They were in their sixth month of marriage, and Zeenah comprehended that Abubakar's bad days, the days she was required to sympathize and compensate for every small injustice done to him, were outnumbering the good days. She didn't know how to fix that, but she suspected it was her fault. She knew other people's marriages were different, that they didn't constantly worry about how to anticipate their husbands' needs, they weren't always walking on eggshells. Certainly, her own parent's marriage hadn't been like this.She seems to subscribe to nightmares, leaving her exhausted the next day. She dreamt of losing a tooth or falling from tall buildings, a skyscraper perhaps. Or being chased by things she couldn't put her fingers on."It is bizarre and cryptic," she related to Abubakar one morning as he sips his coffee, "this new one I had last night. I was in a park somewhere, just walking by myself, and my right leg fell off. No blood or anyt

“You look so thin,” Samira Bashir started as she settled on one of the couches illuminating Zeenah’s living room. “are you okay? Is something bothering you? In fact, you look so nervous Zeenah,” she added, accessing her friend’s appearance from head to toe.Zeenah forced a sad smile and sat beside her friend. "What if I am pregnant?”“Are you?” Samira asked quickly, “because if you are, you’re still in a mess. Remember, you’re yet to cleanse yourselves. Zeenah, do that before it’s too late, please.”“But Abubakar is not ready,” Zeenah heard herself saying. Even to her ears, the words sound shoddy. What was really wrong with her?It was a bright Monday morning, and she recalled the little fight she and Abubakar had before he left in the morning just because Samira was visiting. It had been long since any of her f

Zeenah had never needed something as much as she needed Abubakar's approval and go ahead in her life. From the clothes, she wears to the type of food she mostly eats, to the people she talks to, damn! To even how to speak.It was a bleak Sunday afternoon, and Zeenah was busy ironing Abubakar's clothes, while he sat, crossed leg, watching football on the large plasma screen pasted on the wall. They had just finished having lunch, and he had subtly talked about his clothes that weren't ironed."I wanted to ask Bala to help iron them, but I don't want to be a Bad Boss. Maybe I'll just iron them later when I rest." He had said that when he was feeding a Zeenah a spoonful of rice, while she sat in between his laps."I'll get them done. I always did, why will you give them to Bala?" Zeenah had asked pouting."But I don't want you to keep suffering. You're my wife, not a maid." Abubakar had said, wiping her mouth

"You look stunning," Abubakar drawled adoringly at Zeenah, who was dressed in a red and white Ankara sewed into skirt and blouse. Her hair was simply parked in the middle of her head, and her headgear tied in steps.“You think? I personally think you look way too handsome to go out. I can imagine so many women tripping and falling for you.”‘Oh!” Abubakar replied, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips, ‘it’s their lost then because I’ve got only eyes on you.’ He wiped the extra lip balm by the side of her lips and smiled.Zeenah smiled and held his left hand in hers, “shall we get going?”“Sure, after you beautiful.”They were going to visit their families. Starting with visiting Abubakar’s uncle, and then Zeenah’s family. Ever since they got married, Zeenah had only visited both families twice. They boug

Halfway through the ninth month of their marriage, Abubakar’s determination to get get her pregnant had become all-consuming. She half suspected he would most probably hurt her if he knew she was still secretly taking birth control pills, so she hid them in one of her purses shoved back in a corner of their closet.Convinced that the problem was her, it couldn’t possibly be him; Abubakar sent her to the doctor. She cried in the doctor’s office for an hour, telling him she felt anxious and miserable and had no idea why, and came home with a prescription for antidepressants.“You can’t take that crap,” Abubakar said, crumpling the slip of paper and tossing it into the trash. “It might be bad for the baby.”Their nonexistent baby. She thought guiltily of the pill she took every morning, a secret act that had become her last desperate bid for autonomy. It was difficult on the wee