by Emma Easter
An overwhelming sense of hopelessness settled on her as the men stood up. They shook her father’s hand and then went out of the house. Zainah pursed her lips as her father nodded at two of his bodyguards, and they came to stand behind her and Leila.
She walked out of the house, clutching Leila’s hand, her father’s men behind her. Her father walked in front of her and Leila. She wondered if this would be her life from now on. Would she always be under watch, constantly surrounded by bodyguards so she would not be able to escape?
She squeezed Leila’s hand as they walked to two cars parked in front of the house. One of the cars was a white luxury SUV and the other was an identical black one. Her father said to her, “Zainah, come this way.” He pointed at the black car, and said, “That is your husband, Jibril’s car.”
Leila’s hand immediately tightened around hers and she refused to let go. Zainah did not want to the separated from Leila either. Two burly men, clearly bodyguards, but not her father’s, came and pulled her away from Leila. She guessed they were her so-called husband’s and Leila’s. They virtually bundled her into the black car while Leila cried out. Zainah looked out of the window as they forced Leila into the white car. Leila’s cries pierced her heart.
The car door was firmly shut and then Zainah turned sharply as someone took her hand. The man called Jibril, supposedly her husband, held her hand and gave her a smile that sent an awful chill down her spine. She scowled at him and wrenched her hand away.
He narrowed his eyes and said coldly, “You will learn soon enough to be obedient.”
One of his bodyguards got into the front seat beside the driver, and Jibril said to his driver, “Go!”
Zainah shuddered at the ice in his voice and at his words.
The driver immediately drove away. As the car wove through Nira, Zainah’s heart pounded. She looked out of the window, wishing she could jump out of it. All the while, she felt Jibril’s eyes on her. Every person on the street whose eye she could catch, she looked at directly in the eye. None of them seemed interested in her plight. She knew that crying out for help would be a waste of time. None of these people in her community cared about her or any young woman in this kind of situation. It was their way of life, their custom; they were all in support of this forced marriage, which was, in truth, nothing but kidnapping and imprisonment.
The driver finally pulled up to a house so big and beautiful she thought she was no longer in Nira. She looked up at the house and trembled in fear. It looked like a place where one could be locked up and never ever found again. Tears swam in her eyes as she thought about Faizan, but she blinked them back.
The driver opened the door for her and she reluctantly came out of the car. Jibril walked beside her as she slowly made her way to the house. He put his hand around her waist, but she stepped away from him. When he laughed out loud, she cringed.
She entered the house and found it exorbitantly and garishly furnished. She looked around her. It was all too much.
Jibril said, “Welcome to your new home. I hope you like it.”
She refused to look at him or acknowledge him. All she wanted was to lock herself up somewhere and cry for a whole month. She thought about Leila and wondered how she was coping. Without a doubt, Leila’s emotions would be in tatters, just like hers were.
Jibril kept staring at her as if he wanted to devour her and she could not stand it anymore. She said to him, “Can I go to my room now? It has been a long day and I need to rest.”
He stared at her for a long time, clearly considering whether to give in to her request or not. Finally, he said, “All right, you may go. Barika will show you to your room.” He grinned at her and she noticed a wicked glint in his eye.
He turned to one of the men standing near the door and said, “Go and get me Barika.”
The man nodded and left. A minute later, he came back with a woman who looked about forty and elegantly dressed in a silk cream boubou. The woman gazed at her with a curious expression on her face.
Jibril said, “Barika, this is my new wife, Zainah. The one I told you about.”
Barika nodded and her features closed up so that Zainah could not read the expression on her face.
“She’s now one of you,” Jibril said. “Take her to my room and make sure she is ready for me tonight.”
Zainah’s heart skipped a beat. Waves of panic ran through her as she followed Barika out of the living room. They walked down a long marble tiled hallway. On both sides of the hallway were doors, probably rooms for Jibril’s other wives. Barika turned to her and said with a voice laden with animosity, “These rooms belong to the other wives in the house. All the children stay upstairs.”
Zainah’s heart pounded violently as they finally stopped in front of a large, ornate door. Barika opened the door and Zainah entered a room that was as large and elaborately furnished as the Rahmanis’, the rich people she had worked for months ago. She had fled the house after her boss had tried to get her to sleep with him. Now she had run into something worse.
Barika confirmed her fears. “This is Jibril’s private room,” she said, scowling at Zainah. “As the first wife, I am supposed to prepare you for your night with him.” She sneered as she regarded Zainah and added, “But I am sure you will manage without me.”
Zainah’s stomach lurched and she thought she would lose the breakfast that had been brought to her in the shack that morning. She said to Barika, “What will happen if I don’t want to stay here?”
Barika laughed. “You can choose to stay of your own free will and play your role as a new wife, or be forced. And trust me, staying of your own free will is better.” She turned around and left Zainah in the room.
