"Kyauta, where are you? Come out here! By Allah, today this matter will be settled once and for all in front of everyone. I am completely tired of this behavior of yours." My heart pounded with anxiety, wondering what had been orchestrated against me today, Ummu Kulsum. I walked out panting. All the women of the house were gathered together in clusters, looking like restless roosters. In a harsh tone, he demanded, "Kyauta, who did I entrust with the responsibility of managing the food store?" In a low, faint voice, I replied that it was me, but asked what the problem was. He raised his hand angrily and said, "Just stop right there, madam! How on earth can I be told that there is no groundnut oil or Indomie left in this house?" My heart skipped a heavy beat. I was personally shocked by his statement. If my calculations were correct, it had only been ten days since a 25-liter jerrycan of oil was opened. As for the children's noodles, it had only been three days since he brought in two large cartons. I had only cooked them once, and I hadn't seen the others cook them either. Yet today, they were gone. Surely, he had a right to be angry; I couldn't blame him considering how difficult life had become. Submissively, I said, "May Allah calm your heart, Yaya, but by Allah, I know nothing about this matter. Naturally, when a family grows large, patience is required because expenses increase. This will be rectified, by God's grace." He hissed loudly and said, "Do you mean I must patiently fold my arms while you deliberately drive me into wretched poverty? How much does a bottle of oil cost nowadays, let alone a whole jerrycan? It seems the spite people say you harbor is finally coming to light, isn't it?" Immediately, my spirit broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. With a trembling voice, I asked, "Yaya, are you accusing me with your own mouth of harboring spite against you in your own home?" Instead of calming down, he grew angrier: "I am not just speaking with my mouth, but from my heart. It is out of malice and spite that you are plundering my food provisions." I burst into tears. I couldn't utter a word because my heart felt incredibly heavy. If I had stolen the food items, where would I have taken them? He hissed again and said, "Save your tears, Kulsum. Go and bring me the keys to the store. I did my best to give you your due respect, but it has failed. Therefore, when your cooking turn comes, collect your provisions from Nadiya." Before I could speak, Nafisa stepped forward quickly and said, "Well, if you intend to give her the keys, then our cooking schedules must be separated entirely. I certainly do not trust her intentions or integrity." Aliya, the youngest wife, chimed in, "I don't agree with it either." My crying stopped abruptly. I realized they had all ganged up to bring me down. Yet, if any other person among them were to be put in charge, they would immediately return to fighting each other. I lowered my head. Suddenly, a wave of relief and courage washed over me. It meant that despite being the only childless woman in this house, possessing nothing to my name, I still consumed their thoughts and stood in their way. Whoever brewed a malicious plot chose to unleash it on me. What baffled me, however, was that they didn't treat me this way because they saw him favoring or pitying me. In fact, they insulted me because they saw him mistreating me openly without hesitation. Only Nafisa sometimes gave me a breathing space and respected me, but she had her own reasons. She did so because of how much I cared for her children, especially Hajjaju. Even though the girl didn't respect me, I often bought her ornaments and makeup whenever I went out and saw things fitting for a growing girl. This was the sole reason Nafisa went easy on me. However, whenever she chose to display her bad side, she forgot everything. Nafisa was highly troublesome; she instigated half of the crises in the house, only acting cautious because the husband kept a strict eye on her. His voice interrupted my thoughts. Harshly, he said, "Nafisa, do whatever you like. I will give the keys to Nadiya. If you feel you cannot comply, you are free to leave. I haven't tied you down here." The moment he finished speaking, she burst into tears, crying, "Why do you always show favoritism? Since you gave them to Kulsum and saw she didn't do as you pleased, I am next in line. Why don't you give them to me? Instead, you skip me and go to the one who arrived later just because you fear her—because her father is your boss!" He became infuriated. "Watch your mouth, Nafisa! By Allah, you will be sent back to your family home. You know I warned you I won't tolerate your insolence anymore. You aren't lying; her father is my boss, just as I am the boss of your two older brothers." She cried even louder than before. Nadiya glared at her, biting her lip, and snapped, "Nafisa, watch your words before we turn this into a public spectacle. What kind of disrespect is this? Is my father your playmate?" He shouted at them, adjusting his large traditional robe (babban riga). "If you dare engage in a