TRACING BACK

Someone once told me that loving someone without any reason is the purest form of love,It makes us perfect. Love does not always have to be confessed or named. It does not need a face. It is a prayer we keep for another soul, the soul we save forever.

And yes, I was saved by someone I never imagined I would fall in love with. He is my lifesaver, and I will keep praying for him for the rest of my life.

I lean my head slightly against the wall until I feel the cold touch of its surface. I blink several times, and suddenly I find myself drifting back to the early moments of the morning before my husband left for work. The kind of love and warmth he always gives me I wish he could stay with me every second, because right now, I am terribly missing him.

A heavy wind rushes in through the window, pulling me back to reality. I hurriedly close it and stare at the sky. The clouds hang low, carrying a foreboding atmosphere that seeps into Yahya Gusau Street. My mind races through old memories, trying to pinpoint when exactly the world tilted from chaos and familiar danger into this peaceful comfort zone.

I look around the parlor, and my eyes lock onto my parents’ photograph. I smile as fragments of my life with them resurface along with the story they told me before they got married, a story that will live in my memory forever.

My name is Saima, and I am the only child of my parents. My father and mother were runaway lovers funny, isn’t it? I was told they attended the same school, studied in the same department, and fell in love at first sight. They fled all the way from Ethiopia to Nigeria just to be together because their parents would never bless their marriage.

My paternal grandfather was a Sunni scholar, while my maternal grandparents were non-Muslims. To make things worse, my father was already engaged to his cousin. That was the reason my paternal grandfather rejected my mother. On the other hand, my non-Muslim maternal grandfather was never at peace with Muslims, so without hesitation, he disapproved of their so-called love.

Despite everything, my parents were deeply in love. My mother had already converted to Islam. Around that time, my father got a job with an NGO and was to leave Ethiopia for Nigeria as a consulting officer. Everyone was excited especially his soon-to-be wife, his cousin. He bade his family goodbye, telling them he would go to Nigeria, settle things, and return to marry her.

But with the help of my father’s best friend, Alhaji Fatihu whom I call Dada,my mother followed my father. They got married and settled in Katsina. They never returned to Ethiopia, and that turned out to be the biggest mistake of their lives.

Two years after their marriage, Allah blessed them with me. Dada called me Princess, and soon everyone did. Dada and Amma cared for me even more than my parents did, and I loved them deeply. Every time we visited their house, I was extremely happy because I got to see their firstborn, Yaya Nura, and my dear friend, Maryama.

My mother passed away six years after giving birth to me. My father was devastated. Many nights, I heard him crying after putting me to bed. When I asked why, he told me my mother had always wanted him to take her back to Ethiopia to seek forgiveness from their parents. He never got the chance, and now that she was gone, he deeply regretted it. He promised to take me to Ethiopia during the holidays.

Two months after my mother’s death, my father was involved in an accident and died. I made a vow to myself that when I came of age, I would go to Ethiopia, find my grandparents, and seek forgiveness on behalf of my parents.

After my parents’ deaths, Dada took me into his home and promised he would take me to Ethiopia. That was the short story of my beloved parents.

And guess what?

He never kept that promise.