At first, Zainah stood frozen, unable to move, and then she turned around and tried to open the door. As she guessed, it was locked. She shook the doorknob, but the door did not budge. She banged repeatedly on the door until she was exhausted. Finally, she sank to the floor and shut her eyes. She couldn’t cry anymore. She had exhausted her tears. She curled up on the floor and let Faizan’s face fill her mind. She had been trying to push his face away from her mind for hours now, because thinking about him had been too painful. Now, she felt numb with pain. She embraced the agony as she thought about him, his smile, the way she felt when they kissed. She would never feel that again, never be warmed by his smile.
The pain felt physical. She let it take over for a long moment and then she finally stood. She couldn’t just sit here like this and let that wicked man come and have his way with her. She had to do something.
But what could she do? This house was a fortress. There was no way of escape. She looked at the ensuite bathroom. Maybe she could lock herself in there when he came. It might not solve the problem, but it could buy her some time.
Buy you time for what, exactly? she thought in self-mockery. She wouldn’t be able to stay in the bathroom forever. Even if she could manage to stay locked up in the bathroom that night, she would have to come out at some point. This was that wretched man’s bathroom. She was married to him and trapped in this house. The inevitable would happen eventually. And like Barika said, it was better for it to happen willingly than forcefully. She might be a virgin, but she knew what that meant.
The thought of what would soon happen to her felt unbearable. She stood and went into the bathroom. She locked herself in and began to pray for a miracle. That was the only thing that would save her now.
Chapter Sixteen
Faizan leaned forward as his driver approached a signboard on the road that read, WELCOME TO NIRA. His watch told him it was a few minutes to seven p.m. Soon, darkness would fall, and he would not be able to see properly. It was unlikely that this small community had electricity. He still had to trace Zainah’s father’s house. After that, though, darkness would be his friend. It would enable him to get Zainah without anyone seeing him, except the people he needed to carry out his plan.
He had disembarked from the plane that Jake had sent to take
him to Bamako and immediately hired a taxi to drive him to Nira. The driver had quoted a very high price, but Faizan had not argued with him. He had very little time to get Zainah out of Nira and back to Bamako where they would take the plane back to the United States. If he missed the twenty-four-hour window set by Jake, he would be stuck in Mali. So would Zainah.
They began to drive through a small market and he told the driver to slow down. He stuck his head out of the car window and called out to a man who was walking by. “Please, can you tell me the way to Karim Keita’s house?” he asked the man in French.
The man stared curiously at him, probably because it was clear he was a stranger. “It’s not far from here,” the man answered. “Just keep going and then turn left. When you see a tailor’s shop called Tailleur Africain, drive down the road and you will see a big house. That is Karim Keita’s house.”
Faizan thanked the man and told the driver to move on. They followed the directions that the man had given them, and as they began to approach the only house that could be Karim Keita’s, Faizan told the driver to turn left and park on the opposite side of the house, a few feet away.
“But we haven’t reached the house yet,” the driver complained.
“Just do as I say,” Faizan told him.
The driver grunted and shrugged. He turned left and drove to the other side of the road. When he stopped the car, he turned around and said to Faizan, “Now what?”
“Now, we wait,” Faizan replied.
The driver blinked rapidly, and then shrugged once more. He turned around again and began to whistle.
A few people passing by turned to stare at the car, but none seemed overly curious. Faizan fixed his gaze on Zainah’s father’s house. Contrary to what the man who had given him directions here told him, it was not very big. However, compared to the other tiny houses and huts around, it was huge. His eyes settled on the front gate of the house, watching to see who would come in or go out. It would be great if Zainah came out, but he was sure that would not happen.
His emotions roiled as he watched the house. Hopefully, Zainah’s father had not hurt her in any way or locked her up somewhere. Faizan prayed she was free and safe. He put his hand on his belt and felt for the handgun which he had hung on a holster around his waist. There was another gun in his backpack. The guns were two of the things Jake had left for him on the plane at his request. His plan was to force Karim Keita and the man Zainah had been forced to marry to dissolve the marriage. After that, he would get her out of Nira. He planned to do all that without having to resort to any type of violence. But the gun was just a safety measure.
For about fifteen minutes, he waited in the car. When it was sufficiently dark outside, he exited the car with his backpack. He began to make his way slowly to the house, looking this way and that as he walked to the front gate. But just as he got to the front of the house, the building suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. The sound of a powered generator disrupted the quiet evening.
Faizan slowly retreated, and then walked to the back of the house. He was grateful that it was dark there. The security light at the back of the house had not yet been switched on. He quickly hid behind a huge tree near the back door and waited to see if anyone would come out of the house. After some time, he went and tried the doorknob to see if it would open. It did not.
He went to wait behind the tree again while he pondered on what his next move would be. He didn’t know how many people were in the house. If he somehow found a way inside, he had to be careful so no one would see him until he could get to Zainah and her father. It was a tricky situation. Zainah had told him that she had a large family. If one of the children or one of the wives saw him and raised the alarm, it would disrupt his plans. He couldn’t enter the house just like that, but he had to enter now. He had very little time. He looked at the house again. How would he get to Zainah and then her father without being seen by anyone else in the house?
