The very spot where he had dropped her off the last time was where he dropped her off again. After she sat down, he leaned in slightly and asked, "Hajiya, what would you like to drink?" She smiled, glancing around her surroundings, and said, "Lord protect our secrets! Look at me, I’ve never even been to an airport before. But don’t worry yourself, wallahi, I don't want anything. Just do your best to finish briefing me before this boss of yours returns." He laughed, pulling up a chair to sit. "Look over there—he is inside the gym room, busy working out. Fiyah, the only thing you need to do to help yourself succeed is to be resilient. Cast all fear out of your heart. Even if you feel afraid inside, never let it show on your face. Keep a firm, straight face. Whatever he says to you, make sure you throw his exact words right back at him, or even worse. Boldly look him in the eye; that is what will make him back down. It will give you the chance to get close to him, and eventually, he will accept whatever you bring to him." She smiled and replied, "Uhmmm, Yah Malik, I am listening to you, but how on earth can I talk back to that fierce giant?" He laughed and continued narrating the backstory to her: "Alhaji Kwangila was the one who told Abbi (Alhaji Muazzam), 'Having this boy live among your family is a massive curse. Just as Hajiya Umma said, you should kick him out. Banishing him from your family is the only solution, otherwise...' In a fit of burning rage and heartbreak, Alfah grabbed Alhaji Kwangila by the throat with all his might. He punched his face repeatedly until Kwangila's tooth flew out. Alfah was crying, his voice completely choked with tears as he yelled, 'You lie, you hypocrite! Wallahi, you won't succeed! You’re only doing this because you’re terrified I'll expose you!' Before he could finish what he was saying, people rushed in to pull him away from Alhaji Kwangila. It was a brutal struggle to separate them. If you saw how violently Alfah's chest was heaving, you would think his heart was about to burst out. Then Abbi arrived, fuming with rage. He violently dragged Alfah and threw him directly in front of Mami, who had only just found the tears to weep. In a harsh, unyielding voice, Abbi declared: 'I will say this in front of everyone, and right in front of you: From this very day, there is nothing connecting me to Abdoul-Nasser. I have disowned him from my lineage. I have cast him out forever. Furthermore, wallahi, wallahi, wallahi, any of the children in this house caught interacting with him, whether in secret or in public, will follow his footsteps—I will banish them just as I have banished him! This applies to the children, and to you too, Ushe! If you ever follow up on him via phone or in person, your marriage is over from that very day. Consider yourself divorced. Even if I don't catch you, you will leave my house that very day!' Abbi then turned to me: 'Right now, without any delay, I want you to pack your belongings along with that useless boy you brought into my house. Who knows, maybe you’re the one who corrupted him! Get out of my house this instant! And never let me set eyes on your wretched faces again, otherwise, wallahi, I will have you locked up for the rest of your lives! I won't strip you of whatever assets you acquired through me, because I gave those to you for the sake of Allah and to compensate for the hard work you did for me.' His voice grew incredibly weak, softer than when he first started speaking. 'You did not treat me fairly, Abdoul-Nasser. You have ruined my life. Out of my entire lineage, there was no one I loved more than you, no one who took care of me like you did. And this is how you repay me? You have broken me.' Abbi broke down weeping like a child. Fiyah, if you were a rational person, you would know that the situation had completely overwhelmed him; he had no other choice. He left the area, sobbing heavily. I stood by the wall, crying my eyes out too, wishing with all my heart that it was just a nightmare and not reality. What a dark, cursed day. As for Umma, the moment she saw Abbi leave, she and Haulat didn't just smile—they burst into malicious laughter. She walked right up to Mami and scoffed, 'Well, you better look for another master to serve, because today, the star of this house has had its light extinguished forever. Mamman will now take his rightful place.' Mami remained kneeling in front of Abdoul, weeping alongside Ni'ima, completely ignoring Umma. Summoning immense strength to suppress the agonizing pain in his heart, Abdoul said to Mami, 'My Mami, please stand up and leave this place. This weeping won't change a thing. You know Abbi better than anyone; he never goes back on his word. Since he has cast me out, I am leaving. I will never allow our paths to cross again until we meet in the afterlife, where Allah will judge between us.' He stood up and signaled for me to follow so we could pack our bags. Alhaji Kwangila and his close friend were whispering to each other with sinister smiles. I couldn't hear what they were discussing, but they laughed and walked out of the house, followed closely by journalists—it was obvious they were the ones who invited the press. We had barely walked a short distance from the courtyard when Zakiya came running at full speed. She hugged him from behind, crying so violently it felt like her lungs would give out, screaming, 'Yah Naseer, wallahi I don't agree to this!' With a brutal jerk, he wrenched her off his back. He gripped her with a savage force, like a man breaking a wild horse. He shook her with all his might until she practically lost her breath. I tried to intervene to free her, but he barked a thunderous shout at me—a scream so terrifying I had never heard anything like it in my life. I had never seen Alfah in such a volatile state. Screaming and raging, still gripping her by the shoulders, he yelled, 'What the hell are you going to tell me?! What do you have left to say to me?! So all this time, your love was a sham? All this time, you and I were living a romance of betrayal? You teamed up with them to humiliate and degrade me! Is this public disgrace enough for you, or do you want more?!' He shook her violently again. 'I asked if it’s enough or if you want more! Let me tell you something, Zakiya—wallahi, I deeply regret ever letting you into my life! I hate you, Zakiya! I loathe you! I never want to see your face in front of me again! You have taught me a bitter lesson; you’ve shown me the true colors of women. It turns out you are all the same. This lesson is enough for me. Leave me alone and get out of here!' He threw Zakiya to the side with such force that her head struck a concrete ridge, instantly slicing it open and causing it to bleed. He grabbed me, and we packed our things and left that house. Fiyah, from that fateful day until today, I have never set foot in Maitama again. We haven't locked eyes with anyone from that neighborhood, except for Alhaji Kwangila when that incident occurred. We don't even talk to Mami on the phone, because the day we left, she called me weeping hysterically, completely frantic, saying: 'Please look after Abdoul for me, Malik. Look after him. He and Ni'ima are all I have left. For Allah’s sake, don't let him harm himself. Abdoul has a fiercely volatile heart—a madness takes over him whenever he faces something beyond his mental capacity. He can do anything to himself. I beg you, do not leave him alone. No matter what he does to you, for Allah’s sake, Malik, don't let him destroy his life.' She handed me a massive bundle of money—even I didn't know the exact amount at the time. We left the house with everyone drowning in tears, including Ni'ima. Back then, Daddy was out of town when it happened. Later on, he tracked us down, apologized, and told us to come to him for whatever we needed. But back then, Alfah disappeared for three whole days. He was at a club with some friends from his secondary school days—the very ones who had been trying to drag him into their dark lifestyle, though he had always resisted. It was only after his life shattered that he completely unraveled. At first, he started smoking marijuana. He smoked shisha, and swallowed every intoxicating substance you can think of. The only thing Abdoul didn't smoke was regular cigarettes. I went through pure hell before I could get through to him and convince him to stay at home. Then I began the brutal war to get him off drugs. To this day, however, Allah hasn't delivered him from alcohol. I have suffered immensely because of Alfah, and honestly, I am still suffering. Now you know who Malik is, and you know who Abdoul-Nasser Alfah is. I am leaving the rest of the execution in your hands now, though I will support you wherever necessary." Holding her head, Fiyah wiped her tears and thanked Allah. In a soft, emotional voice, she said, "Yah Malik, wallahi, your story breaks my heart. It has touched me deeply. I don't even know where to begin, because there are endless questions spinning in my mind. But give me some time to think deeply. I need to forge a mandatory alliance with Zakiya, provided Allah hasn't allowed her to get married yet." He adjusted his posture. "Zakiya is still single; she hasn't married. We actually bumped into each other once at Alfah’s store; she came in with some friends. She wanted us to have a long talk, but I was with Alfah. If he found out I was talking to her, we would have a massive crisis. Your instincts are entirely correct. Since she doesn't know who you are, you can easily dig into her mind and uncover the truth of everything before we decide how to expose it all to everyone. I highly commend your intellect; this is clear proof that you are doing excellent work at school." She laughed, checking her phone and realizing it was already four o'clock. "Yah Malik, I think I need to get going. We will talk on the phone regarding whatever needs to be discussed." He stood up to walk her out, both of them chatting and laughing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he appeared right in front of them. His face was entirely void of mercy—not even an atom's weight of kindness was visible. Fiyah felt a sudden wave of panic so intense she felt like her stomach completely turned over. He marched straight toward her, his face dark and rigid. She tried to stand her ground, but deep inside her soul, her instincts were screaming at her to run for her life. Meanwhile, her phone was vibrating continuously with calls from Yah Jalal, but there was no way she could answer it. Her legs shook violently, but she summoned every ounce of courage she could muster and masked her face with an expression of defiance. Malik stepped aside, watching them anxiously, terrified of what was about to unfold. Alfah marched up until he was almost pressed against her body before slamming on the brakes, his eyes locked onto hers. She couldn't maintain eye contact because of the sheer fury radiating from him. He spoke in a harsh, grating voice—yet its roughness couldn't hide the naturally melodic, attractive tone of his voice. She squeezed her eyes shut because his hot breath and the force of his words hit her face directly. "You! Who the hell brought you to this house?! Didn't he deliver my message to you? I said if I ever see your wretched face here again, I will kill you! Well, if he didn't tell you, now you know! Therefore, wallahi, if I ever lock eyes with you again, even if it's on the street, I will gouge your eyes out! You idiot, stupid girl! Oya, get out! You foolish village girl!" Only then did she open her large, striking eyes—clear and stark white like blank paper—and fixed them entirely on him. Masha Allah, if he had known just how violently her heart was pounding, he wouldn't have used such scorching words on her. But absolutely none of that terror showed on her face. Instead, she gave him a look of utter contempt, rolling her eyes dramatically as if they didn't belong to her. She took a step back, covering her nose and mouth as if she had just encountered feces or utter filth. This was her psychological tactic to retaliate against his degradation and disrespect. Backing away, she spoke in a high-pitched, sweet, yet mocking voice: "Oh, please, mister, back off! Why are you crowding me while smelling like that? Can you even smell yourself? It's clear your nose can’t distinguish between perfume and filth, otherwise, you would be disgusted by your own self! You have the audacity to call me stupid? Is there any bigger idiot than you? Look at yourself, for Allah's sake—you look like an absolute thug! I mean, how can people even stand to be near you when you reek of alcohol? Mtsww! Move away from me! Why are you standing over me like a monument?" His eyes nearly popped out of his skull, as if he were staring at an entirely new species of creature. Her sharp words felt like physical stabs directly into his chest. She turned around quickly, eager to escape before he could stick his foot out and trip her. Her heart was hammering wildly, and she felt a sudden, panicked urge to urinate; her only goal was to get out of this neighborhood alive. Unfortunately, her luck ran out. Before she could make her escape, she felt a violent, savage jerk on her arm, as if he were about to tear her hand right off. Terrified, she found herself violently thrown to the ground right in front of him. His face darkened further with pure malice. He raised his foot, preparing to stomp directly onto her hand. Using lightning-fast reflexes, Malik rushed forward and pulled her out of harm's way, turning to Alfah in deep anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Alfah?! What is your business with her? Did she come here to see you, or has she ever meddled in your affairs? I don't want to see this cruelty. Just back off and leave her alone, since you were the one who started this trouble in the first place!" Alfah gave Malik a violent shove. "Don't talk nonsense to me, Malik! What is your connection to her? What is her business with this house? Wallahi, if you ever let her step foot in here again," he roared, stomping his foot onto the ground with masculine dominance, "then