Misfortunate

"Action!"

I turn to face Ali, and started with my index finger in his face, speaking Hausa. "You're being so unfair to ask me to move in with your mother so that you can move your other wife in. You're being unfair." He eyes me and gives me a signal to get out of the way, not touching me. I sigh for the camera and then observe the director's face. He doesn't look happy, so I am not surprised when he shouts "Cut!"

"Labeebah" He begins using my own name, not Amina which I bear in the movie. "You should say that to Ali as softly as possible. Don't be aggressive. That's not how a Hausa woman behaves, not even any woman anywhere. We'll take this again, don't shout at him, sound as pleading as possible." I blink at him, wanting to ask if I read the script wrong. I clearly read that the statement was supposed to be said aggressively. Then, I remember that the producer of the movie says he wants it to resonate with Hausa men, that he wants them to be able to watch it.

I don't tell him that, instead I nod submissively and adjust the purple floor length hijab I'm wearing, pulling it over my forehead a little more. If I'd known that the pace of the movie would be twisted this way, I might never have taken up this role, it's also too late to back out since I cannot pay back the advance I was paid.

"Ali! Come and start over." Ali walks in, juggling his keys and comes to sit arrogantly in the single person sofa in front of me. At the director's cue, we start the scene all over and when we're done, I've succeeded in shedding a few more tears and I can now go home.

I step over a lot of cables, big and small on my way to meet my assistant who is reclined in a small chair just off the set, out of everybody's way. Most of the set hands take their anger off on actress assistants whom they believe are an extension of actresses themselves.

I tap her, she rouses from her sleep slowly and wipes her eyes. I smile at her child-like movements. "Nafeesah. Sorry I took so long. Ready?" She nods and gets up, unwrapping my handbag and phone to hand to me.

"Your husband called." My heart stops, i stop walking too. "When?" She stutters before saying that my husband has called about six times. "Why didn't you signal me?" I ask her, a little miffed because Abdul will tear me to shreds today.

"Buy me some airtime will you?" I pass her a one thousand naira note and she rushes off to get it, no doubt from somewhere she found out earlier. So I lean against a wall and wait for her to return.

When I hear footsteps behind me, I turn to meet Ali whom I acted as his wife earlier. He is Ali in real life too. He is smiling weirdly and I instinctively pull my floor length hijab to myself in a bid for protection. I know him, he is a lewd, disgusting human.

"Labeebah, Labeebah." He says my name in a sing song tone that grates on my nerves. "Good afternoon." I greet.

"How are you?" He asks but I refuse to answer. I know from experience what he wants. "I can see you're fine. Very beautiful in fact." He laughs out loud and lets his eyes rake my body from head to toe in a nerve-racking manner.

"You know you're fighting a lost battle? Hmm Don't you?" I spy Nafeesah coming from a far distance and walk past him, sweeping up dust with my hijab's hem. I do not mind another wash, as long as I let him know he cannot intimidate me. I have other things to be concerned about.

I use the key I brought out of ny bag earlier to open my passenger door and wait for Nafeesah who has finally reached me. She hands me the card and I scratch it, copy the digits into my phone and when it works, I calk Abdul almost immediately.

"Assalamualaikum." I sigh when he begins talking. One of the first things i fell in love with about him was his voice, so soothing, so smooth. "Where are you?"

"I just left the set now. Nafeesah is driving me to the city centre and I'll bring myself home." I tell him exactly where and how I'll be getting home. Abdul doesn't like being lied to, no one does and I love peace.

"See you at home." He ends the call with a masalam and I smile. Abdul is good for my Iman, he never fails to imprint one tenet of Islam after the other on me with every encounter.

I spend the drive from Kuje to Gwagalada replying messages that people have left me in the course of the day. I'm not very popular but I already have my own league of fans, hence the many messages. When Nafeesah drives into a corner, parks and steps out of the car to let me get into the seat, I pout. I hate driving.

"Enjoy the rest of your day. See you later." I wave at her as she crosses the road and i press the accelerator. In about fifteen minutes, I turn my blinkers on and turn right into the area of Wuse that I live in. Soon enough, the twelve story building that houses, our three bedroom flat comes into view and I'm happy to see it. I want to just jump into the shower and wash the stress of today's set away.

When I get into the reception, I meet my neighbor Hadiza talking to a woman, so I greet both of them and walk past them to the elevator. I tap on it only to find out it's not working. I hiss lightly and turn to go to the back so I can take the stairs. When I have only walked a few steps, I hear the two women hiss, slap their hands together and laugh so wickedly.

I stop when I've left their sight and sigh. I ask my body to get thick skinned so that I can just fling insults off and move past them, only seeing them as obstacles. But I haven't gotten there yet, insults from people who do not know a thing about my life or how I've lived it still stings and I can only stop for a moment, exhale and lift my head up high as I walk over their words.

I'm panting after climbing the stairs to the third floor where my husband and I share a three bedroom apartment. I knock on the back door where the stairs connect to. I see a movement inside and soon, Abdul comes to slide the door open for me, I carefully pass because of the heavy curtains I put at that door.

"You're so late. And what is that scent I smell?" I sigh at the attack as I find my way to the purple plush chair I placed near the sliding door to take off my sandals. Not today Abdul. There is no scent, he's only trying to get details of my day.

"I don't have anyone's scent on me Abdul. You know it. My day was fine, the director shouted at me only theee times today, that means I'm getting better. You don't ask me these things, you just want to know if I've been with a man. Because those are the only thoughts that cloud your mind; How your beautiful wife who doesn't have a mind of her own will be taken away by another actor. Just calm down and be a strength to me, not a drawback." I pick of my sandals after my tirade and push it forcefully into the shoe rack resting against the hallway leading to the bedroom.

After jamming my foot wear in, I try take off my hijab as I walk into the room but I stop at the door and try to calm myself down because as usual, Abdul has left articles of clothing strewn everywhere. The bed, the padded bench, the ottoman. Everywhere.

I untie the string holding the hijab at my nape and finish taking it off. Not today, I'll sleep in another room other than pick up Abdul's clothes. I change my mind as I fold my hijab, so I begin to take each cloth and place each back to where it is supposed to be. In spite of how tired I am.

When I reach the living room again, I walk to his side and sit with him. "How did your day go?" He sighs and tells me how he looked around Abuja for a job and didn't see but was called for an interview in Kano. And that he might go.

"Not bad, Kano isn't too far away. You can come home whenever you like. I can come visit you whenever I like." He nods and I kiss his temple before getting up to go cook. As I open the kitchen door, i ask, "What would you like for dinner?"

"Rice and beans?" I nod and walk into the kitchen, turning on appliances as I go. I've successfully averted another wahala. I whistle out a song I performed in a movie very early on in my career and begin to pull out things to make a stew for the rice and beans mix.

As I pull out the boiled peppers and tomatoes mix I put in the refrigerator from the freezer this morning, i wonder how life would be if Abdul would just help with something. The sink is piled with plates he used to eat, the dustbin with bottles of soya milk and bread packs.

Many times, I want to come home to cooked food and just go straight to bed, or talk to someone really sympathetic who isn't worried that I'm about to leave him for a petty dirty actor. I've long resigned myself to being alone while in a marriage, while together with someone who is supposed to complete my Deen.

It's just ironic. Really ironic.