Suddenly, she sat up and looked at the wall clock in her room. Her eyes widened in shock as she exclaimed, “What!!! Past 8.” Quickly, she threw off the duvet and rushed into the bathroom, her mind in a panic. After six minutes, she came out wrapped in a towel and went straight to the mirror. She picked up a comb and began combing her hair. In no time, she was done, tied it neatly with a ribbon, packing her smooth hair to one side, then hurriedly applied body lotion. Within a few minutes, she finished and moved to her wardrobe, picked a long black dress and wore it, then took her veil and draped it over herself. She grabbed her side bag from the bag hanger and hurried out of the room.
At the shoe rack, she picked a pair of flat shoes and rushed down the stairs. The living room was empty except for the television that was on and the sound of the standing fan. That made her dash into the kitchen shouting, “Ummi! Ummi!” Before she fully entered, Ummi came out holding a food warmer. One look at her and you could tell she was the girl’s mother because of their striking resemblance. Ummi gave her a sharp look and said, “Are you okay? What’s the essence of running?” She replied hurriedly, “Ummi, I have an appointment at the clinic today.” Ummi frowned at her and said, “Who told you that?” Gently adjusting her veil, she said, “I’m sorry, Ummi. Yesterday when Dr. Hisham called me, you had already locked the door, and I didn’t wake up early today.” Ummi placed the warmer on the dining table and said, “Go, let Mustapha take you. I think I don’t have to go.” Quietly, she replied, “Alright, I’ll be back,” and then left the kitchen heading for the exit.
An Unexpected Meeting at the Clinic
It was a large house, beautifully landscaped with flowers all around. It had two main sections facing each other, with a boys’ quarters at the side and a parking lot in the middle that could accommodate about six cars. She hurried to the car and said to Mustapha, “I’m late, Musty, and he said he’s leaving the country today,” as she entered the back seat. Mustapha closed the door, quickly walked around, entered the driver’s seat, and started the car saying, “We’ll get there, Hajiya Karama. Honestly, I like entering that hospital because I enjoy seeing white people. They say it’s their hospital, right?” She smiled and said, “Sure, but our people also work there.” Mustapha grinned and replied, “Who would want to watch black people, Hajiya Karama? White people are more pleasant to look at. Allah really created them well—so fair and smooth, like if you pinch them, blood will come out. I’ve never seen white people face to face in Kano except in that hospital.” She laughed and said, “So what exactly is there to admire in a white person, Mustapha? You’re overdoing it.” Quickly he replied, “Wallahi, Hajiya Karama, a white person is something to behold. If I’m to sit and look at a black woman, I’d rather be taken before an old white woman and keep staring at her repeatedly.” She burst into laughter and said, “So you don’t like looking at us, you’d rather find a white woman?” He widened his eyes and said, “How could I say I don’t like seeing you? Wallahi, when I first saw you, I thought you didn’t understand Hausa, only Arabic.” She laughed hard, shaking her head. Among all the drivers in their house, she liked Mustapha the most because his conversations always entertained her. Even when she wasn’t feeling well, once he came to greet her, he knew how to make her smile.
After parking, she stepped out and said, “I’m going in now, Mustapha. The white people are here—keep watching them. When I come out, tell me which one you chose.” Without waiting for his reply, she hurried inside. Carefully counting her steps, she entered the clinic gently and headed to the office on the left. She knocked softly, was invited in, and slowly opened the door. She looked only at Dr. Hisham, smiling as she greeted him, “Morning, Dr.” He smiled back and said, “Morning, Fatima. How are you?” Softly, she replied, “I’m fine, Doctor. I thought you were leaving now.” Dr. Hisham checked his wristwatch and said, “I have one hour left. Have a seat.” As she turned to sit, she said, “But Doctor, please, I don’t want injections this time around, I just need dru—” She stopped abruptly, staring at the man sitting on the sofa pressing his phone. She hadn’t noticed him earlier, and his face looked very familiar. She slightly frowned and in a low voice said, “Morning.” Without looking up, he replied, “Same,” and continued pressing his phone.
