Four years after, by Bala Maidala
Today, it is four years without someone to call me “Babban Mutum”. Encumbered by the dictates of culture and traditions, for years she couldn’t call me by my actual name, a burden that the norms of the society imposed on her. She strictly abided by this taboo of the society and for the years we spent together she did not, for a single instance, attempt to call me by my real name. She lived in this quandary for decades until succour came and bailed her out.
My quest for further studies took me to the University of Maiduguri to be fully absolved in my studies and avoid any disruption, I decided to take her and her kids to Maiduguri and rented an apartment at Gwange ward. It was a concrete 2-bedroom apartment, a parlour and bathroom constructed in front of a plot, while deep inside were three separate rooms occupied by three different families. Attached to the house was a mud house owned by the same person. The apartment I rented was occupied by the Alhaji before.
Alhaji was a very successful businessman before. He, however, suffered a setback in his business and decided to rent out to me the apartment he lived in and relocated to the adjoining mud house, common to landlords in Maiduguri. One day, while I was away, Alhaji came in to inspect the house. In the presence of my wife, he was talking to himself: “Ga babban gida ga babban mutum” which could be translated as ‘big house big man’. This is the misconception most people make about me. With that singular statement Alhaji made, he didn’t know that he unconsciously gave my wife a suitable name with which she addressed me till her demise. So from that day onward “Babban Mutum” became my new name and I politely accepted.
Unlike America and other developed countries of the world where rich men are usually slim and lanky, in Africa, it is the contrary. In Africa being fat is mostly considered as a sign of affluence. I have always been a victim of this misconception. People always consider me rich and place me on a higher pedestal even though I am also struggling to make ends meet. This is the price of contentment that attracts numerous requests for assistance. I always try to respond within the limit of available resources.
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My stay at Gwange Ward has been a bittersweet experience as I have learnt a lot about having to live in a rented apartment. One experience remains unforgettable in my memory. It was an incident that nearly shook the very foundation of my marriage. There was this divorcee who lived in the neighbourhood. One of the women who lived in one of the single rooms met my wife and told her that I was preparing to marry that lady. My wife politely asked me whether it was true I was planning to marry. I immediately sent a boy to call the lady who, in front of everybody, revealed that she used to see me sitting outside but I had never spoken to her. To be candid that was the first time I saw that lady in my life. She then threatened to sue the woman who made the allegation and we had to spend valuable time begging her to exercise patience.
There was also this Inspector of Police who constituted a nuisance to his neighbours. He was not on good terms with almost everybody in the neighbourhood. While I lived there, every week a relation who lived in Lagos would send me the sum of twenty thousand naira with which I buy a ram, slaughter and distribute the meat as charity. Mind you, by then Nigeria’s currency was so strong and a ram of twenty naira was very rare. I used to send the meat to the house of this policeman every week and within a short time, we became so intimate to the surprise of all. Our Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has already told us centuries ago that the culture of giving out reduces enmity among people and cements the bond of brotherhood. One day, this policeman sent his wife to establish a relationship with my wife.
As I lived in Gwange, I was already building a house at Mairi Ward just close to the fence of the University for proximity. By the time I spent eleven months in Gwange, I had already completed my Mairi house and relocated. At Mairi, I continued with my weekly slaughtering of ram and distribution of the meat to neighbours as charity. Like in Gwange, the gesture again gave me the wrong identity of a rich man. A friend who is a lecturer at the University of Maiduguri one day came looking for my house and described me to one chap. The boy suddenly responded, “Oh that rich man that slaughters cows?”
The boy made that conclusion because apart from the weekly slaughtering of ram, each Eid El Kabir I also slaughter a cow and distribute the meat. What people didn’t know was that l was just a messenger as the actual sponsor preferred to remain anonymous.
These are some recollections of the experiences we shared with my late wife Rakiya. We shared a lot in common. She was a selfless person who was always ready to give out the little she had. As if she had the premonition that her stay would be so transient, she lived a simple life and related well with people, irrespective of their social status. She was always contented and less concerned about material things. Above all, Rakiya was very religious and worshipped her creator with total submission.
Friday, 6th November 2020 today marks exactly four years since you departed this filthy world. I and your children always remember you in our prayers and supplications. May Allah, in His infinite mercy, continue to shower His mercies and blessings upon your blessed soul.
Bala Maidala is the Director of News at Yobe Broadcasting Corporation (YBC), Damaturu.
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