Chapter 31

hmad had just finished lunch with his mom on a day that seemed like
a regular Thursday. He was sitting at the dining table and had just
gotten off a call with Anas Madaki, the Feed-A-Child program coordinator
in Sokoto. when his mother joined him. As she pulled out a chair, she
handed him her phone, scrolling down the screen displaying the Selfridges
website. “These bags are from the spring collection. What do you think?”
Ahmad had no interest in the handbags or the sets of luxury boxes she
wanted his opinion on a few days prior. He scrolled for a few seconds to not
hurt her feelings and handed her back her phone with a smile. “They look
alright, mum.”
“Just alright? Do you think she would like them?”
“I have no idea what she likes.” He couldn’t remember which bags
Sakina had carried the few times he had met her. If these were for Fa’iza, he
wouldn’t take a minute to pick out crossbody bags with long straps and
oversized totes for the days we went out with her laptop, study notes, and a
novel or two. Three days ago, when he was at her house, he had noticed
Americanah by Chimamanda Adichie sticking out of her leather tote on the
counter in the kitchen. He wanted to ask her what she thought of the book,
about the nickname Ifemelu called Obinze; he wondered if the word
‘ceiling’ made her roll her eyes in jest like she always did when he called
her ‘Insom.’ Now she wouldn’t roll her eyes at him; she wouldn’t even look

at him. There was an air of indifference every time they were alone
together, and that hurt even more.
His mother sighed and removed her glasses as she dropped her phone
on the table. “Ahmad, are you sure about this?”
“Sure about what, mom?” Ahmad smiled at her as the help cleared the
table. He knew she was talking about his general disinterest in the kayan
lefe – the gift boxes for Sakina that were being put together.
“The last time we were doing this, you were so invested. You had
opinions and specific choices you wanted us to include, you –” her voice
trailed off.
Ahmad thought about how his mom and sister teased him every time he
dropped by with extra items he’d picked out to add to Fa’iza’s kayan lefe.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
“This time around, you don’t care how it’s going. You haven’t even
asked about any of the wedding preparations.”
“I know that you have it all under control, mum. And thank you – I
know how busy all this has kept you.”
“You don’t feel like you’re rushing into this?” she asked for the first
time since the discussion about his marriage to Sakina arose. She had seen
him and Sakina talk a few times during Afreen’s wedding, but knowing her
son, she knew he was not at all interested in her at all. Maybe it was
Mother’s instinct, but despite him never bringing up Fa’iza, she knew he
was still in love with her. So, his decision to get married felt sudden and
unexpected.
“You think it’s rushed? I’ve known her for about the same time as I
knew Fa’iza before our wedding was fixed,” he laughed as he answered.

His mother sighed as she leaned into her chair, “this is different. I could
see how much you cared for Fa’iza. But this –” her voice trailed off again as
she thought fondly of Fa’iza.
His phone started ringing, and he let it go to voicemail; he never
allowed work to interrupt conversations with his mother. When he was
finally alone after lunch, Ahmad prayed Asr and played the voicemail from
Audu.
“Sir,” he started, his voice high with excitement, so much so that he was
stuttering. “I was in a cybercafé by the University campus when the owner
of the cafe recognized ‘yar Agadez’s picture. He said that her daughter was
his course mate here in Kano –” the message was abruptly cut off, and
Ahmad played the next one. “He showed me her daughter’s Facebook
profile, and it was her! I sent you pictures from her profile. We’ve found
her! We’ve found ‘yar Agadez!”
Ahmad hurriedly opened the attachments Audu had sent to his
Whatsapp. There were multiple pictures of a computer screen in a cyber
café, displaying a Facebook account. The picture was hard to see, but it
looked like a picture of a mother and daughter, both wearing brown hijabs
in the background of trees. He scrolled to the next image; it was a picture of
the older woman wearing atamfa, patterned fabric, and a scarf from the
same material was tied around her head. She was sitting on a mat on the
floor surrounded by decorated calabashes and dried gourds filled with milk,
while holding a newborn baby in her hands, with the caption ‘My mother
and son.’ When the pixelated image was enlarged into a less blurry image,
he could make out her features – her angular-shaped face, prominent
forehead, and the bridge of her nose. He scrolled back to the previous
picture, to the daughter. She looked around Ahmad’s age. He scrolled to the

