AYAT, THE OVERCOMER

EPISODE ONE: THE UNEXPECTED BURDEN

The lecture room was filled with students. Some were roaming about, some were taking pictures inside and outside the class, some were talking and laughing, some were busy with their phones, while others rested their heads on their desks.

Bint sat quietly, looking around the class. She remembered something—since the professor had yet to arrive, she could seize the opportunity to study and practice. She opened her bag and brought out an English textbook. Flipping to Lexis and Structure, she pulled out a notebook and a pen and started practicing what she had learned so far.

She reached a point where everything became difficult. She frowned and thought to herself, This seemed easy at the beginning. How did it suddenly become so hard? I need to take it to someone who knows more than me.

She looked around the class and spotted the class grammar guru, Ayat, sitting alone, focused on his phone. He seemed busy. Bint smiled to herself and exhaled sharply. Yes, she thought.

She picked up the textbook and began walking toward Ayat. Before she could reach him, the class became rowdy. Students rushed in, pushing each other. Someone shouted from behind, "The professor is coming!"

The class fell silent like a graveyard.

The professor walked in. He adjusted his glasses and smiled. "Good morning, students."

"Good morning, sir," they responded in chorus.

The class began and ended after two hours.

As students left, preparing for another class that would start in an hour, Bint quickly ran after Ayat and called out.

"Ayat!"

He turned to see who had called him and smiled when he saw Bint.

"Hi, Bint. Wassup?"

"I'm good. And you?"

"Same here. Do you want to give me something?" He chuckled.

"No. By the way, are you going somewhere?" she asked.

"Not really. Do you need something?"

She smiled before answering. "Yeah. Can you teach me grammar before the next class starts, please?"

He glanced at his wristwatch. "We still have an hour left. Let's go back to the class then."

"Okay. Thank you very much."

"It's nothing," he replied shortly.

Back in the empty classroom, Ayat pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for Bint to do the same. She settled in, placing her textbook on the desk and flipping to the part that had confused her.

"So, what exactly are you struggling with?" Ayat asked, leaning forward.

Bint pointed at the exercise. "Lexis and structure. It started off easy, but then everything became confusing. Look at this part—why is the answer had been instead of was?"

Ayat chuckled lightly. "Ah, tenses. They can be tricky, but once you get the pattern, it becomes easier." He picked up her pen and scribbled a few notes on a blank page. "Look, had been is used because of the past perfect rule. It shows that something happened before another past event. If you use was, it doesn’t have the same meaning."

Bint watched as he explained, nodding slowly. "Oh, I see… So it’s about the timing of the action."

"Exactly."

For the next thirty minutes, Ayat patiently broke down the concepts, explaining them in ways that made them easier to grasp. Bint couldn’t help but admire how knowledgeable he was. She had always seen him as the class grammar guru, but this was the first time she was sitting with him one-on-one.

As they wrapped up, she suddenly remembered something. Since Ayat was so good at English, maybe he could help her with something else.

"By the way," she said, reaching into her bag, "I’ve been working on a story. Would you mind reviewing it for me when you have time?"

Ayat raised a brow, intrigued. "A story?"

"Yes, it’s called The Hidden Monster. It’s a thriller."

Ayat took the manuscript from her hands and skimmed through the first few lines. "This looks interesting. But I’m really swamped right now, so it might take a little longer to review."

Bint nodded, understanding. "Yeah, I know… You work a lot." She hesitated before adding, "Why do you work so much, though? Where are your parents? Or… are you an orphan?"

At that, Ayat’s expression shifted slightly. He stared at the book in his hands for a moment, then let out a small sigh. "It’s a long story," he finally said.

Bint leaned forward, curiosity in her eyes. "I have time."

Ayat glanced at her, then at the empty classroom. He placed the manuscript down on the desk and intertwined his fingers.

"Alright," he said. "I’ll tell you everything. But don't judge anybody," he added.

And with that, his story began.

---

Many years ago, before Ayat was born…

His parents were never married, just lovers caught in a courtship that led to an unwanted pregnancy.

Zaynab’s heart pounded as she gripped the test result in her hands. The doctor’s voice still echoed in her ears.

"Four weeks pregnant."

Her lips trembled. "What? This can’t be, doctor! Are you sure there wasn’t a mistake? I… I can’t be pregnant."

The old doctor, a man in his sixties, frowned. "Madam, this is not my first time. I’ve been doing this for thirty years. Go home and share the news with your husband." He shook his head and walked away, clearly annoyed.

But Zaynab wasn’t married.

She staggered out of the hospital, her legs feeling weak. How would she tell her parents? She had just finished primary school, dreaming of furthering her education. Would her father still allow that after hearing she was pregnant?

No. First, she needed to tell her boyfriend.

Her thoughts consumed her as she walked home, barely noticing her surroundings. The old mud house where she lived stood just ahead, smoke rising from the àdìrò outside, where her mother was cooking.

"E kuule, Maami," she greeted softly.

"Kaabo, oko mi Aríke," her mother responded warmly. "How are you feeling now? Did they give you drugs or an injection?"

Zaynab managed a weak reply. "I feel better, Mother. I need to rest."

Her mother held her gently, guiding her inside. The room was small, the walls aged and cracked. A woven mat lay on the floor, where Zaynab lay down. Her mother covered her with one of her iro before leaving her to rest.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

Her mind kept spinning. How would her boyfriend react? Would he be happy to hear she was carrying his child? Or would he deny it? What if he told her to get rid of it?

"No," she reassured herself. "He loves me."

But what if love wasn’t enough?

Lost in her thoughts, she finally drifted off, as the Yoruba saying goes: Orun lo n gba towo omode (Sleep is a child’s greatest relief).

That evening, her mother came in with a small calabash filled with dark liquid. Zaynab stirred as the woman placed a hand on her forehead. It was burning hot, almost as if it could cook raw yam.

"Oko mi, Aríke," her mother said softly. "Wake up and drink this medicine. Before you know it, you will be fine."

Zaynab sat up, resting her back against the wall. She took the calabash in both hands and sipped. The bitterness spread across her tongue like poison. She gagged, jumped up, and ran outside, vomiting everything.

Her mother followed, rubbing her back gently. "Sorry, okó mi."

When she had emptied her stomach, she wiped her mouth and slowly walked back inside. She turned to her mother, forcing a small smile. "I will be fine, Mother. Just let me rest."

Her mother sighed. "Alright, my daughter."

As soon as the door closed, Zaynab buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

She wasn’t ready to tell her mother yet.

Her boyfriend was the first person who needed to hear this.