LOVE CYCLE Complete Document Written By Annafie
Description
(England)…
She glanced at the wristwatch secured to her hand, a fleeting hint of distress crossing her face. With her striking beauty, she defied the typical features associated with the English, resembling more the elegance of an Arab, albeit with a lighter skin tone. Especially during holidays and in different weather conditions, the luminosity of her skin accentuated, giving her a captivating appearance. Not yet 19, she possessed a tall and perfectly proportioned body—neither too thin nor too heavy.
Glancing at her wristwatch once more, she heard a regretful voice, “I’m sorry, my Fannah.” She turned around, on the verge of tears, and retorted, “Don’t apologize. You’ll have to endure my Fannah for a long time. I won’t be coming back. You kept me waiting for the past 15 minutes, knowing I have a lot to do.” Despite her Nigerian origins evident in her skin tone, she thought, “I’m so beautiful here,” bowing her head.
“Am sorry, love. It wasn’t intentional,” came the apology. Fannah’s face remained stern, and she headed towards the exit. Trying to make amends, the person quickly approached her, almost in tears, pledging, “I said I’m sorry. Okay, give me punishment. Where is it? Be patient, I’ll do it.” However, Seta, raising her head, continued to frown.
Observing this, Fannah tightened her grip on her ear and uttered, “Maryam,” filled with pain. Maryam responded, “Yes, love.” “Maryam.” “Yes, dear.” “Maryam.” “Yes, so please, it’s okay. Pass your warning; don’t remove my ear,” Fannah said. Frustrated, she exclaimed, “How many times did I call your name?” Maryam, close to tears, replied, “Three, but please, let go of my ear so I can hear you well. I swear it hurts.” Fannah insisted, “Enough. Know the value of time. You’re not in Africa, so stop African time,” pushing her away. Maryam pushed back, and Fannah, giving her a stern look, warned, “But I’m a Nigerian, so anything I do, don’t blame me.” Fannah retorted, “I am a Nigerian too, but yours is the worst.”
As they continued walking, Maryam provoked, “Yes, we are in Nigeria.” Fannah scoffed, and Maryam challenged her, “Okay, let’s see. You’re Nigerian, right?” Fannah confidently nodded, and Maryam smiled, asking, “Okay, mention the 36 states in Nigeria.” Fannah hesitated, responding, “Don’t worry. Be careful… Yes, I fell. Abuja, my cat, my brother, my brother… Lagos,” shaking her head.
Maryam mocked, “What do you remember, madam? You were born and based in the UK. You’ve never been to Nigeria before. So, baby, you’re not a Nigerian,” Fannah, full of misery, argued, “But my father is Nigerian, so I am a citizen, and I look like Nigerians. My relatives all live there, so I am… And my tribe is Hausa Fulani. One of the Nigerian languages, I can speak and communicate with my language. What next?”
Maryam, dismissing her, said, “Be in your country, stay with them, know your culture, vote for a leader that will represent you. But no, you know only that your father is a citizen of Nigeria. That’s all. Be there, even if you don’t live with them. But at least, once in a while, go. Not that you just stay here. You don’t know anything; you don’t know what the country is going through. So, don’t call yourself Nigerian. Madam, you’re not Nigerian.” Maryam ended up laughing. Fannah remained silent, contemplating her longing to visit Nigeria, her relatives, and her conflicted feelings about her connection to her birthplace.
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