The rain came without warning that Friday Afternoon,heavy and unforgiving,drumming against the rusted rooftops of the old neighborhood.The Earth of Kano's red sands turned to thick mud,swallowing the footprints of the mourners who had gathered near the ancient neem tree.
Men in long flowing babban riga stood under umbrellas that could not hold back the cold rain,their caps held carefully in their hands,Women in spackled wrappers huddled close,whispering behind their veils,children clung to their mothers,their curious eyes darting between the people and the Wooden coffin that lay silent at the edge of the grave
"Allah ya jikan ta",An old woman muttered adjusting her scarf as the rain slipped down her neck
"Ameen"came the absent minded chorus from those near her
But not everyone mourned with pure heart
"She was too stubborn"someone whispered,a girl who leaves her husband's house twice,Wallahi what blessing can come from that?"
"They said she used to write letters….as if education can make a woman disobey her elders"Another woman added,her voice thick with the taste of gossip
Near the grave stood a tall man with streaks of grey in his beard,Alhaji Kabiru,her husband.his face was like stone,his eyes hidden behind the shadow of his cap,he did not shed a tear.Instead he kept glancing at the crowd,as if daring anyone to ask the questions that lingered in their throats.
Beside him,her father,Mallam Salisu looked smaller than ever,shoulders haunched,prayer beads slipping through his trembling fingers,his lips moved but no sound came.His guilt was louder than his prayers
And then there was Maryam,her step mother,wrapped in the finest black lace,her face tilted upward so the rain could not smear the powder she had carefully applied that morning ,her eyes were dry,her lips pressed into a line that could almost pass for sorrow
The coffin was plain,the kind that carries no history of luxury,just a white cloth and two ropes waiting to lower it into the earth,it was small too,almost too small for the weight of what lay inside:the body of Zainab
Zainab only Twenty four,yet her life had been carved into scars long before this day
As the men stepped forward to lift the coffin,something slipped from its side,a small leather bound notebook,edges frayed,soaked by the rain.A boy no more than ten years old bent quickly and picked it up,wiping the mud with his sleeve
He looked for the owner ."Hajiya,should I give this to you?"he asked Maryam,holding it out with small hands
Maryam waved him off sharply."Throw it away,just a foolish girl's scribbles"
The boy hesitated,his thumb brushing the damp cover,curiosity flickered in his eyes.He opened the first page,and though the rain blurred the ink,one line still stood out,dark and defiant:
"If you are reading this,it means I am gone,but before you believe their stories about me-about how I was stubborn,ungrateful,rebellious-hear Mumu voice one last time"
He frowned,his lips moving silently as he read the next words
"My name is Zainab,and this is how they broke me"
A sudden gust wind tore the page halfway and he clutched it to his chest.
Somewhere in the distance,thunder cracked.
Maryam turned away,already calculating how soon people would stop talking about this girl and focus on the living.Alhaji Kabiru slipped his phone from his pocket,sending a quick message before muttering
"Let's finish this quickly"
Only her Father stayed behind after everyone else began to leave.The rain soaked his clothes until they clung to his frail frame,he knelt by the fresh mound of Earth,whispering words no one else could hear.Regret was a heavy thing,and it was only just the beginning to settle on his shoulders
The boy held onto the diary,eyes wide.Somewhere deep in him,something told him this story was not just a dead girl's complaint.It was a wound,one that still bled even in death
He slipped the diary under his shirt to protect it from rain
That night,in the dim glow of a flickering lantern,he would open it again,and there,in Zainab's own handwriting,her life would begin to unfold,from a bright school girl with laughter in her voice,to a shadow of a woman buried too young
The rain that buried Zainab did not fall the day her dreams began;back then,the sun was warm and the harmattan breeze carried the scent of suya and wet chalk from her classroom walls.
Zainab was seventeen then,a slim girl with a soft smile that lit up her face like morning light over the Rano hills,her hair,always covered with a simple scarf,peeked out in small,stubborn curls that refused to stay flat.Her hands were quick with books,her eyes faster with knowledge.
Everyone at Government girls secondary school knew her,quiet,respectful,but fierce Ehen it came to her education
"Zainabu ,you will make us proud "Her teacher had said one afternoon,handing her the first position slip for the fourth time in a row.
"Medicine?Engineering?anything is possible for you"
She smiled shyly,clutching the paper."In sha Allah Mallama,I want to be a doctor,I want to help women in our villages,so they don't suffer like-"she had stopped herself,biting her lip.The memory of her late Mother flashed in her mind.A woman who bled too much after childbirth because the clinic was too far and the men decided to wait for a male doctor.
Her dreams were not born from ambition alone,they were born from pain
But not everyone at home celebrated her ambitions
At night, when the compound the compound went silent and the moonlight crept into their courtyard,Zainab would sit with her step brother under the tree,speaking softly about school,about Yusuf the young Qur'anic teacher who always greeted her respectfully after Asr prayers
Yusuf was not rich,he had no car only a second hand bicycle with faded paint.But his eyes were kind,and his words carried the weight of sincerity.
"Zainabu" he once said,handing her a worn out copy of biology textbook,"Keep this,you will need it more than I do,Don't let anyone stop you from reading"
She had taken it,her fingers brushing his,a blush rising to her cheeks.She knew then-quietly without saying it -that her heart had chosen him long before any man in fine clothes would come knocking.
But the winds in her household had started to change
Maryam,her father's second wife,had always smiled too sweetly.She had a way of speaking in whispers that could turn a father's pride into suspicion and a daughter's dream into disobedience
"Mallam"she said one evening as the drank Kunu "this girl is growing wings.
Tomorrow it will be school,next tomorrow a phone,then a boyfriend.Before you know it she will bring shame to your name,there is a good man who had asked for her hand.Alhaji Kabiru,Respected,Wealthy,he will take care of her,and you will have one less mouth to worry about"
Zainab's father had frowned,his prayer beads clicking nervously."She's still young Maryam"
Maryam smiled,thin and sharp,"what is school to a woman?will her certificate cook for her husband?Wallahi think about it,this is a blessing
And just like that a seed of betrayal was planted
The first time Zainab overheard them speaking,she laughed it off.it can't be real,she thought,her father loved her.He knew her dreams
But the second time,she heard her name and the name of Alhaji Kabiru in t he same breath-her heart sank.
She confronted her father one late evening as he sat with his radio listening to Arewa news
"Baba,is it true ?"she asked voice trembling
"Is what true,Zainabu?"
"That you want to marry me off ...to someone I do not even know?"
The radio cracked,the old man's fingers froze on the tuning dial
"Zainab,listen to me.This is not punishment,this is protection.A woman's honor is in her husband's house,not in books and city life"
She had knelt down before him,tears streaming down her face ."Baba,please let me finish my school,let me be someone you can be proud of,Wallahi I am not running away with any man"
But Maryam's shadow fell across the doorway,her arms folded."Education will not keep her pure,Mallam.But marriage will "
And that night Zainab lay awake,the biology textbook that Yusuf gave her clutched to her chest,and for the first time,the stars above felt like distance,mocking eyes.