billahil azim, her corpse will be carried out of here!" Before Malik could respond, she beat him to it, channeling an engineered bratty boldness. "Oh yeah? Well, I am definitely coming back! You can consider this house just like my own father’s house, and that's exactly how I will treat it! The only thing I won't do is sleep over. Soon enough, you'll see me lounging right inside your bedroom! Who told you everyone is a pushover that you can just act crazy around? Who doesn't know how to act crazy? Oh, please! Mtsww!" Fuming with psychotic rage, he growled, "You brazen brat! Are you talking back to me?!" He lunged at her with wild eyes. She bunched up her skirt, preparing to sprint for her life, knowing that if he caught her, she would be utterly ruined. Before she could take a single step, he snatched her arm, hoisted her with his immense strength, and hurled her to the side. She hit the ground awkwardly, severely scraping her knee. She burst into tears, but her mouth didn't stop. "Allah will judge between us, you wicked, tyrannical oppressor!" He slapped her across the mouth, panting heavily. "Shut your mouth and get the hell out of here, you wretched witch!" "You're the witch, you tyrannical oppressor! May Allah punish you, you wicked drunkard!" Leaving him with those words, she grabbed her bag and ran for dear life. Alfah gave chase, running after her. Malik ran behind them both. He desperately wanted to laugh, but the gravity of the situation held him back until he made sure the poor girl safely escaped the neighborhood. Luck was on her side; she spotted an empty taxi immediately, flagged it down, and jumped in. "Drive fast! Don't stop! Let's go, let's go straight to Maitama Estate!" she urged the driver frantically. Panting heavily, she leaned out of the window, thrust her hand out in a defiant gesture (dakuwa), and mocked him. Malik collapsed against the doorway, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter. This theatrical showdown thoroughly amused him. If nothing else, Fiyah’s stubbornness would force Alfah to engage, channeling his explosive anger elsewhere. Eventually, he would be forced to return to his senses once he realized she was pushing him to the brink of absolute madness. Alfah stood there huffing and puffing, consumed by bitter frustration for failing to catch her. He glared at Malik with pure annoyance and snapped, "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Just to make me lose my mind! Well, you succeeded. But mark my words—if she ever dares to come back here, you will see exactly what will happen. I will break her legs, and only then will her useless father realize who he's dealing with!" He stormed past Malik, who was still chuckling. Frankly, Fiyah had thoroughly stunned Alfah; he never anticipated their very first real interaction would feature such shocking defiance. When she arrived home, her leg completely locked up; only now was she feeling the agonizing pain of the injury from her fall. She limped out of the taxi, paid the driver, and headed into the house, using every ounce of her strength to stay upright. The first thing she saw was her mother, Mama, sitting in the middle of the courtyard, her chin resting in her hand, looking utterly devastated. Beside her, Yasmeen was weeping bitterly. Instantly, Fiyah forgot about her physical pain. She rushed toward them in extreme panic, her lips trembling as she cried, "Mama! What is it? What happened? Why do I see you both in this state? Yasmeen, stop crying and tell me for Allah's sake, what happened?!" Mama couldn't even bring herself to answer, simply wiping away her tears. Yasmeen looked up, choking out through her sobs, "Adda Sofiyyah... it’s Baba..." She burst into hysterical tears again. The moment Fiyah heard it concerned her father, her stomach dropped in absolute terror. Panicking completely, she demanded, "Tell me, sister! Force yourself to tell me what happened to Baba! Where is he? Nothing fatal has happened to him, right? Please tell me for Allah's sake!" Tears of absolute dread began streaming down Fiyah's face as well. She turned to her mother, who was still silently crying. "Haba, Mama! Don't leave me in the dark! For Allah’s sake, tell me what condition he is in! My heart is pounding so fast!" Summoning a fragile voice, Mama finally spoke: "Sofiyyah, your father has been arrested. He is at the police station. Apparently, they picked him up right after he left the house. They have refused to state exactly what he did wrong, and they have denied him bail. Jalal and Dalha have been there since twelve o'clock, but the police refuse to give them any straight answers. They eventually chased them away, telling them that even if they sleep there, the orders from above will not change." Fiyah collapsed onto the ground, weeping in utter shock. She grabbed her mother's hand. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un (To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return)! Mama, who ordered Baba’s arrest? What did he do to them? Wallahi, Mama, I know with absolute certainty that Baba would never do anything unlawful! Who is this evil, tyrannical oppressor?!" Sniffling, Mama replied, "It is Alhaji Muazzam. I don't know what dispute they had today, but he has been harboring deep malice against your father for decades. He has been looking for any opportunity to humiliate him for years, but Allah never gave him the chance until today. This must be a dark twist of fate, and perhaps a trial of suffering we are destined to pass through." Mama wiped her tears, her words ringing heavily in Fiyah's mind. Alhaji Muazzam had ordered her father's arrest. That meant absolutely no one had the power to secure his release unless Muazzam himself willed it. What were they going to do now? Who would stand up for them and rescue their father? Through her tears, Fiyah cried, "So now, Mama, there is no one to help us? Who will stand up for us? Mama, we have no one else but Yah Jalal, and he has no wealth or influence—only the protection of Allah! Mama, are we just going to sit back and watch Baba rot there?!" In her deep grief, Mama responded, "Allah is our ultimate guardian, Sofiyyah. He will help us. He is the one we will take our cries to. Go perform your ablutions; the Maghrib call to prayer is starting. Let us take our agony to Allah. Alhaji Muazzam has no greater enemy in this entire neighborhood than your father. Your father never encroached on his property, yet look at how Muazzam oppresses him. Let us report this to Allah; He will wipe away our tears." Just then, Yah Jalal arrived along with Dalha, the shop guard. All eyes locked onto them, waiting to see their father walk in behind them, but the doorway remained empty. Jalal sat down, completely dejected. Dalha picked up a kettle, filled it with water, and stepped out to perform his ablutions for Maghrib. Anxious to know the status, Fiyah rushed to stand in front of Jalal, gripping his hand tightly. "Yaya, what did they say? Is Baba going to spend the night there? Yaya, what are we going to do? Is there really nothing we can do?!" His voice loaded with sorrow, Jalal replied, "What can we possibly do, Sofiyyah? Just keep praying for him; that is our only weapon. We did everything we could, but those officers completely shut their eyes and refused to even let us see him. Allah is their judge, and He is sufficient for us." Hearing this definitive blow, Mama stood up, performed her ablutions, and retreated into her room. Jalal also stood up and walked out. Yasmeen and Fiyah wept bitterly. They performed their Maghrib prayers, crying out to Allah with intense devotion, begging Him to provide a way out and to avenge their father. That night, not a single soul in the house could swallow a morsel of food. After the Isha prayer, everyone retreated to their respective rooms. The usual lively family chat they enjoyed after the night prayer was completely absent; the heavy cloud of sorrow hanging over them left no room for peace. Once Yasmeen finally fell asleep, Fiyah quietly pulled out her phone, turned it on, and called Malik. Malik was currently with Alfah, explaining some financial expenses regarding an upcoming trip they were planning. Alfah sat there with a tight, scowling face, barely grunting responses. The dramatic showdown from earlier was still eating at him; he kept wishing he had the chance to physically snap that stubborn girl in half. The moment they wrapped up their discussion and finalized their travel schedule, Malik's phone began to ring. He glanced at Alfah with a smirk and said, "It’s your favorite person. Want to say hi?" Alfah flashed him a murderous look, stood up abruptly, and stormed out of the living room. Malik chuckled and answered the call. "Well, look who it is. Miss Coward." In a voice heavy with grief, she whispered, "Yah Malik... I am in a state of absolute terror and crisis." Shocked and alarmed, Malik asked, "Are you okay? Did he cause you a severe injury?!" Crying softly, she replied, "No, it’s not Abdoul. It’s his father. He had our Baba arrested. Baba is currently locked up at the police station. They’ve blocked us from seeing him or even getting his side of the story. The police won't say a thing, and they declared they won't release him anytime soon." She sobbed quietly into the phone. Deeply moved, Malik comforted her, "Have patience, Fiyah. Stop crying, Insha Allah Baba will return. Look, it’s late right now; get some sleep, and we will handle this in the morning. You have classes tomorrow, right?" Through her sniffling, she replied, "Yes, I have a class from 9:00 AM to 12:00 PM. In fact, I might not get home until around 4:00 PM." He said, "Don't worry. Put your mind at ease and get some rest. Insha Allah, I will find a solution for you by tomorrow." She thanked him sincerely. He then asked, "Abdoul didn't actually injure you, did he?" She admitted, "I have a sprained leg from the fall, but I will hot-compress it in the morning and apply some ointment." "OK, I'm so sorry. May Allah grant you healing. We will meet tomorrow. Please reassure Mama; nothing bad will happen." He continued to soothe and calm her until they said their goodbyes. Fiyah then performed her ablutions, observed some voluntary prayers (Nafl), recited verses from the Qur'an, and finally went to sleep. The next morning, the entire household was shrouded in a gloomy silence. Yasmeen could barely swallow a few sips of millet porridge (koko) and a bite of fried bean cake (waina) before Jalal handed her taxi fare so she could go write her exams—thankfully, her exams were ending the day after tomorrow. Yasmeen left before Fiyah. Fiyah stayed behind to finish the household chores while comforting Mama, offering soothing words until she convinced her mother to eat some breakfast—even though Mama had claimed she wanted to observe a voluntary fast to endure the trial. Jalal and Fiyah forced her to drop the idea of fasting, arguing that she would break down from physical exhaustion since she hadn't eaten a pre-dawn meal (Sahur) and was carrying immense emotional stress. Fiyah took over most of Mama's chores; she blended the vegetables, picked the rice, and set the hot water for her bath. Mama showered her with endless blessings, because Sofiyyah was incredibly hardworking and possessed a deeply empathetic heart compared to her other siblings. Fiyah ended up running quite late; it was almost 9:30 AM by the time she managed to leave, after hot-compressing her sprained leg and rubbing medication on it. Her face completely lacked its usual bright demeanor today; anyone looking at her could tell she was carrying a heavy burden. She rushed to school and was lucky to meet a lenient lecturer who allowed her into the theater despite her lateness. However, her mind was so distracted that she barely absorbed a single word of the lectures. She managed to slip away afterward, despite her friend Rafeea (Feea) desperately trying to stop her to talk. Fiyah dodged her because the crisis at hand was far more critical than any chat with Feea. Without even informing Malik that she was on her way, she headed straight to his house. The moment she reached the entrance, the memory of her explosive violent encounter with Alfah the previous day flooded her mind. She froze, her heart thumping wildly. She pulled out her phone and dialed Malik. "For Allah's sake, make sure that psychotic friend of yours isn't home! Because wallahi, if he’s around, I am not stepping inside. He will finish the job and break my other leg." Malik let out a small laugh. "Oh, my cowardly little sister. Don't worry, he isn't home. You can come right in." "No, Yaya Malik, don't trick me like you did yesterday." Laughing, he reassured her, "Allah, I'm serious. He is not here." Sighing in relief, she muttered a prayer (Bismillah) and stepped inside, having absolutely no emotional energy for another chaotic screaming match today—at least not until her father was safely released. Malik was in the main living room, working on his laptop, dressed only in a white singlet. Overcome with modesty, Fiyah quickly turned her back to him. Malik smiled, reached for his shirt lying beside him, slipped it on, and said, "Alright, Miss Modesty, you can turn around now." Keeping her eyes cast down, she walked fully into the living room, silently admiring its luxurious layout. She sat on a single-seater couch, her eyes drifting to a Chinese movie playing on a station. They exchanged greetings, and Malik sincerely commiserated with her over her family’s plight. Fiyah felt deeply comforted; Malik was exceptionally kind and possessed great interpersonal skills. She looked around and asked, "Where is that monster anyway?" Running a hand through his hair as he wrapped up his work and closed his laptop, Malik answered, "Alfah went for a supervision tour of his shopping malls and company today. He woke up in a foul, highly combative mood today; I’d be surprised if he doesn't fire a few employees. In fact, I didn't even know he had left until I called his driver, who confirmed they were together." She simply pouted and began playing with her fingers, pretending she hadn't been