Elisha Oluyemi | Prose

It's behind the big brown gate: home. And it's Eid-el Fitr tomorrow. 

I step out of the train, pulling my suitcase, and immediately turn to wave Asura off before the train crawls away with her along that road sign which reads 'Kubwa Train Station, Abuja'. I keep a wee smile and a mild frown as she screams words that struggle to reach my ears; I only catch a whiff of the call: "F'aizah… me..." Well whatever she's saying, it has to be something adorable, as she is.

I pull my baggage away, along the pavement, and I walk up a pedestrian bridge to cross to the other side. There I will board a bus which will bring me to my final destination. I am coming home. My home in Kubwa.

Home is where Alhaji and Maman F'aizah live out their remaining days. They have two sons, my younger siblings who school in the University of Zaria. And one daughter: I, Faizah, the peculiar child of their youth. Well, everyone who knows about that thing thinks I'm peculiar. They think Asura is, too. So she is also going home. Her home in Idu. Because everyone needs a holiday.

I lean my head against the bus window, watching everything disappear or fade off my sight. In a moving vehicle, nothing ever stays immobile. It was like that in the train too. Back then, I'd wiped a tear off my eyes as I watched everything fall back like the losing side in a tug of war. Asura had dabbed her own dry with a hankie. Perhaps she was hurt the most. But that won't matter now since it's a holiday. During holidays, you forget your fears and your past and your future to revel in the present. And if you're going to share the holiday with some certain people, there's always a high chance that they are people you like, people who like you, people who love that gleam of joy in your eyes—they know it means a lot to you and will do their best to turn it into a bonfire. I flatten my lips and nod in assurance. People like my parents… they will understand and support, won't they?

Intense drumbeats and chants and musical accompaniments filter through the window, into my ears. I read in the Vanguard yesterday that today is the annual Kubwa Carnival.

Our bus coasts along as the crowd of men and women march and dance on. Kubwa is a multiethnic district: little wonder why you'd easily sight folks dressed in sokoto, buba, wrapper, fila. In a multiethnic society, there are diverse worldviews, and where there are different ideologies, you will likely find a place or group which fits who you are. If it ends well, this Eid-el Fitr holiday may turn to a long, enduring stay. Asura would like it too, wouldn't she?

***

The bus freewheels till it breathes to a halt in front of an uncrowded stop. I get off and stride towards the alleyway, pulling my suitcase along. Home is on the left side of the alley. Some children are biking in the near distance, some are setting off fireworks—the kufi hats on their heads have ropes attached, at the tails of which moon and star symbols swing—to amp their excitement, because it is holiday tomorrow—and some are quite away from her, playing Rock Paper Scissors, a game I'm seeing in Nigeria for the first time; I thought it was restricted to Korean dramas. I stop and look around and inhale the air around home, allowing for that flush of joy to course through me—the joy of returning home. 

My eyes are fixed onto that big brown gate that separates me from the warmth of return and the embrace of those who can turn the gleam of joy in my eyes into a bonfire. If this goes well and the bonfire is made, then after Eid-el Fitr it won't be a holiday anymore. Home will be my new world. Our new world. Asura will be happy. 

I blink in the appeal of the double-storey building behind that barrier. In the window on the top floor, the curtain doesn't move. Alhaji and Maman F'aizah, my parents, like to stay on that floor and since I already told them I'll be coming home today, they should be tugging at the curtain and peeping tbrough the window by now to see if I'm close by already. Maybe they are standing behind the gate. Maybe they are preparing a unique style of anticipation. Or a surprise? The last time I came home, four years ago, they were standing in the porch up there waving at me before coming down to welcome me. 

A child screams in the distance. One of the bikers has just fallen and is now crying. About three of his mates are trying to help him up, away from the street. A slender woman runs out, clad in a wrapper that fits tightly across her chest, concern plastered over her face. The injured boy must have visited the house for the Eid-el Fitr holiday. In this part of the world, hosts show great care for the visitors.

A gust of wind blows against my face and I frown, a realisation dawning on me: I haven't been considering what-ifs. I've not been bothering about what may happen if… if… 

Feeling nervous, I shake my head and force a smile. Holiday is meant for the present. It's not meant for the past, neither for worries of the future. Now I brace a step forward, towards the big brown gate.

Flattening my lips to repress the looming burst of joy, I hoist my hand and curl my long, tanned fingers so that my knuckles point out, ready to dig at the gate. But then I sight the doorbell by the gate pillar. Doorbells give whoever's inside a positive feeling than knocking. I reach for the bell button. 

