Bello Kabir.

I can see MD's frown as she watches me ask for lip balm to moisturize my lips. Why she expects me to do the people's biddings is beyond me. I'm not comfortable with licking my lips like a hungry werewolf on live TV!

"No makeup today again?" Sarah asks and I nod with a sarcastic smile, she knows the answer to that. I don't think I'll ever be able to wrap my head around the reason why they expect me to change my mind about things that are just unnecessary ridiculous. They don't even have any reason so there's nothing for me to wrap my head around.

"We're live in five minutes!" That has me glancing at the wad of papers in my hand one last time before heading to the raised platform with a projector behind it, our intro displayed on it.

MD runs over everything one last time before the camera begins to roll with me sitting on my usual chair and the camera man counting down the seconds before we go live.

The moment he says one, my face immediately contorts into a small polite smile, my teeth slightly on display.

"Good evening Nigeria, this is news at ten from Tenths Network. I am Bello Kabir. Today's headlines." I pause and smile, just like every other day before stating out the headlines, glancing at the papers in my hand from time to time.

After about ten minutes, we go on a commercial break and I head off to have a cup of water. I enter my office, glancing at the manuscript on my desk I'm yet to edit. I decide to not think about it, I'm leaving work early today, so I'll have enough time for my other jobs.

I head towards the water dispensers where one is smoking hot and the other is ice cold. I pick up my cup and take half cup each from the two dispensers before gulping it down. Unless the water is lukewarm, I'm not going to have it.

My phone rings from somewhere in the room and I almost throw my head back in annoyance. I am so glad I sometimes forget I have a phone but whenever I do remember, I have too much to do on it. So forgetting about it is more of a disadvantage than an advantage.

I look at my disoriented table and sigh, I'll have to find time before I go to arrange it. If it was arranged, finding the phone wouldn't be a problem. But right now, it looks like it's going to be a problem.

I finally catch the glimpse of a flash from the phone as the incoming call becomes a missed call, no doubt an umpteenth one. I just hope it's not Abu calling, he'll have my head on a silver platter if I miss his call. Good thing he doesn't call during work hours.

I lift the papers I don't even want to look at right now and shift them away, just enough to see my phone screen blink with a message. I pick the silver device and the face unlock immediately recognizes me and unlocks.

"We're back in five." I hear a voice say from behind me and I turn to catch a glimpse of someone walking away.

I drop the phone, hoping I don't forget about it again, and head back to the platform.

It takes me another ten minutes to finish up and then someone takes over. I head back to the office, my phone once again long forgotten. That is, until I start clearing the table and it's vibration fills the once quiet office save for the low hum of the air conditioning system.

I pick it up and swipe at the green icon, not even bothering to wait for true caller to identify the owner of the number. I don't have that time.

The line is quiet and all I can hear is low breathing.

"Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullahi." No reply comes. The person is probably not a Muslim.

"Hello?" Still no reply. But I can still hear the person's breathing.

"Who is on the line?" Still no reply. I figure the person probably doesn't speak English.

"Da waye nake magana?" Yet, still no reply. This is probably a prank call.

I end it and almost drop my phone before I change my mind. I can return missed calls while clearing the table. I pick my air pods and connect them to my phone. I look through the twenty six missed calls I got. One is from Ummu. Oh no.

I dial her number first and slip the phone into my pocket. It rings and she picks immediately.

"Bello Kabir!" I cringe. I hate how she uses her Fulani accent to call the name. I love my mother but I don't like her calling me ballo kebir. Ew.

"Hajiya. Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullahi wa barakatuh." I hear her scoff before she replies my salam.

"Ina ka shiga? You always throw your phone and forget about its existence! Koh ni tsohuwa I don't do that." She switches to Fulfulde and I cringe again. My mum scolding me or my brother in fulfulde is not an enjoyable sight or sound. Though he doesn't know half of what she's saying, he ends up angry. As for me, It's a whole story altogether.

"Ahepti?" I snap back to reality. Ahepti what? I barely heard what she said.

"Uhm, ummu I didn't hear a thing fah." She starts complaining in Fulfulde again and I already feel a headache coming up. The only reason I haven't ended this call is because I'll just earn more scolding for myself. And maybe a slipper or two flying my way.

Don't get me wrong, I love my mother. But she's a handful when she's not being the loving woman she is.

"Wadu munyal." She ignores me and throws orders in the background at someone, probably one of the maids.

"Your father is having very important guests from Abuja today. And he said to let you know that both you and your brother are expected to be at the house before Maghrib." I sigh. I know that's her way of saying I should let Yaya know because she won't do that.