the one who asked about him. Malik picked up a set of car keys. "Come on, let’s go. There’s somewhere we need to be right now. Ah, look at me—I didn't even offer you water! I'm so sorry, for Allah's sake." Standing up with her trademark gentle smile, she said, "No, don't worry, Yaya Malik. I haven't reached the point of needing water yet. Let’s go. I don't feel thirsty or hungry anyway." They walked out, and Malik drove them out of the residence. They headed toward a somewhat distant, highly affluent neighborhood, eventually stopping at a massive gate. The security guards opened it, and they drove into a stunningly beautiful mansion. Fiyah was no stranger to such grand architecture, as her own neighborhood was surrounded by the palatial homes of the elite. Malik didn't give her a chance to ask whose house it was. She simply followed him as they walked through the entrance that led into the main house. The entire perimeter was heavily guarded by security personnel, indicating that the master of the house was a man of immense power and stature. They entered a massive parlor adorned with two ultra-luxurious royal sofa sets, the air rich with a premium fragrance. They sat down while Malik tapped away on his phone. A moment later, he held it to his ear and said, "Yes, Daddy, we have arrived. We are here in the main parlor." He hung up, looked at Fiyah with a teasing glint in his eye, and whispered, "I’ve brought you to the slaughterhouse. The executioner will be out shortly." Even though she knew he was teasing, her heart still skipped a beat. Forcing a smile, she countered, "Uhm, Yaya Malik, do you really think I’d suspect you of anything bad? The trust I have in you is absolute—100%. Therefore, wherever you tell me to go, I will follow without hesitation, because I know you would never jeopardize the life of your little sister." Her profound words deeply touched him, leaving him temporarily speechless. He simply fixed his eyes on her, a soft, appreciative smile breaking across his face. Blushing, she averted her gaze just as they heard footsteps approaching. A house steward walked in carrying a tray loaded with premium insulated food flasks, platters, and cups. He set them down, politely greeted them, and left the room. Malik’s eyes were still fixed on Fiyah, making her feel incredibly shy and restricted under his intense gaze. Thankfully, the arrival of 'Daddy' saved her from Malik's staring. They both immediately stood up from the sofas to greet him. He received them with immense warmth and respect, urging them to sit back down, but they politely insisted on remaining standing out of respect until he was seated. "Abdoulmalik, I see you haven't touched any of the refreshments," Daddy noted. Lowering his head respectfully, Malik replied, "Daddy, wallahi I am completely fine." "Well, you should at least serve her then." Fiyah added politely, "No, Daddy, wallahi I am also full. Please forgive me." "Alright then, since you both refuse to eat in my house. Malik, I listened closely to everything you reported to me yesterday. That is why I instructed you to bring the young lady here today, so I could hear the account directly from her." Malik turned to her. "Fiyah, explain everything that happened to him clearly so he can understand." Calmly and articulately, she narrated everything she knew based on what she had heard from Mama. Daddy suddenly cut her off, his face filled with shock. "Wait... do not tell me your father is Malam Kabir El-Ladan!" Confirming his suspicion, she replied, "Yes, Daddy, that is him. He has been locked up since yesterday. They have tried everything to secure his release, but the police refused, and they won't even state what he did wrong. None of us could sleep last night." Daddy nodded slowly, his expression a mix of deep understanding and sorrow. "Ah, Safiyyah," he began gently, "this matter is a manifestation of an ancient vendetta between your father and my elder brother—Alhaji Muazzam. I can safely say this hatred began before any of you children were even born. To this very day, my elder brother harbors an intense hatred for your father based on a completely baseless grievance. But now that I am fully aware of this, I will do everything in my power to ensure your father is released either today or tomorrow. I will go handle my elder brother personally and find out if your father actually committed any offense against him. If your father is innocent, Safiyyah, Insha Allah, he will return home in perfect health." Fiyah burst into tears of pure gratitude, thanking him profusely. Moved by her tears, Daddy comforted her, "Stop crying, my child. Your father is a man who truly deserves every bit of assistance because he is a deeply honorable man. I actually live in your neighborhood too, and I have known him for years. Everyone in that area knows him for his integrity and self-respect. Despite being a poor, ordinary man without financial power, he has never devalued himself. He never goes to anyone's gate begging or seeking handouts. Never. He works with his own hands to the absolute limit of his strength to provide for his household. It is this very dignity that earned him the bitter envy of the neighborhood elite. They believed that because he is poor, he should come crawling to their doorsteps to beg, so they could throw crumbs at him and humiliate him while he bowed in gratitude. But he refused to bow. That is why they harbor malice against him and isolate him, but he has never compromised his principles to please them. I give you my solemn promise, Malam Kabir will return home, my daughter. Your father is a dear friend of mine. I will deploy my maximum effort. Go safely, Abdoulmalik. Reassure her on the way out, you hear? Take this, give it to your mother, and tell her it is a gift from Alhaji Mawalle." He handed her a thick bundle of pristine one-thousand-Naira notes. Wiping her tears, she shook her head in panic. "No, Daddy, please. Mama will scold me terribly, and Yaya Jalal will beat me." Daddy nodded with immense respect. "May Allah bless you, my child. I will come to your house personally. Do not inform anyone that you came here." He escorted them all the way to the car. Once Fiyah was safely inside, Malik took a moment to explain to Daddy the psychological strategy Fiyah was using to break through Alfah's walls, and how it was already showing signs of working. Daddy was thoroughly impressed and delighted by the strategy. "For Allah's sake, Malik," Daddy urged, "protect this secret fiercely. Do not let any harm come to her. Since her parents are completely unaware of this arrangement, the moment her father finds out, he will bar her from ever stepping outside her front door. He would rather she drop out of university than risk her safety. Therefore, be extremely vigilant. May Allah grant you success. If you ever need my backing or intervention, do not hesitate to reach out; I will do everything within my power for you both." With that, they said their goodbyes, and Malik started the engine and drove out. On the drive back, Malik spoke to her gently, offering comforting advice, interspersed with his characteristic humor to lighten her heavy heart. Once she relaxed, he asked, "Should I drop you off at home or at school?" In a soft voice, she replied, "I haven't finished my lectures for the day. Please take me to school." The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence until they pulled up at the university campus. Malik said, "Let’s put everything on hold until your Baba is safely out, Fiyah. That way, we will have total peace of mind to focus." While still seated in the car, before opening the door, she said, "I need all the intelligence and information you have on Zakiya, including where I can locate her. Don't worry, Yaya Malik, my mind is completely at ease now after hearing Daddy's reassurance. We can absolutely continue our mission before time runs out on us. I’ll head to class now. Please send everything to my phone. Thank you so much, have a safe drive home." As she swung her leg out of the vehicle, Malik called out softly, "Hey, didn't you hear me?" She turned back. Malik flashed her an incredibly tender, heartwarming smile. Her heart skipped a beat in a strange, sudden flutter. Flustered, she scrambled out of the car, slammed the door shut, and ran straight toward her lecture hall without looking back once. Only after she heard his car drive away did she exhale a long breath and walk into the classroom. When classes finally wrapped up around 4:30 PM, Rafeea (Feea) came sprinting over, grabbing the edge of Fiyah's hijab. "Oh my goodness, Fiyah! You have put me through hell today, wallahi! Look at how much I’ve searched for you all over this campus! Where on earth did you vanish to?!" Fiyah sighed, pulling her hijab away. "Let go of me, it’s not like I stole from you." Feea laughed. "Who said you stole from me? I just desperately need to talk to you. Let’s get into the car so we can chat completely before heading home." Fiyah looked at her suspiciously before replying, "Wallahi, I am completely exhausted and I just want to go home. Tell you what—let’s go home first. Once we get back, ask your mother for permission and come over to my house." Feea nodded. "Alright, let’s go then. But I am absolutely not letting you take a public taxi today." Fiyah smiled and walked ahead. Yet, for reasons she couldn't understand, even before knowing what Feea wanted to tell her, her chest began to thud with a strange, foreboding anxiety. Throughout the drive home, she could barely offer distracted, half-hearted responses to the stories Feea was chattering about.
Page 17
Feea dropped her off right at her front door. Yaya Jalal, another friend of his, and Dalha were all sitting outside by the storefront, looking incredibly gloomy. Fiyah approached them with a heavy heart, offered her greetings, and walked past them into the house. Right from the entrance passage, she caught the distinct voice of Anty Jamila. She immediately knew her elder sister had arrived, which made sense given her heavily advanced pregnancy; she was expected to put to bed any day now. "Assalamu Alaikum," Fiyah greeted as she walked into the courtyard. They were sitting under the shade of the tree, their faces completely devoid of any joy. Mama welcomed her warmly, alongside Yasmeen, who was buried in her textbooks. Fiyah slid down to sit next to Anty Jamila, greeting her affectionately. "Fiyah, you look completely washed out, like someone who just trekked across the country," Jamila remarked. Fiyah forced a weak smile. "Wallahi, I haven't put a single thing into my stomach since morning. Look at me—hunger is literally eating me alive from the inside." Shocked, Mama snapped, "Aga! But this morning when I told you to eat breakfast, what did you tell me, Safiyyah?!" Puckering her face as if she were about to burst into tears, Fiyah whined, "Mama, wallahi my mouth tasted so bitter I couldn't taste a thing." In a stern tone, Mama scolded, "If that’s the case, then none of us should have eaten either! You better stop this nonsense. The moment that useless ulcer of yours flares up, wallahi you will learn your lesson the hard way! Get up right now, go into the kitchen, and dished up your food. You are growing older yet you're becoming increasingly foolish!" With immense effort, Fiyah pushed herself up, walked into the bedroom, and collapsed onto their bed, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. After resting for a bit, she grabbed her sponge and spent over thirty minutes soaking in a long, relaxing bath before finally stepping out. Almost all of Fiyah's wardrobe consisted of long, elegant flowing gowns; she owned barely five skirts. After applying her lotion, she dished up her food and returned to the courtyard to join the family circle, where the conversation was still heavily centered around their father's wrongful arrest. After eating half her meal, Fiyah asked, "Mama, has there been any breakthrough regarding the situation? When are they going to release him?" Mama scoffed bitterly. "What breakthrough, Safiyyah? Your elder brother went back to the station, and those officers completely turned on him, threatening that if he ever shows his face there again, they will lock him up along with your father! What kind of a cursed calamity is this? Honestly, I am exhausted. Wallahi, I am completely spent. For twenty long years, we have been enduring this single man's malice. Honestly, the moment your father is released, moving out of this neighborhood is no longer optional—it is a must! What is the point of staying? If we don't leave this neighborhood for him, that wicked man will never let us live in peace, wallahi!" Anty Jamila countered fiercely, "No, Mama! Wallahi, you are not moving a single inch! This land didn't belong to his father, nor did it belong to his mother, for him to force you out! No matter how much malicious envy he harbors, wallahi this house is beyond his reach! He is a hypocritical saboteur. If my husband Uncle were in town, wallahi Baba would have been back home by now. If Muazzam prides himself on his wealth, he should know he isn't the only one Allah has blessed; there are people out there who possess far more wealth than he ever will!" Mama sighed. "It’s a good thing your husband isn't around, Jamila. I don't want this matter escalating to the point where his family looks down on us or insults us in the future—even though I pray that never happens. Your husband’s relatives aren't like that, but it’s always best to avoid creating openings for future insults." They continued their discussion, but Fiyah simply listened, choosing not to voice her thoughts further. After the Maghrib prayer, Anty Jamila's driver arrived to pick her up and take her home. Fiyah retreated to the bedroom to review her academic handouts. A moment later, her phone buzzed with a text message from Malik. She stared at the screen for a long time before opening it to read:
"I hope the lady of beautiful smiles and joy arrived home safely. I would love for your day to end with absolute happiness blanketing your heart. Sleep well. Your friend sends his regards."
