The Arts-Muse Fair

By NANA SULE Maryam used to like the market. It had colors, and people, and food. Something about the smell of daddawa was all it took sometimes to send her to the market. Other times, she just wanted to find a veil, or a wrapper. Or on some other days when Habeeb was away, when no one would ask why she loved the market so, she would throw a gown over her body, and a veil over her head. And drive to the market. There, she would, in no particular order, wander from shop to shop, haggling prices and eyeing wares she would not purchase. She would then return home, exhausted. These days, she did not enjoy the market as much. As her stomach expanded with the life Habeeb had put in there, she found the best spot in the world was on her bed. Although Habeeb was not one to encourage her to go to the market on normal days, whenever he did come around, he would start at her. You should be taking walks, he would say. You shouldn’t spend all your days in bed, go to the market sef,