A man, young and strongly built, suddenly came out of the back door. He stood near the tree Faizan was hiding behind and lit a cigarette. Faizan surreptitiously studied him. From his bearing, he was most likely one of Karim Keita’s bodyguards. Faizan wasn’t sure if the man had a weapon, but it didn’t really matter if he did. He wasn’t holding one at the moment.
The man dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot. Faizan drew his gun and slowly walked out from behind the tree. The man began to turn toward his direction and Faizan quickly walked behind him and then pressed the gun to the man’s back. “Move an inch and you die,” Faizan said coldly. He hoped the man would not do anything funny because he did not want to harm him. Thankfully, the young man did not move.
Faizan whispered in his ear, “Now, unlock the back door.”
The man hesitated and Faizan pressed the gun harder to his back. “Move,” Faizan ordered.
The man moved. He unlocked the door quickly.
Faizan kept the gun pointed at him while he unzipped his backpack with his left hand. He brought out a pair of handcuffs, cuffed the man to the railing surrounding the porch, and then duct-taped the man’s mouth so he would not be able to call out for help.
Faizan looked around him one more time and then entered the house. His eyes widened as he stared into the eyes of a frightened teenage girl. In a flash, he reached her and covered her mouth with his hand before she could scream.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “I am not going to hurt you. Are you Zainah’s sister? I’m her friend. My name is Faizan. Maybe you have heard of me. If you have, please nod.”
The girl nodded and Faizan breathed a sigh of relief. “I am here to rescue her and take her back to America. Where is she?”
The girl mumbled something, and Faizan sighed. “Don’t scream when I remove my hand,” he warned.
She nodded and he slowly removed his hand from her mouth. He held his breath, waiting for her to scream, but she did not. He blinked in surprise when she grabbed his hand and dragged him with her into the bathroom connected to her room. She locked the door of the bathroom and then said to him, “At any minute, one of my father’s men will find you here.” Her voice was laden with fear as she stared at him. “You are my sister’s fiancé, aren’t you? She has told me so much about you and so has her friend, Leila. I know you love my sister very much and I love her, too. I will tell you where she is, but you have to promise me that you will truly take her out of there and also rescue Leila.”
The girl began to cry and Faizan awkwardly pulled her in a hug in order to comfort her. He let her go again and asked, “Where is Zainah?”
The girl said to him, “Her husband and Leila’s came to take them away.”
Faizan’s mind flooded with rage. “I knew her father could not be trusted,” he said. He looked at Zainah’s sister and asked angrily, “And what about your father? Where is he?”
“He is not at home. I heard him saying he was going to Jibril’s house. That is the man Zainah is married to.”
Faizan nodded slowly. Zainah, her father, and the man who had married Zainah by force would be in the same house. He could rescue her after he had forced both men to dissolve the marriage. He couldn’t believe his luck.
But he immediately chided himself. Hadn’t he asked God to help him rescue Zainah easily before he came here? This was not luck. This was an answer to his prayer.
Zainah’s teenage sister began to cry again. “It is my fault. I was the one who told Papa that Leila was going to come back to Nira. Papa got Zainah’s number from Leila by threatening and lying to her.”
As much as Faizan felt sorry for the girl, all he wanted to know now was where the woman he loved was. “Can you give me directions to the house Zainah is in now?” he couldn’t bring himself to say “her husband’s house.”
The girl nodded vigorously. “I can take you there myself.”
Faizan shook his head. “No. It will be too dangerous for you. Just give me directions to the house.”
“I want to go wi
th you and Zainah to America.”
Faizan shook his head again. “That won’t be possible either.”
She bowed her head for a few seconds and then said, “Okay. I will give you directions to Jibril’s house, but promise me that whenever you can, you’ll find a way to get me out of here.”
For some seconds, he stared at her. And then, even though he knew he should not promise her anything, he did.
She smiled through her tears, and then gave him detailed directions to not only the house where Zainah was, but also where Leila was.
He started to open the bathroom door, but she shook her head. She opened the door herself, looked this way and that, and then said, “No one is coming. Quickly, you have to go now before anyone comes here and sees you.”
She went ahead of him and opened the back door. When she saw the handcuffed bodyguard, her eyes grew wide.
Faizan shrugged and stepped out the back door. Just before she closed the door, he turned around and asked, “What is your name?”
She whispered, “Khadija. My name is Khadija.”
“Thank you, Khadija,” he said.
He quickly hurried to the car and then said to the driver, “We are going to pay someone a visit.” He gave the driver directions to the house where Zainah was. He had promised Khadija to also rescue Leila, but he would not think about that right now.
They began to approach a house that was bigger than Audrey and Ken’s back in Rosefield. The house was a mansion and was brightly lit, like Zainah’s father’s house. Faizan groaned. From the little information he had gathered from Khajida, the man who owned the house had many other wives. How would he find Zainah in such a huge house? The house was probably filled with women and children. God had given him a miracle in Zainah’s father’s house. However, he wasn’t sure the Lord would perform another one for him here.