She stared at the text for a long time, a soft smile playing on her lips. “What on earth does he mean by 'your friend sends his regards'?” she thought to herself, knowing fully well Alfah would rather choke her than send regards. Still, the message brought a distinct warmth to her heart, though she chose not to reply. She focused back on her studies, while Yasmeen stayed in Mama's room. Suddenly, Yah Jalal walked in and informed Mama that she had a visitor outside who urgently wished to speak with her. Fiyah pricked up her ears, instantly knowing it must be 'Daddy' (Alhaji Mawalle), just as they had agreed. Sure enough, it was him. Fiyah stayed inside the room but listened closely to their conversation. He was profoundly apologetic, explaining that he had gone to confront his elder brother, Alhaji Muazzam, to de-escalate the situation and ensure Malam Kabir’s release either tonight or tomorrow morning. As it turned out, the entire arrest was triggered by a ridiculous, petty traffic incident. Alhaji Muazzam was driving out of the estate while Malam Kabir was driving in inside a public taxi. The taxi driver accidentally grazed Muazzam's luxury car. Muazzam, who had already been looking for any excuse to attack Kabir, unleashed a barrage of vile insults at him. Malam Kabir eventually lost his patience and retaliated verbally. In a rage, Muazzam called the police and had him dragged away. "But everything has been ironed out now," Daddy reassured Mama. "Malam Kabir will be returning home shortly, Insha Allah. I am heading back to the station right now to finalize it." Overwhelmed with gratitude, Mama showered him with endless prayers and blessings. Daddy waved it off. "Haba, it’s nothing. Malam Kabir is one of us, and we will support him to the absolute limit of our capability. May Allah protect us from future malice. Here, buy something for the children." He placed a substantial stack of money on the mat—the very money Fiyah had refused to accept earlier. Yah Jalal escorted him back to his car, asking if he was currently residing in the area. Daddy explained he was only down for a brief holiday, as his primary base of work was in Kaduna. They chatted briefly before Daddy drove back to his mansion inside the elite section of the estate. Fiyah finally walked out of the room to find Mama and the rest of the household singing Daddy’s praises. They noted that ever since they moved into this neighborhood, he was the very first wealthy elite to treat them with genuine respect and human dignity; outside of him, the rest of the neighborhood viewed them as absolute filth. Sitting under the night sky, Mama began narrating the deep, historical roots of the bitter feud between Alhaji Muazzam and their father, Malam Kabir: "This whole enmity began exactly one month after your father and I got married," Mama explained, her voice tinged with old memories. "His father passed away back then. Abuja hadn't developed into what it is today; if you saw this area years ago, you would think it was an abandoned military outpost. There were barely seven houses in this entire vicinity, and none of them were grand structures." "Your father was the only child of his mother, though he had three half-brothers from his father’s side. Their late father had been moderately wealthy and left behind a sizeable inheritance: two houses, a farmland, and several plots of land. This very house sits on one of those inherited plots. Your father’s half-brothers completely squandered and seized the bulk of the inheritance. At the time, we were living in a rented apartment, and scraping together rent money was an absolute nightmare. So, Malam made the definitive choice to come build a modest structure on his plot so we could move in and stop paying rent." "Out of nowhere, the very day he arrived with laborers to clear the site, they crossed paths with Alhaji Muazzam. At the time, Muazzam was constructing his own new building nearby—not the massive palace he lives in now, but a property further back that he currently rents out. They began exchanging pleasantries, and a casual friendship formed. Whenever Malam came to supervise his laborers, Muazzam would invite him over to share a meal." "Then one day, during a casual chat, Muazzam turned to him and said, 'Malam, I have a business proposition for you. I have been admiring this plot of yours ever since you broke ground. I want to erect a grand structure here. Sell the land to me, and name whatever price you want—I will pay it instantly.' At that time, Muazzam hadn't even achieved the staggering wealth he possesses today." "Your father flatly refused. He told him the land was not for sale, as it was his only inheritance and his only means of escaping rent. He told Muazzam to understand that this plot was the sole surviving memory of his late father, so he would build his home here and live in it." "This rejection deeply humiliated and infuriated Alhaji Muazzam. He didn't say another word, but from that very day, his entire attitude toward your father turned venomous. He completely stopped speaking to him and systematically poisoned the minds of the entire neighborhood against us. He told everyone that your father was an absolute nobody, a peasant who dared to come into an elite neighborhood of the wealthy to erect a pathetic, primitive shack. He explicitly told your father: 'You will live here as an isolated stray animal, because no one in this elite neighborhood will ever associate with a destitute pauper like you.'" "Alhaji Muazzam waged an all-out war against your father back then. They had a massive confrontation, and Muazzam used his political influence to have your father thrown into a maximum-security prison, where he rotted for three solid months before he was finally released." "When your father finally returned from prison, he found that Muazzam had completely demolished the foundation and walls he had started building, reducing his plot back to bare dust. We plunged into a state of absolute, terrifying despair. Refusing to back down, your father hired a lawyer and took Alhaji Muazzam to court. Allah stood firmly by the side of the oppressed; the judge ruled heavily in your father's favor, ordering Alhaji Muazzam to pay a massive fine of eight hundred thousand Naira to your father as compensation for the unlawful destruction." "But wallahi, from that day until this very moment, Muazzam has refused to pay a single kobo of that fine! It wasn't because he lacked the money—no, it was pure, unadulterated malice. He wanted to bankrupt your father so he could never build on the land. Your father chose to drop the matter, content that a legal boundary had been drawn between them. He faced his building project, enduring absolute hell and starvation before he finally managed to complete this house. Every single kobo he earned from his meager civil service salary was poured into these walls. His elderly mother would send whatever little food and support she could gather from her village called Dutsi in Katsina State—where she had relocated to live with her relatives after her husband's death." "Through the pure grace of Allah, the house was finished. I had just given birth to Abdouljalal and was still nursing him when we finally moved in. We faced unspeakable humiliation from the neighbors; absolutely no one would look our way or greet us. Slowly, the estate filled up with billionaires building palaces as if death didn't exist. Throughout all these years, Alhaji Muazzam has continuously looked for any excuse to instigate trouble with your father, but your father simply ignores him. Now you know the root of this generational hatred in this neighborhood; they all follow Muazzam’s lead and treat us like outcasts. Only Alhaji Kwangila's wife, Hajiya Asiya, treats me with genuine kindness—and even she has to do it completely in secret because her husband must never find out." "The only other decent person is that gentleman who recently relocated here from Katsina; he and Malam exchange pleasantries, and his wife visits me occasionally, though they rarely stay in town. And, of course, his younger brother, Alhaji Mawalle, who just visited us—he is the closest friend your father has ever had in this area." "It has been years since Muazzam last instigated an open fight, but this current arrest proves he has never forgotten his hatred. Therefore, I am issuing a strict warning to all of you: You must have absolutely zero interaction with his children! If I ever hear a whisper of any of you associating with them, let alone stepping foot into his mansion, you will face my wrath!" "But you see? Allah is never asleep. He is a just King. Look at how divine justice is playing out in Muazzam's own home—his own biological son has committed adultery with his own stepmother, Muazzam's senior wife! And that same son has been sleeping with Muazzam's stepdaughter! This horrific scandal alone is enough retribution..."
2. Chronological Plot Summary
Malik's Strategic Briefing: Malik meets Fiyah at a spot near the residence while Alfah is working out in the home gym. Malik advises her to drop all fear, remain defiant, and counter Alfah’s aggression with his own words to disarm him.
The Backstory of Alfah's Baninement: Malik shares the dark history of how Alfah was publicly disowned. Alhaji Kwangila and Hajiya Umma manipulated Alfah’s father (Alhaji Muazzam / Abbi) into casting him out. In a rage, Alfah physically assaulted Kwangila, leading to a dramatic scene where Abbi formally disowned Abdoul-Nasser, threatened to divorce his mother (Mami) if she contacted him, and banished Malik alongside him.
Alfah’s Spiral into Addiction: Malik reveals that after leaving the house, Alfah completely unraveled, turning to heavy substance abuse (marijuana, shisha, and heavy liquor), and that Malik has spent years fighting to keep him alive and sober from drugs, though the alcoholism persists.
The Dramatic Clash between Fiyah and Alfah: Alfah suddenly catches Fiyah and Malik together. He launches a vicious verbal assault on Fiyah. Following Malik's strategy, Fiyah stands her ground, boldly insults his hygiene, and scoffs at his drunkenness. Infuriated, Alfah physically assaults her, throwing her to the ground and scraping her knee. Fiyah curses him out and escapes in a taxi.
Malam Kabir's Arrest: Fiyah arrives home to find her father has been wrongfully arrested by the police on the orders of the wealthy neighborhood tyrant, Alhaji Muazzam (who, coincidentally, is Alfah's estranged father). The family is thrown into deep despair.
The Alliance with Alhaji Mawalle (Daddy): Malik takes Fiyah to the mansion of Alhaji Mawalle ('Daddy'—Muazzam's kind-hearted younger brother). Mawalle reveals he knows Malam Kabir’s immense integrity and promises to use his influence to challenge his brother and secure Kabir's release. He also gives financial support to the family.
The Historical Enmity Unveiled: Back home, Mama shares the 20-year history of the feud. It began when Malam Kabir refused to sell his inherited plot of land to Alhaji Muazzam. Muazzam retaliated by getting Kabir imprisoned for three months, demolishing his foundation, and turning the entire elite neighborhood against them. Mama concludes with a warning to avoid Muazzam's family, noting that divine justice is already destroying Muazzam’s household through an incestuous family scandal.
3. Character Profiles & Evolution
Abdoul-Nasser (Alfah)
Type: The Tortured, Volatile Anti-Hero.
Traits & Behavior: His explosive temper hides a broken soul shattered by parental rejection and a deep sense of betrayal by his ex-fiancée, Zakiya. He weaponizes cruelty and toxic masculinity to protect himself from being hurt again.
Development: For the first time, his psychological dominance is successfully challenged by a woman (Fiyah). Her refusal to bow to his intimidation leaves him completely bewildered and furious, signaling a crack in his armor.
Sofiyyah (Fiyah)
Type: The Resilient, Feisty Heroine.
Traits & Behavior: Remarkably adaptive. Though terrified internally to the point of physical panic, she possesses the rare grit to fake supreme confidence. She is deeply empathetic, taking on heavy domestic burdens to shield her mother from distress.
Development: She evolves from a mere observer into an active investigator. She decides to form a tactical alliance with Alfah's ex-lover, Zakiya, to uncover the conspiracy that ruined Alfah's life, showing a highly analytical mind.
Malik
Type: The Unwavering Anchor / The Mastermind.
Traits & Behavior: Deeply loyal, highly intelligent, and emotionally resilient. He acts as the bridge between Alfah's dark world and Fiyah's pure intentions. He brilliantly orchestrates the psychological strategy to break Alfah's walls.
Alhaji Muazzam (Abbi)
Type: The Cruel, Egotistical Antagonist.
