AISHA AND THE BLACK BRACELET

Aisha was thirteen and she was invisible. Not invisible like jinn in stories Kakuri used to tell — the ones that disappear behind mango trees. Invisible like middle child in a Nigerian house where everyone is loud and you are quiet. In their small bungalow in Barnawa, Kaduna, there were five people. Papa — Alhaji Yusuf — worked in Ministry and always talked about land in Millennium City he wanted to buy. Mama — Hajiya Rabi — sold lace in Sheikh Abubakar Gumi Market and was always tired, always shouting "Aisha, go and do this! Aisha, go and do that!" Sadiq — 17 — SS3, first son, pride of house. He got A in Physics, A in Chemistry, A in Maths in WAEC mock. Papa already called him "Dr. Sadiq" even though he had not entered university. Baby Fatima — 6 — Primary 1, small, fair, with big eyes. Everyone called her Angel because she could recite Fatiha, Ayatul Kursi, and sing "Baby Shark" without missing word. And Aisha. JSS 2. 13 years old. Not first, not last. Middle. She was not dull. She got B in Maths, A in English, A in Creative Writing. But nobody clapped for B and A. They clapped for Sadiq's A_. She was not ugly. She had brown skin, small nose, hair that was always rough because Mama didn't have time to plait it well, so she wore it under hijab. But she was quiet. She liked to sit under the big mango tree behind their house — the one Papa said would cut down because its roots spoil fence — and write stories in a small blue notebook with a broken pen. In that notebook, she was not invisible. She was queen, she was witch, she was spy, she was girl who could fly. Nobody read that notebook. Not even her best friend Hauwa in school. On Thursday, Kakuri died. Kakuri was Mama's mother, 89 years old, who lived alone in old mud house in Palladan Zaria, with chickens and a well and a big baobab tree. Kakuri chewed kola all day, so her teeth were brown, and she laughed like "he-he-he" and she was the only person in whole world who ever called Aisha "Hajiya Aisha, my queen." When Mama heard phone call on Thursday night, she screamed — high scream — and started crying. Papa drove them at 5am Friday to Zaria. Burial was quick. Islamic burial — no delay. Men carried Kakuri wrapped in white. Women cried under baobab. Aisha cried more than Mama, more than anyone, because her queen-caller was gone. After burial, after people ate tuwo and miyan kuka and left, Mama entered Kakuri's small room. "Aisha, Sadiq, come and pack things. Don't throw anything that looks valuable. Your Kakuri hid gold inside pillows, you know that old woman." Sadiq went straight to wooden trunk and found small gold earrings, two old wrappers worth 15k each, and a small purse with 8,500 naira inside. He showed Mama proudly. "Aisha, you pack books," Mama said. Aisha packed. There were Islamic books, old Quran with torn cover, old exercise book where Kakuri wrote debts: "Zainab borrowed 2 cups of rice..." Under the bed, there was small wooden box, black wood, smelling of incense and old perfume — turaren wuta that Kakuri used to burn every Maghrib. Aisha opened it. Inside, on top of old piece of lace, was a bracelet. Not gold. Not silver. Not plastic. It was black, shiny black, like polished river stone, but light like wood. Cold. On it were tiny white writings — not Arabic, not English, not Hausa — old writings that looked like small rivers and small eyes. When Aisha touched it, it was so cold it burned her finger. "Aisha, leave that rubbish! It's just old plastic bracelet, maybe from Niger. Bring my earrings," Sadiq shouted, holding gold. But Aisha closed box and slipped bracelet into pocket of her abaya. It felt like it was waiting for her. Like it knew her name. Back in Kaduna, Friday night, Barnawa was quiet. NEPA took light. Generator was off because Papa said fuel is expensive. Aisha slept on mattress in room she shared with Fatima. Fatima snored small. At exactly 2:13 AM — Aisha saw time on small wall clock glowing — bracelet inside pocket under pillow started vibrating. Not ringing. Vibrating — vrrrr, vrrrr — like phone on silent. Aisha sat up, heart beating. She brought it out. In dark, white writings on black bracelet glowed faintly — like small stars. She slipped it on left wrist to check size. It fit