The desert sand and scattered trees blurred by the window as the car sped down the road. The bright blue sky stretched endlessly above, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing within Amara. She leaned her head against the window, the glass cool against her cheek, and willed herself to focus. She had promised herself she wouldn't falter. Not now.
"Stop staring out like that, Amara," Laila said gently. "You'll get a headache."
"I'm fine," Amara replied, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within.
"Are you sure?" Laila pressed, giving her hand a little squeeze.
Amara nodded but said nothing more.
Turning her attention to the man driving them, Laila asked, "Malam, if you don't mind me asking, where are we heading?
"We're taking you both to our house first," the driver explained. "For the budan kai and other formalities. Then we'll travel to Jos, where she'll stay with her ango." The name was Khalifa, and he offered it with a charming smile directed at Laila, who returned it graciously giving her name too.
Laila shifted in her seat, leaning slightly forward toward the driver. "Khalifa, what's Jos like? I've heard it's a cold place."
Khalifa chuckled, his eyes briefly meeting hers in the rearview mirror. "Cold, yes, but beautiful. Lots of hills and greenery, especially around the Ango's house. It's quiet up there. Peaceful."
Amara tilted her head, suddenly more alert. "Quiet?" she murmured, her voice betraying a sliver of unease.
Khalifa glanced at her, his easy grin faltering for a moment. "Well, yes. The Ango, he prefers his space. You'll find out soon enough."
Laila raised an eyebrow. "Prefers his space? What does that mean?"
The driver hesitated, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "He's just...busy. His business keeps him traveling a lot. He's not around all the time, you know?"
Amara's stomach churned, and she folded her arms across her chest. "So, he's barely home," she said flatly.
Khalifa shot her an apologetic smile. "It's not so bad. There are household workers around. You'll never be lonely."
Laila smirked. "What about you, Khalifa? Are you his friend?"
He laughed lightly. "No, no. I'm his one and only brother helping out as best as I could since he's away. You'll meet the rest of the family soon enough."
Amara frowned, suspicion creeping in. "What kind of man marries someone without even showing up for the budan kai?" she muttered under her breath.
Khalifa heard her but pretended not to. Instead, he said, "Don't worry, Amarya. The Ango is a good man. Quiet, yes, but responsible. Everyone respects him. He takes care of his own."
Laila leaned closer, curiosity brimming in her eyes. "Is he really that serious?"
Khalifa shrugged. "Let's just say he's not one for unnecessary conversation. But he's fair. And, well..."
Their conversation dissolved into whispers and laughter, but Amara had stopped listening.
Her mind was spinning. Fair? Responsible? What did that even mean? And why did it feel like everyone was skirting around something she was supposed to figure out on her own?
And to make matters worse, her matrimonial home was in Jos, so far from home. So far from everything she knew.
Her chest tightened as she forced herself to think of her father and Sha'aban. She shouldn't have left without hearing their voices one last time, without saying goodbye properly. Yet she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it, afraid that hearing their words might weaken her resolve.
"Laila, my phone," she said suddenly, breaking her cousin's chatter.
Laila handed over the phone, her curiosity piqued. Amara unlocked it and went straight to her call log. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the number saved as My Dear Abba. With a deep breath, she tapped it. The call rang once, twice. No answer. She tried again and again. Frustration mounting with each unanswered call. She tried Sha'aban next. Still nothing.
"Amara," Laila began, oblivious to her cousin's growing frustration, "your in-laws live in Nasarawa GRA, near Maman Hanan's area. You can visit her when you're with your in-laws. And Goggo will love you. That old woman is always..."
She let the phone drop onto Laila's lap and shrank back into her seat, tuning out her cousin's chatter. Her focus shifted to the landscape outside. She let the weight of her situation settle in her chest without allowing it to crush her. The endless stretch of sand and sparse trees mirrored her life at this moment-vast, uncertain, and devoid of clear direction. The realization that this was all her doing hit her hard. She had overreacted, letting her emotions cloud her judgment. She wasn't the first woman to be married off to a stranger, especially in their community. But as the car sped forward, a thought struck her: even in this desert, life found a way to grow. Grow and manage to look green." She had no choice but to move forward now.