"Toh, I'll let Yaya know. We'll be there In Shaa Allah." I hear her throw more orders, sending an insult to someone in Fulfulde before she replies me.

"Sai fofti." I end the call and sit down, my head in my hands.

I wonder how Yaya copes with Ummu like this. I'm the supposed last born she loves more than life itself. But he's the first child. And unfortunately for him, Ummu is a very traditional woman. So that Fulani tradition of not having any relationship with your first child, it's embedded in her.

Yaya had to move out at the age of twenty three. And even now, the twenty first century, after years, Ummu still doesn't call him her son, or says his name. She'd rather say "yayanka" or "yaron nan". Honestly, if I were him, I don't know how I'll be able to live through it.

Abu has done all he can to make her see that that tradition is utter nonsense and it's probably going to tear our family apart. But she doesn't want to give any of us a listening ear.

It's a miracle, but Yaya doesn't actually care.

"Siri, call bro." I say after some thought. Siri replies and I go back to clearing my desk.

The call goes straight to voicemail so I decide to call his assistant.

"Siri call Josephine." She calls her and Josephine —Yaya's assistant— picks on the second ring.

"Hello, sir." I stop clearing the table.

"Jose. How far?" I can already picture her cringing. Apparently, she doesn't like to mix business with pleasure. And she somehow believes I like her. She doesn't know that even if we were the only unmarried people on earth, I wouldn't be able to marry her. I can never, for the love of me, marry a non-Muslim.

I don't have a problem against Christians or other religions. But I can't see myself being able to live with someone who is not of the same religion as I am. It's going to be hard for us to train our children because our beliefs definitely contrast.

Moreover, Josephine is Igbo. Again, any body that is not from the north, I can't marry them. For the same reasons I can't marry someone outside my religion.

"Sir, are you there?" I snap out of my reverie.

"Yeah. Where is your oga?"

"He's in a meeting right now. Is there a problem?" I shake my head then remember that she can't see me.

"Not really. Just do well to let him know that he needs to call me when he's out."

"Okay, sir." I end the call before she gets more ideas and check my missed calls. My publisher's name is sitting there in red and I sigh. I dial her number and stand up to clear the rest of the table.

"BK." She says.

"Mrs Evelyn. Good morning."

"Good morning to you too. I hope you are well?"

"Yes, I'm good." I wait for her to speak.

"I need to see you, about Withered Soul. There's a book themed fair that is to hold in Abuja two weeks from now. Just... We'll talk about it when you come, when will you be free today?" I sit and pull out my journal. I'm free from 2.30pm to 5pm. I have to be at home by 5pm and then I'll get ready to spend the night at my parent's house.

"I'll see you around 3pm. I hope it won't take too long?"

"No, it won't. Thirty minutes should be more than enough." I nod and write it down in my journal, I'll give her forty-five minutes.

"I'll see you later then." I end the call after she replies and look at my now neat table, that's better.

I look at my wristwatch and see that it's already 11.30am. I'm supposed to edit the news for tonight and then I'll go through the manuscript I got sent in for editing. How I'm going to do that in two hours? I don't know, but I can try.

I pull my MacBook and turn it on. I wait for it to finish booting before I start to go through the news. It's not that long, just three thousand words. I flex my fingers and break my knuckles then get into it.

It takes me an hour to finish editing it before sending it to the publishing team. I stand up and mix my water like I always do and gulp it down. I can't go an hour straight without water otherwise I become unnecessarily weak.

I mix another cup and down it before keeping back the cup and going back to my seat.

I look between my MacBook and the manuscript on my table. As a writer and an editor, I am sometimes torn between editing my own work and editing a manuscript. Mine can wait, but I really want to edit it. I sigh and turn off the MacBook then turn to the manuscript.

I pick up my pen and start reading. The manuscript is not that bad. It only has few errors here and there. It is a short story, amounting to fifteen thousand words according to the client. I should be done by a day after tomorrow, a day before it is due.

Time passes by faster than I would've wanted and my phone starts calling prayers. I look at my wristwatch, noting it is now 1.06pm. I break my knuckles and put a bookmark in the manuscript before I stand up and head to the mosque.

When I come back, I head to MD's office. I knock once and she lets me in. I take a seat as per her request and we exchange pleasantries.

"Are you here to propose?" MD says with a laugh and I chuckle.

"To who?" We laugh at the inside joke before her face yaws serious as she glances at the table clock in front of her.

"I have to be in a meeting in less than twenty minutes. I hope there's so problem?" I shake my head and she smiles.