picture of the woman and the baby again, paying particular attention to her
face. It was very close to the one his aging app had designed. It was her. it
was ‘yar Agadez.
Ahmad called Audu immediately, who picked up on the first ring.
“Ranka ya da –” Audu started.
“Where does she stay?” Ahmad cut the salutations short.
Audu explained that Halime, the daughter, was married and based in
France and a few years prior, she relocated her mother to live with her. As
Audu spoke, Ahmad searched the Facebook account on his laptop and went
through Halime’s pictures. She looked very much like her mother – tall-
boned and slim. She was married to a Moroccan she met in Niamey and
with whom she was raising three kids. They – the family of five and ‘Yar
Agadez – currently lived in Saint-Malo, France.
When Ahmad spoke, his voice had a slight tremor to it: “Do you have a
valid passport?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to Saint-Malo,” Ahmad said, already googling the
requirements for an expedited work visa application to France from Nigeria
for the private investigator.

Two days later, Ahmad’s driver took him to the international airport in
Abuja, where Audu – who had arrived from Kano earlier that day – was
waiting for him. He was checking into his flight on his phone when
Sakina’s call came in.
“When did you get back, love?”
“I’ve been in Abuja for a week,” he answered distractedly. He wanted to
ask her why she sent their pictures to the blogs when the wedding was still

months away. When his friends started calling to congratulate him a week
prior, they told him that it was all over social media. That was not how he
wanted Fa’iza to find out. But he was not in the mood to hear her deny it.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” she didn’t wait for him to answer, “you
never replied to my texts. So for your second outfit change, are you wearing
blue or white? My friends are here to help me decide which gown will
complement your color.” He could hear someone talking to her in the
background; she was always around people when she called him. Her voice
came through again, telling him about event planners, decorators, makeup
artists, and background colors.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” he finally asked to shut her up.
“Babyyyyy,” she softened her voice even further and dragged out the
syllable longer than necessary. Ahmad thought about telling her that baby
talk made her seem even more unattractive, but he decided against it.
“Tomorrow’s the photoshoot, remember?”
He had completely forgotten about the photoshoot – not that he was
looking forward to it. He remained quiet on the phone as he thought of his
reply and after a few minutes, she sighed dramatically to get his attention
back to the call. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna work,” he finally said. “I’m
flying out to France in a few hours.”
Her silence would have been uncomfortable if Ahmad did not have a
thousand things running through his mind – the hotel bookings he was yet
to make, how they were going to locate ‘yar Agadez, if she would be
willing to talk to them and able to answer his questions…
When Sakina spoke, her background was quiet, like she had moved into
another room or her friends had stopped chattering. “I – I don’t
understand,” she said quietly. When are you coming back?”

“No idea,” he answered truthfully as he got down from the car at the
airport. Ahmad intended to stay in France for as long as he needed.
“It was so hard to get photoshoot dates with George because of your
busy schedule and we were meant to do the couple’s interview right after,”
she raised her voice as she spoke. “You don’t tell me when you’re in town; I
only hear about it from people who see you around town. I don’t know
when you leave Abuja –”
Ahmad zoned out as she spoke, his headphones allowing him to scroll
through his phone to select the car he would be picking up from the airport
car rental for the duration of their stay in France. As he waited in the Flying
Blue lounge, he watched as Audu proudly showed his business class ticket
to the door attendant and walked toward him. The investigator looked out of
place in the black winter jacket he was wearing over a red turtle-neck
sweater in Abuja’s humid heat.
Sakina was still going on about the makeup artists that she now had to
cancel and what her friends would think, what people would say about her
family, the humiliation it would cause. Ahmad sighed. There was no way
this marriage was going to work. Theirs was already an unhealthy
relationship – with him being emotionally unavailable and her willingness
to turn a blind eye to how much he avoided spending time with her or even
attempting to get to know her. The relationship would only worsen after
marriage, especially since he intended to keep her in Abuja, while spending
most of his time in the US away from her. She said she was okay living
apart as long as he visited Abuja every month. He did not commit to
visiting every month, but he suggested trips to destinations she wanted to
visit. The whole arrangement was unfair to her, even if she was too carried
away by the quick proposal and wedding preparations to realize it.

