I find myself sitting in the center of our home, my gaze fixed upon my books. The looming specter of this year's Jamb examination is a constant reminder that time is slipping away.
My thoughts are divided into two realms. One part concerns the English paper my son is currently tackling, while the other is preoccupied with thoughts of MIMI. Ever since she left this afternoon, she hasn't returned, and I'm contemplating how to discipline her for venturing out alone in the evening.
MIMI is a striking girl of about four years, whose beauty is a divine gift. She entered our home wearing a dress that reached down to the floor, albeit with stains at the hem, suggesting she'd been playing.
From the moment she arrived, I couldn't help but be captivated by her, silently praising her beauty each time I looked at her. Her round face, large expressive eyes, and a nose that harmoniously fit her visage were complemented by her petite mouth. Her hair, although tied up, cascaded nearly to her knees due to its remarkable length.
I closed my eyes, and a tear threatened to escape. I heard her tearful voice nearby, saying, "MAA, I'm sorry. I won't come again. Hidiya told me to play in their garden."
I continued to observe her, noticing the pronounced dimple on her right cheek, a charming feature for such a young girl.
Growing impatient, I chided her, "I didn't stop you from going out, but it hurts me when you sneak out without telling me, MIMI."
Tears welled up in one of her eyes as she covered her ears with her hands, pleading, "Maa, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please don't be angry."
From behind us, Umma emerged from the room, chuckling as she said, "Come on, my dear. Can't you see your mother isn't angry?"...
