aFRica

and given to her. She hesitates, and then
in three long swigs, empties the bottle.
From the corner of my eye, I see Halima's
companion staring at her, concern
spreading over her face.
The bus halts at Mangoro bus stop and a
passenger alights. Halima's companion is
fortunate to get the vacant seat. Standing
beside Halima, without the older woman
breathing down my neck, I feel at ease to
continue the conversation.
– Why don't you go to antenatal clinic
near your home?
– I don't go to antenatal. Alhaji said I
should not go.
– Who is Alhaji?
– My husband.
I shudder. This girl, who is barely a
teenager, has a husband. Quite similar to
the cases I studied in Sociology class.
– Why don't you tell your mother to take
you? I look in the direction of the older
woman.
– Hajiya Salatu. She is not my mother.
She is my ... my husband's first wife.
My lower jaw drops open. I think it quite
shocking that some parents would do
this, marry a child off to a much older
man - mostly due to poverty, where the
only resource the parent has is the girl
child as their only hope of attaining much
needed wealth.
– You speak fluent English. Did you go to
school?
– Yes, I left school in JSS3. That was when
my scholarship ended.
– Did you like school?
– Yes.
– What do you want to become?
She points to my chest, as something
lights up her eyes. I look at it. I see the
emblem of an aircraft.
– I want to be a pilot. But then, her eyes
fall, as if, in defeat.
– You would have continued school if
your parents had the money?
She laughs. I am relieved to see her
change of expression even if it isn't
entirely cheerful.
– My parents have the money. They are
not poor. They gave me to Alhaji because
only an older man can curb my excesses.
That was the year after I became class
president and I joined the debate team in
school.
I am confused and I tell her this.
– My father thought that if I continued
that way, my eyes would open to the
ways of the world and I could
compromise. Where I come from, a girl is
married off early to ensure her virtue
remains intact. If not, she can bring
shame to her family.
I want to express my disgust and rebuke
someone, maybe her father, or Alhaji. But
my tongue forms no words because I find
that I cannot entirely blame this girl, or
her husband, or her family. Their eyes
have been clouded with the dust of
tradition that to them, conjunctivitis is a
norm and not a disease.
Saraba | Issue 13 | Africa 96