She turned to the doctor who was writing and asked, “Can I have them now?” He replied, “Yes, wait a minute. How is Abba?” Sitting on the arm of the chair, she answered, “He’s fine.” Very gently, the man beside her stood up, walked to Dr. Hisham, shook his hand and said, “Doctor, I’m going. Thanks for everything.” The doctor smiled and replied, “Alright, my friend. May Allah make it easy.” He withdrew his hand, put it in his pocket and said, “Ameen,” then headed for the door.
Dr. Hisham handed her the prescription and said, “Here it is. When you buy them at the pharmacy, they’ll explain everything as usual.” She collected it and said, “Thank you. And when are you coming back from Cairo?” He replied, “I’m spending just five days. If there’s any problem, you can meet Dr. Aryan; he’ll handle everything.” She said, “Alright, thank you,” and left for the pharmacy.
The man was still standing there. She stood near him, looking at his face, which looked serious, unlike the day he had helped her. She watched the medicines being packaged—exactly the same type she took. So he had the same illness as hers? she wondered. She handed over her prescription after he was done and left. Within a few minutes, her own medicines were packaged, she paid, and hurried out of the pharmacy because she didn’t want him to get far.
At the corridor, she saw him sitting with his eyes closed as if asleep. She approached gently and stood before him, saying, “Assalamu alaikum.” He opened his eyes and in a calm, sweet voice replied, “Wa’alaikum salaam.” She smiled slightly, not expecting a response, played with the ring on her finger, lowered her head and said, “Thank you once again for helping me the other time. When I woke up, Salma told me you had left. Today Allah brought us together again. Thank you so much.” He watched her quietly as she spoke, then lowered his head and said, “It’s nothing. Take care.” She replied, “Insha Allah,” and turned to leave. He then said, “Your name.” Without turning back, she answered, “Fatima Rafi’ah.” He stood up and said, “I’m Yusuf Muhammad.” She turned, smiled and said, “Nice to meet you. Thanks a lot,” then continued walking, feeling relieved that she had finally thanked him.
Behind her, she heard him call, “Rafi’ah.” She stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. He seemed to be following her. He came closer, folded his arms and said, “Can you please pretend to be my girlfriend?”
Description
A Rushed Morning at Home
Suddenly, she sat up and looked at the wall clock in her room. Her eyes widened in shock as she exclaimed, “What!!! Past 8.” Quickly, she threw off the duvet and rushed into the bathroom, her mind in a panic. After six minutes, she came out wrapped in a towel and went straight to the mirror. She picked up a comb and began combing her hair. In no time, she was done, tied it neatly with a ribbon, packing her smooth hair to one side, then hurriedly applied body lotion. Within a few minutes, she finished and moved to her wardrobe, picked a long black dress and wore it, then took her veil and draped it over herself. She grabbed her side bag from the bag hanger and hurried out of the room.
At the shoe rack, she picked a pair of flat shoes and rushed down the stairs. The living room was empty except for the television that was on and the sound of the standing fan. That made her dash into the kitchen shouting, “Ummi! Ummi!” Before she fully entered, Ummi came out holding a food warmer. One look at her and you could tell she was the girl’s mother because of their striking resemblance. Ummi gave her a sharp look and said, “Are you okay? What’s the essence of running?” She replied hurriedly, “Ummi, I have an appointment at the clinic today.” Ummi frowned at her and said, “Who told you that?” Gently adjusting her veil, she said, “I’m sorry, Ummi. Yesterday when Dr. Hisham called me, you had already locked the door, and I didn’t wake up early today.” Ummi placed the warmer on the dining table and said, “Go, let Mustapha take you. I think I don’t have to go.” Quietly, she replied, “Alright, I’ll be back,” and then left the kitchen heading for the exit.