perfectly. Too perfectly. As if someone measured her wrist when she was sleeping. And the moment cold black stone touched her skin, the world changed. _— this girl is so annoying, always writing nonsense under mango tree instead of reading her books and helping me, but she is my daughter so I will not say —_ Voice in head. Not in room. Mama's voice. But thinking voice, not talking voice. Aisha jumped, looked at door. Mama was in next room, awake? She peeked. Mama was lying on mat, not sleeping, looking at ceiling, thinking. Aisha pulled bracelet off quickly — vrrrr stopped, voice stopped, writings stopped glowing. Silence. She put it on again, slowly. _— Sadiq is sleeping but tomorrow I will ask him about that girl he is chatting with on w******p, that Hauwa girl, he thinks I don't know he likes her —_ This time Papa's voice, from parlour where Papa slept on chair because of heat. He was dreaming? No, thinking before sleeping. Aisha's mouth opened. She could hear thoughts. She ran barefoot to sitting room. Papa was indeed sleeping on chair, mouth open, phone on chest. And she heard dream-thought, soft: _— ...if I collect that contract from Alhaji Musa, I can finally buy that land in Millennium City and build small house for Sadiq before he marries..._ It was true. Papa had been talking about Millennium City land for six months, arguing with Mama. Aisha ran back, took bracelet off, hid under pillow, heart like drum. She understood. Kakuri's black bracelet hears hearts. Next morning — Saturday — she tested it again. She wore bracelet to breakfast, hidden under long sleeve of her brown abaya — long sleeve to hide black. Mama served kosai and koko. Sadiq said, smiling, "Morning Mama, kosai looks delicious, thank you." But Aisha, bracelet on wrist, heard Sadiq's true thought, loud and clear, as if he shouted: _— This kosai is burnt again, Mama never fries well, oil too much, but I will say delicious so she doesn't shout at me and take my phone —_ Aisha almost choked on koko, holding laugh. Papa said, "Aisha, today go and buy bread from Alhaji bakery, not that cheap one you bought last time that expired." Papa's thought: _— I hope this girl doesn't waste money again like last time she bought expired bread and we all purged, but I can't say expired because Mama will say I insult her daughter —_ Fatima, small Angel, said, "Anti Aisha, I love you!" Her thought, pure, no lie: _— I love Anti Aisha more than Anti Sadiq because she gives me biscuit when Mama doesn't see and plays baby shark with me —_ This one made Aisha smile for real, tears small. She realized powerful and terrible thing: People say one thing with mouth, and another thing with heart. Every person is two persons — mouth-person and heart-person. All day Saturday she listened. She couldn't stop. Like sweet that is also poison. She went to shop to buy bread — wearing bracelet — and heard shopkeeper's thought: _— This small girl doesn't know this bread is from yesterday, I will give her yesterday own, she won't know —_ Aisha said, "Alhaji, give me today's bread, not yesterday's." Shopkeeper shocked: "How did you know?" Aisha ran away. Sunday, she went to Islamiyya school. Her friend Hauwa — same Hauwa Sadiq likes — said, "Aisha, your hijab is fine today, you look fine!" But thought: _— Her hijab is not fine, it's rough and old, but I will say fine so she doesn't feel bad because she is my friend —_ Aisha felt small pain in chest. Even kind lies hurt when you hear them. Monday, Junior Secondary School, Barnawa, JSS 2B. Maths teacher Mr. Musa, who always shouted "You are dull!" said, "Aisha, you got 62 in test, you can do better, you are intelligent." His thought, which Aisha heard because bracelet was on under school cardigan: _— This girl Aisha is actually very intelligent, more than Sadiq her brother, I saw her writing story, but she is lazy, she doesn't believe in herself, if she believed she would be best in class —_ Aisha stopped walking in corridor. More intelligent than Sadiq? Mr. Musa thought that? The teacher who always praised Sadiq? At break, she sat under mango tree in school — like mango tree at home — and opened blue notebook, wrote rules with broken pen: _Rule 1: Bracelet hears thoughts only when on wrist, black stone touching skin._ _Rule 2: You hear only people close — maybe 10 steps, like classroom._ _Rule 3: You cannot choose whose thought to hear — if three people near, you hear three._ _Rule 4: You hear heart-person, not mouth-person._ _Rule 5: ...?