BLESSED, BUT BRIEF - by Mariam Mutiu

<h4> </h4> Some people seem to arrive in this world carrying a quiet kind of favour. Things might not always come easily, but somehow, they find their way. They rise early. They work hard. They make the right choices. And before long, they have built what many people spend a lifetime trying to build. Sikirat was one of those people. She was the first daughter of her parents, born into a home where her father and mother loved each other deeply. Her arrival brought another kind of joy into the family, and for years, she grew up surrounded by love. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was generous. And she had a heart that made it difficult for her to ignore anyone in need. Even when she had very little, she shared it. If someone lacked what she had, she found a way to give. If someone was struggling, she tried to help. People loved Sikirat because kindness seemed to come naturally to her. She was also deeply religious. As a young Muslim girl, she took her faith seriously. Before she turned ten, she had already completed the Qur’an. She was doing well academically too, and her parents watched with pride as their daughter grew into a promising young woman. But life has a way of changing the shape of a family. Her parents’ marriage eventually broke down. They divorced and went their separate ways. Her father remarried, and her mother also remarried. Sikirat remained with her father because her mother was not allowed to take her with her, although she sometimes spent holidays with her mother. The separation changed the family, but it did not change Sikirat. She kept studying. She kept growing. And eventually, she gained admission into the university and graduated with excellent results.But even before graduation, Sikirat had already understood something important: she did not want to depend completely on anybody. While she was still in university, she learned digital skills—typing, printing, computer work, and other things that enabled her to make money. She began supporting herself and even helping her parents. She was studying, working and building a future at the same time. When she graduated with excellent results, she had become more than the little girl her parents once watched recite the Qur’an. She had become a woman who could stand on her own. She established her own business centre. And Sikirat was beautiful, intelligent and respectful, that everyone man who comes to her have one or two things to say to her about love. But during university, she had not allowed marriage to distract her from her education. She had chosen her books over romance, her future over pressure. After graduation, she began considering the men who had shown interest in her. Among them was Kazim. Kazim was a Christian, but just few knew him by his other name Samuel, but he was mostly known as Kazim. There was also Ifatola, usually called Tola, whose parents are worshiper of their ancestral deities. He was totally a no no for Sikirat. Sikirat considered her options. But there was one person whose approval mattered greatly. Her father. A strict and deeply religious Muslim, he could not accept either man easily. Kazim was a Christian. Tola came from a traditionalist family. For Sikirat’s father, this was not a small disagreement. It was a boundary. But Sikirat was no longer a little girl waiting for someone else to make every decision for her. Her mother, her uncle, and other members of the family believed she had the right to choose the person she loved. They refused to let religion become the only reason she would be denied the man she wanted. And eventually, Sikirat chose Kazim. They married despite her father’s objection. For a while, it looked as though Sikirat had made the right choice. God blessed the marriage with children. Two daughters came first. Sikirat became a mother, and motherhood seemed to bring out another side of her. She was determined that her children would have a good life. But Sikirat was not the kind of woman who waited for life to become convenient. She worked. She built. She provided. She was running her computer and digital business, and she later became involved in the sawmill business, selling plywood and other building materials. Her businesses grew. People began working for her. She had people she was supporting. People whose lives were improving because Sikirat had decided to help them. She eventually had a house of her own. Her children attended one of the best schools in their environment. And she made sure they enjoyed their childhood. If they wanted to go to the park, she took them. If they needed new clothes, she bought them. If they needed something for school, she found a way. She took them shopping. She fed them. She cared for them. She made memories with them. She was doing everything she could to give them a childhood that did not feel like a struggle. In many ways, she had become both husband and wife in her own home. And Kazim knew it. There were times when he would tell Sikirat that he had nothing, even when he had money hidden away. There were times when Sikirat prepared food for the children and kazim will go over and eat. He knew she was the one carrying the responsibilities. Yet he still behaved as though