Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
VI. Four Friends and A Night
Hint/Confession: I know you don’t know me yet. But here’s one thing about me. This little tale and these little thoughts —some, unfinished —that I give to you, I give them because I find closeness in little. Greatness in the simple construct of a minuscule dot. Warmth in imperfections. And I give them all to you not because I'm seeking completeness, but because this, to me, is my truth. And I want to share it with you. Even if it is through these three friends. Sorry, four.
The three friends slept in the car. They could quite easily get a hotel especially since Jameel’s father owns a four-star hotel in the city but they didn’t want to draw attention so they decided they’d sleep in the car.
Earlier that night, they broke into the solar farm and abused some of Dihaara’s properties. It was a smooth job mostly because the security man, an old man, was sleeping and they were very discreet. After the job, the three friends found a well-lit, scarcely busy area and parked their car. This was where they’d retired for the night.
The night was inside the stars and the stars were outside their constraints; and the three boys were more inside their words and laughter than they were in the car or the night. They talked about old times. If we have time, I shall tell you how these boys became friends but not now.
Right now, Umar had switched on his phone (until now, the boys had switched off their phones to avoid being tracked) and had just dialed Adam’s number and now has him on speaker. Umar then switched him to the car Bluetooth so that they could talk longer while all of them heard one another clearly. Because they all knew as I had long learned that the talk about old times was not complete without the four boys present. Even if it was in the form of three boys and a voice on speaker.
Abubakar, the only married man in this little clique, did what none of them could do yet: He answered a phone call from his wife, Yusra – a lady that laughs with almost every sentence she uttered.
Abubakar excused himself and exited the car. The night outside welcomed him into its color. He closed the door behind him. Then he pressed his phone against his ear. Smiling.
“I can’t believe Abubakar is married. Where does the time go!?” Umar said, talking to no one in particular. He knew where the time went. At least he knew where his time went and with it, a chunk of him he was never getting back; and not being there for Abubakar on his wedding day nine months ago and what came before and after were among the things he was never getting back. Abubakar forgave him for that because he understood his friend Umar. “But of course, if there was anyone who would be the first to settle down it would be him. You know, he’s… well he’s just the kindest soul out there.” Umar added watching Abubakar through the side mirror. Watching him smile and talk and laugh to Yusra’s smile and words and laughs.
“So what will you do about Abba’s instruction? You know tomorrow when we meet him he’d bring it up. Are you going to go meet Prof. Siraj Muhammad’s daughter?” Jameel said from the backseat.
Umar sighed. “I’m not sure. I have to but I’m not sure.” Abba had left instruction with umma that when Umar is finally back, he was to meet Maryam, Prof. Siraj’s daughter, and he should propose marriage to her.
“Wait, back up? What did I miss?” it was Adam’s voice coming from the car’s bluetooth. “Prof. Siraj’s daughter? The one studying medicine? But more importantly, Jameel sounds like you’re supporting the idea of marriage.”
“What gave you that idea?” Jameel said.
“Jameel, you know I live in the information world.”–Adam was a journalist in Lagos.” And I have never seen or heard of an unhappy home where the wife is a chef. Maryam can cook. I know this because her father was my favorite lecturer and I used to spend the weekend in his house. I think she’s even better than Jameel. That was for you Umar, so go for her. And you Jameel, I know you heard when I said she’s a better cook than you?”
“Okay, you’re making it personal. Let’s change the topic.”
Adam and Umar laughed. “Don’t feel bad, man. I got one question for you,” Adam said. “What’s your relationship status now?”
“Relationship Status: Busy, Very.”
***
The next morning, everything seemed to be going as planned. The reflection from the altered solar panels hit the library around two p.m. making the prison to react as Jameel had predicted. The inmates, including Abba, were made to go to the Solar farm. They were accompanied by guards with guns. Funny enough, the security man guarding the solar panel was the one giving the inmates and the guards instructions. He told them which position the panels should face as though it wasn’t his negligence that made it possible for the three boys to sneak into the solar farm. He was even snoring when they snuck in the night before.
For Umar to successfully enter the scene and talk to his father even if it was for a second, Umar had to be devoted to the plan. No matter what happened.
Umar had suggested that they rent a fancy car with a veiled plate number. Then storm the place with suits claiming they were from the security agency, the Concentric.