shouting match in my presence, it won't end well for anyone." They all fell silent. As for me, I prayed silently for him to dismiss me so I could return to my room. I didn't care at all about him taking the store keys from me. In fact, it was a relief, and I prayed that the real culprit would eventually be exposed. He looked at Aliya and said, "Just because Nafisa said she disagrees, you follow suit, right? We shall see who will ruin the order of my household among you." He hissed and walked away, grumbling in anger. Deep down, I also felt terrible about how the food items had vanished. I am always shocked by the wicked lengths modern women go to under the guise of jealousy (kishi). Imagine having a husband who provides food without making you worry about strict rationing, yet out of malice and a desire to bring a co-wife down, someone would secretly clear out the store. Furthermore, they view holding the keys as a privilege; to me, it was just a burden. What about them? Nafisa was the first co-wife brought in after me, and she now has four children. Her eldest is fourteen, named after his mother, whom we call Hajjaju. The next is named after Nafisa's mother, Aisha, whom we call Walida. Since then, Nafisa's influence over him began to wane because he didn't want female children. I hadn't given birth, which was the reason he remarried. Yet, the genders he desired weren't what he was getting. Human beings can be so ungrateful and mocking. Personally, I would give up everything I own just to give birth to a daughter. Because of this, he married Nadiya, the daughter of his boss. Nadiya is an exceptionally beautiful young woman. She immediately gave birth to the sons he deeply desired. She has been in the house for seven years now and has four children—all boys. Meanwhile, Nafisa later gave birth to boys, Khalid and Huzaifa, bringing her total to four children (two boys and two girls). Nadiya’s sons are Baffah (named after her father), Sadik, Umar, and Usman. For these reasons, it is rare for him to humiliate Nadiya in public, though he does so in her room, which has caused her to pack her bags and leave several times before being brought back. Still, to the public eye, she is his favorite—a daughter of a wealthy home and a mother of fine boys. Then there is the youngest wife, Aliya, who has two children: Aliyu and a daughter named after me, Ummu Kulsum. Like a hen whose eggs had broken, I dragged my feet back to my room. I sank into the living room chair as if pushed. For a long time, I sat frozen like a statue. I did nothing but contemplate life. What is the gain when a woman steals food provisions just to frame a co-wife? I used to think only elderly women practiced such witchcraft, but it turns out young women are equally adept at plotting. Then again, they say every woman has her own brand of cunning. Tears streamed down my face because life in this house grows harder by the day. The husband mistreats me, his wives do the same, and even their children join in. From my perspective, leaving this house would be the best option since the man who kept me here sees no value in me. He only panics when he pushes me to the brink and I flee to my family home; then, he desperately sends emissaries until I am brought back. Most of my relatives and close friends believe my impatience stems from my childlessness. But if anyone enters my room, meticulously furnished with luxury items, they would assume he loves me. Only I know what I suffer at his hands. It costs him nothing to humiliate me over his children because he is a man devoid of tolerance or patience. With all the disrespect Hajjaju shows me, if I dare discipline her, everyone will hear of it—let alone if it were Baffah, his favorite. If anyone touches that boy, it triggers a war. Even if his own mother disciplines him while the husband is home, it becomes a public show. He never goes on errands, not even for his mother, so I don't bother with him. It is Walida with whom Allah bonded my spirit. Despite their mother forbidding them from coming to me, she sneaks into my room whenever her mother is looking away. I never tire of giving her whatever I have, especially since I run a small business selling snacks and delicacies. I make Albishir cakes on wholesale, prepare Iloka orders for a fee, and sell retail. I usually sell in bulk to resellers for a small, quick profit. Gradually, I added Tuwon Madara (milk candy) and Kullisuwa. Thus, my room is never empty of treats. Because of this, I have adopted many children. Even if the children of the house don't come, the neighborhood children visit me in shifts all day. Whenever they head to Islamic school, they stop by for milk candy or Albishir. This has also won me the goodwill of their mothers. Therefore, I do not dwell on my childlessness, believing it is not the ultimate end of blessings. Whenever I am insulted or made sad regarding children, I do not sit and weep. When I remember Nana Aisha (RA), she becomes the mirror that cleanses the sorrow in my heart. I firmly believe that bearing children is not the sole definition of fulfillment that the Prophet requested for