MATAR MAKAHO DOCUMENT BOOK COMPLETE by Rukayya Ibrahim Lawal.txt
<p>He lay sprawled on his large bed, completely covered with a luxurious silky blanket, sleeping deeply and peacefully. The cool weather in Lagos had prompted him to wrap himself snugly, ensuring every part of his body was shielded from the chill.</p><p>The door slowly creaked open, and a fair-skinned woman, appearing to be around 40-42 years old, stepped inside. She was dressed in an elegant purple lace dress with pink accents, her head wrapped in a pink turban. She wore matching pink flat shoes and carried a pink handbag. Quietly, she entered the room.</p><p>Spotting him on the bed, she walked over gently and pulled the blanket down slightly, revealing his chest. She sat beside him on the bed, running her fingers softly through his hair, playfully tousling it. Gradually, he began to stir, his eyes fluttering open and landing on her.</p><p>She smiled warmly at him, but he pouted in mock annoyance. Before he could speak, she said, “Baby, get up, we’re almost late.” He simply stared at her, unmoving.</p><p>Finally, he opened his mouth slowly, as if reluctant to talk, and said, “Momma, where are we going?”</p><p>She blinked in surprise and replied, “Oh, you forgot it’s Sunday? We’re going to church!”</p><p>He lazily ran a hand through his hair and replied, “Momma, honestly, I’m not going.”</p><p>Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not going? What do you mean?”</p><p>Instead of responding, he pulled the blanket back over his head, signaling his intent to return to sleep.</p><p>She watched him for a moment before sighing. “Get up, baby. We’re already late; it’s almost 8 a.m. You know the service starts exactly at 8.”</p><p>He muttered from under the blanket, “Momma, I’m not going.”</p><p>“Why?” she asked, shocked.</p><p>He uncovered his face partially, looked at her, and said, “I hate all this religious stuff. That’s why I’m not going. You can go without me.” Then, he turned and adjusted his position, clearly settling back to sleep.</p><p>She stood there, stunned, her mouth slightly open, about to speak, when the door opened again. A man entered, dressed sharply in a black suit, paired with a white shirt and a black tie. His polished black leather shoes completed the look. He was fair-skinned but slightly older, likely around 55-56 years old.</p><p>He addressed the woman, saying, “My dear, I’ve been waiting for you.”</p><p>Before she could respond, his gaze shifted to the bed. Shocked, he exclaimed, “Don’t tell me my son is still asleep!”</p><p>She sighed and replied, “He said he’s not coming.”</p><p>“What!” he exclaimed, clearly displeased.</p><p>She nodded. “Yes, that’s what he said.”</p><p>Furious, the man turned to the bed. “Are you getting up, or do I have to get really angry?” he demanded.</p><p>The young man uncovered his face, his expression devoid of cheer. “Dad, I’m not coming,” he said firmly.</p><p>“Why?” his father thundered.</p><p>“Dad, I have a terrible headache,” he replied, clutching his head with both hands.</p><p>Both parents panicked, rushing to his side. “Oh, no! Sorry, my dear. Just rest, okay? We’ll be back soon,” they said, showering him with kisses on his cheek and tucking the blanket around him before leaving the room.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
