Am I the Villain?
#unedited
I got married at 18.
Was divorced six months before my 20th birthday.
What happened, I hear you ask?
I shall tell you, dear reader.
Take a seat,
Have some popcorn and juice,
Don’t forget to top that all up with an open mind and heart,
Then sit back, relax, and imagine what you would have done were you in my shoes.
My name is Hajar, and this is my story.
*****
He sat on my favourite sofa in the living room.
A dashing figure in a babariga and neatly starched cap.
I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes tracked my movements as I served the drinks.
It seemed to please my father too, because he smiled one of his wolfish smiles.
Which could only mean one thing:
There was something for him to gain from all this.
*****
I stood in the centre of the room, head bowed, hands clasped together behind my back, listening to my parents argue about my fate.
“Maybe you should rethink this, my husband. She’s too young.”
“Keep quiet, woman! What do you know ehn? Aren’t you tired of feeding from hand to mouth? Hajar marrying Siddiq means one less mouth to feed plus it will elevate us abi didn’t you hear the amount he promised to give me in exchange for her hand?”
“But she wants to go to university! And I’ve heard stories about how he treats women. Changing them as it suits his whims…”
“Why are you worried about, Temi? You are not her mother. I thought you would be happy to see her go.”
My stepmother shook her head. “How can you say that?! Hajar is as much my daughter as Nahla is. I want the best for her, which is why I think this is a mistake…”
“Enough! I shall hear no more. It’s already a done deal.” My father called my attention by clicking his thumb and middle finger. “Hey, Hajar look here.” I did. “I have briefed you already. You WILL get married to him and make me proud. I must not hear that you misbehaved in any way, or that you engaged in acts that will tarnish this family’s name, you hear me?”
“Yes sir,”
“Good. Now, Temi, prepare her. Siddiq will come for her by the weekend.”
“What! But that’s only two days away!”
“It’s more than enough time. Get to work please.”
My father left us in the room without looking back.
*****
Later, I sat by my stepmum, as she tried to prepare me for the new phase ahead. A phase I wasn’t ready for.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. If it were up to me…”
“It’s not your fault, mummy. Besides, I want to help the family, and if this is the way to do it then I will do it with joy in my heart.”
“Oh, Hajar. You don’t have to pretend. Come here.”
She pulled me into her arms and we both wept.
I wept for my dead mother, a woman I barely remembered. She died when I was a baby.
I wept for the choices my father made, claiming them for the good of the family.
I wept for my six siblings and stepmum, for I would miss them dearly.
******
“Remember everything I taught you okay? Be humble and submissive…” My stepmum said as Siddiq’s driver loaded my trunks into the boot.
“Yes, yes, that’s all good.” My dad cut in. “However, Hajar also remember, that the way to a man’s heart is his stomach. I know you shall have no problems in that department.”
I nodded. Mum had taught me well. She had allowed me into the kitchen since I was six years old. Being a very good caterer, my stepmum taught me and my siblings various local and intercontinental dishes. I was a good cook and I knew it.
My stepmum wiped tears from her eyes as she pulled me aside. She hugged me for the umpteenth time. “I’m going to miss you, my darling.”
“I will miss you too, Mum. Don’t forget to fight for your own share of the money Siddiq paid Dad. So, you can use it to open your restaurant instead of packing orders from home.”
“I don’t know if I should. It feels wrong somehow.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, mummy. Take it as a gift from me. Okay?”
She nodded. Relieved I squeezed her tighter, loathe to let go. I wanted to remain in her embrace forever, with my family, whether we had money or not. At least we were happy and had each other.
“It’s time to go,” Siddiq said in his deep voice.
I left my family standing at the front gate. All of them waving goodbye with tears in their eyes.
Only my father sported a satisfied smile on his face.
*******
A month into the marriage, I got a picture of my husband’s routine.
Being a successful business man, he was always very busy. He left the house at daybreak and returned after Maghrib.