The Concentric was one of the best security agencies in the country operating in Dihaara. Junaid’s father was the founder. Yes, Junaid the king’s aide. Junaid’s father, Lt. Col Danjuma Mustapha, after serving the throne, retired and sought the permission of the king to create such an organization whose primary aim would be to protect and serve the people of Dihaara. The Concentric offered services – operative, consultancy, and building construction – for people both inside and outside of Dihaara. And they were the ones who created the Delivery Service.
But this was a huge gamble. One that can throw the boys in prison for good. And that was the least of what would happen if they get caught.
They hid their car and rented a fancy car with tinted windows. When they got there in the fancy car and were about to get out of the car, their next course of action collapsed with a phone call.
“Unknown number calling,” Jameel said, considering whether to answer or not. Jameel hated indecisiveness so he just answered the call, and in the split second before he uttered a word, he remembered that he never switched on his phone since last night. Then how did a phone call get through! Jameel thought. The how of it was the work of the ultimate owner of the Delivery Service as Jameel’d soon find out. “Hello.”
“Jameel son of Alhaji Shatima Mukhtar, you should consider saying a prayer of peace when you answer a call. Peace is what connects us, don’t you agree?” the voice said. The moment he heard the voice he knew who it was. It was the king of Dihaara, King Nasir. Jameel considered hanging up. He was surprised the king had his number and he couldn’t understand how the king called a phone he was sure was switched off. The three friends had switched their phones off for almost twenty hours lest they should be traced. The only time they switched it on was last night when Umar called Adam.
“Your Majesty, peace and blessing be upon you.” Once Jameel mentioned the caller’s name Abubakar and Umar looked surprised – a bit tensed even.
“That’s more like it. Wa’alaykumus salam. Now I’m sure my grandson, Khalifa is close by. Can you please hand the phone over to him?”
“Your Majesty, may Allah preserve you but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How admirable! And yet there’s nothing admirable about lying…” Umar took the phone from Jameel’s hand before the king finished his sentence.
“Assalamu alaikum, Your Majesty.”
“My grandson, wa’alaykumus salam. I have called the prison, you can now go and see your father. You don’t have to break in to see him or commit whatever crime it is you are planning on committing.”
“…”
“I know you want to ask me how I knew or why I’m helping out but it’s simple: a son must see his father. So go see your father.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“I know no one is perfect but a prospective king shouldn’t have a criminal offense as part of his past deeds.”
“Your Majesty, I’m not fit to be king.”
“Funny. That’s the same thing I said when The Table sent me an invitation at my workplace as a watchmaker for the screening exercise to be the next king of Dihaara. That was ages ago and I still feel I haven’t done enough. Khalifa, at least come for the screening. I’m not asking because I can’t get you to come. You know I can. Very easily. But a man must make such a decision by himself.”
“…”
“Well, do send my best regard to your father. And Umar, tell your friends not to pull such a trick here on my land ever again. It’s admirable but not again. And I pray you make the right decision. Because, in the end, we are made or unmade by the decisions we make.”
***
“My boys… it’s so nice to see you all. Please sit. Do sit,” said Abba, Ja’far Nasir – the prisoner. A glass panel intended to separate the prisoner and his visitors was between Ja’far Nasir and the three boys. Umar noted that Abba, his father, hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw him. He seemed healthy for a man who has spent almost a year in prison.
“It’s really nice, you know… to see you.” When Abba said that, he was looking at Umar. “Jameel you look taller. I hope you don’t smoke anymore?”
“Abba, he still does,” Abubakar said. “I’ve talked him out of it more times than I can remember. The last time we were here, he told you he was done with it. He hasn’t stopped,” Umar was happy to hear that his friends visited his father in his absence. And somehow, that made him remember R’s message. : I KNOW WHERE YOU’VE BEEN FOR THE PAST TEN MONTHS.
“I believe I can very much talk for myself, thank you,” Jameel said slightly hitting his cousin with his elbow. The prisoner and the three friends talked for a very long time. Abubakar and Jameel exited the room and left the prisoner and his son to talk more freely.
“So tell me, how’s our favorite girl in the universe?”
“Hafsa is doing absolutely great. She just turned six a few weeks ago. She’s still in Kano with Saleem. She has no idea we came here,”
“She doesn’t know your whereabouts!? Well, you have a lot of explaining to do to her.”
Umar smiled. “yeah she’s still cute like that – wanting to know our whereabouts,” then silence ensued.
“How time flies!! So she’s six now? Khalifa, you take care of her. I’m sure you’re all doing a great job but please do take care of her.”
“Sometimes I feel like she knows. She knows more than she should. I mean it’s not easy losing a mother at such a young age.”