Traits & Behavior: Power-drunk, unforgiving, and deeply elitist. He cannot tolerate defiance, whether from his son (Alfah) or a poor neighbor (Malam Kabir). He uses his wealth and police connections as tools of oppression.
4. Literary & Themes Analysis
I. Themes
The Vulnerability of the Poor vs. Elite Oppression: The text sharply contrasts Malam Kabir's decent but weathered house with the palatial mansions of Maitama Estate. Kabir’s poverty makes him an easy target for police corruption and elitist bullying, highlighting the social stratification in modern urban Nigeria.
Dignity as an Offense: Alhaji Muazzam’s hatred for Malam Kabir stems entirely from Kabir's refusal to perform maula (begging/sycophancy). In this society, a poor man's self-respect and refusal to bow to wealth is viewed by the elite as a punishable offense.
Poetic Justice and Karma: The chapter ends with a powerful stroke of dramatic irony. While Alhaji Muazzam is busy using his wealth to oppress a righteous poor man outside, his own household is internally rotting away due to a massive moral and incestuous scandal involving his son and senior wife.
II. Narrative Style and Pacing
The "Story-Within-a-Story" Technique: The marubuciya (author) masterfully uses two extensive monologues (Malik's flashback regarding Alfah's banishment and Mama's historical account of the 20-year land feud) to build deep lore. This gives the reader a rich understanding of the characters' motivations without slowing down the emotional momentum.
High-Stakes Tension and Comedic Relief: The author expertly balances high-voltage drama (Alfah slamming Fiyah to the ground, a father in a police cell) with instantaneous comedic relief (Fiyah giving Alfah a defiant dakuwa/gwalo from a speeding taxi window, leaving Malik rolling on the floor with laughter). This contrast keeps the narrative highly engaging and distinctly authentic to Nigerian storytelling.
AKWAI IRIN SU COMPELET HAUSA NOVELS BY OUM HAIRAN
The very spot where he had dropped her off the last time was where he dropped her off again. After she sat down, he leaned in slightly and asked, "Hajiya, what would you like to drink?"
She smiled, glancing around her surroundings, and said, "Lord protect our secrets! Look at me, I’ve never even been to an airport before. But don’t worry yourself, wallahi, I don't want anything. Just do your best to finish briefing me before this boss of yours returns."
He laughed, pulling up a chair to sit. "Look over there—he is inside the gym room, busy working out. Fiyah, the only thing you need to do to help yourself succeed is to be resilient. Cast all fear out of your heart. Even if you feel afraid inside, never let it show on your face. Keep a firm, straight face. Whatever he says to you, make sure you throw his exact words right back at him, or even worse. Boldly look him in the eye; that is what will make him back down. It will give you the chance to get close to him, and eventually, he will accept whatever you bring to him."
She smiled and replied, "Uhmmm, Yah Malik, I am listening to you, but how on earth can I talk back to that fierce giant?"
He laughed and continued narrating the backstory to her:
"Alhaji Kwangila was the one who told Abbi (Alhaji Muazzam), 'Having this boy live among your family is a massive curse. Just as Hajiya Umma said, you should kick him out. Banishing him from your family is the only solution, otherwise...'
In a fit of burning rage and heartbreak, Alfah grabbed Alhaji Kwangila by the throat with all his might. He punched his face repeatedly until Kwangila's tooth flew out. Alfah was crying, his voice completely choked with tears as he yelled, 'You lie, you hypocrite! Wallahi, you won't succeed! You’re only doing this because you’re terrified I'll expose you!'
Before he could finish what he was saying, people rushed in to pull him away from Alhaji Kwangila. It was a brutal struggle to separate them. If you saw how violently Alfah's chest was heaving, you would think his heart was about to burst out.
Then Abbi arrived, fuming with rage. He violently dragged Alfah and threw him directly in front of Mami, who had only just found the tears to weep. In a harsh, unyielding voice, Abbi declared:
'I will say this in front of everyone, and right in front of you: From this very day, there is nothing connecting me to Abdoul-Nasser. I have disowned him from my lineage. I have cast him out forever. Furthermore, wallahi, wallahi, wallahi, any of the children in this house caught interacting with him, whether in secret or in public, will follow his footsteps—I will banish them just as I have banished him! This applies to the children, and to you too, Ushe! If you ever follow up on him via phone or in person, your marriage is over from that very day. Consider yourself divorced. Even if I don't catch you, you will leave my house that very day!'
Abbi then turned to me: 'Right now, without any delay, I want you to pack your belongings along with that useless boy you brought into my house. Who knows, maybe you’re the one who corrupted him! Get out of my house this instant! And never let me set eyes on your wretched faces again, otherwise, wallahi, I will have you locked up for the rest of your lives! I won't strip you of whatever assets you acquired through me, because I gave those to you for the sake of Allah and to compensate for the hard work you did for me.'
His voice grew incredibly weak, softer than when he first started speaking. 'You did not treat me fairly, Abdoul-Nasser. You have ruined my life. Out of my entire lineage, there was no one I loved more than you, no one who took care of me like you did. And this is how you repay me? You have broken me.' Abbi broke down weeping like a child. Fiyah, if you were a rational person, you would know that the situation had completely overwhelmed him; he had no other choice. He left the area, sobbing heavily.
I stood by the wall, crying my eyes out too, wishing with all my heart that it was just a nightmare and not reality. What a dark, cursed day. As for Umma, the moment she saw Abbi leave, she and Haulat didn't just smile—they burst into malicious laughter. She walked right up to Mami and scoffed, 'Well, you better look for another master to serve, because today, the star of this house has had its light extinguished forever. Mamman will now take his rightful place.'
Mami remained kneeling in front of Abdoul, weeping alongside Ni'ima, completely ignoring Umma.
Summoning immense strength to suppress the agonizing pain in his heart, Abdoul said to Mami, 'My Mami, please stand up and leave this place. This weeping won't change a thing. You know Abbi better than anyone; he never goes back on his word. Since he has cast me out, I am leaving. I will never allow our paths to cross again until we meet in the afterlife, where Allah will judge between us.' He stood up and signaled for me to follow so we could pack our bags.
Alhaji Kwangila and his close friend were whispering to each other with sinister smiles. I couldn't hear what they were discussing, but they laughed and walked out of the house, followed closely by journalists—it was obvious they were the ones who invited the press.
We had barely walked a short distance from the courtyard when Zakiya came running at full speed. She hugged him from behind, crying so violently it felt like her lungs would give out, screaming, 'Yah Naseer, wallahi I don't agree to this!'
With a brutal jerk, he wrenched her off his back. He gripped her with a savage force, like a man breaking a wild horse. He shook her with all his might until she practically lost her breath. I tried to intervene to free her, but he barked a thunderous shout at me—a scream so terrifying I had never heard anything like it in my life. I had never seen Alfah in such a volatile state.
Screaming and raging, still gripping her by the shoulders, he yelled, 'What the hell are you going to tell me?! What do you have left to say to me?! So all this time, your love was a sham? All this time, you and I were living a romance of betrayal? You teamed up with them to humiliate and degrade me! Is this public disgrace enough for you, or do you want more?!' He shook her violently again. 'I asked if it’s enough or if you want more! Let me tell you something, Zakiya—wallahi, I deeply regret ever letting you into my life! I hate you, Zakiya! I loathe you! I never want to see your face in front of me again! You have taught me a bitter lesson; you’ve shown me the true colors of women. It turns out you are all the same. This lesson is enough for me. Leave me alone and get out of here!'
He threw Zakiya to the side with such force that her head struck a concrete ridge, instantly slicing it open and causing it to bleed. He grabbed me, and we packed our things and left that house. Fiyah, from that fateful day until today, I have never set foot in Maitama again. We haven't locked eyes with anyone from that neighborhood, except for Alhaji Kwangila when that incident occurred. We don't even talk to Mami on the phone, because the day we left, she called me weeping hysterically, completely frantic, saying: 'Please look after Abdoul for me, Malik. Look after him. He and Ni'ima are all I have left. For Allah’s sake, don't let him harm himself. Abdoul has a fiercely volatile heart—a madness takes over him whenever he faces something beyond his mental capacity. He can do anything to himself. I beg you, do not leave him alone. No matter what he does to you, for Allah’s sake, Malik, don't let him destroy his life.'
She handed me a massive bundle of money—even I didn't know the exact amount at the time. We left the house with everyone drowning in tears, including Ni'ima. Back then, Daddy was out of town when it happened. Later on, he tracked us down, apologized, and told us to come to him for whatever we needed.
But back then, Alfah disappeared for three whole days. He was at a club with some friends from his secondary school days—the very ones who had been trying to drag him into their dark lifestyle, though he had always resisted. It was only after his life shattered that he completely unraveled. At first, he started smoking marijuana. He smoked shisha, and swallowed every intoxicating substance you can think of. The only thing Abdoul didn't smoke was regular cigarettes.
I went through pure hell before I could get through to him and convince him to stay at home. Then I began the brutal war to get him off drugs. To this day, however, Allah hasn't delivered him from alcohol. I have suffered immensely because of Alfah, and honestly, I am still suffering. Now you know who Malik is, and you know who Abdoul-Nasser Alfah is. I am leaving the rest of the execution in your hands now, though I will support you wherever necessary."
Holding her head, Fiyah wiped her tears and thanked Allah. In a soft, emotional voice, she said, "Yah Malik, wallahi, your story breaks my heart. It has touched me deeply. I don't even know where to begin, because there are endless questions spinning in my mind. But give me some time to think deeply. I need to forge a mandatory alliance with Zakiya, provided Allah hasn't allowed her to get married yet."
He adjusted his posture. "Zakiya is still single; she hasn't married. We actually bumped into each other once at Alfah’s store; she came in with some friends. She wanted us to have a long talk, but I was with Alfah. If he found out I was talking to her, we would have a massive crisis. Your instincts are entirely correct. Since she doesn't know who you are, you can easily dig into her mind and uncover the truth of everything before we decide how to expose it all to everyone. I highly commend your intellect; this is clear proof that you are doing excellent work at school."
She laughed, checking her phone and realizing it was already four o'clock. "Yah Malik, I think I need to get going. We will talk on the phone regarding whatever needs to be discussed."
He stood up to walk her out, both of them chatting and laughing.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he appeared right in front of them. His face was entirely void of mercy—not even an atom's weight of kindness was visible. Fiyah felt a sudden wave of panic so intense she felt like her stomach completely turned over.
He marched straight toward her, his face dark and rigid. She tried to stand her ground, but deep inside her soul, her instincts were screaming at her to run for her life. Meanwhile, her phone was vibrating continuously with calls from Yah Jalal, but there was no way she could answer it.
Her legs shook violently, but she summoned every ounce of courage she could muster and masked her face with an expression of defiance. Malik stepped aside, watching them anxiously, terrified of what was about to unfold.
Alfah marched up until he was almost pressed against her body before slamming on the brakes, his eyes locked onto hers. She couldn't maintain eye contact because of the sheer fury radiating from him.
He spoke in a harsh, grating voice—yet its roughness couldn't hide the naturally melodic, attractive tone of his voice. She squeezed her eyes shut because his hot breath and the force of his words hit her face directly.
"You! Who the hell brought you to this house?! Didn't he deliver my message to you? I said if I ever see your wretched face here again, I will kill you! Well, if he didn't tell you, now you know! Therefore, wallahi, if I ever lock eyes with you again, even if it's on the street, I will gouge your eyes out! You idiot, stupid girl! Oya, get out! You foolish village girl!"
Only then did she open her large, striking eyes—clear and stark white like blank paper—and fixed them entirely on him. Masha Allah, if he had known just how violently her heart was pounding, he wouldn't have used such scorching words on her. But absolutely none of that terror showed on her face. Instead, she gave him a look of utter contempt, rolling her eyes dramatically as if they didn't belong to her.