Three months in, I found out that what my stepmum had alleged about him was actually true.
Siddiq didn’t hide it. He told me he had two other wives, each domiciled in states he usually frequented. He told me flat-out that he would ‘replace’ me if he ever got tired of me or I misbehaved.
Presently, I feared he would divorce me on the spot because he was fuming.
“What in God’s name is this? Do you expect me to eat this rubbish?”
“But- but…” I didn’t even know what to say. My step mum and siblings had come visiting earlier and they had enjoyed the meal. They had even taken packed some back home.
“Oh do shut up! You are so useless. You can’t cook, you can barely clean and can’t even make a baby properly!”
That last bit hurt. A low blow that sucked the air from my lungs. My arms went around my middle instinctively. “Siddiq, you know that’s not fair. I want to be a mother too but Allah has not willed it…
“Keep quiet jo. You’ve had two miscarriages since we married. Is that okay?” He eyed me from head to toe with barely concealed disgust. At that moment, I wished for the ground to open up and swallow me. “It’s to be expected anyway. After all, your father was so eager to get rid of you, that he practically sold you to me. Get this thing out of my sight!” He finished as he swiped the tray across the table.
I leapt out of the way to avoid the flying plates and cutlery. They landed with a crash and I scrambled to clear the mess.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeated, not wanting to risk angering him further. As I squatted on the floor, a foot — Siddiq’s leather-clad foot — stepped on my hand. You know how you would move your foot if you were squashing a bug? That’s what Siddiq did. My palm soon started to bleed as a result of the broken pieces of tableware.
“Siddiq please, you’re hurting me.”
He snorted. “Look at me.”
I raised my head. I could barely see him for the tears blurring my vision.
“You’d better be careful. If I decide to send you packing, your family will return every kobo I paid. And we both know your father can’t afford that.”
With that, he lifted his foot and stalked out of the dining area.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I slumped against the wall and cried my eyes out.
******
“Is it good?”
“Yes! I want more even.”
“Are you sure?” I asked again, searching my neighbour’s face for any sign of deceit.
She laughed. “Trust me, I would tell you if it was bad. I know how important this is for you. In fact, it even tastes a little like food from that new restaurant in the city centre. ‘Temi’s Hot Spot’ or what’s it called?”
Of course, my food tasted a little like my stepmum’s. She was my teacher and I’d learned well. However, I didn’t tell my neighbour that.
“Thank you so much.”
“Don’t worry, your husband will like this one.”
“Aamen.”
I left, praying to God that would be the case. After our last encounter, Siddiq had travelled out of town for a month, to punish me, no doubt. He had called out of the blues in the morning, to inform that he would return tonight. I had sprung into action, preparing a meal befitting a king for his arrival.
Back at home, I cleaned up the kitchen and dished a bit of food into a piece of Tupperware. I put it on the table intending to take it to the beggars at the bus stop. Then I left the kitchen to freshen up.
******
The sight that greeted me when I descended the stairs, shocked me to say the least. My husband sitting at the dining table, scarfing down his meal was a rare sight indeed. I couldn’t believe it. Siddiq was enjoying a meal that I had cooked! Allahu akbar. I began a mental check of everything I did all day to replicate it in the coming days. If Siddiq was pleased with me, that meant less likelihood of a divorce, which in turn meant no going back to my father to face his wrath.
Alhamdulillah!
“Welcome darling!” I greeted as I reached his side. He didn’t even look up or answer, simply continued devouring the meal. “You should have waited for me to come and dish your meal. I’m sorry I thought you would arrive later, if I had known I…”
“Is there more of this? It’s delicious! I hope you bought more.” He interrupted my ramblings.
Confused, I stared hard at him and that was when I noticed. Siddiq had taken the food meant for the beggars. He wouldn’t know the difference anyway as I served them as I would any member of my family.
“Hajar, quit staring like the fool that you are. I asked if you bought more.” He spoke the last sentence slowly as if he was talking to a child.
