The downpour pelted the exit terminal of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja. Fatimah Hassan skimmed through photographs of her boyfriend Musa on her phone, waiting. Their relationship had gone through the tribulations of most long-distance relationships. They felt like strangers now. The human presence had a magical touch no technology could erase.
After studying Fine Art at the University of Jos, Fati ─it was ages since someone referred to her as Fatimah, the whole world had decided that Fati was more convenient─ won a scholarship to study Art and Design at the Royal College of Art in London. Musa had wanted her to turn down the offer because he couldn’t imagine his life without her physically present for twenty-four months. Their relationship started in her first year at college when Musa was a third-year student studying Fine Art. He had approached her after a tutorial session to give her a beautiful sketch of herself. Fati realized then that the tall, slender guy with a bearded oblong face, big round eyes, and a long nose that she had had her eyes on also felt the same about her. At the age of 27, Musa was five years older than her. He had a demanding personality with a touch of ego, but what had endeared him to her was his unrivalled affection and distinguished boldness to do what he deemed was right. The greatest test that Fati encountered during her study in London was his absence.
Musa Hashim was now working as a curator and an artist at one of the best art galleries in Abuja. After graduating, he had galleries queuing to secure his services. Musa was arguably one of the best painters in the country. Art was his passion ─he lived and breathed art.
***
It all started eleven months ago. Musa always felt uncomfortable and distant when they communicated on the phone. Fati was not a fool. She knew the man she loved was slipping away. She had done her best to hang onto him, but over the last few months, it felt like Musa was a stranger in her heart. His usual utterances of affection were still in their conversations, but the love which made them magical was gone. Things got ugly when she confronted him six months ago. The heated exchange they had then was the last time they communicated because she banished herself into the realm of her studies and shut him out of her life. She craved and loved the excess attention she got from him when she was still in Nigeria though he was demanding and possessive. She figured his possessiveness was from his royal bloodline because most royal figures had commanding personalities. Fati couldn’t believe Musa was yet to make any effort to reconcile. She needed to meet Musa in person to find out if he had moved on from her so she could lick her wounds and do the same. If only it were that simple or possible considering their pact.
An hour later, the downpour was a drizzle as Fati headed for the exit. She’d already made a reservation at a hotel. As Fati waited for a taxi, she spotted her tall pear-shaped reflection in a pool of water on the pavement. A curvaceous woman had replaced the skinny Fati of yore. Her troubles with Musa had made her mirror her regular companion as she spent ages staring at her round face, downturned eyes, Nubian nose, full lips and caramel complexion because she was beginning to believe her evolving physiology might have something to do with their discord. Her thoughts were an abyss that left her in the dark whenever she tried to troubleshoot her current predicament.
***
“Where was he buried?” Fati asked.
“Here in Abuja,” Ibrahim replied.
“Please have a seat. You don’t look too well,” Ibrahim said.
Ibrahim led Fati to the waiting room where she sat on the sofa.
“No, it’s not possible,” Fati muttered.
“I’m sorry Fati, he’s gone. He had a seizure in his office five days ago and died before an ambulance could get him to the hospital,” Ibrahim replied.
Fati couldn’t believe Musa was gone as she held back the tears in her eyes.
“Was it a health complication?” Fati asked.
“From what the doctors said, he had an undetected high blood pressure which led to a seizure,” Ibrahim replied.
“You’re sure no one did it?” Fati asked.
“I doubt it Fati,” he replied.
“Then why are you here? I spotted you talking to two gallery officials when I walked in?” Fati asked.
“I work with the States Security Service (SSS). I was surprised when I got a message from a colleague notifying me of the suicide of a female staff member at the gallery where my late brother worked. I decided to tag along with him because he’s the lead investigator.” Ibrahim replied.
“I reside here in Abuja with my family. You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you like,” Ibrahim was saying.
“Thank you Big Brother, but I already made reservations. Please, how was Musa’s behaviour before his demise?” Fati asked.
“Our busy schedules made sure it’s been a while since we bonded in person, but whenever we spoke on the phone, he sounded normal and reserved, as always,” Ibrahim replied.