She took a step back, covering her nose and mouth as if she had just encountered feces or utter filth. This was her psychological tactic to retaliate against his degradation and disrespect.
Backing away, she spoke in a high-pitched, sweet, yet mocking voice: "Oh, please, mister, back off! Why are you crowding me while smelling like that? Can you even smell yourself? It's clear your nose can’t distinguish between perfume and filth, otherwise, you would be disgusted by your own self! You have the audacity to call me stupid? Is there any bigger idiot than you? Look at yourself, for Allah's sake—you look like an absolute thug! I mean, how can people even stand to be near you when you reek of alcohol? Mtsww! Move away from me! Why are you standing over me like a monument?"
His eyes nearly popped out of his skull, as if he were staring at an entirely new species of creature. Her sharp words felt like physical stabs directly into his chest.
She turned around quickly, eager to escape before he could stick his foot out and trip her. Her heart was hammering wildly, and she felt a sudden, panicked urge to urinate; her only goal was to get out of this neighborhood alive.
Unfortunately, her luck ran out. Before she could make her escape, she felt a violent, savage jerk on her arm, as if he were about to tear her hand right off.
Terrified, she found herself violently thrown to the ground right in front of him. His face darkened further with pure malice. He raised his foot, preparing to stomp directly onto her hand.
Using lightning-fast reflexes, Malik rushed forward and pulled her out of harm's way, turning to Alfah in deep anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Alfah?! What is your business with her? Did she come here to see you, or has she ever meddled in your affairs? I don't want to see this cruelty. Just back off and leave her alone, since you were the one who started this trouble in the first place!"
Alfah gave Malik a violent shove. "Don't talk nonsense to me, Malik! What is your connection to her? What is her business with this house? Wallahi, if you ever let her step foot in here again," he roared, stomping his foot onto the ground with masculine dominance, "then billahil azim, her corpse will be carried out of here!"
Before Malik could respond, she beat him to it, channeling an engineered bratty boldness. "Oh yeah? Well, I am definitely coming back! You can consider this house just like my own father’s house, and that's exactly how I will treat it! The only thing I won't do is sleep over. Soon enough, you'll see me lounging right inside your bedroom! Who told you everyone is a pushover that you can just act crazy around? Who doesn't know how to act crazy? Oh, please! Mtsww!"
Fuming with psychotic rage, he growled, "You brazen brat! Are you talking back to me?!" He lunged at her with wild eyes. She bunched up her skirt, preparing to sprint for her life, knowing that if he caught her, she would be utterly ruined.
Before she could take a single step, he snatched her arm, hoisted her with his immense strength, and hurled her to the side. She hit the ground awkwardly, severely scraping her knee.
She burst into tears, but her mouth didn't stop. "Allah will judge between us, you wicked, tyrannical oppressor!"
He slapped her across the mouth, panting heavily. "Shut your mouth and get the hell out of here, you wretched witch!"
"You're the witch, you tyrannical oppressor! May Allah punish you, you wicked drunkard!" Leaving him with those words, she grabbed her bag and ran for dear life.
Alfah gave chase, running after her. Malik ran behind them both. He desperately wanted to laugh, but the gravity of the situation held him back until he made sure the poor girl safely escaped the neighborhood. Luck was on her side; she spotted an empty taxi immediately, flagged it down, and jumped in.
"Drive fast! Don't stop! Let's go, let's go straight to Maitama Estate!" she urged the driver frantically.
Panting heavily, she leaned out of the window, thrust her hand out in a defiant gesture (dakuwa), and mocked him.
Malik collapsed against the doorway, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter. This theatrical showdown thoroughly amused him. If nothing else, Fiyah’s stubbornness would force Alfah to engage, channeling his explosive anger elsewhere. Eventually, he would be forced to return to his senses once he realized she was pushing him to the brink of absolute madness.
Alfah stood there huffing and puffing, consumed by bitter frustration for failing to catch her. He glared at Malik with pure annoyance and snapped, "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Just to make me lose my mind! Well, you succeeded. But mark my words—if she ever dares to come back here, you will see exactly what will happen. I will break her legs, and only then will her useless father realize who he's dealing with!"
He stormed past Malik, who was still chuckling. Frankly, Fiyah had thoroughly stunned Alfah; he never anticipated their very first real interaction would feature such shocking defiance.
When she arrived home, her leg completely locked up; only now was she feeling the agonizing pain of the injury from her fall. She limped out of the taxi, paid the driver, and headed into the house, using every ounce of her strength to stay upright.
The first thing she saw was her mother, Mama, sitting in the middle of the courtyard, her chin resting in her hand, looking utterly devastated. Beside her, Yasmeen was weeping bitterly.
Instantly, Fiyah forgot about her physical pain. She rushed toward them in extreme panic, her lips trembling as she cried, "Mama! What is it? What happened? Why do I see you both in this state? Yasmeen, stop crying and tell me for Allah's sake, what happened?!"
Mama couldn't even bring herself to answer, simply wiping away her tears. Yasmeen looked up, choking out through her sobs, "Adda Sofiyyah... it’s Baba..." She burst into hysterical tears again.
The moment Fiyah heard it concerned her father, her stomach dropped in absolute terror. Panicking completely, she demanded, "Tell me, sister! Force yourself to tell me what happened to Baba! Where is he? Nothing fatal has happened to him, right? Please tell me for Allah's sake!"
Tears of absolute dread began streaming down Fiyah's face as well. She turned to her mother, who was still silently crying. "Haba, Mama! Don't leave me in the dark! For Allah’s sake, tell me what condition he is in! My heart is pounding so fast!"
Summoning a fragile voice, Mama finally spoke: "Sofiyyah, your father has been arrested. He is at the police station. Apparently, they picked him up right after he left the house. They have refused to state exactly what he did wrong, and they have denied him bail. Jalal and Dalha have been there since twelve o'clock, but the police refuse to give them any straight answers. They eventually chased them away, telling them that even if they sleep there, the orders from above will not change."
Fiyah collapsed onto the ground, weeping in utter shock. She grabbed her mother's hand. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un (To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return)! Mama, who ordered Baba’s arrest? What did he do to them? Wallahi, Mama, I know with absolute certainty that Baba would never do anything unlawful! Who is this evil, tyrannical oppressor?!"
Sniffling, Mama replied, "It is Alhaji Muazzam. I don't know what dispute they had today, but he has been harboring deep malice against your father for decades. He has been looking for any opportunity to humiliate him for years, but Allah never gave him the chance until today. This must be a dark twist of fate, and perhaps a trial of suffering we are destined to pass through."
Mama wiped her tears, her words ringing heavily in Fiyah's mind. Alhaji Muazzam had ordered her father's arrest. That meant absolutely no one had the power to secure his release unless Muazzam himself willed it.
What were they going to do now? Who would stand up for them and rescue their father?
Through her tears, Fiyah cried, "So now, Mama, there is no one to help us? Who will stand up for us? Mama, we have no one else but Yah Jalal, and he has no wealth or influence—only the protection of Allah! Mama, are we just going to sit back and watch Baba rot there?!"
In her deep grief, Mama responded, "Allah is our ultimate guardian, Sofiyyah. He will help us. He is the one we will take our cries to. Go perform your ablutions; the Maghrib call to prayer is starting. Let us take our agony to Allah. Alhaji Muazzam has no greater enemy in this entire neighborhood than your father. Your father never encroached on his property, yet look at how Muazzam oppresses him. Let us report this to Allah; He will wipe away our tears."
Just then, Yah Jalal arrived along with Dalha, the shop guard.
All eyes locked onto them, waiting to see their father walk in behind them, but the doorway remained empty. Jalal sat down, completely dejected. Dalha picked up a kettle, filled it with water, and stepped out to perform his ablutions for Maghrib.
Anxious to know the status, Fiyah rushed to stand in front of Jalal, gripping his hand tightly. "Yaya, what did they say? Is Baba going to spend the night there? Yaya, what are we going to do? Is there really nothing we can do?!"
His voice loaded with sorrow, Jalal replied, "What can we possibly do, Sofiyyah? Just keep praying for him; that is our only weapon. We did everything we could, but those officers completely shut their eyes and refused to even let us see him. Allah is their judge, and He is sufficient for us."
Hearing this definitive blow, Mama stood up, performed her ablutions, and retreated into her room. Jalal also stood up and walked out.
Yasmeen and Fiyah wept bitterly. They performed their Maghrib prayers, crying out to Allah with intense devotion, begging Him to provide a way out and to avenge their father.
That night, not a single soul in the house could swallow a morsel of food. After the Isha prayer, everyone retreated to their respective rooms. The usual lively family chat they enjoyed after the night prayer was completely absent; the heavy cloud of sorrow hanging over them left no room for peace.
Once Yasmeen finally fell asleep, Fiyah quietly pulled out her phone, turned it on, and called Malik.
Malik was currently with Alfah, explaining some financial expenses regarding an upcoming trip they were planning. Alfah sat there with a tight, scowling face, barely grunting responses. The dramatic showdown from earlier was still eating at him; he kept wishing he had the chance to physically snap that stubborn girl in half.
The moment they wrapped up their discussion and finalized their travel schedule, Malik's phone began to ring. He glanced at Alfah with a smirk and said, "It’s your favorite person. Want to say hi?"
Alfah flashed him a murderous look, stood up abruptly, and stormed out of the living room. Malik chuckled and answered the call. "Well, look who it is. Miss Coward."
In a voice heavy with grief, she whispered, "Yah Malik... I am in a state of absolute terror and crisis."
Shocked and alarmed, Malik asked, "Are you okay? Did he cause you a severe injury?!"
Crying softly, she replied, "No, it’s not Abdoul. It’s his father. He had our Baba arrested. Baba is currently locked up at the police station. They’ve blocked us from seeing him or even getting his side of the story. The police won't say a thing, and they declared they won't release him anytime soon." She sobbed quietly into the phone.
Deeply moved, Malik comforted her, "Have patience, Fiyah. Stop crying, Insha Allah Baba will return. Look, it’s late right now; get some sleep, and we will handle this in the morning. You have classes tomorrow, right?"
Through her sniffling, she replied, "Yes, I have a class from 9:00 AM to 12:00 PM. In fact, I might not get home until around 4:00 PM."
He said, "Don't worry. Put your mind at ease and get some rest. Insha Allah, I will find a solution for you by tomorrow."
She thanked him sincerely. He then asked, "Abdoul didn't actually injure you, did he?"
She admitted, "I have a sprained leg from the fall, but I will hot-compress it in the morning and apply some ointment."
"OK, I'm so sorry. May Allah grant you healing. We will meet tomorrow. Please reassure Mama; nothing bad will happen."
He continued to soothe and calm her until they said their goodbyes. Fiyah then performed her ablutions, observed some voluntary prayers (Nafl), recited verses from the Qur'an, and finally went to sleep.
The next morning, the entire household was shrouded in a gloomy silence. Yasmeen could barely swallow a few sips of millet porridge (koko) and a bite of fried bean cake (waina) before Jalal handed her taxi fare so she could go write her exams—thankfully, her exams were ending the day after tomorrow.
Yasmeen left before Fiyah. Fiyah stayed behind to finish the household chores while comforting Mama, offering soothing words until she convinced her mother to eat some breakfast—even though Mama had claimed she wanted to observe a voluntary fast to endure the trial.
Jalal and Fiyah forced her to drop the idea of fasting, arguing that she would break down from physical exhaustion since she hadn't eaten a pre-dawn meal (Sahur) and was carrying immense emotional stress. Fiyah took over most of Mama's chores; she blended the vegetables, picked the rice, and set the hot water for her bath. Mama showered her with endless blessings, because Sofiyyah was incredibly hardworking and possessed a deeply empathetic heart compared to her other siblings.