Aisha, yet scholars agree she held the ultimate place in his heart. Her childlessness was not a defect; it became a grand distinction for her. She accepted her destiny, lived cheerfully, gained knowledge, and spread it—benefits we still enjoy today. The purpose of a child is to continue your good deeds and pray for you when you pass away. If that is not destined, Islam, a religion of justice, states that if you are fortunate enough to establish a running charity (Sadakatul Jariyah), its rewards will follow you until the end of time. Furthermore, if you treat people justly, show them kindness, embrace young children and orphans, and support them, Almighty God will not leave you to suffer loneliness or neglect in old age due to a lack of biological children. He will surely send people who will honor and care for you just like biological children, or even better. These pieces of advice and reminders from my father made me discard any resentment over childlessness. I embraced the children of the house, the neighborhood, and my relatives, doing the best I could for them, hoping for Allah's acceptance. I am content; there is no worry in my heart, and I attract more people from near and far every day. Since I run an Islamic school for children every Thursday and Friday in a designated space inside the house, the school is always packed, mostly with children from outside the neighborhood. I also attend classes myself on Saturdays and Sundays to continue acquiring Islamic knowledge and spreading it within the community. Surprisingly, in our household, I am the only one who has no one but Allah and my husband. Yet, my presence unnerves them, and the divine protection and comfort I enjoy have become a topic of constant gossip. The school I run inside the house deeply frustrates them. Even our husband has become a target of their suspicion because of it, though he occasionally threatens to shut it down when the noise becomes too much. He only remains quiet because the school has grown too large to easily dismiss. My main shield has been prayer, and I have never harbzed intentions to harm them. Yet, they cause me heartbreak daily. For instance, if I send Hajjaju on an errand, she refuses and mutters complaints, but her mother never corrects her. If I lose my temper and reprimand her, trying to instill discipline, it turns into a direct confrontation against me. So, I stopped sending her. Consequently, retribution stepped in; the girl now treats her own mother with the same disrespect, and only fears her father. Instead of this serving as a lesson to the other wives to tread carefully, they wandered further into arrogance. Each is fiercely protective of her own child. No wife can utilize another's child. Women! We possess a unique capacity for self-destruction through malice. May Allah guide us. During this time, preparations began for the wedding of his younger sister, who is the second to last child. He financed everything and entrusted me with the entire budget for shopping and event management. He used to do this for his children until things went sour, and I advised him to place each mother in charge of her own child while leaving me out of it. Almighty Allah, who loves me above all, left me in peace, and I did not view that shift as a slight. Alhamdu Lillah for every trial. Every day, I am constantly on the move between their family house, my house, and the market. By now, I have found some peace with his relatives since everyone's true character has been exposed among us co-wives. If I were to give in to evil thoughts or Satan, I wouldn't even acknowledge them, considering what I endured in years past. I openly affirm that whoever is blessed by Allah with patience and the ability to swallow anger will inherit all the goodness of this world. My realization that patience is key kept me going; it prevented me from becoming the broken, pitiful victim they wanted me to be. Instead, I heavily relied on the prayer of Fasbir sabran jamila (So be patient with beautiful patience), and frequently recited Qul a'uzu (Surahs of protection) and Li-ilafi Quraish, fully convinced they shield me from every plotter's snare. I stopped by his third sister's house, and we went to the market together. As we walked and chatted, she kept reassuring me that whatever she had belonged to me, even if she died. This was because I had told her previously that I refused to foster any of my relatives' children due to how toxic, chaotic, and undisciplined our household is under the current wives. I wouldn't bring a child into an environment of constant hostility and hurtful reproaches. She replied, "If I give you my child, no bitter tongue will dare disturb your peace." Deep down, I didn't even desire it. I am not worried because I have already prayed to Allah not to let childlessness make me ungrateful. I thank Him for making me a Muslim, giving me health, and opening doors of goodness for me to seek the Hereafter and show kindness to people so that I may belong to everyone. "Alhamdulillah"—I never tire of saying it. Before completing the wedding shopping, I had already tailored the outfits I would wear