HERE IS TO LOVE (II) Tahir stood still in the middle of the room surveying the scene in amazement. He was trying to take in my beautifully-embroidered long dress, my lightly made-up face and the red heart shaped balloon I flew like a kite in my hand and fathom what they mean. Failing to do so, he simply asked. ‘What is this all about Bint? Did you forget that it is Ramadan?’ ‘It is also my wedding anniversary.’ I replied, with my best smile while turning the heart-shaped balloon to the side where “20 great years” was written on it. ‘Oh my God, not again.’ Tahir cried in mock horror ‘Last year I promised you I’ll never forget it again but …..’ ‘Don’t worry about that’ I said, interrupting him ‘I’m so used to you not remembering that the day you do remember it will actually scare me.’ ‘But I wanted to remember this particular anniversary because it’s a milestone. Twenty years of marriage is quite an achievement. I remember telling you that we will invite a few close friends and relatives so we can make it a day to remember. But thanks to my great memory, we have to mark it like all the others, in private.’ He lamented. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself hubby dearest. We all know that the incurable romantics in any marriage are the women. When it became obvious to me that the anniversary will fall during Ramadan I knew we will end up with a private and not a public celebration. However, let’s move to the table to eat our iftar dinner. The most important thing is that we’ve lived to see this day.’ I pontificated. ‘Yes you are right.’ He replied reaching out to hold my hand. ‘Happy anniversary Bint’ he added, hugging me close. ‘Thank you, darling.’ I replied, planting him a peck on the cheek before leading him towards the dining area. ‘Where are our children? Or did send them to eat in the room so we can have a romantic anniversary meal alone?’ Tahir asked. ‘No, they are very much a part of this celebration. When you made your ablution and called out to the boys to join you to go and pray Magrib, I told them to rush straight back to their room when you return from the mosque so they can change. Ummi and Little Bint are also changing into their own special attire. You know, in other parts of this country, the 20th is one of the anniversaries celebrated with Ashoebi and Owambe. So we are going to observe our mini ashoebi because I’ve asked them to wear similar clothes of the same colour and of course we have our mini-owambe right here on our table.’ I explained. ‘I see, it seems everyone in the family knows about the anniversary except me.’ He complained. ‘Yes, knowing how unlikely it is for you to remember, we decided to surprise you.’ I answered. The moment we were seated on opposite ends of the table I called Ummi’s line; our signal that they could come into the sitting room. They walked in a row, all four of them; Ummi carrying the tray with a jug full of white drink and six tumblers. Ahmad with a bowl of fruit salad and its serving bowls, Mahmud with the serving spoons and Little Bint with serviette paper holder. They all set what they were carrying on different parts of the table where there was still space because the food flasks placed earlier had taken much. ‘MashaAllah, welcome to our twentieth anniversary dinner.’ I said, as soon as the children were seated. Looking straight at Tahir I said ‘Baba, can you lead us in a prayer?’ ‘Yes, of course.’ And he asked us to read Suratul Fatiha, then Ayatul Kursiyyu, and Surahs Ikhlas, Falaq and Nas. He instructed us to round it up with Aamanar Rasulu and ten Salatun Nabiy SAW. After that we started serving the food. I had Tahir’s favourite dish of Alkubus and miyar taushe having its pride of place at the centre of the table. There was roast chicken, mutton sauce and grilled fish as well. For the sake of Little Bint and her siblings we had chips and egg as well. Then our plate of vegetable salad complemented the anniversary dinner. I had no idea Tahir’s eyes were on me while I was thinking about the dishes until he observed: ‘A naira for your thoughts, no, with that secret smile I’d say ten naira for your thoughts.’ Tahir joked, smiling. ‘Yes, I was just wondering how much Grandma will be proud of me if she were to see what is on offer on this table.’ I replied. ‘You still miss her don’t you? But I don’t blame you, she was a very special person, full of marital wisdom.’ He remarked. ‘It’s not that I miss her because I am now used to her absence. It is that I still wonder how she will approve of the things I do. For instance right now I’m yearning for a 95% mark because I have your favourite dish here, she believed it’s the first secret to a man’s heart. Then I have her famous royal drink, the Sharbar muluk . I still recall the first time she was teaching me how to make it: She said “Some people call it ‘Sharba milik‘ but that is wrong, it is Sharbar muluk literally ‘a drink for kings.’ In our days not every man can afford to drink it because it is made of pure white rice, soaked overnight and mixed with yoghurt and honey. Only the rich and royal could have it, the ordinary folks have to make do with its humble equivalent, kunun zaqi, the millet variant. But you people today can afford it because both you and your husbands’ work for a living.” Another reason I expect a pass mark from Grandma is my beautiful henna design and the sweet-smelling incense that I burnt in this room. She used to say that a woman with white hands can never captivate a man because no man will look at hands that look like his. And she believed that when a husband preferred to stay away from home, then he must have been chased away by funny smells around the house. The antidote for that is incense burning. These were the thoughts that brought a secret smile to my face.’ I concluded. ‘You forgot to mention your lovely new dress and the cute little make-up on your face. Personally I would give you 100 marks for this anniversary package but then I am not the expert, Grandma was.’ Tahir conceded jokingly. Sensing the silence from the children made us realize that they may be getting embarrassed by our barely-concealed flirtations. We telepathically decided to stop it and talk about them. With the dinner over, we heeded Tahir’s advice to do our isha’i and tarawih prayers at home, as a special form of thanksgiving for our 20th anniversary. Two hours later, we were all set to sleep in readiness to wake up for sahur, the pre-dawn meal. After going round to make sure that both the boys and the girls were on their beds, in their separate rooms, I went to my own to have a shower before I joined Tahir. As soon as I entered his room Tahir raised his head and said ‘Welcome dear bride.’ ‘That was 20 years ago now you should just say “dear wife or dear sister.”’ I joked. ‘Dear sister? Why would I ever call you dear sister?’ I asked, perplexed. ‘Because when we were newly-weds we once visited a couple that had been married for 16 years. I wondered aloud how it might feel to be married for 16 years, after we left them on the balcony waving us goodbye. And I remember you saying that they must feel like a brother and sister then.’ I explained. ‘Really? Well I can’t remember saying that but the plans I have for tonight certainly won’t let me to see you as a sister. Not that I want to.’ He replied. ‘But this is Ramadan remember?’ I teased. ‘It is also my wedding anniversary.’ He replied, quoting me back to me. And reaching out to caress my face with his right hand he added. ‘And everything happening here is entirely lawful.’ His voice had that sing-song tinge that I’ve always found so magical. It still has that magic, twenty years down the road.
Posted on: Sat, 19 Jul 2014 04:07:19 +0000
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