“I’m sorry for my untamed curiosity it’s just that I miss him, and we’ve been having issues of late. I was planning to surprise him by showing up at the gallery unexpectedly, but …” Fati said.
“It’s okay, Fati, and I believe his death had nothing to do with your testing relationship. Married couples also experience misunderstandings because life is never short of conflicts and tribulations. You guys are now adults. I believe you’re both mature enough to handle your differences.” Ibrahim replied.
“What about the colleague who committed suicide?” Fati asked.
“Her name is Maryann Idibia. She was a curator. The counsellor of the gallery confirmed she was suffering from clinical depression and that her condition got worse over the last few weeks. She was the one who found Musa in his office and called for help. The psychiatrist Maryann was referred to believes the death of my brother, who was Maryann’s boss, escalated her condition. She OD’d on heroin in her apartment last night.” Ibrahim replied.
“Can I have a look at Musa’s office before I go, please?” Fati begged.
“No problem. I’ll give you a tour of his office,” Ibrahim replied.
Fati wanted to be somewhere Musa considered his sanctum to explore any avenue that could give her some form of closure. Ibrahim’s body language emitted a stoic resignation. Fati knew he was in pain because the brothers were close. She had spent enough time with them to know how close they were. His eyes revealed a man suffering from the pain of losing a loved one.
Five minutes later, Ibrahim and Fati were inside a spacious office with 3D wall designs and frames of beautiful paintings all around. There were sculptures scattered around the office. The office had Musa’s signature written all over it. Fati knew she was deluding herself by thinking that Musa might’ve been murdered. Was she trying to convince herself that she had nothing to do with Musa’s sudden demise, or was the pact sowing all forms of paranoia in her mind, which was currently a web of irrational thoughts?
After checking out the office, Fati looked towards Ibrahim standing by the door, but before she could speak, Ibrahim read her thoughts.
“Forget it. The security cameras had not been tampered with, Musa never left his office. The only time anyone walked in was when Maryann was delivering some files. There was no foul play, he died a natural death. I’ll drop you off at the hotel,” Ibrahim said.
On their way to the parking lot, Fati got a text message,
“My office, there lies the answers to your curiosity. You and my family were the only ones I loved more than art. I hope the next time we communicate, you’re more enlightened. The abyss of love I have for you remains the only castle in my heart. This content is for your eyes only.
Yours Infinitely,
Musa Hashim.”
The content of the message hit Fati like a million volts of electricity, but she hid it from Ibrahim.
***
Fati decided she would return to Musa’s office to investigate, so she postponed her flight home. She would postpone her condolence visit to Musa’s family until she was done finding out what Musa wanted to show her. She thought an evaluation of his character would give her some clues.
Musa believed there was something magical and spiritual about art, but she disagreed. It was one of the reasons he had an obsession with Oscar Wilde’s famous and only book, The Picture of Dorian Gray. Musa’s favourite painter was the famous Spanish painter, ceramist, sculptor, printmaker, theatre designer and one of the most influential figures in the world of art, Pablo Picasso. Picasso had a magical touch that radiated through all his works, while Wilde’s book had a spirituality that touched the soul.
Musa was a Picasso and Wilde buff. Was it possible he had triggered or done something out of the ordinary? Picasso believed everything you imagine is real, while Wilde’s book tells the story of a good-looking young man who exchanges his soul for youth which never fades due to his hedonistic nature. The terrible theories going through Fati’s head scared the shit out of her, but she was ready to explore every potential theory to come up with a logical explanation for what Musa wanted her to find in his office. The thought of Musa’s love for the African culture, Quimbanda religion and his dream of harnessing their powers and unionizing through Afrofuturism to manifest the ultimate art accelerated the rate of Fati’s heartbeat like she had been injected with an overdose of epinephrine.
***
The previous day she had been wrapped in a cocoon of shock and hadn’t noticed that some of the pictures hanging on the walls were portraits of famous painters such as Raphael, Michelangelo, Dante, Leonardo Da Vinci, Caravaggio, and Rembrandt. Fati didn’t make a sound as she examined the office. Dante’s book, The Divine Comedy was on the table. The book wasn’t on the bookshelf so Musa might have been reading it. The Divine Comedy was an epic poem by Dante narrating his journey through life in three phases; Hell (Inferno), Purgatory, and Salvation (Paradise). The book was a masterpiece with its major idea being how to attain salvation.
