a sliver of light buzzing about my face. Another firefly. I swatted it away, irritated.

There was a loud, derisive snort to my side. “You are jumpy tonight, aren’t you?” Sandra said.

I chuckled. “Streets are rough,” I said sheepishly.

“Not these streets…oww!” Sandra winced and slapped her neck. The firefly escaped, disappearing into the darkness.

“Sorry, eh,” I said. “Does it hurt?”

“It does.” Sandra moaned, rubbing the sore spot. She groaned and hissed. “I didn’t even know fireflies bit people.”

She collapsed faster than I could say, “They don’t.”

A movement to my left (I was now facing Sandra, who was unconscious on the road) drew my attention. A figure stood shrouded in the darkness. He looked like a regular human (who was naked or in skin tight clothing), but my instincts told me it wasn’t. I reached into my bag and pulled out my sword, holding it ready for the attack.

The world stood still, or at least, we did. The figure was unmoving in the darkness, and I was not going to move away from Sandra. The sword shook in my hand, but not from its power. I didn’t know what that thing was, and I had a policy against fighting things when I didn’t know how they could kill me. It’s a sage policy I wish more people would adopt.

After some time passed, I decided I would be proactive.

“What are you?!” I asked, putting down my sword. (What did you expect? I’d actually attack that thing? In the night? With no backup? Like an idiot?)

The thing said nothing, so I repeated the question, this time in the sacred tongue. It was still silent.

“Do you know who I am?” I cried. “I am Obagbagbare, the son of Obajobalai. How dare you stay silent when I command you?!” (Be not fooled by the authority in my words, I could not back them up. As I said before, my father wants me dead. Disowning me was no problem for him).

The figure moved. It put its hands to its stomach and made an odd, guttural, otherworldly sound that caught me off guard, so much so that I moved forward a step. It took me a while to realize it was laughter.

“You? The son of what? The son of who?” The thing said when it was done holding its sides. It spat before continuing. “Let me warn you: don’t you ever call my master’s name in vain again! Ever!”

“My father sent you?” I was not surprised, of course. “Then, why do you stand in the shadows like a coward. If you’re truly a son of spirits and not of man, come and fight me!" (What I’d meant to say was, 'Okay, how about you come over here and we can discuss this as rational individuals without resorting to violence,' but I guess I misplaced a few words here and there. The sacred tongue is complicated like that. We’ll let it be what it is.)

The thing laughed again. “And why would I fight an insect such as you?”

“You said my father sent you after me? I didn’t think he rewarded failure.”

“True. Your father does punish the failure of his own,” the figure replied. “But your father didn’t send me to kill you. Only to disgrace you.”

Disgrace me? That didn’t sound like old man Lai at all. Maybe he’s losing his touch. And disgrace me how? I asked the last question aloud. He replied with laughter that rattled my brain.

“They told me you were ignorant. But don’t worry. My work is already done.” He didn’t give me a chance to reel from being called ignorant (spirits put so much pressure on me for not knowing all the nuances of their world in the little time I’ve known of its existence. They’re like parents in a way) before continuing. “But if you insist on doing battle with your better, who am I to deny you your doom.”

The figure let out a quick laugh and bolted towards me at top speed. And this wasn’t human top speed. This was the top speed of the spirits, meaning he was upon me faster than I could cry “Arggh!”

“Arggh!” I cried. I shut my eyes and swung my sword blindly.

My sword exploded with a light so bright that it pierced through my eyelids. That’s how I knew I managed to hit it. (Fun fact: My sword is made from a steel sharper than steel, and can cut through reality like tissue paper).

I opened my eyes, and focused through the now dimming light. What I saw…would have horrified me months ago. At that point, I’d seen worse.

The thing looked pretty close to human, even with the four eyes and fangs sticking out its mouth. Its skin was golden brown, and it seemed to reflect the light from my sword. It was naked, and I saw a huge gash on its bare chest. Golden light, not blood, poured out of the wound, evaporating as it touched air.

The only thing I could note as odd was the smile on its face. Is it…happy? Proud, even? I told myself it was a trick of the light, but that was an obvious lie.

“And if you’re satisfied now, my prince,” it said, a mocking emphasis on the words 'prince' and 'satisfied'. “My work here is done.” And then, it vanished with the light into thin air, leaving me alone in darkness with my confusion...and Sandra.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible.

My name is Stone, my father wants to kill me, and an evil spirit has frozen my girlfriend.

I am dead serious.

I am not a regular teenager, and it was pretending to be one that got me into this mess.

Now, I have to enter the realm of dangerous and unpredictable spirits to fix my mess.

Will I succeed? I won't bet on it.

Part Three is Coming Soon. Tell us what you think of this story so far, in the comments section!

Bichara's Heart: Chapter 5

Rahman was in their home gym when Bichara found him the next morning. She tried to wait up for him last night, but she must’ve slept off between reading a book and trying to rest her aching legs. Still, he must’ve come back very late because she didn’t feel him enter their room or get into bed at any point.

“Good morning,” she said, practicing her English as she approached him. He was on a barbell bench, lifting and lowering the heavy object at an unnatural pace – unnatural to her, anyway. She watched as his forearms strained, and his muscles perked, and strands of sweat trailed his face, patching his grey sports shirt. His legs were simultaneously pulling a metal lever at the other end of the bench.

She hated exercise, even watching other people do it. It was cruel and unusual punishment you put yourself through. She’d always been thick, and she didn’t plan on doing anything about it anytime soon. Although, she might have to rethink that decision considering how much weight she’d put on since she got pregnant. How was she going to lose it all? As it was, she was a dress-size twelve.

