Behind Closed Quarters

The Story of Isoken

Behind the veil is a woman who has learnt to be purposeful, diligent and, when necessary, defiant. Her eyes are fixed on the top. She is brilliant, smart and determined, with the hard exterior of that tough little girl in the neighbourhood who seems built to take on the world.

But behind closed quarters, the story changes.

Here is the same woman whose eyes well up at the tiniest obstruction to her progress. The one who feels the weight of things more deeply than her exterior lets on. Yet, give her a room full of eggheads, and she will hold her own. She has the brains, the grit and the capacity to shine.

There is, however, a lot happening around her.

Somewhere in the mist of her experiences lies a woman who wants to be seen but also wants the freedom to live life on her own terms. She is not broken in spirit. Her faith holds her together, and God remains at the centre of her world. She knows that without her Creator, she might have been a very different story altogether.

Then there are the things she would rather nobody knew. The little worries she carries, the questions she turns over in her mind, the things that trouble her even when she gives the impression that all is well.

From the WhatsApp philosophy of “I don't need to know you saw that” to the firm declaration of “My privacy is my privacy,” Isoken is an interesting mixture of me and Eon. She understands that not everything needs to be explained, that some things are better left unknown, and that knowing everything is not necessarily a requirement for living well.

But even the things she chooses not to know cannot always shield her from the things she must face.

Isoken is at a crossroads.

There are dreams to pursue, ambitions to fulfil and milestones she hopes to reach. There is the pressure of professional achievement, but also the expectations that come with life beyond the office. The questions of what she wants, where she ought to be, what she should have achieved by now, and whether she is measuring up to the many demands placed upon her.

Work becomes her safe space, the place where competence has a language she understands and effort can produce something tangible. But what happens when even that safe space stops providing refuge?

Sometimes, a tear or two does the work words cannot. A brief release. A moment of vulnerability behind the closed doors of a life that must otherwise keep moving.

And then there is Ebony.

Ebony is the cynosure of many eyes. Beautiful, brilliant and striking, she is no ordinary candy. There is substance beneath the sweetness, a certain thickness and jelly-like resilience that makes her more than the first impression she leaves behind. She is beauty with brains, a woman whose appeal extends beyond what the eyes can see.

In her, I see a portrait of my mother, minus the tears, at least the ones I have witnessed. But I know better than to assume that a woman who does not cry has never known pain. Mummy must have had her own battles, her own private moments, her own closed quarters.

Perhaps that is the thing about this woman. The world sees the brilliance, the beauty, the toughness and the achievements. It sees the woman who can hold her own among the best and still keep her feet firmly planted.

But behind the veil, and behind closed quarters, there is always another story.

A woman is not less strong because she feels deeply. She is not less brilliant because she worries. And she is not less capable because, every now and then, she needs a moment to gather herself before stepping back into the world.

Perhaps the real story is not about lifting the veil for everyone to see. Perhaps it is about recognising that there is a whole person behind it, one whose life cannot be fully understood by the strength she displays or the tears she conceals.