HABIBA

Her name is Habiba; she is the pretty girl that sells recharge cards under the mango tree at the junction of our street. I don’t know how old she is but I think she’s older than me, but age is just a number when it comes to love, right?
I’m only fourteen but I’ve learned to admire beauty. So I am very sure of what I mean when I say I’m going to marry Habiba when I’m older. I have not told her this.
I have only told Salma my elder sister and she laughed at me. Salma is sixteen and developing,we are the only children of our mother but we manage to spend very little time with either of our parents.
Mama would rather spend all her time in the prayer house begging God to convert Papa’s wicked soul.
Papa, on the other hand has four other children besides me and Salma that keep his hands full. I’ve always wondered what religion I will eventually practice.
Papa is a Muslim and Mama is a Christian; Mama has once mentioned that she’d been instructed by a prophetess to marry Papa and that her purpose in life is to convert him.
Well;  sixteen years have come and gone; Papa married another wife and he’s as strong a Muslim as ever.
I’ve tried telling Mama that maybe her prophetess made a mistake all those years ago; she tells me:
“Sule, God’s time is the best. I will be patient.”
She says that often and I wonder when the time named ‘God’s time’ will come.
Even though Mama makes us go to church with her; I’m not sure I believe like she does. Maybe because I’ve watched her go from one prayer house to another seeking answers.
Mama doesn’t eat; not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s always on one fast or the other.
“This weekend is deliverance weekend.” She’ll say. “We have to fast seven days to prepare ourselves for God’s blessing.”
Salma and I hate these impromptu fasts because Mama always makes sure we participate by not cooking except for Papa.
And then when the Muslim fasts come; we are expected to participate too.
I might become a Muslim because I want to marry Habiba; but then again- I could be a Christian and make Habiba become one too. I would not need to visit prayer houses to get her to change; our love would be strong enough to make that choice for us.

Today is Friday and I’m walking from school alone. On other days Salma and I walk home together, recently though, my sister has been trying to separate herself from me.
A friend of mine told me it is puberty.” Salma is changing,” he said.” She now has big breasts and her bottom is round. She can get married any day!”
The picture of my sister married is a funny one, though not a strange one.
I don’t know if that’s her reason for leaving me but I don’t care. I need space too. If I’m going to start courting Habiba; I must look and act mature.
Maybe I will write her a poem! Oh Habiba! Your eyes are like the stars twinkling like er…
Perhaps a poem isn’t such a good idea. I’m now at the junction where Habiba’s spot is but I don’t see her anywhere.
Her usual spot is empty. I wonder where she is.
However, I continue my journey home. Tomorrow is another day. Or this evening. I could sneak out just to take a peek at dear Habiba.

As I approach the house, I notice the compound is empty. I can tell where my two Mamas have gone to. But I was expecting Salma to be home.
I’m passing to my room but I decide to take a peek through her room window to see if she’s home.
The blinds are pulled down but there’s a small hole in her curtain which I doubt she knows about, so I stand on tiptoe and peep into the room.
I almost fall when I see them.
My one and only Habiba and my sister kissing.

And the first thought that comes to mind is that I will join Mama tomorrow on her visit to the prayer house. I have a reason - My heart has just been broken.