An Unexpected Meeting at the Clinic
It was a large house, beautifully landscaped with flowers all around. It had two main sections facing each other, with a boys’ quarters at the side and a parking lot in the middle that could accommodate about six cars. She hurried to the car and said to Mustapha, “I’m late, Musty, and he said he’s leaving the country today,” as she entered the back seat. Mustapha closed the door, quickly walked around, entered the driver’s seat, and started the car saying, “We’ll get there, Hajiya Karama. Honestly, I like entering that hospital because I enjoy seeing white people. They say it’s their hospital, right?” She smiled and said, “Sure, but our people also work there.” Mustapha grinned and replied, “Who would want to watch black people, Hajiya Karama? White people are more pleasant to look at. Allah really created them well—so fair and smooth, like if you pinch them, blood will come out. I’ve never seen white people face to face in Kano except in that hospital.” She laughed and said, “So what exactly is there to admire in a white person, Mustapha? You’re overdoing it.” Quickly he replied, “Wallahi, Hajiya Karama, a white person is something to behold. If I’m to sit and look at a black woman, I’d rather be taken before an old white woman and keep staring at her repeatedly.” She burst into laughter and said, “So you don’t like looking at us, you’d rather find a white woman?” He widened his eyes and said, “How could I say I don’t like seeing you? Wallahi, when I first saw you, I thought you didn’t understand Hausa, only Arabic.” She laughed hard, shaking her head. Among all the drivers in their house, she liked Mustapha the most because his conversations always entertained her. Even when she wasn’t feeling well, once he came to greet her, he knew how to make her smile.
After parking, she stepped out and said, “I’m going in now, Mustapha. The white people are here—keep watching them. When I come out, tell me which one you chose.” Without waiting for his reply, she hurried inside. Carefully counting her steps, she entered the clinic gently and headed to the office on the left. She knocked softly, was invited in, and slowly opened the door. She looked only at Dr. Hisham, smiling as she greeted him, “Morning, Dr.” He smiled back and said, “Morning, Fatima. How are you?” Softly, she replied, “I’m fine, Doctor. I thought you were leaving now.” Dr. Hisham checked his wristwatch and said, “I have one hour left. Have a seat.” As she turned to sit, she said, “But Doctor, please, I don’t want injections this time around, I just need dru—” She stopped abruptly, staring at the man sitting on the sofa pressing his phone. She hadn’t noticed him earlier, and his face looked very familiar. She slightly frowned and in a low voice said, “Morning.” Without looking up, he replied, “Same,” and continued pressing his phone.
She turned to the doctor who was writing and asked, “Can I have them now?” He replied, “Yes, wait a minute. How is Abba?” Sitting on the arm of the chair, she answered, “He’s fine.” Very gently, the man beside her stood up, walked to Dr. Hisham, shook his hand and said, “Doctor, I’m going. Thanks for everything.” The doctor smiled and replied, “Alright, my friend. May Allah make it easy.” He withdrew his hand, put it in his pocket and said, “Ameen,” then headed for the door.
Dr. Hisham handed her the prescription and said, “Here it is. When you buy them at the pharmacy, they’ll explain everything as usual.” She collected it and said, “Thank you. And when are you coming back from Cairo?” He replied, “I’m spending just five days. If there’s any problem, you can meet Dr. Aryan; he’ll handle everything.” She said, “Alright, thank you,” and left for the pharmacy.
The man was still standing there. She stood near him, looking at his face, which looked serious, unlike the day he had helped her. She watched the medicines being packaged—exactly the same type she took. So he had the same illness as hers? she wondered. She handed over her prescription after he was done and left. Within a few minutes, her own medicines were packaged, she paid, and hurried out of the pharmacy because she didn’t want him to get far.
At the corridor, she saw him sitting with his eyes closed as if asleep. She approached gently and stood before him, saying, “Assalamu alaikum.” He opened his eyes and in a calm, sweet voice replied, “Wa’alaikum salaam.” She smiled slightly, not expecting a response, played with the ring on her finger, lowered her head and said, “Thank you once again for helping me the other time. When I woke up, Salma told me you had left. Today Allah brought us together again. Thank you so much.” He watched her quietly as she spoke, then lowered his head and said, “It’s nothing. Take care.” She replied, “Insha Allah,” and turned to leave. He then said, “Your name.” Without turning back, she answered, “Fatima Rafi’ah.” He stood up and said, “I’m Yusuf Muhammad.” She turned, smiled and said, “Nice to meet you. Thanks a lot,” then continued walking, feeling relieved that she had finally thanked him.
Behind her, she heard him call, “Rafi’ah.” She stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. He seemed to be following her. He came closer, folded his arms and said, “Can you please pretend to be my girlfriend?”