and prepared a substantial contribution. I received endless prayers and blessings from their mother, whom they call Inno. As for the bride, who had been close to me since she was a little girl, I specifically commissioned Surayya (HALIN YAU) to prepare traditional bridal herbs and wellness products for her. The cooling roots she sells are of premium quality, and I verified that the other items were genuine. Just the bride and I handled this privately without anyone else knowing. I also bought the chicken-boiling herbal blends meant for a couple, cooked the chicken for us, and renewed my own romance with my husband too 😅. [Phone number omitted] Currently, my star shines brightest in her eyes. Anyone who doesn't know my history would assume I have never experienced heartbreak or mistreatment from a mother-in-law. But because patience always wins in the end, she gradually realized that I am the least troublesome among all her daughters-in-law. From the day of the bridal trunk display (Jere), I noticed Nadiya looking for a reason to fight me. The material gifted by Umm Nihla, who lives in Malaysia, deeply stung her pride. I saw no reason for concern; when she asked me about it, I gave her the contact information directly so she could choose whatever color she desired. None of my co-wives possess her level of arrogance, and none are as desperate to outshine me as she is. I certainly battled with Nafisa in the past because she entered the marriage with the pride of being the one to bear heirs, intending to drive me out through psychological torment. I wept heavily back then and went through immense turmoil during her marriage, facing severe hostility from both him and his relatives when she had multiple pregnancies. However, her glory didn't last long because she gave birth to daughters rather than the sons he wanted, proving that malicious intent bears no fruit. She only faced true rivalry when he married Nadiya. I don't know why Nadiya fixates on me even more than Nafisa does. She is obsessed with me. People often say the first and third wives usually team up against the second, but I never enjoyed such an alliance. Nadiya’s pride swelled because she gave birth to consecutive sons. She feels she can step on anyone since she comes from a wealthy, influential family, and believes she is the favorite of both the husband and his family—even Inno, his mother, constantly pampers her. The other fertile wives, Nafisa and Aliya, haven't choked her pride the way my mere presence does, and I cannot understand the root of this animosity she directs at me.
2. Summary of the Original Story
The story revolves around Ummu Kulsum (Kyauta), the senior wife in a highly dysfunctional, fiercely competitive polygamous household in Kurawa quarters, Kano State. Her husband, Yaya Rabi'u, is a hot-tempered, inconsistent man who frequently humiliates her despite relying heavily on her competence. Kulsum is childless, a status her co-wives (Nafisa, Nadiya, and Aliya) attempt to use to demean her. The excerpt begins with a manufactured crisis: someone steals the household's bulk food supplies to frame Kulsum, prompting Rabi'u to aggressively strip her of the store keys and hand them to Nadiya (the third wife and daughter of his boss). Despite the emotional abuse, Kulsum finds peace through economic self-reliance (selling homemade treats), spiritual grounding (drawing inspiration from the Prophet's wife, Nana Aisha), and community service (running a thriving Islamic school for children in the compound). When Rabi'u's younger sister prepares for marriage, Kulsum is entrusted with the planning, earning the deep respect of her mother-in-law and the bride, which ignites fierce jealousy in Nadiya, who boasts of her wealth and her four sons.
3. Character Description
Ummu Kulsum (Kyauta): The protagonist and first wife. Dignified, deeply religious, patient (Sabr), and entrepreneurial. Though childless, she channels her maternal instincts into teaching neighborhood children and running a home business.
Yaya Rabi'u: The patriarch. Volatile, impatient, easily manipulated by domestic plots, yet reliant on Kulsum's maturity when significant family events (like his sister's wedding) need flawless execution. He covets male heirs and shows blatant favoritism based on social status.
Nafisa: The second wife. Highly manipulative and chaotic, she initiated early conflicts to drive Kulsum out. Her status declined when she initially gave birth to only daughters, though she now has two boys and two girls.
Nadiya: The third wife. Beautiful, arrogant, and insecure. As the daughter of Rabi'u's wealthy employer and mother to four boys, she feels entitled to total dominance, yet feels deeply threatened by Kulsum’s poise and independence.
Aliya: The fourth and youngest wife. She largely follows the crowd, aligning with Nafisa or Nadiya depending on the domestic power dynamic.
4. Literary Analytics
Key Themes
The Polygamous Dynamic (Kishi): The narrative accurately captures the toxic manifestation of kishi (co-wife jealousy) in Hausa society, where food sabotage, plotting, and social alienation are deployed as weapons.