I couldn’t stop staring at him with my mouth open, wondering why he thought I had purchased his dinner. The food he was eating had been prepared using the same utensils, the same ingredients and by the same person he complained was a terrible cook.
“Erm, I …” I stammered.
“Yes? There’s more?” I nodded. “Good. Clear this and bring it to me.”
“But I- It was me. I cooked it!” Why couldn’t he see that?
Siddiq stared at me for a few seconds before promptly bursting into laughter.
“Nice try, Hajar. We both know someone like you can’t cook something as good as this. You neglected to get rid of the evidence and voila! I caught you. Oya, go and bring me more, I’m starving!”
Without another word, I left for the kitchen, bowl in hand. Inside the kitchen I inspected the Tupperware, to check what had made so much of a difference and that’s when I saw it. About a month ago, when my stepmum had been preparing for her restaurant launch, she’d asked me to order some stickers for her brand to use on food boxes and takeaway packs. I had done so, expecting her to come for them but she changed her mind at the last minute and ordered another set of stickers from another designer. Hence, I was stuck with hundreds of ‘Temi’s Hot Spot’ stickers. Determined not to let them go to waste, I stuck them on some of my Tupperware.
My dear husband had seen the sticker and thought I had ordered dinner.
“Subhanallah! Alhamdulillah.”
I resolved to play along, so long as it pleased Siddiq.
******
Quickly, I dished more of the meal into another Tupperware with a sticker and served it to Siddiq.
He licked the plate clean and belched loud and long for good measure.
“Hajar, that was good. From now on, you must buy my meals from there. In fact, inquire if they provide private chef services. I’ll give you the money to pay. See ehn, I’ll always look forward to coming home if it means such exquisite cuisine is waiting for me.”
Nodding, I smiled woodenly. “I shall message them immediately.”
“Let me even reimburse you for tonight’s meal. A reward for doing something useful for once.”
He tapped his phone a few times and soon I got a credit alert in my bank account.
And that, dear reader, was the moment the idea that changed my life was born.
*****
True to my word, I researched how much private chefs charged, by asking my stepmum.
My stepmum sent me her price list and I showed it to Siddiq.
“OK. I think we should take this package: the chef coming in to cook 6 days a week. You know I like my meals fresh.”
“It’s #600k. Are you sure about this?”
He nodded. “Of course. No amount is too much for my satisfaction.”
He sent me the cost for the first three months.
******
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months.
Siddiq never found out about my unofficial ‘business venture’. He never met the ‘private chef’ either, as he was gone at cock crow and returned late at night.
Every day he smiled on his arrival home, inhaling the aroma of the ‘private chef’s cooking’.
Every month, I smiled to the bank with the rewards of my labour. My cooking.
It was a win-win situation.
*******
Safe to say, in a short time, I became a millionaire. Of course, the fees fluctuated at times. Like whenever he was out of town, or sometimes when he had money tied elsewhere. The one constant was he would pay to eat ‘Temi’s Hot Spot’ meals —whether it was paying for the ‘private chef’ to come twice per week for a month, 4 times per week for a month or even simply ordering from the restaurant.
I opened a separate account with my middle name to save my profits. I also kept my business secret from family and friends, waiting for the right time to divulge it.
The only thing that dampened my spirits were the miscarriages. In total, I’d suffered four. Siddiq frequently threw jibes at me concerning this and they hurt me a lot. I don’t know why he refused to support me, after all, he had children by his other wives.
However, I trained myself to not let his barbs affect me anymore. I put my faith in Allah and surrendered myself to His plan for me.
******
It is said that all good things come to an end.
Approximately, 22 months into my marriage, and 20 months since I started my unofficial business venture, the cat was let out of the bag.
Siddiq had arrived home earlier than usual. It was one of those months when he wanted to save so he hadn’t paid for ‘private chef’ services. I was at an outing with my stepmother then, and he was hungry.
You can guess what happened next right?
No?
Alright. I’ll tell you.
