Lesbian Home Book 1 Oum Aphanan

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Page 1

By Maryamah_Mrs AM

I was rushing, gathering documents while constantly checking my wristwatch even though I knew I would barely make it in time. By 9:00 AM, our flight was scheduled to depart for Kano to attend a conference meeting I had been sent to by our office. There were only about 45 minutes left before departure, and the only consolation was that the distance between our neighborhood and the airport wasn't very far.

The door to my bedroom was pushed open rather forcefully, which made me think, "Not now, please." I assumed it was one of the children, but when I heard silence, I turned around. It was the master of the house himself, Engineer Bashir Ahmad—whom I call Baban Ali, while the children call him Abbi. Aliyu, our eldest son, was named after his close friend who passed away two weeks before Aliyu was born.

His face was grim. Although he was not naturally a cheerful person, he would at least usually manage a look for me. He stared at me just as I stared at him, a short smile playing on my face as I said, "Baban Ali, you see I'm still here? Wallahi, it was Amna who acted foolishly last night; I told her to put these papers in my bag, and it turns out she didn't" (Amna is my younger sister and our last-born, whom I took under my care after the death of our father, and our mother remarried).

"Uhm," was all he said as he headed toward my mirror. Unfazed, I finished zipping my bag, slung it over my shoulder, grabbed my phone from the side, and headed for the door intending to leave.

"When you return at the end of the month, start preparing to relocate to Gombe," his voice struck my ears.

"So what happened again? Let me return first, then we can talk about it calmly," I said, heading out of the room. Emmanuel, our office driver, was already waiting outside, so I hurried out, answering the "safe journey" wishes the kids called out after me.

Once I settled into the back of the car, my mind drifted to what we were going to do in Gombe. Could something have happened on his side? Of course on his side, because I had spoken with my relatives that very morning and nobody told me anything had happened. Or did his wife put to bed? No, if she had given birth, he would have simply said Amira had a baby, not just that we were going to Gombe. I kept pondering this until our flight took off.

Completely exhausted, I arrived home at around 9:00 PM. Only then did I regret not choosing to sleep over in Kano, having caught the 6:00 PM return flight because I hadn’t told my children I would stay overnight, and I knew they wouldn't feel happy about it—especially since tomorrow is Saturday, and we are used to staying together at home.

After performing Maghrib and Isha prayers, I ate the food Aliyu brought me. Sitting in the middle of them all as everyone shared their stories, a strange kind of happiness filled my heart. Truly, that is Rahma (mercy). Whenever I look at my children, I feel as though I have no more worries in life, only a prayer that Allah preserves them for me.

Amna, my younger sister who now acts like my eldest daughter, is 15 years old and in SS2. Aliyu is 13 and just entered SS1 because his school skipped a class for him; masha Allah, the boy is brilliant just like his father. Jafar comes next, followed by Farida, Abdallah, and then my 5-year-old twins, Ahmad and Muhammad. These six are my life; I wouldn't trade them for anything.

We sat together until 11:00 PM despite my extreme exhaustion, which was giving me a headache. The only relief I had was that back in Kano, I had emailed the report of everything to the office, so this weekend I was going to sleep my fill.

Baban Ali's greeting interrupted my thoughts. I looked up at him in surprise because throughout our chatting, I assumed he was in his room—he is not usually one to sit through long conversations. We all welcomed him home; he responded and headed straight toward his room.

Only then did I remember he hadn't even called me to check if I had landed safely. I stood up too, sensing his mood wasn't very pleasant because if he were fine, he would have stopped to chat with us for a bit before going to his room, especially given that he was going out again tonight. My standing up prompted all of them to stand; we exchanged hugs before the boys went to their rooms, and the girls did the same.

I found him standing, taking off his shirt, and I stepped closer to help him, saying, "So you weren't around. I asked the kids and they said you were having a Zoom meeting in your room."

"Uhm," was his reply again. Instantly, I felt my spirit sour because, truly, I am quick-tempered, though I am also easygoing—I just detest being treated with disrespect. Disrespect indeed! Imagine going to Kano and back in a single day, and he doesn't even ask about the journey. Although, throughout this week since he returned, I noticed he was acting tense; I ignored him, knowing he was just waiting for any flimsy excuse to vent whatever frustration that Golden Girl of his had caused him that he couldn't take out on her.

In my mind, I hissed and thought, "Stupid man, so because your little darling provoked you, you've come to take it out on me? Well, I won't dignify you with a response." Seeing him enter the toilet, I stepped out.