the children’s needs were not his concern. There was one thing he would say that reveals his thought about life. “Ki omo to jo’gun emi a’jogbon.” It was his way of saying that before the children became grown and successful, he intended to enjoy his own life first. And somewhere along the way, Sikirat stopped waiting for their father to become the provider she needed him to be. She simply became the provider herself. She was mother. She was father. She was businesswoman. She was employer. She was daughter. She was sister. She was the person people called when they needed help. And somehow, she kept going. Sikirat heard him. She understood. And she kept working. She did not allow his attitude to stop her from caring for her children. By then, she had become accustomed to carrying responsibilities that were supposed to be shared. Eventually, Sikirat began thinking seriously about leaving the marriage. She wanted a divorce. But she was afraid. Not necessarily of being alone. She already knew how to survive. She was afraid of what people would say. She was afraid of the questions. She was afraid of the judgement. So she stayed. And life continued. She continued building. Continued earning. Continued raising her children. Continued helping people. At thirty, she already had everything. A house. Businesses. Children. Money. People working for her. People depending on her. A future that seemed to be expanding. Then she became pregnant again. This pregnancy was different. She was carrying twins. Two boys. Taye and Kende. Everyone should have been looking forward to their arrival. But during the pregnancy, few months to her delivery, Sikirat began saying things that made the people around her uncomfortable. She started talking about what would happen to the children if she was no longer there. She said her two daughters would stay with her own mother, their maternal grandmother. She said the twins she was carrying would stay with Kazim’s mother, their paternal grandmother. People told her to stop. “Don’t talk like that.” “You will give birth and take care of them yourself.” “You have worked for these children. You will enjoy what you have built.” But Sikirat continued. It was almost as though she was making arrangements for a future nobody else could see. Perhaps it was simply fear. Perhaps it was a mother’s instinct. Perhaps it meant nothing at all. Nobody knew. But her words would later return to them with a force they could never have imagined. Because Sikirat was successful. She had built businesses. She owned a home. She was raising children. She was supporting people. She had spent years creating a life that was finally beginning to look like the reward for all her hard work. She had every reason to believe she would live long enough to enjoy it. Every reason to believe she would watch her daughters grow. Every reason to believe she would raise her sons. Every reason to believe that the hardest part of her life was behind her. Then the day came. Sikirat went into labour. She gave birth to the twins. Tate and kehinde. But before the joy of their arrival settle in the room, she took her final breath. Her journey on earth came to an end The news did not sound real at first. The woman who had walked into that moment carrying life had left it carrying nothing but the memories of everyone who loved her. Her family mourned. Her father, deeply religious, accepted the death as God’s will. He reminded himself that every human being must eventually return to their Creator. But her mother was shattered. Because Sikirat had not only been her daughter. She had been one of the people helping her survive. And now she was gone. Gone at the very moment she had brought two more children into the world. Gone before her daughters could grow up and tell her what kind of women they would become. Gone before Taye and Kende could ever remember the sound of her voice. Gone before she could enjoy the home she had built. Gone before she could enjoy the businesses she had worked for. Gone before she could see the future she had spent her whole life preparing for. She left behind four children. Two daughters. And newborn twin boys. She also left behind everything she had worked for. Her belongings. Everything. People came to mourn. And with the tears came promises. “We will take care of the children.” “We will do for them what their mother can no longer do.” The words sounded comforting. The children were still too young to understand the difference between a promise made in grief and a promise kept in life. But Sikirat’s family would soon find out. Because the woman who had spent her life making sure other people had something to hold on to had left behind four children who now had almost nothing to hold on to but the promises people had made. And somewhere among those promises were Sikirat’s belongings. Her jewellery. Her clothes. Her money. Her computers. Her businesses. The things she had built with her own hands.They were about to begin a journey that would change everything.And the children would eventually learn a painful truth: But what happened to the children? And who truly stood by the promises made at her funeral? That was where the real story began.

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