Siddiq drove down to my stepmum’s restaurant. He ordered food and demanded a discount, given he was a very loyal and generous customer. He even asked to meet the private chefs who had been making his meals.
Mind you, Siddiq didn’t know my stepmum owned the restaurant. I think the situation would have been worse had he met her there. I shudder to imagine him, making all those claims and my stepmum staring at him with no clue what he was going on about.
But, I digress.
Moving on, the staff set him straight and threatened to call security if he didn’t leave.
Humiliated, Siddiq left and waited for me at home.
Let’s just say, he flared up badly as soon as I stepped in.
He was LIVID.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” I asked hesitantly, a sick feeling in my gut.
Siddiq gave me a back-handed slap that landed me on the ground. “You lying, thieving, bi**ch! Tell me where did you get all those meals? I went to that restaurant to get food and that’s when I found everything. Who have you colluded with to rob me ehn? Tell me!”
Realisation dawned. I needed to decide whether to cower and allow him to bully me as usual or stand up for myself. I chose the latter.
I took my time getting to my feet. I brushed invisible dust from my clothes before I began. “Dear husband, I disagree with your characterisation.” My voice shook badly. I had never spoken back to him before. Taking a deep breath I continued. “I merely flipped the script on a bad situation and turned it to my advantage…”
“How dare you? You will return every kobo…”
“I shall not. You received the services you paid for, did you not? According to you, those meals were the best you had ever tasted in your life…”
“I was tricked! I never knew it was…that you…”
“That I cooked them? I did tell you. Many, many times, but you were busy mocking and humiliating me to see past your arrogant nose. ‘Hajar, you can never cook something like this’ were your exact words, I think.”
Siddiq let out a roar that caused me to recoil despite my bravado. I waited with bated breath for his next words.
“This marriage is over! Consider yourself divorced.” He made the triple repudiation, (talaq thalatha). “I divorce you. I divorce you. I DIVORCE YOU! Go back to your wretched family and don’t even think about…”
“No need to complete the sentence. I am happy with your decision.” Truly I felt lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off me.
“What did you say?”
“You’re surprised I am not on my knees begging? I have had enough as well! You mock me for losing pregnancies. You humiliate me at any chance you get. You disrespect my father and entire family as if they amount to nothing! So yes, I am glad you made good with your threats to divorce me. This marriage was doomed from the start. A pity we let it continue for so long.”
I picked up my bag and left him standing in the room.
******
Hours later, on my way to our family house, my dad sent me a text message:
Your husband called to inform me of his decision. Hajar, you are a disgrace to the family. You tarnished my name. Don’t think you still have a home here o. I disown you. I must not set my eyes on you ever again. If I do, I won’t be responsible for whatever occurs.
I sighed, hot tears threatening to spill from my eyes. My father had disowned me. He did not even ask for my side of the story. I tried to compose myself and said to the Uber driver:
“Can I change my destination?”
*******
My stepmum, as soon as I called her, gave me the directions to a small chalet that she managed for one of her cousins. She met me there and without a word, she comforted me, made me shower, eat and rest.
Later when I was feeling up to it, I told her everything that led to the divorce. When she heard about my business venture, my stepmum laughed and laughed and laughed.
******
“So what will you do now, latest millionaire in town?”
I sighed. “I want to resume my studies. You know I have always wanted to study to become a Food Scientist. Now I have the funds to make it happen. I plan to rebrand and continue with my business on the side too, this time officially.”
We both giggled at that.
“That’s good Hajar. Baarakallahu feek. Don’t worry I’ll continue to try and get your dad to change his mind. He loves you, you must know that.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”
I hoped so. In the meantime, my stepmum and I continued to talk about our plans for the future. My dreams were big and I had faith they would come true.
********
There you go, dear reader.
My story in a nutshell.
Now tell me, and be honest.
Am I the villain?
Or an unlikely hero?
I know my answer.
© 2024
Hafsah bint Nurein
Hero!