Rahman dropped the barbell in its place and sat up to look at his striking, curvy wife as she walked into the room, wiping his face and neck with a small towel. He’d never liked skinny girls. His wife was the perfect woman, and she’d started adding more flesh in all the right places too since she became pregnant with his child. He admired her body as she stood right there in front of him and regretted not returning early from his trip last night…and that glorious dark hair like a halo around her face and arms. He loved it when she hadn’t brushed it and packed it into a ponytail yet – taming the wild mane.

“Good morning, my love,” he said, panting from his exertions, and gestured for her to come to him. As she came forward with slow timid steps, he saw she had something in her hand. “What’s that?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the white envelope. She lifted it to him, but he didn’t move, recognizing Nana’s seal.

“Your family sent a letter yesterday.” His demeanor changed as she spoke. He loved his grandmother, but she only ever sent a letter when there was trouble, and in his family, trouble meant a disaster.

“What letter?” Bichara almost flinched at the harshness of his tone, regretting coming so close to him. Why would a letter from his family freeze him up this much? Maybe he disliked them as much as she did, but she knew that was only true about one side of his family, not Nana. His eyes were on her now, cold, dark. He didn’t want to see it, he wanted her to tell him what it said.

“They found a cousin of yours," she said, reverting back to her comfortable French. "Nana wants us to come for some…welcoming party…”

“Siddiq?”

She was confused by his question for a moment, then remembered that was the name, in the letter, of the returned cousin. “Yes.” His expression lightened, but only a little, only in his eyes. He stood, and she almost jumped back. He didn’t seem to notice her unease as he continued patting his face dry with his towel.

Suddenly, she recalled who Siddiq was. Rahman had let his name drop on occasion, when they talked about his childhood. They were close. Siddiq was a top RuBel executive, same as Rahman all those years ago. He took a trip to Saudi on an expansion assignment. Soon after, he went off the radar. His team members reported that he didn’t show up for one of their scheduled meetings, his phone lines went dead, and he never returned to his official accommodations. Rahman searched for him for years before giving up, he didn’t want to be found. That was about a decade ago.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, moving past her out of the room. He hadn’t touched her at all. Was he becoming appalled by her appearance? Bichara was stunned by that abrupt thought. She always assumed Rahman’s distant behavior was a product of work pressure, but she needed to consider that she was being naïve and in denial. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him tired of her. She was losing her mind with paranoia.

She glanced around her at the different contraptions and equipment that made up the fitness room. What should she do?

She walked out of the room and out of the house, heading to the stables – a neat, well-run facility located at one extreme end of the estate, by the orchard. She could hear the horses as she neared the building, regretting not being able to ride in her condition. She would have appreciated the wind in her face, blowing through her hair, and the feeling of life and energy between her hips. She loved riding, it was the only thing she hated about living in N'djamena – not being able to ride.

She stepped through the large open doors and loved the sound of hay crunching under her soft flip-flops and the smell of animal essence. A man was in there, tending to the beautiful steeds, an equestrian expert Rahman had hired after meeting him at a jockey club in Canada. He turned toward her as she entered, scanning her. Bichara suddenly remembered she hadn’t changed out of her dressing gown.

“Mrs. Bello? Good morning.” His French was almost too perfect. Like a different dialect from the one she knew so well. He was obviously surprised to see her there so early in the morning, and her cheeks were warm from self-consciousness.

“Good morning. I didn’t mean to disturb…”

“Of course not. I’m here at your pleasure… I’ll give you the room if you want.” There was something slightly patronizing about him, and she didn’t quite like it.

She shifted her attention to the horse stalls, glancing through in search of her old mare. She found her at her usual position in the third stall from the door, next to the other old horses. Her baby was almost twenty-five now. A few years from now and she would be gone, a last emblem of where Bichara had come from, gone. She tried not to think about something so disheartening, she tried hard.

The horse groomer moved out the door soon after, and she felt she could breathe easier as she moved toward Angel and brushed her fingers through her silky mane, remembering her grandfather. She couldn’t remember how he looked like, his face, his voice. She had no photographs of him, a man who was both her father and her mother for a long time.

“Mrs. Bello. I've found you.” She turned, startled to find Isha, in her dressing gown too, looking like she’d been searching for her everywhere. “Ma, what are you doing here?”

Bichara turned back to Angel whose head was perked up now, staring right at her with those knowing pale brown eyes. "I just…” She shook her head, looking back at her nanny. “I just needed some air. What is it?”

“Oga sent his secretary with new clothes for you.” Isha walked straight at her, ready to grab her hand and drag her all the way to her room. “He wants you to try them on for the family tonight.”

Bichara frowned. Rahman was ordering her about from afar. She had enough clothes to choose from for his family’s little charade. When did he get the chance to order and have new clothes delivered anyway? Complete with underwear and accessories for sure, knowing Rahman.

“Are you feeling okay, Ma? You need more rest?” Isha was probably surprised she wasn’t pleased at the prospect of playing dress-up.

“I am fine…Where is my husband now?” She asked even though she already knew the answer to that question.

“He has gone for a meeting. He said he will be back in time to leave, Ma.” Of course, he was at the office, or the port, or the factory, or the airport, another continent, anywhere but at home with her. She was tired of it. Wasn’t he lonely too? Where was he getting his own companionship?

Bichara pursed her lips and stormed out of the suddenly stifling stables, ignoring her ignorant secretary.

Chapter 6 will be here Next Saturday, and we'll meet Rahman's family! Tell us down below what you think of the story so far. Don't forget to like and share.