DAREN AURENA

She sobbed as if her very soul were on the verge of departing, lying on the small bed with blankets draped over her, her eyes shut tightly, her heart throbbing like a sharp pang in her stomach. Her soft voice trembled, “I did, I know, in my life, Jabir, you hurt me, you deceived me, I will never forgive you till the end of the world.” Yet, her crying only intensified, stifled by her own anguish.

Aunty Murja entered the room, carrying a handkerchief in her hand. Her heart brimmed with sympathy for her sister, for Jabir had inflicted a wound that would never fade from her heart, something she would carry forever, especially the memory of their ill-fated wedding night.

Seating herself beside her, Aunty Murja embraced her, and they wept together for a good five minutes. Aunty Murja stifled her sobs, attempting to console her sister. “Khadijatullah, I know the pain in your heart from what Jabir has done. But let us consider this as a trial from God. We have no wealth to fret about, and even if you bring Jabir to me today, nothing will change, for he has money. God’s will, Khadijatullah. I am sorry. I understand how much this weeping burdens you. I fear that we might lose you, just as we lost our parents,” she concluded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

For about ten minutes, Khadijatullah struggled to speak, her sobs interjecting her words. “Aunty Murja, I think I will never cease crying. My heart will never cease to ache, for we have become acquainted with misery. By God, Aunty Murja, I fear Jabir’s treachery might lead to your demise.” Aunty Murja held her tighter as Khadijatullah continued, tears flowing. “If I had the chance, I would annihilate every man in this world. I now fully understand the Hausa saying that a man is not a supporter. If you see a man during the day, turn away, for he will draw you into the darkness. And if you once find shelter in him, he will thrust you into the light.” Aunty Murja remained speechless, her sister’s heartfelt words and ongoing anguish rending her own heart.

Aunty Murja found no words to say, only continuing to console her younger sister, as if scolding her until she was as riled up as if a thief had stolen her own money. It had only been three days since her wedding.