I went into the children's room and found Ahmad and Muhammad wrestling while Jafar sang songs to hype them up—there was no separating them. They are like chickens, always fighting as usual, and it's always over the bed. Since Aliyu and Jafar have bunk beds, and Muhammad, Ahmad, and Abdallah share a large bed, they always argue over who gets to sleep on the top bunk of the bunk bed, taking turns by day, but Ahmad is stubborn and always insists his brother must give him his turn.

I scolded them, got them all settled into their beds, recited the sleep adhkaar, pulled the door closed for them, and turned off the light. Amna and Farida were already fast asleep. I offered prayers for them too, pulled their door closed, and entered my bedroom. I refreshed myself, picked up my phone, pulled the door, and went out.

By the time I got out, Baban Ali had already gone to bed. Seeing that he left the light on (looking for an argument), I turned it off, found a spot far away from him, placed my phone down, and another wave of exhaustion washed over me.

"You people should start preparing; next week you are relocating to Gombe," he said again.

I adjusted my posture in bed and said, "May Allah bring us to that day, because wallahi I am tired and want to sleep." If I had engaged him in conversation, we would have kept talking, but he knew what he was saying was impossible. Ever since I started working, we never travel to Gombe except during vacation periods—and even then, not just any time, it has to correspond with the children's break and mine, or unless there is a major reason. To wake up in the middle of a term and say we are taking a trip—even if it's because of his Golden Girl—wallahi I won't leave my job to travel; whenever I go on leave, I'll go visit and greet her.

While grumbling this way, sleep carried me away, and I didn't wake up until 7:30 in the morning.

Today, Baban Ali's Fulani temperament must have been acting up, or maybe he decided not to wake me up for prayer because exhaustion had completely pinned me down—I didn't even feel like I tossed and turned in my sleep.

In a hurry, I performed ablution and prayed. After finishing the adhkaar, I struggled to stand up because the sleep hadn't fully left me, and I walked out to the parlor. Amna and Farida were sitting there, while Ahmad was sleeping on the three-seater.

Together they greeted me, and I answered, asking where Jafar and the others were. Amna said they had gone jogging with Abbi. "Did you do your Asr studies?" I asked them, and they answered in the affirmative. Surprise washed over me again, but I held my composure and went into the kitchen; I wanted to drink some tea before going back to sleep.

Before I came out, they had returned to their room, taking Ahmad with them. So I sat at the dining table sipping my tea while wondering what on earth was wrong with the Engineer. I finished, went back to my bed, and didn't wake up again until well past 12:00 PM.

I took a bath in my room and dressed up, feeling the fatigue finally lift off me. The parlor looked like a festival ground due to the noise Farida and Jafar were making over a movie they were watching. Ahmad and Muhammad came running toward me so fast they almost knocked me over; I grabbed their hands and we walked into the parlor together.

"Where is Abbi?" I asked them, because even when I woke up, I didn't see him in the room, and I knew he usually stayed home on Saturdays and Sundays unless a major reason forced him to go out. Before they could answer, he walked in with a muffled greeting.

He glanced at me once, looked away, and headed to the dining table to drop whatever he brought in. Hearing the call to prayer, he told them to stand up and perform ablution, and they left for the mosque while we established our prayers at home.

To my surprise, when they returned, he sat in the parlor chatting with his children, while I went into the kitchen to start preparing afternoon lunch—knowing well that if he felt like it, we would be going out to eat at night.

I finished early, making garnished spaghetti and warming the grilled fish he had brought home earlier (heaven knows where he got it that morning). I called Farida and Amna, and they arranged everything on the dining table. We all sat down, except for Abbi, who was answering a phone call. I waited until he finished before mentioning the food.

"Just bring me the fish and juice," he said.

I didn't think much of it because I knew spaghetti wasn't his favorite, though he does eat it especially the way I make it. I prepared what he requested, brought it to him, and went back to join the others in eating.

When we finished, the twins and Abdallah went over to his side, while Jafar and Aliyu cleared the plates to the kitchen and washed them. Amna and Farida went into the room so Farida could braid Amna's hair. I returned to the parlor and we chatted a bit, but I noticed that Baban Ali only responded to his children; whenever I spoke, he fell completely silent.

Annoyed, I stood up. Ahmad stood up to follow me because whenever we are at home, if I leave the room, he tags along. I told him, "Go back and sit down, I have work to do." I didn't even enter his room; I went straight into mine.

I lay down on my bed, replying to WhatsApp messages. From there, I started chatting with my older half-sister, Alawiyya. We get along very well, and I began telling her about the new stunt Baban Ali had pulled.

She laughed and said, "As for you and your eccentric Engineer, you're a match for a madman!"