Fati spotted a diary and sat at the table. She was invading Musa’s privacy by reading his diary, but she was ready to move a mountain to find out the mystery surrounding his death. As she read the diary, she also examined the notes he had made on some pieces of paper. It turned out Musa had been studying psychology of art and trying to see things through the eyes of some famous artists and painters. Fati noticed he was much more focused on Michelangelo, Picasso, Dante, and Oscar Wilde. Picasso’s fixation on the power of imagination in art was apparent, Dante’s emphasis on the agony in hell and the beauty of heaven was present, Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray was evident, and Michelangelo being a real renaissance man wasn’t absent. Fati knew it would take her a lifetime to become a specialist in the works of all four artists, so she focused on their prominent work.
Two hours later, Fati felt like abandoning her quest and heading home, but she came across an interesting piece of information in one of Musa’s notes. The note contained ancient inscriptions from the Gbagyi tribe about the power of the mouth and its utterances. Fati could understand the inscriptions because she was also from the Gbagyi tribe. The inscriptions spoke about the ancient taboo of not considering the consequences of uttering the voices of the mind when someone was angry.
Growing up in the city had not done her any good regarding her cultural background, but whenever she visited the village, her grandmother did her the favour of hammering Gbagyi folklores and fairytales into her head. Musa was from a pureblood royal lineage, and from what her grandmother taught her, an adult member of a royal lineage and a potential heir to the throne, was forbidden from vocalizing every word voiced by his mind when he was angry. Musa was no stranger to the norms of his kingdom because he was one of the heirs apparent to the throne. It was possible Musa had committed the taboo of uttering the voices of his mind without considering the consequences, or he knew the consequences but ignored them in his quest to achieve a goal.
Do the ultimate painting through Afrofuturism!
Fati did her final analysis and concluded.
The words, “Do the painting through Afrofuturism!” meant Musa decided to combine the distinguished qualities of all four artists to create a painting that was alive by infusing African culture or voodoo. All she had to do was find out if he had created the painting or tried doing so.
Fati checked the time and found out it was late. She slipped out of the office and joined the departing crowds. She needed to get some rest because she would be back the following day.
***
After searching the office and coming up empty-handed, Fati started to think her theory might be nothing but a delusion powered by her strong affection for her dead lover. Fati wasn’t surprised she had a supernatural connection to Musa because they had naively taken a blood oath on the night they lost their virginity. The oath was that their love, bodies, and souls would forever be for each other and no one else. The reason she had been keen on hooking up with Musa was to find a way to break this oath if their relationship was now beyond salvation. It was now obvious the peace of her existence was at stake.
Musa was more of a traditionalist than she was because his royal ties ensured he was well-groomed in matters of culture. Fati, now realized that coming across an old Quimbanda book of spells and pacts on Musa’s bookshelf had done her more harm than good. It was after reading this book that the impulse of her puppy love for Musa made her conceive the idea of taking an oath of allegiance and fidelity before their first sexual encounter. The thrill of experiencing the pleasure of the flesh for the first time knocked all sense of reasoning out of them. The book instructed that to seal the bond, the oath had to be made while the lovers’ sexual organs were in unison, and that was what they did. It was her infatuation but Musa was only too happy to oblige. Fati placed her face in her palms and wept. Her life was hell and it was all her fault.
As Fati looked through the paintings on the floor, a portrait knocked the breath out of her, leaving her appalled. The painting wasn’t just a reflection of her it was like Musa had taken her and placed her on canvas paper. She was staring at her clone. The reaction on her face in the painting was sorrow, joy, remorse and hope. Fati smiled, and the painting smiled back at her, she frowned, and it frowned back at her. She jerked back and crawled away from the painting, terrified. Something was wrong or maybe she was hallucinating because a picture isn’t a living entity. It was a work of fiction, and contrary to what Picasso believed, there’ll always be limitations when bringing imagination to life because not all imaginations are realistic. A portrait that was alive could frighten the living daylight out of anyone, but she wasn’t scared, she was petrified. Was it possible that Musa had not only succeeded in creating the ultimate art but a divine one?