Spiritual Resilience vs. Social Stigma: The author uses Islamic theology beautifully to reframe childlessness. Instead of portraying Kulsum as a victim ("Allah sarki"), her father’s advice teaches her to view her life through the lens of Nana Aisha (RA)—proving that a woman's value is defined by her faith, charity, and knowledge, not her fertility.
Economic Empowerment: Kulsum's peace of mind is directly linked to her financial independence. Her micro-business (Albishir, milk candy) gives her the means to be generous, which counterbalances her lack of children by drawing people toward her.
Narrative Style & Pacing
The story uses a raw, colloquial, yet emotionally resonant first-person narrative ("Za'a yi ta ta k'are"). It shifts seamlessly from intense household dialogue to deep, internal monologues where the protagonist analyzes her environment. The inclusion of modern cultural details (e.g., fabrics from Malaysia, WhatsApp business adverts, traditional bridal logistics) roots the story firmly in contemporary Hausa society.
Chapters 1 & 2
"Kyauta, where are you? Come out here! By Allah, today this matter will be settled once and for all in front of everyone. I am completely tired of this behavior of yours."
My heart pounded with anxiety, wondering what had been orchestrated against me today, Ummu Kulsum. I walked out panting. All the women of the house were gathered together in clusters, looking like restless roosters.
In a harsh tone, he demanded, "Kyauta, who did I entrust with the responsibility of managing the food store?" In a low, faint voice, I replied that it was me, but asked what the problem was.
He raised his hand angrily and said, "Just stop right there, madam! How on earth can I be told that there is no groundnut oil or Indomie left in this house?"
My heart skipped a heavy beat. I was personally shocked by his statement. If my calculations were correct, it had only been ten days since a 25-liter jerrycan of oil was opened. As for the children's noodles, it had only been three days since he brought in two large cartons. I had only cooked them once, and I hadn't seen the others cook them either. Yet today, they were gone. Surely, he had a right to be angry; I couldn't blame him considering how difficult life had become.
Submissively, I said, "May Allah calm your heart, Yaya, but by Allah, I know nothing about this matter. Naturally, when a family grows large, patience is required because expenses increase. This will be rectified, by God's grace."
He hissed loudly and said, "Do you mean I must patiently fold my arms while you deliberately drive me into wretched poverty? How much does a bottle of oil cost nowadays, let alone a whole jerrycan? It seems the spite people say you harbor is finally coming to light, isn't it?"
Immediately, my spirit broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. With a trembling voice, I asked, "Yaya, are you accusing me with your own mouth of harboring spite against you in your own home?"
Instead of calming down, he grew angrier: "I am not just speaking with my mouth, but from my heart. It is out of malice and spite that you are plundering my food provisions."
I burst into tears. I couldn't utter a word because my heart felt incredibly heavy. If I had stolen the food items, where would I have taken them?
He hissed again and said, "Save your tears, Kulsum. Go and bring me the keys to the store. I did my best to give you your due respect, but it has failed. Therefore, when your cooking turn comes, collect your provisions from Nadiya."
Before I could speak, Nafisa stepped forward quickly and said, "Well, if you intend to give her the keys, then our cooking schedules must be separated entirely. I certainly do not trust her intentions or integrity."
Aliya, the youngest wife, chimed in, "I don't agree with it either."
My crying stopped abruptly. I realized they had all ganged up to bring me down. Yet, if any other person among them were to be put in charge, they would immediately return to fighting each other. I lowered my head.
Suddenly, a wave of relief and courage washed over me. It meant that despite being the only childless woman in this house, possessing nothing to my name, I still consumed their thoughts and stood in their way. Whoever brewed a malicious plot chose to unleash it on me. What baffled me, however, was that they didn't treat me this way because they saw him favoring or pitying me. In fact, they insulted me because they saw him mistreating me openly without hesitation.
Only Nafisa sometimes gave me a breathing space and respected me, but she had her own reasons. She did so because of how much I cared for her children, especially Hajjaju. Even though the girl didn't respect me, I often bought her ornaments and makeup whenever I went out and saw things fitting for a growing girl. This was the sole reason Nafisa went easy on me. However, whenever she chose to display her bad side, she forgot everything. Nafisa was highly troublesome; she instigated half of the crises in the house, only acting cautious because the husband kept a strict eye on her.
