JAAFAR🌹 By Buhari Yusuf IBr
Chapter 2
JAAFAR🌹
THE OBSESSION2
By Buhari Yusuf IBr
...02
“I… said… get out!” Alh. Yusuf ya ƙara faɗa with his all voice out. This time, wanda yake outside din gidan zai iya jin tsawar. Da sauri Jaafar ya tashi, his whole body trembling, and left the room.
Tsaye yake a tsakiyar bedroom din sa, his eyes filled with tears, unable to wipe them away, pacing from the beginning of the room to its end, desperately, delved in finding a lasting solution.
“Me ke shirin faruwa da ni ne? Why is everything going to change in just one day? Me yasa yaya Sadiq yake ƙoƙarin raba ni da Fatima? Me yasa yake son raba soyayyar da ta kwashe lokaci—at least two years. Fatima is the apple of my eyes, and nobody can come near us. Nobody can separate us apart.”
Wannan shine abin da yake ta sakawa da kwancewa a zuciyarsa— a yayin da yake kaiwa da kawowa cikin yalwataccen ɗakin nasa tun bayan barowarsa daga gurin mahaifinsa, and still his eyes producing fresh tears.
Jikin madubin É—akin ya koma ya tsaya, watching the reflection of himself through the mirror, and at the same time yana tunani.
Ya kusa kwashe mintuna sha biyar a tsaye a gurin. Daga ƙarshe, a hopeless idea stalked into his dumb head. Da sauri ya juya ya ɗauki wayarsa—wacce rabon da ya waiwayi inda take tun safe.
43 missed calls, all from Fatima. His hands were shaking, hoping the recent remnant occasion which had happened was nothing but a dream.
Har wayar ta gama ringing ba a ɗauka ba. With no hesitation, ya ƙara dialing number. Tana gab da katsewa aka ɗauka.
“Assalamu alaikum,” Fatima ta faɗa daga can bangaren. A golden voice—her voice firm, unshakable, as if nothing happened.
“Amin wa alaiki,” ya amsa. A cikin zuciyarsa yana addu’ar Allah yasa mafarki yayi, Allah yasa abin da ya faru was just an illusion (déjà vu).
Bayan shiru na ɗan wani lokaci, jin alamun ba ta da niyyar ƙara yin magana bayan sallamar da ta yi masa, yasa ya yi convincing zuciyarsa cikin fata (wish)—although he knew he was just deceiving himself—ya ce,
“Na ga kiran ki, kusan 40+ missed calls. Me ya faru?”
Duk da ta yi mamakin tambayar tasa, amma ba ta nuna ba. Kawai sai ta ce,
“Ba komai, kawai ina son in ji ya ka koma, and thank God. Yanzu na samu yaƙinin kana lafiya ƙalau.”
“Wait, Fatima!” ya faɗa, his voice a little above his normal tone. Ya ci gaba da faɗin,
“Do you mean… yau na zo gidan ku? And all what I have made as assumption was true? Kina nufin da gaske ne yaya Sadiq ya zo? And is he really asked me to leave you alone? And he said ba zan taɓa auren ki ba ko me zan yi? Dan Allah Fatima, tell me all this was false. Dan Allah ki ce ba ni da lafiya, Fatima. Ki faɗa min cewa na fara gane-gane, and fix us a date and time which we’d go to the psychiatric hospital and make x-ray on my head, please.”
Ya faɗa, clenching his left hand into a fist, his nails digging into his soft palm, kamar yana ƙoƙarin fasa tafin hannunsa da ƙunbarsa. Sabbin hawaye suna gangarowa suna ƙara wanke fuskarsa.
A bangaren Fatima, ba ta taɓa tsammanin zuciyar Jaafar is too soft as this ba. The way his voice was flowing out and shaking was enough to confirm to her that he was crying.
“Calm down, Jaafar. Nobody can separate us apart, I promise—no matter how and what the obstacles would be. I’m obsessed with you likewise you do. We’ll stay together, married, and produce our own offspring. Na yarda da cewa komai mai kyau sai an same shi da cikas, and I urge you too to believe this, please.”
A lokaci ɗaya zuciyar Jaafar ta zama wasai, as if a heavy stone was lifted up from his chest. Wani confidence ya ziyarce shi, but… he knew this was just the beginning. There’s a mighty thing coming, trying to shatter their hearts, but they’ll face it and fight against it together.
“Thank you, Fatima, for these golden encouragements. Dan Allah, don’t let me down. I feel like more would come, but your words held me strong,” Jaafar ya faɗa, yana komawa saman kan gadonsa, da tun safe ya kasa zama tsabar tension da ya yi clouding zuciyarsa.
“I’ll come to see you tomorrow, Fatima. I want to see you, and I always admire seeing you whenever we’re not together,” ya faɗa, yana kwanciya a kan faɗaɗɗen gadonsa, hannunsa saman ƙirjinsa, fuskarsa tana producing sabon annuri, sabon shauƙi—forgetting the recent warning from her elder brother.
Shiru Fatima ta yi for about five seconds, sai kuma ta yi sauri ta ce,
“Allah ya kawo ka lafiya, my one,” swallowed the saliva by taking a cup of water on the table beside her.