_ She was writing when shadow covered page. It was Khalid. SS2. Senior. Fine boy. Every JSS girl liked Khalid, including Hauwa. He was Sadiq's friend who came to house sometimes to read. "Aisha, small writer, what are you writing? Always writing," Khalid said, smiling fine boy smile that made JSS 2 girls giggle. "Nothing," Aisha said, closing notebook quickly, face red. Khalid's thought — bracelet caught it loud, because he was standing one step away, and his heart thought was strong: _— Sadiq's small sister is actually fine, quiet, not like those noisy JSS girls, I like quiet girls, but she is too small, 13, maybe wait small —_ Aisha's face turned red like hibiscus zobo. Heart beat like drum. Khalid likes her? Khalid, senior, fine boy who plays football? Khalid added, "You will be writer one day. Don't stop writing." He left. Aisha watched him go, holding bracelet. That evening, she remembered Kakuri's box had paper at bottom. She searched again — yes, folded yellow paper, old, smelling like kola. She opened. It was letter, written in Hausa, shaky handwriting — Kakuri's hand: _"Aisha, my queen, idan kina karanta wannan wasiƙa to na mutu. Baƙin Mundaye ba kayan kwalliya bane. Dutsen baki ne daga kogin Zaria, wata mata mai tsarki ta ba iyalanmu shekaru 100 da suka wuce. Yana ji muryar zuciya. Amma gargadi: Ki ji zuciya da yawa, zaki haukace. Saboda ba kowace zuciya mai tsarki bace. Wasu tunani ba naki bane ki ji. Ki yi amfani sau daya a rana, kadan. Kada ki sa shi idan kina barci, kada ki sa shi a makabarta. Idan ya koma ja, jefa shi cikin kogi nan da nan. Yarinyar ki mai sonki, Kakuri."_ Translation: _"Aisha, my queen, if you are reading this letter, I am dead. The black bracelet is not jewelry. It is black stone from Zaria river, a holy woman gave our family 100 years ago. It hears heart voice. But warning: Hear heart too much, you will go mad. Because not every heart is clean. Some thoughts are not yours to hear. Use it once a day, small time. Never wear it when you sleep, and never wear it to burial ground. And if it turns red, throw it into river immediately. Your girl who loves you, Kakuri."_ Aisha read three times. Hand shaking. If it turns red, throw into river immediately. She looked at bracelet on wrist. It was still black. White writings glowing, but black. Not red. She decided — she will use once a day only, as Kakuri said. But she broke rule next day, Tuesday. Because Papa came home angry Tuesday afternoon. "Where is 50k I kept in drawer? Who took 50k?" He shouted, face red. Mama said, "Wallahi I didn't take it! I didn't see 50k!" Sadiq said, "Not me, Papa, I didn't." Fatima started crying because Papa shouting. Aisha, wearing bracelet secretly under sleeve — she wanted to know who took — listened. Papa's thought, loud, guilty: _— I know I used it to pay my friend debt to Alhaji Musa, 50k I borrowed last month, but I will say someone stole it so Rabi doesn't insult me that I borrow again —_ So Papa took it himself! He lied! Aisha took bracelet off, confused, chest heavy. Should she say? If she says "Papa took it," how will she explain how she knows? No one will believe bracelet hears thoughts. They will say she is witch — maita. She kept quiet, but looked at Papa differently. Her hero Papa was mouth-person and heart-person too. That night, she heard Mama thinking while crying small in kitchen, washing plates, thinking Mama was alone: _— My mother left me nothing, only old bracelet that Aisha took, and now my husband accuses me of stealing, I am tired of this house, I am tired —_ Aisha felt guilt, heavy like stone. The bracelet was making her hear too much. Sad things. Secret things. Things people hide because they love you and don't want to hurt you. Kakuri's warning was true: Not every heart is clean. And some thoughts are not for you to hear. She took bracelet off, put in wooden box, decided not to wear Wednesday. But Wednesday forced her. Sadiq did not come home Tuesday night. He said he slept at friend's house to read for exam. Wednesday morning, Papa got call from