My phone rings. 

I pull back my hand and peel my handbag strap off my shoulders, undoing the zipper and fumbling in it for my phone. A big smile twitches the corners of my mouth as I see 'My Asura' as the caller ID. Asura must have arrived home as well. But, that fast? I swipe the 'answer call' icon and press the screen to my ear, ready to make small talks with that adorable soul before my family would discover me and overwhelm me with a warm welcome. 

"F'aizah, are you home yet?" comes the voice from that end. It's more like a breathy whisper. As if she's in trouble.

I pull a frown. "I'm just about to enter. I'm standing by the gate. What about you?"

"I'm in danger..." That breathy whisper again, this time, ragged. The last time her voice was like this was when we both were sacked from the FTV media house and we contemplated migrating from Zaria to somewhere more welcoming of people like us, people who believe in the individual right to choose whom to love and adore. We wanted to come home and see if the folks here would want to understand us a bit. But...

"Asura, what is it?" I ask, letting the suitcase rest against the gate. I walk a few steps away. "Talk to me. Did anything happen to you?" 

"F'aizah…"

"Asura?" No response. "Asura?"

"F'aizah… I—"

"You see— Take a deep breath, okay?"

"I've been locked up… I'm in danger."

"Hey... What are you saying?"

"My family… They locked me up. They knew it before I could tell them— They've been monitoring me. They know about us. You're not safe too, F'aizah. You're not safe. Run before they lock you up too."

"Will you calm down please?" I blink back the mist filming my eyes. I turn to gaze up that window. Someone pulls the curtain briskly. I saw that for sure. Are they… spying? "No!" I try to fix my gaze up there not wanting to believe that demon in my mind. That demon that wants me to believe my parents would do such a thing as trying to purge me for being different. "My parents won't do that to me," I mutter in response, "even yours, Asura. They won't do that to their… to their beautiful girl." A wave of heat reels around me as if to hem me in and keep me from both the holiday and the potential long stay. 

"D'you really think I'm pranking you? Anytime from now will be too late, F'aizah. They will find you and lock you up."

"How are you still with your phone? Be serious with me, Asura. You're scaring me." I turn clockwise, scanning for suspicious movements.

"They locked me in my room as soon as I moved in my luggage. I didn't suspect anything until they did. Then my dad started cursing, calling me an infidel for loving a woman. He called me a slut. A haram…"

"Asura?"

"F'aizah! Remember we took a break from Zaria because of the attack on us. If you survive you can still help us unite before they kill me. Don't try to meet your family. Faizah—" The line goes off leaving an abrupt bleep. I try to reconnect but it fails, leaving a message: The number you're trying to call is switched off… Shivers lick up my spine, my eyes growing wide. Then my phone buzzes. It's a text. Maman F'aizah? 

I tap it open and read: Don't try to come inside, daughter. He's going to purge you. Just run before we get to the gate.

I clutch my phone and glance around, my heart beating an uneven rhythm. He? Who else could that be than my dad. They will lock me up in a dark room for days or weeks and force me to give up my demons? And they may just decide to stop my forever from disgracing the family and from insulting God? Damn. If only I can get Asura back, then we'll never part again. Since there's no place that can contain our kind, we'll just create one somehow—maybe flee to a place where there's freedom, where there's an assurance of a better holiday. If that happens, then this time, it's going to be a long stay—a holiday that never ends. 

A sob swirls within my nostrils. I sniff it and turn one last time to gaze at our big brown gate. But then, the door creaks open. Alhaji is standing by it, tall, bald, strong, a wide grin across his mouth like one who's meeting an old-time friend. He looks so much like the father I've come to meet and tell my troubles to. He looks so much like that host of this holiday I'd planned. He could easily listen to my story about myself, how unique I am, how differently I want to live, how much I can't help deviating from the standards. He looks so much like one who wll understand me even if anyone would press a blade to my throat. I stagger. For a moment I want to believe: that the inside is just as inviting as the outside. For a moment I want to reciprocate my dad's grin with a bright smile.

But I catch my mum's figure right behind him, shaking her head frantically, lips parted but without words, as if to mean, You're being deceived, F'aizah. There's no more home for you. At this moment, I pull a step back, shutting my ears from external sounds. I can only hear the ones in my head, telling me to find a place where I can get a longer stay. A holiday that never ends.