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Lady Lweje: the weapon of crime
Lady Lweje: the weapon of crime
Greetings, my friends and fans, in the name of Allha. I thank you for reading my stories and am always grateful for your comments. Today, I want us to go back to prison. I hope you remember, “Baby Toi” and “Lady Acid”. If you missed any of these stories, they are available on my Ashraf Facebook Page for you to read them.
Today, I bring you “Lady Lweje”. Among all these women prisoners, it is only Lweje who calls me by my real name, Ashraf. The rest call me, Abaasi, the name I use in the Ssuubi Drama series on Bukedde TV. Lweje, was a nice looking woman, a bit short in size, light-skinned, with an engaging hoarse voice that would make a good singer. Her prison uniform covered her so well that it would make any a Muslim believer, envious. The swigda on her face just made me to instinctively greet her, “Salaam”. This is her story:
“Hajji Ashraf, my name is Lweje, not my real name, but you see here in prison; these women name you after the weapon you used to commit the crime that brought you here. I’m 37years old, and I come from a staunch Muslim background. I’m a well UK-trained nurse. My mother died when I was in S.4., but my dad gave me all the love a child, who has lost a mother would need. He was a successful businessman dealing in animals’ skins. I was always proud of him.
“After HSC, I went for nurse training in the UK. I passed so well that I was retained to continue training as a nurse tutor. I remained there for another two years before I joined one of the prestigious nursing schools to stats training nurses.
“The job went with a fat salary plus other benefits including a nice house. I used to come back for holidays. But the more holidays, I came home for, the more I started feeling home-sick. I had, by then, built a nice residential house in Rubaga area which was fetching me some good money in rent.
“My dad started falling sick and I would send the best medicines for him from London. His health continued deteriorating; and as a qualified nurse such as I was, I could not imagine receiving the news of my father’s death without caring for him; I packed my bags and boarded a flight back to my homeland. I had saved enough money to take me through whatever would come in my way, until I started something to earn a living.
“I took Dad to one of the best hospitals in town where he recovered very well. I gave him the best nursing care and I felt relieved.
“When we went back home, a feast in form of a duwa was organized to welcome me back; and to thank Allha for Dad’s recovery. Many of Dad’s friends plus mine came. It was a happy day.
“One of my dad’s friends, Sheikh Badru (not real name), whom we grew up knowing as our uncle, was in charge. He did it well and he was so happy for me.
“Meanwhile, I had been given a job in one of the big private hospitals and the salary was good. One day, when on job, Sheikh Badru came to visit me. I was surprised. In fact I thought he had come for treatment, but the Sheikh had come to seduce me to marry his son, who was in Japan; and he even wanted me to join him soon in Tokyo.
“I told him that I took his son, Khasim, as a brother and I did not have any feelings for him. He left disappointed.
“To my surprise, when I reached home, Daddy asked me whether I had agreed with Sheikh Badru to start organizing the wedding.
“I disappointed him, just as I had done with Sheikh Badru. Dad was a bit harsh with me, but he calmed down when I told him that, I had a man I was soon going to introduce to him. I had already talked to my step mother about it. She was always good to me.
“She also intervened with Dad and Khasim was removed out of the way.
“Daddy wanted everything so fast that he wanted the nikha (okuwoowa) to be on the day of introduction. Sheikh Badru was pushing for it and Daddy trusted his word very much.
“My man was handsome and humble, a successful teacher, with a school of his own and from a well-known and established family.
“They were organized and came for the function. Sheikh Badru was the in-charge of the whole program; and he was to take us through the nikha. Everything went on smoothly. The wedding was for the following weekend.
“After the nikha, the Sheikh never gave us our marriage certificate – that, he had to record it in the mosque book, first. We never bothered; his reason was sound.
“Two weeks after the wedding which went on successfully, the Sheikh called my husband to pick the certificates. When he came back, it really seemed something had gone wrong with my husband.
“He never talked to me anymore. He never touched me again for the following two weeks. I tried to ask him the problem, but all in vain.
“One day, he asked me to go out with him; and I was very happy. We spent the whole day together. We went for dinner at Fang Fang. After dinner, he wanted us to go and say hullo to my parents. I was happy.
“We bought some things for them and moved to Kawempe. Reaching home, there were around ten people waiting for us; and they were in a state of confusion. In the compound there was a lorry-full with home items, some similar to ours. I had seen this lorry at our gate as we left that morning. I saw my Senga crying.
“In the living room, there was my Dad, Sheikh Badru and other family members waiting. Their faces told it – that, something was very wrong.
“Hajji Ashraf, you can’t believe the man had brought me back to my parents for divorce with all the house belongings including the sigiri and its ash…..”
To be continued, Insha Allha. Send you comments. Salaams.
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