school principal: Sadiq suspended — caught with phone cheating in Chemistry test. Papa beat Sadiq with belt — leather belt — in parlour. Sadiq cried, "I'm sorry, Papa, I'm sorry!" Mama cried, "Don't kill my son!" Aisha, wearing bracelet hidden — she wanted to know if Sadiq really cheated — heard Sadiq's true thought while being beaten and saying sorry: _— I didn't cheat, I was helping Hauwa's brother, Saminu, he is dull in Chemistry, he begged me, but if I say that, Saminu will be expelled and Hauwa will hate me forever and Sadiq will lose Hauwa —_ So Sadiq didn't cheat! He was helping Hauwa's brother! And Papa's thought while beating, belt in hand, mouth shouting "You are disgrace!": _— I am beating him not because he cheated, but because my boss insulted me at work yesterday calling me useless and I am angry and have no one else to beat and I am useless father —_ Aisha's hands shook. Her family was full of secrets — Papa's debt, Sadiq's help, Mama's tiredness. All hidden with mouth. She ran to mango tree behind house, took bracelet off, threw it on ground under tree. "I don't want to hear anymore! I don't want to hear! Take it!" But bracelet glowed. White writings glowed brighter than ever — and for first time, edge turned... slightly red. Like small blood. Kakuri's letter: _If it turns red, throw it into river immediately.* Aisha stared. Red? Should she throw into river? Before she could decide, Fatima ran barefoot from house, shouting. "Anti Aisha! Anti Aisha! A woman is at gate asking for you! She says she is Kakuri's sister! She says she knows about bracelet!" Aisha looked up, heart stopped. At gate stood old woman, very old, like 100 years, or 120, with white hair reaching ground, holding black staff, wearing black wrapper, no shoes, feet dirty. Her eyes... one eye was black, one eye was white, like bracelet. And she was looking directly at bracelet on ground, even though she was 20 steps away. "So you are the one who took Baƙin Mundaye," old woman said in voice like dry leaves rubbing. "I am Inna Binta, Kakuri's elder sister. That bracelet was mine before Kakuri. It belongs to river. You must return it, or it will eat your heart." Aisha picked bracelet quickly. It was now half red, hot. "Who are you? How do you know bracelet?" Aisha asked, scared, holding bracelet behind back. Old woman smiled, showing no teeth, only gums. "Kakuri told you to use once a day. You used three, four, five times. Now it is hungry. Every thought you hear, it eats small piece of your happiness. Soon you will hear thoughts even without wearing it. Then you will hear jinn thoughts. Then you will go mad, like your Kakuri's sister — me? No, I survived because I returned mine. Your Kakuri's other sister, Inna Ladi, went mad and jumped into river in Zaria in 1978. That is why Kakuri kept bracelet in box and never wore it." Aisha's legs shook. "What do I do?" "Come with me to Zaria, to Kogin Zaria, to the river where spirit woman gave it 100 years ago. Before it turns fully red. If it turns fully red, it will never leave your wrist, it will become part of your skin, and you will hear all thoughts in Kaduna — 2 million thoughts — at once, and your head will burst." Aisha looked at bracelet. Now three-quarter red. Glowing hot, vibrating vrrrr. "I... I need to tell my parents..." "No time," old woman said, black and white eyes glowing. "If you go inside house, your mother will see bracelet red and think you are witch and burn it with fire, and it will burn you with it. Come now. Now." Aisha looked at her house — Papa beating Sadiq for lie he didn't do, Mama crying for stolen 50k Papa took, Fatima who loves her because of biscuit — all secrets she now knew because of bracelet. She wanted to not know. She wanted to be invisible again. She made decision. She followed old woman with white and black eyes, holding bracelet that was turning redder every second, towards Zaria river, barefoot, abaya, leaving her blue notebook under mango tree. She didn't know that Khalid, senior fine boy, was standing at corner of street, watching her, and he saw her leave with old scary woman, and he followed, because he liked quiet girls and he was worried, and he also heard old woman say "river" and "bracelet" and his curiosity made him follow.