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Washe gari da yamma—bayan juriyar shanye duk wani abu da ya faru jiya, da ƙoƙarin ganin ya kauda duk wani tunani da zai disturbing peace of mind dinsa—but still ya kasa fita ko nan da ƙofar gida, curiously to meet his wife-to-be and still panicking for what might come after. Ko office ya kasa zuwa, duk da forcing kansa da ya yi a kan zuwan, and his dad didn’t say a word about dalilinsa na ƙin zuwa, cos he already knew why.
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Finally, here he is—knotting his necktie. Tsaye yake a gaban mirror na ɗakinsa, ƙara dudduba jikinsa yake, yana binciken ko akwai wani aibu da ya kamata ya gyara, amma bai gani ba.
Fita ya yi daga bedroom dinsa zuwa ƙaton parlor nasa—which is decorated with rare-to-see couches, tables, and everything in it. Even the paint, ba za ka iya kama ainahin kalar sa ba; abin da za ka iya cewa kawai—painting yana da haske. To cut the explanation short, totally the parlor was very exceptional.
Wayarsa ya É—auka da key din motarsa, ya fice daga parlor. Main parlor babu kowa, only the TV playing inside it. So bai tsaya ba, ya wuce.
Parking space ya ƙarasa ya nufi wajen motarsa, ya buɗe ya shiga. Ya warmed it for fifty seconds and then stormed out from the house and the area entirely.
Bai tsaya ko ina ba—bayan tafiyar kusan mintuna talatin a cikin garin Lagos—sai ƙofar gidan su Fatima. Beautiful estate, containing luxurious houses as his own estate.
Horn ya yi. After less than thirty seconds, gate man ya leƙo ta ƙaramin ƙofa don ganin waye. It’s a familiar car and a familiar face. Bai yi jinkiri ba ya fara buɗe ƙaƙƙarfar gate din. Jaafar ya danna kan mota zuwa cikin faɗaɗɗen gidan—wanda har yanzu bai taɓa zuwa ƙarshen sa ba, duk da kwashe shekaru yana zuwa gidan—the house supposed to be called a “mansion.”
Tafiya yake cikin natsuwa, amma bugun zuciyarsa na ƙara tsananta. Bayan ya yi parking din motar a gurin da ya dace, kawai tafiya yake, amma a tsorace yake—one look is enough ka gane hakan. But he believed that “believe in possibilities. When you keep hope in your heart, anything is achievable.”
Parlor baƙi ya je—babu kowa a parlor. Ya samu ɗaya daga cikin elegant couches ya zauna as if nothing happened last time. Then he brought out his phone from his trouser pocket while rearranging his outer shirt, and dialed Fatima’s number. Bugu biyu ta ɗauka.
“Amincin Allah ya tabbata gare ki, ya ke hasken zuciyata, sanyin idanuna,” ya faɗa, lowering his charming eyes.
“Kai ma haka,” ta faɗa in detail.
“I’m inside your house, my forevermore, anticipating your beautiful face to appear,” ya faɗa, courage in his tone.
A bangaren Fatima kuwa, sai da gabanta ya faÉ—i. She never expected him at this very moment.
Da sauri ta tashi, ta nufi ɗakinta. Her sudden change in demeanor dragged people’s attention in the parlor—because she was in the public parlor.
Fa’ika, wacce ta kasa rufe baki, ta ce,
“Wannan kuma fa? Daga amsa waya kuma sai ta tashi butsu-butsu ta shige ɗaki?”
“Wa ya sani, mata. Kila wannan Jaafar ɗin nata ne. Ni fa, dama I have less assurance wai zai ƙyale ta. Baba needs more effort in order to make them separated,” Khairat ta faɗa, fuskarta a ƙasa tana yin game a wayar mummunsu.
“Wallahi kuwa,” Fa’ika ta faɗa.
Duk abin da ake yi, Hajiya Rabi’atu—mother of all of them—na jin su, but chose not to say anything. Instead, she focused on watching TV.
***
Zaune ta shigo ta gan shi a public parlor, busy pressing his phone. A hankali ya ɗago kai ya kalle ta, madaukakin murmushi ya bayyana a fuskarsa. Ya ji duk wata damuwarsa ta zama babu ita. Farin ciki ya lullube duk wani lungu da saƙo, tudu da gangare na zuciyarsa. With just a mere look, he felt this happiness. What would he feel if he possessed her as his wife? It’s unpredictable, he assumed.
Kusan mintuna talatin suna zaune a parlor. Jaafar forgot all the tension that had happened the last day. Amma a bangaren Fatima kuwa, the tension was intact—never fading as simply as this.
Turo ƙofa aka yi da ƙarfin tsiya wanda yasa both Jaafar and Fatima suka juyo. Sadiq ne. His face masked with rage, his eyes turning from white to blue and red. Ji ka ji—TASS!—ya sauke dogayen yatsunsa a fuskar Jaafar. Kafin zafin ya gama sanewa, ya ƙara aza masa wani a ɗayan kuncin. Fatima ta miƙe tsaye da sauri za ta fice daga parlon, ya fizgo ta as if he dragged a small boy, and shared her own gift of slap.
Jaafar zaune yake a gurin da yake—ya kasa tashi daga gurin—thinking all this was just an illusion. Unfortunately, it was true, not an illusion as he thought.
“Officers! Shi ne wannan. He’s assaulting my younger sister. Take him to the cell until I see his father!”
Shigowa suka yi, suka ɗago Jaafar da ya daskare a gurin, suka saka masa handcuffs zuwa cikin motarsu, suka tada jiniyar motar, suka bar layin…
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To be continued.