Fiyah ended up running quite late; it was almost 9:30 AM by the time she managed to leave, after hot-compressing her sprained leg and rubbing medication on it.
Her face completely lacked its usual bright demeanor today; anyone looking at her could tell she was carrying a heavy burden. She rushed to school and was lucky to meet a lenient lecturer who allowed her into the theater despite her lateness. However, her mind was so distracted that she barely absorbed a single word of the lectures. She managed to slip away afterward, despite her friend Rafeea (Feea) desperately trying to stop her to talk. Fiyah dodged her because the crisis at hand was far more critical than any chat with Feea.
Without even informing Malik that she was on her way, she headed straight to his house. The moment she reached the entrance, the memory of her explosive violent encounter with Alfah the previous day flooded her mind.
She froze, her heart thumping wildly. She pulled out her phone and dialed Malik. "For Allah's sake, make sure that psychotic friend of yours isn't home! Because wallahi, if he’s around, I am not stepping inside. He will finish the job and break my other leg."
Malik let out a small laugh. "Oh, my cowardly little sister. Don't worry, he isn't home. You can come right in."
"No, Yaya Malik, don't trick me like you did yesterday."
Laughing, he reassured her, "Allah, I'm serious. He is not here."
Sighing in relief, she muttered a prayer (Bismillah) and stepped inside, having absolutely no emotional energy for another chaotic screaming match today—at least not until her father was safely released.
Malik was in the main living room, working on his laptop, dressed only in a white singlet.
Overcome with modesty, Fiyah quickly turned her back to him. Malik smiled, reached for his shirt lying beside him, slipped it on, and said, "Alright, Miss Modesty, you can turn around now."
Keeping her eyes cast down, she walked fully into the living room, silently admiring its luxurious layout. She sat on a single-seater couch, her eyes drifting to a Chinese movie playing on a station.
They exchanged greetings, and Malik sincerely commiserated with her over her family’s plight. Fiyah felt deeply comforted; Malik was exceptionally kind and possessed great interpersonal skills.
She looked around and asked, "Where is that monster anyway?"
Running a hand through his hair as he wrapped up his work and closed his laptop, Malik answered, "Alfah went for a supervision tour of his shopping malls and company today. He woke up in a foul, highly combative mood today; I’d be surprised if he doesn't fire a few employees. In fact, I didn't even know he had left until I called his driver, who confirmed they were together."
She simply pouted and began playing with her fingers, pretending she hadn't been the one who asked about him.
Malik picked up a set of car keys. "Come on, let’s go. There’s somewhere we need to be right now. Ah, look at me—I didn't even offer you water! I'm so sorry, for Allah's sake."
Standing up with her trademark gentle smile, she said, "No, don't worry, Yaya Malik. I haven't reached the point of needing water yet. Let’s go. I don't feel thirsty or hungry anyway."
They walked out, and Malik drove them out of the residence. They headed toward a somewhat distant, highly affluent neighborhood, eventually stopping at a massive gate. The security guards opened it, and they drove into a stunningly beautiful mansion. Fiyah was no stranger to such grand architecture, as her own neighborhood was surrounded by the palatial homes of the elite.
Malik didn't give her a chance to ask whose house it was. She simply followed him as they walked through the entrance that led into the main house. The entire perimeter was heavily guarded by security personnel, indicating that the master of the house was a man of immense power and stature.
They entered a massive parlor adorned with two ultra-luxurious royal sofa sets, the air rich with a premium fragrance. They sat down while Malik tapped away on his phone. A moment later, he held it to his ear and said, "Yes, Daddy, we have arrived. We are here in the main parlor."
He hung up, looked at Fiyah with a teasing glint in his eye, and whispered, "I’ve brought you to the slaughterhouse. The executioner will be out shortly."
Even though she knew he was teasing, her heart still skipped a beat. Forcing a smile, she countered, "Uhm, Yaya Malik, do you really think I’d suspect you of anything bad? The trust I have in you is absolute—100%. Therefore, wherever you tell me to go, I will follow without hesitation, because I know you would never jeopardize the life of your little sister."
Her profound words deeply touched him, leaving him temporarily speechless. He simply fixed his eyes on her, a soft, appreciative smile breaking across his face.
Blushing, she averted her gaze just as they heard footsteps approaching. A house steward walked in carrying a tray loaded with premium insulated food flasks, platters, and cups. He set them down, politely greeted them, and left the room. Malik’s eyes were still fixed on Fiyah, making her feel incredibly shy and restricted under his intense gaze.
Thankfully, the arrival of 'Daddy' saved her from Malik's staring.
They both immediately stood up from the sofas to greet him. He received them with immense warmth and respect, urging them to sit back down, but they politely insisted on remaining standing out of respect until he was seated.
"Abdoulmalik, I see you haven't touched any of the refreshments," Daddy noted.
Lowering his head respectfully, Malik replied, "Daddy, wallahi I am completely fine."
"Well, you should at least serve her then."
Fiyah added politely, "No, Daddy, wallahi I am also full. Please forgive me."
"Alright then, since you both refuse to eat in my house. Malik, I listened closely to everything you reported to me yesterday. That is why I instructed you to bring the young lady here today, so I could hear the account directly from her."
Malik turned to her. "Fiyah, explain everything that happened to him clearly so he can understand."
Calmly and articulately, she narrated everything she knew based on what she had heard from Mama. Daddy suddenly cut her off, his face filled with shock. "Wait... do not tell me your father is Malam Kabir El-Ladan!"
Confirming his suspicion, she replied, "Yes, Daddy, that is him. He has been locked up since yesterday. They have tried everything to secure his release, but the police refused, and they won't even state what he did wrong. None of us could sleep last night."
Daddy nodded slowly, his expression a mix of deep understanding and sorrow.
"Ah, Safiyyah," he began gently, "this matter is a manifestation of an ancient vendetta between your father and my elder brother—Alhaji Muazzam. I can safely say this hatred began before any of you children were even born. To this very day, my elder brother harbors an intense hatred for your father based on a completely baseless grievance. But now that I am fully aware of this, I will do everything in my power to ensure your father is released either today or tomorrow. I will go handle my elder brother personally and find out if your father actually committed any offense against him. If your father is innocent, Safiyyah, Insha Allah, he will return home in perfect health."
Fiyah burst into tears of pure gratitude, thanking him profusely. Moved by her tears, Daddy comforted her, "Stop crying, my child. Your father is a man who truly deserves every bit of assistance because he is a deeply honorable man. I actually live in your neighborhood too, and I have known him for years. Everyone in that area knows him for his integrity and self-respect. Despite being a poor, ordinary man without financial power, he has never devalued himself. He never goes to anyone's gate begging or seeking handouts. Never. He works with his own hands to the absolute limit of his strength to provide for his household.
It is this very dignity that earned him the bitter envy of the neighborhood elite. They believed that because he is poor, he should come crawling to their doorsteps to beg, so they could throw crumbs at him and humiliate him while he bowed in gratitude. But he refused to bow. That is why they harbor malice against him and isolate him, but he has never compromised his principles to please them. I give you my solemn promise, Malam Kabir will return home, my daughter. Your father is a dear friend of mine. I will deploy my maximum effort. Go safely, Abdoulmalik. Reassure her on the way out, you hear? Take this, give it to your mother, and tell her it is a gift from Alhaji Mawalle."
He handed her a thick bundle of pristine one-thousand-Naira notes. Wiping her tears, she shook her head in panic. "No, Daddy, please. Mama will scold me terribly, and Yaya Jalal will beat me."
Daddy nodded with immense respect. "May Allah bless you, my child. I will come to your house personally. Do not inform anyone that you came here."
He escorted them all the way to the car. Once Fiyah was safely inside, Malik took a moment to explain to Daddy the psychological strategy Fiyah was using to break through Alfah's walls, and how it was already showing signs of working. Daddy was thoroughly impressed and delighted by the strategy.
"For Allah's sake, Malik," Daddy urged, "protect this secret fiercely. Do not let any harm come to her. Since her parents are completely unaware of this arrangement, the moment her father finds out, he will bar her from ever stepping outside her front door. He would rather she drop out of university than risk her safety. Therefore, be extremely vigilant. May Allah grant you success. If you ever need my backing or intervention, do not hesitate to reach out; I will do everything within my power for you both."
With that, they said their goodbyes, and Malik started the engine and drove out.
On the drive back, Malik spoke to her gently, offering comforting advice, interspersed with his characteristic humor to lighten her heavy heart. Once she relaxed, he asked, "Should I drop you off at home or at school?"
In a soft voice, she replied, "I haven't finished my lectures for the day. Please take me to school."
The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence until they pulled up at the university campus. Malik said, "Let’s put everything on hold until your Baba is safely out, Fiyah. That way, we will have total peace of mind to focus."
While still seated in the car, before opening the door, she said, "I need all the intelligence and information you have on Zakiya, including where I can locate her. Don't worry, Yaya Malik, my mind is completely at ease now after hearing Daddy's reassurance. We can absolutely continue our mission before time runs out on us. I’ll head to class now. Please send everything to my phone. Thank you so much, have a safe drive home."
As she swung her leg out of the vehicle, Malik called out softly, "Hey, didn't you hear me?"
She turned back. Malik flashed her an incredibly tender, heartwarming smile. Her heart skipped a beat in a strange, sudden flutter. Flustered, she scrambled out of the car, slammed the door shut, and ran straight toward her lecture hall without looking back once. Only after she heard his car drive away did she exhale a long breath and walk into the classroom.
When classes finally wrapped up around 4:30 PM, Rafeea (Feea) came sprinting over, grabbing the edge of Fiyah's hijab. "Oh my goodness, Fiyah! You have put me through hell today, wallahi! Look at how much I’ve searched for you all over this campus! Where on earth did you vanish to?!"
Fiyah sighed, pulling her hijab away. "Let go of me, it’s not like I stole from you."
Feea laughed. "Who said you stole from me? I just desperately need to talk to you. Let’s get into the car so we can chat completely before heading home."
Fiyah looked at her suspiciously before replying, "Wallahi, I am completely exhausted and I just want to go home. Tell you what—let’s go home first. Once we get back, ask your mother for permission and come over to my house."
Feea nodded. "Alright, let’s go then. But I am absolutely not letting you take a public taxi today."
Fiyah smiled and walked ahead. Yet, for reasons she couldn't understand, even before knowing what Feea wanted to tell her, her chest began to thud with a strange, foreboding anxiety. Throughout the drive home, she could barely offer distracted, half-hearted responses to the stories Feea was chattering about.
Page 17
Feea dropped her off right at her front door. Yaya Jalal, another friend of his, and Dalha were all sitting outside by the storefront, looking incredibly gloomy. Fiyah approached them with a heavy heart, offered her greetings, and walked past them into the house.
Right from the entrance passage, she caught the distinct voice of Anty Jamila. She immediately knew her elder sister had arrived, which made sense given her heavily advanced pregnancy; she was expected to put to bed any day now.
"Assalamu Alaikum," Fiyah greeted as she walked into the courtyard. They were sitting under the shade of the tree, their faces completely devoid of any joy.
Mama welcomed her warmly, alongside Yasmeen, who was buried in her textbooks. Fiyah slid down to sit next to Anty Jamila, greeting her affectionately.
"Fiyah, you look completely washed out, like someone who just trekked across the country," Jamila remarked.
Fiyah forced a weak smile. "Wallahi, I haven't put a single thing into my stomach since morning. Look at me—hunger is literally eating me alive from the inside."
