Zhima Ker E-Book

Nissih Agishi Olabe

• Herausgeber: COMMUNE WRITERS INT'L
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When Sophie and her mother return to their ancestral village after her father’s demise, they strive amid village gossip to secure Sophie’s education with the aid of the Lingtun’s Family. Yet, as they delve deeper, confronting hidden truths becomes inevitable. Sophie is caught up in a complex web of love and identity struggles.

Leseprobe

ZHIMA KHAR

WRITTEN BY

NISSIH AGISHI OLABE

[email protected]

COPYRIGHT © 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author or publisher.

Published by:

COMMUNE WRITERS INT’L

www.communewriters.com

[email protected]

[phone]

6, Amusa Street, Agodo-Egbe, Lagos

Published in the Federal Republic of Nigeria

DEDICATION

To my ‘Ham’ people, we should never have been called Jaba.

To this generation, know thy root.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to my beloved husband, Mr. Agishi Olabe, for his unwavering support and belief in my dreams. He has been a constant source of encouragement, always lending an attentive ear to my story ideas and assisting in shaping their structure. His dedication as my editor during the serialization of Zhima Khar on Facebook, providing invaluable feedback and suggestions for each episode, has been truly instrumental.

I extend my deepest appreciation to Dr. Phillip John Hayap, whose generosity and expertise have been pivotal in my exploration of Ham culture. His willingness to share his book, 'Basic Hyam Grammar with Ethnographic Notes', and assist with translating cultural nuances has enriched the authenticity of Zhima Khar. When I first contacted him, he rebuked me for referring to myself as ‘Jaba’ (a popular name for the Ham people) instead of saying ‘Ham’. I am profoundly grateful for your guidance and support.

I am indebted to my family members, particularly Anthony Galadima Aribi (Bishop), for connecting me with Dr. Hayap after reading Zhima Khar when I began the series on my Facebook page. Their unwavering support and encouragement have been a constant source of strength throughout the journey.

Special thanks to Yemnom Justice, I saw when you posted on the ‘Family: Kurmin Dangana’ WhatsApp group for their assistance with Ham names when I first reached out to you to assist me with the translation before my encounter with Dr Hayap. Thank you very much, and to the entire group members and admin, thank you for the avenue to understand our roots, know ourselves and grow as a family.

To my loving Dad, Evangelist Adamu Daudu who has always rooted for my writing skills, encouraging me at every step of the process and also sharing bits of the Ghat history and culture with me, I am deeply grateful.

“There is a friend that sticks closer than a brother” Proverb 18:24. I have such friends, Beauty Daniel Zion my bosom childhood friend and sister who has shared in my successes, pains, and tears along my journey in life. Beauty would call me for hours about every subject you can think of and she seems not to get enough of Zhima Khar, always yearning for more and insisting I produce it someday as a movie. To Comfort Ishaya Mshelia, you saw my talent and pushed me to utilise social media to tell stories. You are more than a friend, you are a mentor with a large heart. Thank you for believing in me and allowing me to shine without competition. To Fatima Hassan, we began as next-door neighbours, little did I know you are a destiny helper and a big sister. As soon as I shared my dreams of becoming a writer, you took me to Mrs Elsie O. Dennis, a published Author who trained me and ever since, you have insisted on introducing me to the right people and groups that continually refined this dream I am living today, I can boldly say my story is incomplete without you, thank you ladies and God bless you.

Well, if you want an excellent Publication, run to Commune Writers, they are highly professional. Thank you for your professionalism and assistance in publishing my books.

To my Facebook friends and online audience, your unwavering support and encouragement have been a constant source of inspiration. Your heartfelt comments and feedback have fueled my passion for writing. Did you know that during the period I began Zhima Khar on Facebook, my little reward was in reading the comments? Those are the feedbacks I will cherish forever. I am forever grateful for your validation and encouragement.

EPISODE 1

THE NEWS

“What happened, Mummy?”

Sophie rushed in to find her mother groaning and wailing on the ground, with her eyes red, and mucus flowing carelessly from her nostrils. Her phone was flung on the cushion, a spilt glass of Coke trickled from the centre table and the Tiger remote batteries lay lazily beneath.