His voice interrupted my thoughts. Harshly, he said, "Nafisa, do whatever you like. I will give the keys to Nadiya. If you feel you cannot comply, you are free to leave. I haven't tied you down here."
The moment he finished speaking, she burst into tears, crying, "Why do you always show favoritism? Since you gave them to Kulsum and saw she didn't do as you pleased, I am next in line. Why don't you give them to me? Instead, you skip me and go to the one who arrived later just because you fear her—because her father is your boss!"
He became infuriated. "Watch your mouth, Nafisa! By Allah, you will be sent back to your family home. You know I warned you I won't tolerate your insolence anymore. You aren't lying; her father is my boss, just as I am the boss of your two older brothers."
She cried even louder than before. Nadiya glared at her, biting her lip, and snapped, "Nafisa, watch your words before we turn this into a public spectacle. What kind of disrespect is this? Is my father your playmate?"
He shouted at them, adjusting his large traditional robe (babban riga). "If you dare engage in a shouting match in my presence, it won't end well for anyone." They all fell silent.
As for me, I prayed silently for him to dismiss me so I could return to my room. I didn't care at all about him taking the store keys from me. In fact, it was a relief, and I prayed that the real culprit would eventually be exposed.
He looked at Aliya and said, "Just because Nafisa said she disagrees, you follow suit, right? We shall see who will ruin the order of my household among you." He hissed and walked away, grumbling in anger. Deep down, I also felt terrible about how the food items had vanished. I am always shocked by the wicked lengths modern women go to under the guise of jealousy (kishi).
Imagine having a husband who provides food without making you worry about strict rationing, yet out of malice and a desire to bring a co-wife down, someone would secretly clear out the store. Furthermore, they view holding the keys as a privilege; to me, it was just a burden. What about them?
Nafisa was the first co-wife brought in after me, and she now has four children. Her eldest is fourteen, named after his mother, whom we call Hajjaju. The next is named after Nafisa's mother, Aisha, whom we call Walida. Since then, Nafisa's influence over him began to wane because he didn't want female children. I hadn't given birth, which was the reason he remarried. Yet, the genders he desired weren't what he was getting. Human beings can be so ungrateful and mocking. Personally, I would give up everything I own just to give birth to a daughter. Because of this, he married Nadiya, the daughter of his boss.
Nadiya is an exceptionally beautiful young woman. She immediately gave birth to the sons he deeply desired. She has been in the house for seven years now and has four children—all boys. Meanwhile, Nafisa later gave birth to boys, Khalid and Huzaifa, bringing her total to four children (two boys and two girls). Nadiya’s sons are Baffah (named after her father), Sadik, Umar, and Usman. For these reasons, it is rare for him to humiliate Nadiya in public, though he does so in her room, which has caused her to pack her bags and leave several times before being brought back. Still, to the public eye, she is his favorite—a daughter of a wealthy home and a mother of fine boys.
Then there is the youngest wife, Aliya, who has two children: Aliyu and a daughter named after me, Ummu Kulsum.
Like a hen whose eggs had broken, I dragged my feet back to my room. I sank into the living room chair as if pushed. For a long time, I sat frozen like a statue. I did nothing but contemplate life. What is the gain when a woman steals food provisions just to frame a co-wife? I used to think only elderly women practiced such witchcraft, but it turns out young women are equally adept at plotting. Then again, they say every woman has her own brand of cunning. Tears streamed down my face because life in this house grows harder by the day. The husband mistreats me, his wives do the same, and even their children join in.
From my perspective, leaving this house would be the best option since the man who kept me here sees no value in me. He only panics when he pushes me to the brink and I flee to my family home; then, he desperately sends emissaries until I am brought back. Most of my relatives and close friends believe my impatience stems from my childlessness. But if anyone enters my room, meticulously furnished with luxury items, they would assume he loves me. Only I know what I suffer at his hands. It costs him nothing to humiliate me over his children because he is a man devoid of tolerance or patience. With all the disrespect Hajjaju shows me, if I dare discipline her, everyone will hear of it—let alone if it were Baffah, his favorite. If anyone touches that boy, it triggers a war. Even if his own mother disciplines him while the husband is home, it becomes a public show. He never goes on errands, not even for his mother, so I don't bother with him.