Some minutes elapsed before Fati summoned the courage to crawl back to the painting. The terrified eyes of her reflection in the painting stared back at her.
Fati clutched her mouth in disbelief.
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
The inscriptions, Only For Your Soothing Eyes, I Present You The Ultimate Portrait, THE PORTRAIT OF YOU, FATIMAH HASSAN were boldly written beneath the painting.
Fati took the painting and put it in her bag. She put the other paintings back in the safe before slipping out of the office.
***
She mourned Musa for months and spent hours staring at his final painting. After questioning her sanity, she took the portrait to a gallery and convinced professional curators to examine it. The curators examined it before offering to promote or buy it, but she always declined. She realized the true value of the painting after an international art broker showed up at the doorsteps of her parents’ house to examine the painting. The broker offered to buy it for a million dollars, but when she declined, he told her to name her prize. Fati told the art broker she would consider his offer to get his niggling persistence off her back.
Fati started having difficulty sleeping due to recurring nightmares. The nightmares always had a happy intro because Musa was always there smiling, caressing or making love to her until they became gory, with her murdering him in different ways. Before she woke up, a feminine voice always screamed,
“You murdered him, you selfish bitch.”
Fati found it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t responsible for the hypertension that triggered the seizure that ended Musa’s life.
The nightmares continued so Fati decided to see a psychiatrist. She was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Therapy turned out to be a formality. She noticed she only found solace after spending time in the company of Musa’s painting. It was then that it all made sense to her, the painting was the only barrier stopping the consequences of their oath from destroying her life. It was becoming obvious Musa knew he was going to die so he’d hidden a part of his soul in the painting to stop their oath from tearing her apart. Fati had a feeling Musa had done something. There was a possibility that he’d broken their oath and had done his best to suffer the consequences alone by using the painting to protect her.
In the Pre-Text, Musa revealed how missing her touch led him to anxiety and depression. And how Maryann, a new curator at the gallery, walked into his life with Fati becoming the stranger he never stopped loving. Maryann wooed him for months with love and affection until they ended up making love. It was clear Maryann was in love with him. In shame and regret over what he had done, he ended up committing the taboo of uttering the voices of his mind by praying to the Gods of his ancestors to store a part of his soul in a painting and for only Fati’s eyes to connect with it for as long as she lived. A few days later, Musa was summoned back home by the Chief Priest of his town and told he’d made an irreversible request. He had committed a “Bakinki,” the ancient taboo of unguided utterances by an angry royal subject. The Chief Priest also notified him the consequence of breaking a blood oath was death. It was then Musa found out he had a month to live. He devoted the rest of his time to creating the painting, which was to become the only place Fati could find solace because she was also to suffer the consequences of his failure to uphold their oath. He was diagnosed with hypertension after completing the painting.
The painting was an expression of how Fati’s pleasures, pains, joys, and sorrows were also his. The ultimate motive behind the painting was to shut out the consequences of his failure to uphold the oath. The painting was the only place Fati was ever going to find peace because the consequences of the oath were eternal.
Musa did apologize for being the weak one by welcoming Maryann’s open arms due to loneliness and frustration. He confessed that since the day they took the oath, he’d become obsessed with Fati and his demanding nature only fuelled his yearnings for her. The oath transformed Fati into the elixir that kept out all negativity from his life. Musa ended the Pre-Text by letting her know his love for her was real.
As seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days, days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, Fati became one of the best artists and curators in the country. She got married and had two kids. Behind the smiles, happiness, and joy was a woman who loved her family endlessly but only found solace in the company of the portrait hidden in the safe in her study at home. Fati moved on with the misery of the unsolvable mysteries that never stopped haunting her. Was her misery Musa’s fault for breaking the oath? Or was she responsible for insisting they take the oath in the first place? It was her mystery to the grave.
Fati’s misery was compounded after she realized that unlike Picasso, Michelangelo, Dante, and Oscar Wilde, she couldn’t share the greatest piece of art ever created with the world. Musa used African culture to create the ultimate painting. He was one of the greatest artists to walk the earth. Musa’s painting was her salvation.
THE END