What could have caused her decorous mother to act in such an insufferable manner?

“Mummy, what happened?” Sophie asked, raising her voice a little louder.

“Your father is dead. His funeral and burial service were done two months ago in the village and I’m just finding out,” her mother replied.

Without a second thought, she pulled the edge of her wrapper to wipe her eyes and nostrils.

“His wife had sold this house and the new owners are coming tomorrow morning for inspection.” Sophie froze.

“What’s going on?”, she asked, while trying to grasp the reality that her beloved father, Major Kadam Katu is dead and buried. When? How? What happened? Her world grew dime with each second. Fearing the tremor in her legs would betray her, she grabbed the arms of the cushion and sunk onto the couch, as the sting of grief wrapped its cold arms around her. She surrendered to it and burst into deep uncontrollable sobs. Her mother took her into her arms as they wallowed in the painful reality of his demise.

Breathlessly, Sophie mourned the loss of her father, whereas her mother’s tears were beyond grief. She was concerned about their future, her daughter’s education, and where they would lay their heads tomorrow.

Hours later, Sophie opened her eyes after crying herself to sleep. Realizing she was still on the floppy brown cushion, she dragged herself up.

The reality of their situation resurfaced when she saw her mother bringing out their bags and luggage to the sitting room.

Hmm! Yeah, she remembered her mother talking about their house being sold by his wife. Now, that was another piece of news too much for a nine-year-old to handle.

Sophie rarely saw her father but that was because he doesn’t live with them in Niger state. He was in the military and was posted to Kaduna. But he visited at least once a month and those visits were the only perfect family time experience she has ever had.

“How could Mummy talk about another woman?” Sophie wondered.

“Mummy, why are we leaving our house?”, she asked, although what she really wanted to know was why she would allow another woman to take their house just like that, without even a fight.

“Mummy, please…” Sophie was beginning to tear up when her mother held up her hand;

“Kusu (please) Sophie, Kusu (please), hold it. We do not have time for self-pity. Go in and pack all your clothes, especially your books. We’re going back home. As you can see, your father is gone and that wicked family didn’t even recognize me as his wife to inform me of his death, talk more of an invitation to the funeral, despite knowing that I have a daughter for him. Mtcheew. See, I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. I have done that ten years ago.”

Pulling the clock from the wall, she continued in sober reflection.

“It’s not like I have a job. Besides, I’m out of options. Home is all I have left.”

“And where precisely is home?” Sophie asked.

“Kurmin-Dangana, my hometown,” her mother answered with less enthusiasm.

EPISODE 2

THE JOURNEY HOME

The journey from Minna, Niger state to Kurmin-Dangana, Kaduna South, was about 300 kilometres through Tagbari road. At the motor park, Sophie and her mother boarded a 504 Peugeot wagon. Her mother sat at the rear of the car and lapped her. She wouldn’t pay for an extra seat, not only because Sophie is a minor but also because she must minimize their expenses if it could be helped since their only source of income was gone. She was able to mop out ₦70,000 from her savings and the only gold earrings and necklace she possessed. Everything happened so quickly. If only she had time, she would have sold the refrigerator, TV, gas cooker, and curtains. In fact, she would have sold the whole house and travelled far away with her daughter.

Her thoughts joggled back and forth. She could start a new life elsewhere and give her daughter a future brighter and better than hers. She knew going back to the village wasn’t the best option after leaving ten years ago. Everyone knew her story of shame and defeat. Returning after all these years would inevitably attract public ridicule to her and her daughter. However, home was their final abode since they were left with no option.

She was lost in thoughts for a while, then an idea came to her mind.

“Sophie, Sophie...”, she whispered. “When we get to the village, we won’t tell them we are there to stay. We will say we came for a short visit.”

“But why, Mummy? Why do we even have to go there in the first place? I thought you said your parents were late?”

“Yes, they are late but my father’s compound is still there and besides, my uncle and his wife still live in the village.”