The days that followed in the Salisu household grew heavy with whispers.Women from the neighborhood began to visit more often,their wrappers rustling like dry leaves as they entered Maryam's room with smiles that carried secrets.Zainab would pass them on her way to the kitchen and hear the faintest hiss of her name
"Alhaji Kabiru is not a man you say no to"one of them murmured one night when she thought Zainab was asleep
At school she tried to pretend that nothing had changed.She still sat by the window in the last row,she still helped her friends revise for their exams,still read late into the night.But her hand shook when she held her pen,and Yusuf noticed
"Zainabu,he said one afternoon after ast,as they met by the mosque gate,"You've been quiet these days,is something wrong?"
She wanted to tell him,she wanted to say,they are planning to take me away from this life,from this dream,from you.But the words lodged in her throat.
Instead,she faked a smile ."I am fine,Yusuf.just tired."
He studied her face,the shadows under her eyes,the way her scarf slipped because her fingers had grown restless."Fine does not look like this",He said softly
She walked away before he could ask more.
At home,the plans were no longer whispers,they were steps,deliberate and loud.Maryam arranged the visits,the introductions,the exchange of gifts that Zainab was never allowed to touch.The man whose name was now chained to hers Alhaji Kabiru,sent wrappers of fine laces,boxes of perfume,and a letter written in formal,stiff Hausa
"I will make her a queen in my house"
Her father read it aloud,his voice firm but his eyes unsure.Zainab's brother clapped his hands in delight,too young to understand what it meant.Maryam smiled and tucked the letter under her praying mat as if it were a blessing
Zainab's mother had died when she was twelve.Her mother would have stood by her,she was sure of that.She still remembered her mother's voice,Faint like a song carried by harmattan winds:"Don't let them silence your heart Zainabu.A woman is more than a bride"
The night the engagement was announced,the courtyard was filled with people,lanterns glowing like small trapped stars.Drums played,laughter spilled into the street.Zainab sat in the center,her hands trembling in her lap as older women painted her feet with henna
"You are lucky ",one of them said,"A rich man,a big house,drivers,maids,you will never know hunger"
But in her chest,hunger was all she felt,a hollow ache where her dreams once lived
When Yusuf heard the news,he did not come to the mosque for two days.On the third day Zainab saw him standing by the well,his bicycle leaning against the wall,his eyes distant
"Is it true?"he asked
She could not speak,her lips parted,but the answer refused to come.Her silence was enough
He nodded slowly,gripping the handle of his bicycle until his knuckles turned white."May Allah make it easy for you",he whispered,and rode away
As the wedding day grew nearer,Zainab's nights became longer.The room she shared with her younger sister felt like a prison;every creak of the door sounded like the arrival of the women who would soon carry her away yi become someone else's wife.
She wrote her first diary entry that night,under the dim flame of a kerosene lamp
"If the stars could hear me,I would ask them to keep this night forever.Tomorrow they will take my name from me and give me another's.They will dress me in gold and call it honor.But my heart is not theirs to give"
The house smelled of incense and oil the morning the final preparation began.Women moved in and out like restless birds,carrying trays of sweets,folded fabrics,and bowls of steaming rice,laughter filled the air but not from Zainab
Her room had turned into a dressing hall.Bright wrappers lay over her bed,golden bangles glinted under the lamp,and Maryam hovered by the door,her voice too sweet to be kind
"Stand up zainabu",Maryam said,Adjusting the veil."This is the day girls pray for.be grateful
Zainab stood,her knees weak,her lips sealed.Gratitude did not live in her chest that day;only a deep,gnawing silence.
The ceremony was loud,almost blinding.The hall smelled of perfume and cooked meat,the drummers played until the walls trembled.Alhaji Kabiru arrived with his entourage,men in starched babban Riga,cars polished,the line on his face sharp,his eyes heavy with expectation
She bowed when introduced,the women clapped,her father stood proudly,beads in his hand,whispering prayers that no longer sounded like blessings to her
"Smile,Zainabu"someone whispered as they adjusted her veil
"A bride who frowns will bring bad luck"
So she smiled,just enough to make the pictures perfect,just enough to hide the breaking
That night,after the guest left and the music faded,Zainab sat on the edge of a strange bed in a house that smelled of new paint and old promises.Alhaji spoke about responsibility,about obedience,about the life she now lead.
"You are young,"he said placing a heavy hand on her shoulder,but you will learn.my household has rules.My name is respected,do not embarrass me"
She nodded,her fingers clenched around the fabric of her gown.Somewhere in that city,Yusuf was probably still awake,staring at the same sky,wondering if she had eaten,if she had smiled,if she had remembered the book he gave her.
She remembered.it was tucked under her pillow that night,like a forbidden charm.
Days turned into weeks.The marriage became a rhythm she did not dance to,meals served before dawn,words measured like coins,movements was observed
Alhaji was not a man of softness,he was a man of pride,if she spoke too slowly,he frowned.if she spoke too much,he scolded
"A good wife does not question",he said one evening,pushing his plate aside.
"A good wife does not dream like a schoolgirl"
She cooked,she cleaned,she prayed,and in the quiet moments she wrote.Her diary filled with lines that no one would ever hear.
"They say am lucky because his roof does not leak and his pockets are never empty.But what is wealth when it buys your silence?what is respect when it buries your name?"
The first slap came quietly,like a secret.Not in anger,at least,not in the way he explained it
"You must learn to answer faster",he said,his palm still warm against her cheek.
"In this house,hesitation is disrespect"
She said nothing,only touched her face in the dark later in the dark later and whispered a prayer her mother once taught her "Ya Allah keep my heart alive when my body cannot speak".
The evening that brought the slap was heavy with heat,Zainab has spent most of the day in the kitchen,her hands smelling of garlic and ground pepper,her scarf damp from steam of the pot
Alhaji Kabiru had returned earlier than usual.His footsteps echoed in the hall,firm,deliberate.
Zainab hurried to set the table,making sure every plate faced the same the same way,the stew still warm,the rice covered.
When he sat down,she noticed his mood,his jaw tight,his eyes darker than usual
"Where is the Zobo?"He asked
She paused,her hand still on the tray "I didn't make it today....Alhaji,I thought..."
The pause was her mistake
" you thought?"he cut in,his voice rising,"you thought?in this house,you do not think.you do what i say"
She opened her mouth,a small attempt to explain:The hibiscus had finished,the heat had been too much
The words did not finish. His hand reached her cheek.A sharp stinging sound broke the air.The tray clattered to the floor
Silence followed,thick and heavy
"Next time,he said quietly,"you will not make me repeat myself ".
He left the room,leaving her with the scattered dishes and the ringing in her ears.
That night made Zainab sat by the window,the moonlight cutting her face in half,one side burning,the other hidden.Her fingers trembled as they held her diary
"Today my skin learned what my silence cannot change.one fruit forgotten,one drink missing,and I became a lesson,they said a wife must be strong,but how do you stay strong when the strength is beaten out of you in small pieces?"
She turned the page and wrote again
" I am not angry,I am afraid,not of him,but of what I will become if I stop being me"
The slap was not just a punishment;it was a warning,a line drawn in that household:This is not your life,this is his.
From that day,she began to measure her words,her laughter grew quieter.Her eyes learned to look down,not out the window.But deep inside a part of her stayed awake,the part that remembered the biology book,the dream,the boy with the bicycle,the promise of another life.