Amin’s words were now beginning to ring in his ear: “If she insists on
being stupid, why won’t you be the responsible one and do what’s right?”
Ahmad knew that as big a threat Amin made back in Canada, he couldn’t be
bullied into this marriage. He knew, for the first time in a while, that he had
to be the responsible one; and that meant ending whatever this charade was.
“Listen, Fa’iza. We need to ta –”
“What did you just call me?” It sounded like she was going to cry.
“Sakina,” he corrected. “We need to talk.”
* * *

Ahmad was sitting in an almost empty café, waiting for an old friend who
worked in health insurance. While he waited, the coffee he’d ordered
remained untouched. He stared at an old couple outside by the waterfront
feeding the ducks through the windowpane. Audu was also outside taking
pictures of birds perched on lampposts and mailboxes. Every few seconds,
his hands would reach up, holding up his phone to take a selfie, always sure
to include a few white people in the background. He went on to post the
pictures on his Facebook account with some caption about it being just a
regular day. As he watched Audu, Ahmad noticed some people coming into
the café and searched for a familiar face among the crowd.
“Zehra,” he said, standing up and waving at her. He had a big smile on
his face and when she finally approached him, he slipped his hands into his
pockets as they exchanged pleasantries. He didn’t hug or shake women’s
hands anymore. It had been years since he saw her at the gallery in Toronto
and when he reached out to her with his request, she sounded surprised to

hear from him, if not disturbed by his request. Whatever the case, he was
happy she arrived at their meeting place with a thick file. “Can I order you
something – a latte, an espresso?”
“No, it’s a fifteen-minute drive back. I need to get going.” She was a
little apprehensive, and she kept looking over her shoulder as she spoke.
He nodded gently, knowing that she was trying to avoid being seen with
him. That was why they had agreed to meet in this secluded café away from
the city center and away from where she worked or anyone who knew her.
“Listen,” she said in English, “I’m doing this for you for old times’ sake.”
“You have my word. It’ll never be traced back to you.”
“Bonne chance,” she whispered as she handed him the red file and left
as quietly as she came. She knew she could trust him.
When she turned towards the parking lot, Audu returned indoors and sat
opposite Ahmad. Ahmad braced himself as he opened the file. It was all
there – her immunization records, her current address, emergency contact
information and a colored passport photograph at the bottom. Ahmad stared
at the picture; the face looked the same and yet different from the one he
had seen in the photograph in Kano. A face once young – pretty even – was
now lined with age and the wisdom of a woman who has struggled in life.
He glanced at the date of birth and right above it was her full name:
Hussaina Amadou. Something didn’t feel right. He had gone through the
files from Kano and Agadez so many times that he knew every detail in
those files by heart.
“Give me the Sharada file,” he asked Audu and waited as the
investigator checked through all the neatly organized paperwork in his
backpack for the white office file. Ahmad took the file and began searching
through the papers they brought from Nigeria with the compulsion of a man

who could feel that he was on the brink of a realization that might indicate a
light at the end of the tunnel. Ahmad found the black and white picture of
‘yar Agadez from GGSS Sharada and he turned it around and read the name
scribbled behind. The name on the back of the black and white passport was
Hassana Amadou.
Twins. It all made sense now – why it seemed like she had lived in so
many parts of Kano within a single decade. It explained why they never
narrowed down where to find her easily. They had unknowingly been on the
trail of two different women - identical twins, it seemed.

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