We continued chatting, and time flew until I heard the Asr call to prayer. I prayed in my room, and right as I finished, I took a bath. Just as I stepped out, I heard knocking. I knew it was the children—they don't enter my room without permission, even little Ahmad and Muhammad.

When I gave permission, Abdallah entered. His facial features and reserved, introverted nature are just like Bashir's, but among all my children, he is the most patient—a trait he inherited from his namesake, my father.

In his gentle voice, he said, "Mami, Abbi says you should text him what we should bring back for you."

A sudden wave of frustration hit me. Text him? Are we not traveling back together? I opened my mouth to ask him, but then changed my mind and said, "Tell Abbi to step over here, I want to talk to him."

"Alright," he replied before walking out, leaving me wondering at this new level of nonsense.

Abbi's Perspective

By the time the boy gave him the message, they had already entered the car, and he had started the ignition. Seeing their eyes, he muttered that he was coming and stepped out, his face tightly locked in a scowl.

As he walked back, his mind drifted. Looking at her smooth, flawless thighs—what had come over her? He wished he could lose himself just watching her, because in this world, Asma'u is the epitome of everything a man desires in a woman. Asma'u is a woman and a half, wallahi; she is complete in every way, and he could never forget her loyalty and goodness in his life. Even he couldn't fully explain why he sometimes acts the way he does toward her.

When she turned around, trying to release her towel because she hadn't heard him approach today, he quickly turned his face away, knowing he could never resist her trap on that front. Her body was like a magnet to his eyes; every day, she seemed to grow more beautiful and shapely—Ma'u never ages.

"Oh, Abbi, so you came in? I didn't understand what my dad was saying today—are you going to buy me danwaken zagaye (local dumplings)?" I said as I hurriedly put on my shirt, wanting to finish dressing quickly because I knew Bashir hated waiting, and I actually assumed that was the reason they left without me.

"No, I didn't intend to take you out. Just text me what you want to eat and we'll bring it back for you, or if you don't want anything, that's fine," he simply turned and walked out.

I just watched his back disappear like a crazy person. "Well, well, Baban Ali, could he have been possessed by a jinn?" I asked myself, filling up with absolute astonishment.

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Summary

The story revolves around Asma'u (Ma'u), a working mother and wife to Engineer Bashir Ahmad (Baban Ali). They live in Lagos with their children and Asma'u’s younger sister, Amna. Bashir has recently taken a second wife, Amira, a development that frequently causes emotional tension and friction between Asma'u and Bashir, as Asma'u struggles with jealousy, pride, and her husband's sudden mood swings and emotional distance.

In these chapters, Asma'u returns from a hurried work trip to Kano. Upon her return, Bashir abruptly drops a confusing and unilateral announcement that Asma'u and the children must prepare to relocate to Gombe by the end of the month—triggering her suspicions and annoyance, as she believes it's another one of his erratic moves influenced by his new wife. Tensions escalate over the weekend: Bashir goes out with the children, leaves Asma'u behind, communicates coldly with her while being warm to the kids, and even calls Amira on the phone right inside Asma'u's bedroom. Despite her hurt and anger, Asma'u relies on her faith, prayer, and humor (sharing laughs with her friends over a group chat about another polygamist drama) to cope with the challenges of polygamous marriage. The chapters end with the onset of a new work week, marked by passive-aggressive behavior from Bashir, who drops the kids off at school differently and continues to test Asma'u's patience.

Description of Main Characters

• Asma'u (Ma'u / Mami): The protagonist and narrator. She is a dedicated working wife, a deeply loving and protective mother, and an Islamic-educated woman who tries to balance her career, her large family, and the emotional pain of her husband taking a second wife. She is quick-tempered and fiercely proud, yet deeply resilient and anchored in her faith.
• Engineer Bashir Ahmad (Baban Ali / Abbi): Asma'u's husband. He is described as a strict, introverted, and naturally unsmiling man who is a provider and a good father to his children, but has grown emotionally distant and unpredictable toward Asma'u following his marriage to Amira.
• Amna: Asma'u's younger sister and last-born, whom Asma'u has raised like a daughter following the death of their father and remarriage of their mother. She is currently 15 and in SS2.
• Aliyu: Asma'u and Bashir's eldest son, named after Bashir's late best friend. He is brilliant and mirrors his father's academic sharpness.
• The Other Children: Jafar, Farida, Abdallah, and the 5-year-old twins Ahmad and Muhammad, who add lively chaos and warmth to the household.
• Amira: Bashir's second wife, whose presence looms large over Asma'u's peace of mind, though she is rarely seen directly in these chapters.