“It’s not,” Abba said.
“Just the other day she was asking me about you,” Umar said.
“Is that so?” he said, Abba’s eyes crinkled, Umar could see the hope planted in them.
“I told her, ‘the first time your grandfather saw you was in a hospital, a few minutes after you were born. He picked you from your mother’s arm and said, ‘this is the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.”’
“I remember that night,” Abba’s smile grew bigger and his tears traced the crinkles. “The inimitability of a child’s smile is something the world should fight to preserve. It’s something we should fight to preserve. I’d always wondered how babies watch you smile then do it better.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Do you remember what Safiyya said when you said that about Hafsa’s smile?”
“I do. She said ‘Abba are you saying her smile is bigger than mine? even bigger than her mother’s?’” and they both laughed – father and son.
“It’s crazy how time passes, especially when you’re in prison. Time passes and yet we can’t really measure time. Everything is an attempt to transcribe what’s behind us and what’s in front of us. Time passes without leaving and we parse it to live it. Khalifa, go and see her. Go and see Maryam. It’s high time you started thinking of having a family. If you accept each other, you should marry her.
“Because in this little play we call life, love is the only encore that every soul needs to see in abundance. I want you to see more of it. So please go and meet her, will you?” what Abba was requesting was the last thing on Umar’s mind but he couldn’t say no.
***
“Isn’t that Senator Taneem Thawbaan’s house?” Abubakar said. It had been twenty minutes since the three friends left the prison. Taneem’s Thawbaan was the Deputy President of the Nigerian Senate and he had the biggest house in Dihaara.
“I wouldn’t know. Why are you looking at me like that?” Jameel said. Jameel knew why his cousin asked the question. In fact, Abubakar was grinning when he asked the question.
“First off, everybody knows whose house that is so stop pretending. Second off, I’m sure his daughter, Khadija Taneem, is the same Khadija Taneem that her father got you imprisoned over because you broke her heart.”
“I wouldn’t remember. You know I have a bad memory,” Jameel glared at Abubakar while he drove. “So where to now?
“Just keep moving. Let’s travel the whole of Nigeria,” Umar said. It was one of Safiyya’s dream to travel the entirety of Nigeria.
In the Color of Blood, Saleem lied to the world about where Umar had been in the period after Safiyya had died. He told the world that Umar had fulfilled Safiyya’s dream. Umar knew why his brother wrote that. Even he believed it when he read about what Saleem had written about his absence. Umar believed it because every detail was true. Even though it wasn’t the truth he wore after his sister died. He attempted wearing it but he broke.
The story Saleem told never happened. It was the story of a plan they made a long time ago but never got the chance to come through with. Umar, Safiyya, and Saleem.
The plan was to feel the pulse of every state. Spend at least a week in each state. See the nation in its diverse nature and have some real fun. It was an amazing plan. But that was all it was. A plan and not a reality.
When Umar’s two friends heard his suggestion about traveling the whole of Nigeria they said nothing. It was Jameel who broke the silence with an angry outburst.
“Look, Umar!! I admit I don’t have many things to do back in Zaria but Abubakar left his family and work for you. He has students under his tutelage but he left them for you. He forgave you for missing his wedding. And you still haven’t told us where you were the ten months you were away. Hell, you haven’t even told us why Saleem made us get you out of the palace. Why you said we should switch off our phones for a whole day. Why the king called and now you want us to just travel around the nation? We know what Saleem wrote in his book about you traveling the entire nation isn’t really what happened. Umma told us nothing when we asked her, so you should tell us, Umar.”
“I really don’t know how to thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me,” Umar said. “And I’d have to think of a way to do thank you. Concerning why I left the palace, it is because I am one of the seven people who have been nominated to be the next king. That’s why I left the palace. Concerning where I have been, I promise I’ll tell you. I just can’t tell you now. I should but I can’t. Not now,” Umar added. Jameel had parked the car by the side of the road. He needed to let Umar have it – this was clearly not acceptable.
This part wasn’t over but another must begin. And it began almost immediately with Aamati’s phone call. Aamati was Abubakar’s mother. An Arabian woman. She informed her son, Abubakar, that his Yusra was in labor. It had always been a question of when.
The high price of Umar’s secret and Abubakar’s unparalleled friendship with Umar would be at the cost of Abubakar missing the birth of his first child. Or worse, it might mean losing both his child and his darling wife in childbirth judging by Aamati’s tone and words. And nothing, good or bad, is but by the will of Allah.