It is Walida with whom Allah bonded my spirit. Despite their mother forbidding them from coming to me, she sneaks into my room whenever her mother is looking away. I never tire of giving her whatever I have, especially since I run a small business selling snacks and delicacies. I make Albishir cakes on wholesale, prepare Iloka orders for a fee, and sell retail. I usually sell in bulk to resellers for a small, quick profit. Gradually, I added Tuwon Madara (milk candy) and Kullisuwa. Thus, my room is never empty of treats. Because of this, I have adopted many children. Even if the children of the house don't come, the neighborhood children visit me in shifts all day. Whenever they head to Islamic school, they stop by for milk candy or Albishir. This has also won me the goodwill of their mothers. Therefore, I do not dwell on my childlessness, believing it is not the ultimate end of blessings.
Whenever I am insulted or made sad regarding children, I do not sit and weep. When I remember Nana Aisha (RA), she becomes the mirror that cleanses the sorrow in my heart. I firmly believe that bearing children is not the sole definition of fulfillment that the Prophet requested for Aisha, yet scholars agree she held the ultimate place in his heart. Her childlessness was not a defect; it became a grand distinction for her. She accepted her destiny, lived cheerfully, gained knowledge, and spread it—benefits we still enjoy today. The purpose of a child is to continue your good deeds and pray for you when you pass away. If that is not destined, Islam, a religion of justice, states that if you are fortunate enough to establish a running charity (Sadakatul Jariyah), its rewards will follow you until the end of time. Furthermore, if you treat people justly, show them kindness, embrace young children and orphans, and support them, Almighty God will not leave you to suffer loneliness or neglect in old age due to a lack of biological children. He will surely send people who will honor and care for you just like biological children, or even better.
These pieces of advice and reminders from my father made me discard any resentment over childlessness. I embraced the children of the house, the neighborhood, and my relatives, doing the best I could for them, hoping for Allah's acceptance. I am content; there is no worry in my heart, and I attract more people from near and far every day.
Since I run an Islamic school for children every Thursday and Friday in a designated space inside the house, the school is always packed, mostly with children from outside the neighborhood. I also attend classes myself on Saturdays and Sundays to continue acquiring Islamic knowledge and spreading it within the community.
Surprisingly, in our household, I am the only one who has no one but Allah and my husband. Yet, my presence unnerves them, and the divine protection and comfort I enjoy have become a topic of constant gossip. The school I run inside the house deeply frustrates them. Even our husband has become a target of their suspicion because of it, though he occasionally threatens to shut it down when the noise becomes too much. He only remains quiet because the school has grown too large to easily dismiss.
My main shield has been prayer, and I have never harbzed intentions to harm them. Yet, they cause me heartbreak daily. For instance, if I send Hajjaju on an errand, she refuses and mutters complaints, but her mother never corrects her. If I lose my temper and reprimand her, trying to instill discipline, it turns into a direct confrontation against me. So, I stopped sending her. Consequently, retribution stepped in; the girl now treats her own mother with the same disrespect, and only fears her father. Instead of this serving as a lesson to the other wives to tread carefully, they wandered further into arrogance. Each is fiercely protective of her own child. No wife can utilize another's child.
Women! We possess a unique capacity for self-destruction through malice. May Allah guide us.
During this time, preparations began for the wedding of his younger sister, who is the second to last child. He financed everything and entrusted me with the entire budget for shopping and event management. He used to do this for his children until things went sour, and I advised him to place each mother in charge of her own child while leaving me out of it. Almighty Allah, who loves me above all, left me in peace, and I did not view that shift as a slight. Alhamdu Lillah for every trial.
Every day, I am constantly on the move between their family house, my house, and the market. By now, I have found some peace with his relatives since everyone's true character has been exposed among us co-wives. If I were to give in to evil thoughts or Satan, I wouldn't even acknowledge them, considering what I endured in years past.
I openly affirm that whoever is blessed by Allah with patience and the ability to swallow anger will inherit all the goodness of this world. My realization that patience is key kept me going; it prevented me from becoming the broken, pitiful victim they wanted me to be. Instead, I heavily relied on the prayer of Fasbir sabran jamila (So be patient with beautiful patience), and frequently recited Qul a'uzu (Surahs of protection) and Li-ilafi Quraish, fully convinced they shield me from every plotter's snare.
