Another Friday, another update.

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“Hei God!” I exclaim for the fourth time, hands on my head, eyes on the gas cylinder, the same one I had turned on easily to prepare Badr's breakfast earlier. But now, I shake my head. See me trying to turn it on as if I have never done it before.

“Who send me to do strong head and leave that gas switch behind o? God.” I moan, moving my head from side to side. The twins will so laugh at me when I tell them.

There’s a knock on the door. As I go to open it, I pray it’s Badr, which is highly unlikely but God is miracle worker.

Unfortunately, it’s my landlady, dressed in green from head to toe. This time, a pair of dark shades is covering her eyes. I clear my throat, “Assalamu alaikum, ma'am.”

Silence.

I tilt my head, is she asleep?

“Ma’am?”

She sighs, “where is my assignment?”

Ehn? My eyes widen. Assignment ke? “I don’t–“

“but from the look of things, I think I have gotten my answer.”

I frown. “And what is the answer, ma?”

“Never mind.” She hands out a black nylon.

I look at it, then at her. Collecting it, I look inside: two large pieces of catfish. I look at her again. I hope she wants me to keep them inside the fridge for her. God abeg.

She adjusts her glasses, “I will be heading out now. I have a conference inside town.” She points to the nylon, “I want that ready before 2pm. Once you hear my car horn, bring it to me.”

“Bu–“

She just walks off. I can only stare at her. Hei, God!

Coming back inside, I grab my phone from the chair and dial  Badr's number. I hope he's out of the meeting now. If not, I look at the wall clock across from me: 10:25 A.M.

Chai.

As it rings, I place it on my ear. Guy, abeg, pick up. I drum my fingers on my thighs. Finally, he answers, “let it not be that you missed me cos I'm not missing you.”

 I roll my eyes. “Me too am not missing you, so, rest.”

“Ouch, I felt that.” He laughs.

“I need help!” I cry out. “Aunt Iftar just left here. And she gave me a bag of fish to prepare for her.”

“Aunt Iftar? Bag of fish?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, and the gas is not doing.”

“Ah, but it’s full na.”

“No, I mean the knob is turning.”

“Oh, ah, Thank God.”

My eyes widen, “I haven’t been able to use it since o!”

He sighs, “calm down, zawjati.” I sit on the sofa behind me. “First of all, have you used a cloth to turn the knob?”

“Yes na!”

“Okay, what of a plier? Do you know how to use one?”

I frown. “Yes, but not like this.”

“Good. There’s a tool box in the store. Colour yellow, check for a big red plier. There’s a small one too, so you can try both. Good luck.”

I stand, “wait fess na. Let me find the box and try it.”

He laughs, “Okay ma.”

“Also, what do I do with the fish?” I ask.

“Fish?”

“Yes na, the one she gave me.”

“Oh, oh, see ehn, I’m also confused. If I can recall clearly, she doesn’t eat fish.”

I stop. “Ehn?”

“Yes o, so I don’t understand, unless she has changed. But let me ask Mutallab.”

“Please o.” I enter the store and carry the box.

“So, you did not miss me, even small?”

“I did o, when this gas started fucking up. I prayed that you would come home.”

“Subhanallah! Na wa for you o.”

I laugh, “so how did the meeting go na?”

Ten minutes later, the gas was up and running. After preparing lunch, I set the fishes on the kitchen counter, wondering where to begin. Where did she even get them? One is as big as my arm o.

My phone rings from the dining table. I pick it and frown. It’s not Badr. “Assalamu alaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh,”

My mother-in-law replies, “Bawo ni?”

“Alhamdulillah.” I ask after the family.

“All fine, Alhamdulillah. They send their regards.”

I nod.

“So how’s everything over there? Hope you're not missing Lagos too much?”

I smile, “Not too much, Alhamdulillah.”

“Good, what about Iftar?”

“She's fine. She went out.”

She hisses, “that’s all she knows how to do. Hope she gave you a gift, at least?”

“Err, yes, the house is our gift.” I thought I heard Badr telling her this last night.

She hisses again, “and what else?”

I frown, not sure what to say. But I feel I should defend aunt Iftar. “Fish!” I exclaim. “She brought us catfish, really big ones.” I open my arms, suddenly recalling that she can’t see me. Then I add, “it was very sweet.”

“Hmmm,” Ummu Badr replies. Clearly, she doesn’t believe me. “Is that all?”

Seriously? I clear my throat. “yes ma.”

“So, what did you cook today?”

I sigh in relief. “Fried yam and egg for breakfast.” I say. It’s Badr's favorite.

“Lunch nko?”

“Rice and stew.” I almost say catfish stew.

“How many cups of rice did you cook?” She asks.

I open my mouth, close it. Is she serious? “Umm, I did–“

“What? You didn’t measure the rice? Do you want to waste the food?!”

I frown. She didn’t even let me finish. “No, I–“

“Or did you include Iftar in the food? I won’t even be surprised. With you as her neighbour, she can do whatever she wants.” She hisses. I want to say something, but not sure what. What is up between these two? “Anyways, greet Mutallab for me. I will call Badr later tonight.”

Oh no. Another shouting tirade. “Yes ma. My regards to everyone at home.”

She ends the call.

I sigh. Ummu Badr and aunt Iftar are two very strange people, I swear. I shrug and go about my business, which is basically starting at the fishes and hoping aunt Iftar will offer us one piece. I've already said the fish is sweet. It’s important to confirm.

Later in the evening, I hear a car horn. Quickly, I go to the kitchen and pick a stainless tray containing fried and spicy chunks of fishes and a flask of hot fish pepper soup. Apparently, Mutallab also has no idea that his mom now eats fish. So the only advise he gave me was, “surprise her.” I hope she likes it.

I stride toward aunt Iftar's car as she parks in front of her house. I stand beside the car door. As the door opens, I greet, “welcome ma.”

Someone laughs, and it’s not aunt Iftar.

“Badr?” I gawk at him.

“Wa alaikum salam.” He glances at my hands and shakes his head. “You're very funny o.”

“How? Where is aunt Iftar?”

“What kind of question is that? Didn’t she tell you?” He leans against the car and folds his arms, frowning.

I'm officially confused. “She said she was going to a conference.”

“Going, abi traveling?”

I moved back. “Travel ke? To where?”

He shrugs, “she’s right, it seems you have lost your memory. Sha give me my property.”

Ehn? Me, lost my memory? I shake my head. He collects the flask and shakes it. Looking up, he says, “ah, I trust you.” He winks and heads toward our house, leaving me behind.

This aunt Iftar sha.