Shocked, Mama snapped, "Aga! But this morning when I told you to eat breakfast, what did you tell me, Safiyyah?!"
Puckering her face as if she were about to burst into tears, Fiyah whined, "Mama, wallahi my mouth tasted so bitter I couldn't taste a thing."
In a stern tone, Mama scolded, "If that’s the case, then none of us should have eaten either! You better stop this nonsense. The moment that useless ulcer of yours flares up, wallahi you will learn your lesson the hard way! Get up right now, go into the kitchen, and dished up your food. You are growing older yet you're becoming increasingly foolish!"
With immense effort, Fiyah pushed herself up, walked into the bedroom, and collapsed onto their bed, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. After resting for a bit, she grabbed her sponge and spent over thirty minutes soaking in a long, relaxing bath before finally stepping out.
Almost all of Fiyah's wardrobe consisted of long, elegant flowing gowns; she owned barely five skirts. After applying her lotion, she dished up her food and returned to the courtyard to join the family circle, where the conversation was still heavily centered around their father's wrongful arrest.
After eating half her meal, Fiyah asked, "Mama, has there been any breakthrough regarding the situation? When are they going to release him?"
Mama scoffed bitterly. "What breakthrough, Safiyyah? Your elder brother went back to the station, and those officers completely turned on him, threatening that if he ever shows his face there again, they will lock him up along with your father! What kind of a cursed calamity is this? Honestly, I am exhausted. Wallahi, I am completely spent. For twenty long years, we have been enduring this single man's malice. Honestly, the moment your father is released, moving out of this neighborhood is no longer optional—it is a must! What is the point of staying? If we don't leave this neighborhood for him, that wicked man will never let us live in peace, wallahi!"
Anty Jamila countered fiercely, "No, Mama! Wallahi, you are not moving a single inch! This land didn't belong to his father, nor did it belong to his mother, for him to force you out! No matter how much malicious envy he harbors, wallahi this house is beyond his reach! He is a hypocritical saboteur. If my husband Uncle were in town, wallahi Baba would have been back home by now. If Muazzam prides himself on his wealth, he should know he isn't the only one Allah has blessed; there are people out there who possess far more wealth than he ever will!"
Mama sighed. "It’s a good thing your husband isn't around, Jamila. I don't want this matter escalating to the point where his family looks down on us or insults us in the future—even though I pray that never happens. Your husband’s relatives aren't like that, but it’s always best to avoid creating openings for future insults."
They continued their discussion, but Fiyah simply listened, choosing not to voice her thoughts further. After the Maghrib prayer, Anty Jamila's driver arrived to pick her up and take her home.
Fiyah retreated to the bedroom to review her academic handouts. A moment later, her phone buzzed with a text message from Malik. She stared at the screen for a long time before opening it to read:
She stared at the text for a long time, a soft smile playing on her lips. “What on earth does he mean by 'your friend sends his regards'?” she thought to herself, knowing fully well Alfah would rather choke her than send regards. Still, the message brought a distinct warmth to her heart, though she chose not to reply. She focused back on her studies, while Yasmeen stayed in Mama's room.
Suddenly, Yah Jalal walked in and informed Mama that she had a visitor outside who urgently wished to speak with her. Fiyah pricked up her ears, instantly knowing it must be 'Daddy' (Alhaji Mawalle), just as they had agreed.
Sure enough, it was him. Fiyah stayed inside the room but listened closely to their conversation. He was profoundly apologetic, explaining that he had gone to confront his elder brother, Alhaji Muazzam, to de-escalate the situation and ensure Malam Kabir’s release either tonight or tomorrow morning.
As it turned out, the entire arrest was triggered by a ridiculous, petty traffic incident. Alhaji Muazzam was driving out of the estate while Malam Kabir was driving in inside a public taxi. The taxi driver accidentally grazed Muazzam's luxury car. Muazzam, who had already been looking for any excuse to attack Kabir, unleashed a barrage of vile insults at him. Malam Kabir eventually lost his patience and retaliated verbally. In a rage, Muazzam called the police and had him dragged away.
"But everything has been ironed out now," Daddy reassured Mama. "Malam Kabir will be returning home shortly, Insha Allah. I am heading back to the station right now to finalize it."
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Mama showered him with endless prayers and blessings.
Daddy waved it off. "Haba, it’s nothing. Malam Kabir is one of us, and we will support him to the absolute limit of our capability. May Allah protect us from future malice. Here, buy something for the children." He placed a substantial stack of money on the mat—the very money Fiyah had refused to accept earlier.
Yah Jalal escorted him back to his car, asking if he was currently residing in the area. Daddy explained he was only down for a brief holiday, as his primary base of work was in Kaduna. They chatted briefly before Daddy drove back to his mansion inside the elite section of the estate.
Fiyah finally walked out of the room to find Mama and the rest of the household singing Daddy’s praises. They noted that ever since they moved into this neighborhood, he was the very first wealthy elite to treat them with genuine respect and human dignity; outside of him, the rest of the neighborhood viewed them as absolute filth.
Sitting under the night sky, Mama began narrating the deep, historical roots of the bitter feud between Alhaji Muazzam and their father, Malam Kabir:
"This whole enmity began exactly one month after your father and I got married," Mama explained, her voice tinged with old memories. "His father passed away back then. Abuja hadn't developed into what it is today; if you saw this area years ago, you would think it was an abandoned military outpost. There were barely seven houses in this entire vicinity, and none of them were grand structures."
"Your father was the only child of his mother, though he had three half-brothers from his father’s side. Their late father had been moderately wealthy and left behind a sizeable inheritance: two houses, a farmland, and several plots of land. This very house sits on one of those inherited plots. Your father’s half-brothers completely squandered and seized the bulk of the inheritance. At the time, we were living in a rented apartment, and scraping together rent money was an absolute nightmare. So, Malam made the definitive choice to come build a modest structure on his plot so we could move in and stop paying rent."
"Out of nowhere, the very day he arrived with laborers to clear the site, they crossed paths with Alhaji Muazzam. At the time, Muazzam was constructing his own new building nearby—not the massive palace he lives in now, but a property further back that he currently rents out. They began exchanging pleasantries, and a casual friendship formed. Whenever Malam came to supervise his laborers, Muazzam would invite him over to share a meal."
"Then one day, during a casual chat, Muazzam turned to him and said, 'Malam, I have a business proposition for you. I have been admiring this plot of yours ever since you broke ground. I want to erect a grand structure here. Sell the land to me, and name whatever price you want—I will pay it instantly.' At that time, Muazzam hadn't even achieved the staggering wealth he possesses today."
"Your father flatly refused. He told him the land was not for sale, as it was his only inheritance and his only means of escaping rent. He told Muazzam to understand that this plot was the sole surviving memory of his late father, so he would build his home here and live in it."
"This rejection deeply humiliated and infuriated Alhaji Muazzam. He didn't say another word, but from that very day, his entire attitude toward your father turned venomous. He completely stopped speaking to him and systematically poisoned the minds of the entire neighborhood against us. He told everyone that your father was an absolute nobody, a peasant who dared to come into an elite neighborhood of the wealthy to erect a pathetic, primitive shack. He explicitly told your father: 'You will live here as an isolated stray animal, because no one in this elite neighborhood will ever associate with a destitute pauper like you.'"
"Alhaji Muazzam waged an all-out war against your father back then. They had a massive confrontation, and Muazzam used his political influence to have your father thrown into a maximum-security prison, where he rotted for three solid months before he was finally released."
"When your father finally returned from prison, he found that Muazzam had completely demolished the foundation and walls he had started building, reducing his plot back to bare dust. We plunged into a state of absolute, terrifying despair. Refusing to back down, your father hired a lawyer and took Alhaji Muazzam to court. Allah stood firmly by the side of the oppressed; the judge ruled heavily in your father's favor, ordering Alhaji Muazzam to pay a massive fine of eight hundred thousand Naira to your father as compensation for the unlawful destruction."
"But wallahi, from that day until this very moment, Muazzam has refused to pay a single kobo of that fine! It wasn't because he lacked the money—no, it was pure, unadulterated malice. He wanted to bankrupt your father so he could never build on the land. Your father chose to drop the matter, content that a legal boundary had been drawn between them. He faced his building project, enduring absolute hell and starvation before he finally managed to complete this house. Every single kobo he earned from his meager civil service salary was poured into these walls. His elderly mother would send whatever little food and support she could gather from her village called Dutsi in Katsina State—where she had relocated to live with her relatives after her husband's death."
"Through the pure grace of Allah, the house was finished. I had just given birth to Abdouljalal and was still nursing him when we finally moved in. We faced unspeakable humiliation from the neighbors; absolutely no one would look our way or greet us. Slowly, the estate filled up with billionaires building palaces as if death didn't exist. Throughout all these years, Alhaji Muazzam has continuously looked for any excuse to instigate trouble with your father, but your father simply ignores him. Now you know the root of this generational hatred in this neighborhood; they all follow Muazzam’s lead and treat us like outcasts. Only Alhaji Kwangila's wife, Hajiya Asiya, treats me with genuine kindness—and even she has to do it completely in secret because her husband must never find out."
"The only other decent person is that gentleman who recently relocated here from Katsina; he and Malam exchange pleasantries, and his wife visits me occasionally, though they rarely stay in town. And, of course, his younger brother, Alhaji Mawalle, who just visited us—he is the closest friend your father has ever had in this area."
"It has been years since Muazzam last instigated an open fight, but this current arrest proves he has never forgotten his hatred. Therefore, I am issuing a strict warning to all of you: You must have absolutely zero interaction with his children! If I ever hear a whisper of any of you associating with them, let alone stepping foot into his mansion, you will face my wrath!"
"But you see? Allah is never asleep. He is a just King. Look at how divine justice is playing out in Muazzam's own home—his own biological son has committed adultery with his own stepmother, Muazzam's senior wife! And that same son has been sleeping with Muazzam's stepdaughter! This horrific scandal alone is enough retribution..."
2. Chronological Plot Summary
The Historical Enmity Unveiled: Back home, Mama shares the 20-year history of the feud. It began when Malam Kabir refused to sell his inherited plot of land to Alhaji Muazzam. Muazzam retaliated by getting Kabir imprisoned for three months, demolishing his foundation, and turning the entire elite neighborhood against them. Mama concludes with a warning to avoid Muazzam's family, noting that divine justice is already destroying Muazzam’s household through an incestuous family scandal.
3. Character Profiles & Evolution
Abdoul-Nasser (Alfah)
Development: For the first time, his psychological dominance is successfully challenged by a woman (Fiyah). Her refusal to bow to his intimidation leaves him completely bewildered and furious, signaling a crack in his armor.
Sofiyyah (Fiyah)
Development: She evolves from a mere observer into an active investigator. She decides to form a tactical alliance with Alfah's ex-lover, Zakiya, to uncover the conspiracy that ruined Alfah's life, showing a highly analytical mind.
Malik
Traits & Behavior: Deeply loyal, highly intelligent, and emotionally resilient. He acts as the bridge between Alfah's dark world and Fiyah's pure intentions. He brilliantly orchestrates the psychological strategy to break Alfah's walls.
Alhaji Muazzam (Abbi)
Traits & Behavior: Power-drunk, unforgiving, and deeply elitist. He cannot tolerate defiance, whether from his son (Alfah) or a poor neighbor (Malam Kabir). He uses his wealth and police connections as tools of oppression.
4. Literary & Themes Analysis
I. Themes
Poetic Justice and Karma: The chapter ends with a powerful stroke of dramatic irony. While Alhaji Muazzam is busy using his wealth to oppress a righteous poor man outside, his own household is internally rotting away due to a massive moral and incestuous scandal involving his son and senior wife.
II. Narrative Style and Pacing