He is sitting in a café, an empty café, well furnished and seated right across the table from him is me. So he likes me too. I guess he booked the whole place for just us. But wait, this doesn't feel right. I'm not supposed to be alone with a guy. I feel a very painful bang on my head.
Arrrgh! I open my eyes slightly. Oh so it was just a dream. This would be the third time this week that I'm dreaming about him.
I get up slightly only to find my mum digging into my wardrobe and picking out my dirty clothes. "Ke yarinyan nan, tashi. Kazama kawai. Look at all the dirty clothes you piled up in the cupboard. You can't continue to behave like this. You will have children of your own one day. How do you want to coordinate them if you can't even coordinate yourself."
Tell me why Nigerian parents are the same, despite our differences in culture and religion. It's like there is an invisible book of rules for Nigerian parents to follow in parenting. It's Saturday morning and what does that mean? Well you guessed it, spring cleaning.
I look at the wall clock it's 4:56 in the morning. No chance I am being scolded for oversleeping. It's a few minutes before fajr prayer. My alarm would have woken me up. I look at my mother, she has her nightdress on which is not revealing but one with eyes can see. She is a bit busty but not out of shape. I take a minute to admire Allah's creation while I wonder why I didn't inherit any of her good features. She must have been very pretty in her days. Even now if she ever separated from my dad she wouldn't have a hard time finding a husband. I shiver at the thought. God forbid my parents are never going to be apart. I can't imagine how life would be if that ever happened.
I reluctantly got up and proceeded to enter the bathroom to make wudu and get ready for Salat. "Ke dawo nan. Take these clothes to the laundry room" I hear my mum call behind me.
I turn around and look at the pile of clothes which are half my wardrobe, by the way. "Ke zaki wanke su fa" She said as she handed them to me. Obviously I couldn't pack all of it at once.
Am I the only girl child who has her mother tormenting her life. Maybe if I had a sister it wouldn't be this bad. I proceeded to the laundry room which by the way is a little corner between the general toilet, our mum's toilet and the corridor leading to the living room. I bump into my dad on my way. "Mama, ya? Yau ne ranan wanke? Don't forget to add my clothes o" he said to me.
He smiles at me. He is making his way to the nearby masjid. In Islam men are meant to pray in the mosque but it's not obligatory for women.
I dumped the clothes and went back to my room to pray. The relief when I didn't find my mum inside my room. After my prayer I set up the washing machine and turned it on. I separate the clothes according to colour and the degree of dirt. The whites go in first, then the other bright colours, in that order. I stick around so my mum doesn't find me idle and assign more chores to me. "Mama?" I hear her call me all the way from the kitchen. "Na'am" I answer. Looks like I can't hide here forever. On my way downstairs I peep inside Amir's room and I find lying peacefully in his sleep. It's almost six o'clock, why is he still asleep. Amir is years old, quite old enough to start praying on time.
Right, I don't want to keep my mum waiting. I bang his room door which is already agape then ran downstairs before be could wake up. I help my mum in the kitchen while she prepares breakfast while going back to check the laundry at intervals. "Sannu Mama, at least you are lucky. When I was your age my mother did not have a washing machine. My three sisters and I would gather all the clothes of the whole family. Sometimes we would even wash that of my stepmother's children too." My mother's attempt at starting a conversation while commending me for hard work. "You and your three sisters, you say. It's just me" I answer her while secretly enjoying the fact that we are on good terms, at least. After all the clothes have been washed I called Amir to give me a hand spreading them outside. As usual, he declined. My mum came by to help me. By eight o'clock all the work was done. The floors mopped, and food was ready. Now's time for my favourite part; scenting the whole house up with turaren wuta.
You'd think this is respite for me but no. We have to go to Islamiyya, a Quranic school. This is where we learn and memorize the Holy Book as well as the teachings of our Prophet, peace be upon him.