"That's good. What can I do for you?"

"I want to know if you'll need me for anything for the rest of the day." MD furrows her brows.

"Apart from the editing of the news for tomorrow. And the presentation, I don't think I will. Why?" I adjust myself on the swivel chair.

"I want to get off work early today. And you said the presentation isn't due until next week Wednesday, that's almost ten days from now. I will look into it tomorrow." MD pretends to be thinking. But we both know she isn't. MD can't say no to me no matter how much she wants to.

The thing is MD, the managing director of Tenths Network, once liked me. She even coaxed me into going on two dates with her, threatened me with my job. And I was just twenty four then. But I had to eventually let her know, me and her, we will never work out. She's not a Muslim.

She was even willing to convert. But as much as I want to be rewarded for helping someone convert, I don't see myself marrying a revert. And she understands. So now we share a simple boss-employee platonic relationship. No grey areas.

But sometimes, her feelings for me influence her decisions regarding me. And call me a bad person, but I use it to my advantage when necessary.

"Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow morning." She finally says.

"Thank you ,MD. Have a nice day."

"You too, BK." I smile and walk out of the office.

I glance at my wristwatch, 1.57pm. It'll take me about an hour to get to Evelyn's office. I head to the office, take my things then lock it. I throw a smile at the receptionist before walking out of the office.

I sigh, flexing the muscles on my back as I drop my bag on the bed. I have only thirty minutes to get dressed and head home. I feel like a trailer ran over me. This is the aftermath of juggling a job and two other hobbies turned jobs.

I peel the kaftan and the trousers off my body and dump them in the laundry basket, noting that I'll have to get my clothes from the laundry place while going home. I totally forgot about them, and they probably called me but didn't get to me.

I take a ten minutes hot shower that help relax my muscles then get dressed in another set of Kaftan, this time a slate one. Ummu says the color compliments my brown chocolate skin. I take a slate cap that has patterns in cream and mocha brown. A silver set of watch, ring and cufflinks follow. I slip on my favorite Treka shoes, a Grey pair of half covers.

I spray my cologne and smear some oil perfume on my neck and the back of my ears. Satisfied with my look, I take my phone, wallet and keys then head out. It's already past 6pm. Ummu will have my head for dinner today.

I call Yaya as I drive unto the tarred roads of Kaduna. There is a bit of a hold up on the way seeing as people are coming back from work.

"Mummy's favorite." Yaya's voice comes through the air pods making me roll my eyes.

"Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullahi wa barakatuh, the abandoned son." One would think he'll be hurt by my words but he isn't, it's kind of our thing.

He laughs, I'm sure he's throwing his head back, dimples dipping on both cheeks, the only piece of Ummu he has, otherwise he's a replica of Abu.

I turn to the next junction, my parents house in sight. I live just ten minutes away from them.

"You don reach?" I hear shuffling and then a car starting.

"Ina. I'm just leaving the office ai." I run a hand over my face as I slow down in front of the gate and press hard on the steering wheel.

"Tirkashi! Yau kam mun bonu." His laugh comes though his voice is distant. I assume he has kept the phone and put it on speaker, or he connected it to his car.

"Kai da wa? Nikam I'm the abandoned child. She won't say a thing. Kaine dai ka bonu." I groan as I drive in, the call to Maghrib being made in the house mosque.

"Thanks for the assurance." He laughs again.

"Sai anjima. Let me pray and go meet my demise." I end the call and walk out. I already performed ablution, I always perform ablution before leaving the house, so I walk into the mosque.

Minutes later, we're done in the mosque so I enter the house and head to the parlor. There's only one lady there who is chewing gum and typing loudly on her phone. Does she plan on destroying the screen?

I think she sensed my presence because she raises her head and gasps. I turn around thinking I'll see one of Ummu's infamous slippers flying my way. But there's nothing.

I turn back to the lady who is still gaping, her pupils dilated. I frown. Is she okay? I open my mouth to ask her that when another lady walks down the stairs, adjusting her veil.

She stops in her tracks when she sees me and it takes her seconds to regain her composure. Is there something on my face? Do I have a patch of red oil on my clothes? Am I wearing my boxers on the outside?

"Ina wuni." The lady says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat and coughs.

"Lafiya. Sannu." She nods and goes to sit beside the other lady.

I gather they are part of Abu's guests so I sit in the smaller parlor, waiting to hear Ummu's voice as she comes down the stairs. She's probably in her room with one of the guests and I don't want to interrupt her. And then her voice comes as she asks a Ruqayya whether or not she has prayed.

21-04-2023
Unedited.