The car slowed to a stop, interrupting her thoughts. She straightened in her seat as Yaya KB, Maman Hanan's husband, emerged from a car ahead. He exchanged words with their Khalifa before returning to his vehicle. Moments later, two more cars and a van joined the convoy.
As the journey resumed, Amara's resolve hardened further. Whatever awaited her at her destination, she would meet it head-on with absolute steeze and composure.
*
*
*
"Ga amarya sun iso," an elderly woman's voice rang out on their arrival. She began to yodel, her joy infectious, prompting other women to join her.
Amara's heart lifted briefly as she spotted her aunts and cousins among those stepping down from the vehicles that accompanied theirs. Especially the presence of Auntie Chiamaka and her son Ifeanyi. It was an unexpected relief, a small pocket of familiarity in an unfamiliar world.
They were led into the main house, where her in-laws awaited. The room was grand but sterile, its air heavy with unspoken expectations. The hum of chatter subsided, replaced by a low, curious murmur from the women seated around the room. Their eyes darted to her, sharp and assessing, even through the veil that shielded her face.
"Ga Amarya nan," one of them whispered loudly enough for others to hear.
"She looks delicate," another whispered, her tone dripping with skepticism. "I wonder if she can handle this family."
A woman seated by the corner leaned toward her neighbor, her voice barely audible. "You know she's not entirely from here, ba? That southeastern blood will show itself eventually."
"Me?" almost shouting, her companion responded with shock. "I trust Hajiya Naira to keep her in line."
Amara's fingers tightened in her lap beneath the folds of her gown, but she kept her head bowed, feigning ignorance.
Another older woman sniffed, her tone dismissive. "She doesn't even seem like the type that will last. Look at her soft hands, soft everything. She doesn't know what she's entering."
"Hush!" someone hissed. "Her people can hear you."
"So? Let them hear," the first woman retorted.
The air grew heavier as the women continued their quiet commentary. Amara swallowed hard, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crack.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and the formalities began.
Amara sat silently behind her veil, observing as her aunts presented the foodstuffs to her in-laws. She hadn't expected her Abba to go to such lengths, considering the circumstances. Yet he had, and the gesture filled her with a bittersweet pride.
When the time came for the budan kai, she was instructed to kneel. She wasn't too surprised that her unveiling won't be done by her husband. Her's was quite different from the norm.
An older woman approached with a measured grace, but just as she reached for Amara's veil, Auntie Fatimah's teasing voice cut through the tension.
"Aren't you going to show your beautiful bride some love before unveiling her?"
Laughter rippled through the room, easing some of the tension.
"Of course we are," the woman replied, summoning a young woman to bring a tray. "As the mother in-law, here is my little gift to the bride," she said, dropping something into the tray. One by one, family members rose to place their gifts on the big tray, including the women whispering from earlier. Each offering blessings and advice.
Amara kept her head bowed, her posture unwavering as a low, cutting whisper reached her ears:
"I can't believe we're going to hada zuri'a da wanda ta hada dangi da iyamare."
The words, venomous and calculated, sank into her skin like needles. But she didn't flinch. When the veil was lifted, revealing her face to the room, her expression was calm and composed, her resolve unbroken.
"Masha Allah! Our bride is beautiful," her supposed mother-in-law said for all to hear, though her tight smile and cold eyes told another story. Her smile was as stiff as her perfectly pressed hijab, her eyes scanning Amara as if appraising a flawed piece of art. It wasn't hostility, it was something quieter, more insidious. A simmering disdain that promised trouble ahead.
The formalities continued, prayers and advice flowing from the elders of both families. Her father-in-law's warmth stood in stark contrast to the guarded hostility from the women.
As Amara was finally escorted outside to the waiting cars that will take her and three other relatives to the Airport, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, she wasn't just leaving behind her family and the life she'd known. She was walking into a world
that would test her strength and patience at every turn.
But she would not falter. Not now.
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