Balqees Aponmade
“Welcome daddy!” the twins chorused, huge smiles plastered on their faces. They noticed their father wasn’t cheerful like he would be whenever he returned from work, but it didn’t really bother them.
“Maybe Dad’s just tired,” Aliya told her brother and they both shrugged.
What really bothered the twins when they realized it, was the fact that their father didn’t bring the bag of goodies he usually came home with. They’d never known their father to go out without returning home with gifts, cakes, or ice cream for them. Today was different and their faces fell. Something was seriously wrong, and they had no idea what had happened.
“Welcome Ishaq, how was today?” his mother embraced him and helped him with this bag. “Thank you, Nana. I’m fine,” Ishaq replied wearily.
Ishaq’s mother noticed that all was not well with her son. “Did you have a bad day, son? Your face isn’t bright tonight.”
“All isn’t well, Nana,” Ishaq said as he collapsed into the sofa and started pulling his shoes impatiently as if the innocent leathers had been responsible for his woes. The twins sat on either side of him and looked into his face wide-eyed, wanting to catch every word of their father as to why he didn’t buy them goodies that night. Before, the gifts he didn’t bring home had been all that mattered to them.
He began to speak.
“I got to the office this morning and was barely settled in when the MD called a meeting, with all the senior staff. We immediately headed to the venue of the meeting. We got to the meeting room and the MD was there waiting…”
Ishaq remembered how the MD had broken the dreadful news:
“I apologize for this impromptu meeting and I welcome you all. Without beating about the bush, I called this meeting to let you know that the company would be laying off some workers, senior workers precisely. You all would understand that this pandemic has affected a lot of things, and thus, the company is not an exception to the damage this virus has caused to the economy. In order not to go through a total recession, the company has decided to let go some workers, senior workers because, your salary is a whole lot, and it’s two times or three times the salary of the junior workers, depending on the level you are in, it was decided that…”
“The MD went on and on until I heard my name. I wasn’t sure why at first, it took me some seconds to realise he had been calling the names of the workers to be laid off. Of the twenty-five senior workers seated in the room that morning, at least, twelve of us were cut off. The MD assured us that forty percent of our salary would be paid and told us to bear with them.”
“I didn’t leave for home immediately because I couldn’t bear to look you all in the face knowing that I’ve failed you. I went to clear my head at the gym and waited till the usual time I close from work before coming home.”
He wiped a tear that had fallen on his cheek. The twins were stunned and Ishaq’s mother was nothing short of bewildered.
Aliu was the first to speak, “So, Dad, you no longer have a job.”
Their father nodded anyways, even when it wasn’t really a question. Although the twins were just eight years old, they knew very well the impact of what had just happened.
Their mother had died after giving birth to them. While in the pool of her blood caused by her excessive bleeding after the childbirth, she had told Ishaq to take care of the twins and assured him he was going to get the job he recently applied for.
“You are not dying, Firdaus. We will nurture these children together, please,” Ishaq had cried. Firdaus had smiled weakly and was going to say something when she breathed her last.
Ishaq’s mother moved in with her son to help take care of the children, for what would poor Ishaq do with two babies he knew absolutely nothing on how to take care of? His mother had lost her husband —his father— when he was a boy, and being the only child, he was all Nana had.
Thus, Nana had been the one that suckled the kids, weaned them, and continued to take care of them since then. Ishaq got a job in an IT company as a computer engineer. The pay was good and he and his small family lived on it. Now, he had lost the job due to the pandemic.
“No, my son. You didn’t fail us…” His mother said, her voice trailing off. “None of these is your fault, habeeby.” Then she held him and sobbed against his chest, in a way that one wouldn’t know who was pacifying the other. The twins cried quietly too, they knew better than to wail because even their beloved grandmother was not in the best of moods to hug them and console them.
Aliu joined his father and grandmother in a group hug as they sobbed quietly together. Aliya moved away from the group and moved to the end of the sofa to cry into a pillow in her characteristic manner.
Soon, it was morning and the beginning of a new life for Abdullah family. After the fajr solaat, Ishaq called the family together to explain the new changes they were all going to experience, the children would have to leave their current schools for a less expensive one and he, their father, would have to start a small-scale business with the forty percent salary he was laid off with. Nana would sell provisions in front of the house to generate a small income. The grandmother was willing to do anything to help and had agreed to support her only son and grandchildren.
But the twins were sad. They were sad to be leaving their schools and all their friends. They realised that their lives would never remain the same.
The future looked gloomy. Dark clouds hung overhead…
Contributor’s Note
Once I had written a poem and my brother and his friends had laughed at it good-naturedly, they said it sounded like some love letters they write to girls then, I was 14 or there about. That was when I started writing, I would write and write, I would write poems, mainly poems. I wrote a lot in my diary too. I wrote a lot of things in my diary, in it, I would vent, rave and rant in my book. I would wet the pages of my book with ink rather than wet my face with tears. I mostly wrote poems till I became an undergraduate. My first story titled ‘Safe or Saved’ came out as a surprise even to myself because my brother said it was good, his ‘good’ means a lot because he’s really a better writer than I am. I enjoy his stories, so it just comes naturally for me to give him my works to edit and review.
Growing up, I loved reading, I still do. My brother will bring home novels while I bring story books, we would exchange them and get lost in reading. We read in the toilet, kitchen, dining table, virtually everywhere. And once I’ve read all the books in the house and there is none left to read, I would go into the loo with my father’s newspapers.
What led to the birth of ‘A New Life’ was an assignment given by my tutor who teaches me and about two others literature and other forms of art. That night after an interesting class on character creation, he gave us an assignment to write about a man who has lost his job and has a family to cater for, in 500-1000 words. Prior to that time, I had no idea I was going to write that night, but I had to write anyway. Did I mention that my tutor asked us to submit in an hour, fifteen minutes? I didn’t know what to write on, but I knew I had to write something, anything.
When I saw a broadcast message about The Muslim Write asking for submissions of stories that met their criteria, I decided to send my story, it was an almost perfect story of all the criteria required except that the story wasn’t up to a thousand words, I almost changed my mind but I decided to extend the story till it became fit for submission, and so I submitted.
I enjoy the works of Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Adichie, Wole Soyinka, Mariama Ba, Ngugi wa Thiong’O, Amma Darko, Buchi Emecheta and other writers whose names I can’t remember now.
I’m currently studying at the University of Lagos, department of biochemistry. I initially applied for MBBS. If I had not gone for the sciences, I think I would have studied Mass Communication or Law. I don’t have any regret being a science student anyway, I would have preferred that I studied both Medicine, Law and Mass Communication rather than choose either.
About the author
Balqees Boluwatife Aponmade is an undergraduate at the University of Lagos. She is a writer and fashion designer with quite a number of literary works to her name. She enjoys writing and reading and loves the world of art, but also ventures deeply into the sciences.
Find her on twitter @iroodah and on instagram @boladaleaponmade
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