I stopped by his third sister's house, and we went to the market together. As we walked and chatted, she kept reassuring me that whatever she had belonged to me, even if she died. This was because I had told her previously that I refused to foster any of my relatives' children due to how toxic, chaotic, and undisciplined our household is under the current wives. I wouldn't bring a child into an environment of constant hostility and hurtful reproaches. She replied, "If I give you my child, no bitter tongue will dare disturb your peace."
Deep down, I didn't even desire it. I am not worried because I have already prayed to Allah not to let childlessness make me ungrateful. I thank Him for making me a Muslim, giving me health, and opening doors of goodness for me to seek the Hereafter and show kindness to people so that I may belong to everyone.
"Alhamdulillah"—I never tire of saying it.
Before completing the wedding shopping, I had already tailored the outfits I would wear and prepared a substantial contribution. I received endless prayers and blessings from their mother, whom they call Inno.
As for the bride, who had been close to me since she was a little girl, I specifically commissioned Surayya (HALIN YAU) to prepare traditional bridal herbs and wellness products for her. The cooling roots she sells are of premium quality, and I verified that the other items were genuine. Just the bride and I handled this privately without anyone else knowing. I also bought the chicken-boiling herbal blends meant for a couple, cooked the chicken for us, and renewed my own romance with my husband too 😅. [Phone number omitted]
Currently, my star shines brightest in her eyes. Anyone who doesn't know my history would assume I have never experienced heartbreak or mistreatment from a mother-in-law. But because patience always wins in the end, she gradually realized that I am the least troublesome among all her daughters-in-law.
From the day of the bridal trunk display (Jere), I noticed Nadiya looking for a reason to fight me. The material gifted by Umm Nihla, who lives in Malaysia, deeply stung her pride. I saw no reason for concern; when she asked me about it, I gave her the contact information directly so she could choose whatever color she desired. None of my co-wives possess her level of arrogance, and none are as desperate to outshine me as she is. I certainly battled with Nafisa in the past because she entered the marriage with the pride of being the one to bear heirs, intending to drive me out through psychological torment. I wept heavily back then and went through immense turmoil during her marriage, facing severe hostility from both him and his relatives when she had multiple pregnancies.
However, her glory didn't last long because she gave birth to daughters rather than the sons he wanted, proving that malicious intent bears no fruit. She only faced true rivalry when he married Nadiya.
I don't know why Nadiya fixates on me even more than Nafisa does. She is obsessed with me. People often say the first and third wives usually team up against the second, but I never enjoyed such an alliance. Nadiya’s pride swelled because she gave birth to consecutive sons. She feels she can step on anyone since she comes from a wealthy, influential family, and believes she is the favorite of both the husband and his family—even Inno, his mother, constantly pampers her.
The other fertile wives, Nafisa and Aliya, haven't choked her pride the way my mere presence does, and I cannot understand the root of this animosity she directs at me.
2. Summary of the Original Story
The story revolves around Ummu Kulsum (Kyauta), the senior wife in a highly dysfunctional, fiercely competitive polygamous household in Kurawa quarters, Kano State. Her husband, Yaya Rabi'u, is a hot-tempered, inconsistent man who frequently humiliates her despite relying heavily on her competence. Kulsum is childless, a status her co-wives (Nafisa, Nadiya, and Aliya) attempt to use to demean her.
The excerpt begins with a manufactured crisis: someone steals the household's bulk food supplies to frame Kulsum, prompting Rabi'u to aggressively strip her of the store keys and hand them to Nadiya (the third wife and daughter of his boss). Despite the emotional abuse, Kulsum finds peace through economic self-reliance (selling homemade treats), spiritual grounding (drawing inspiration from the Prophet's wife, Nana Aisha), and community service (running a thriving Islamic school for children in the compound). When Rabi'u's younger sister prepares for marriage, Kulsum is entrusted with the planning, earning the deep respect of her mother-in-law and the bride, which ignites fierce jealousy in Nadiya, who boasts of her wealth and her four sons.
3. Character Description
Aliya: The fourth and youngest wife. She largely follows the crowd, aligning with Nafisa or Nadiya depending on the domestic power dynamic.
4. Literary Analytics
Key Themes
Economic Empowerment: Kulsum's peace of mind is directly linked to her financial independence. Her micro-business (Albishir, milk candy) gives her the means to be generous, which counterbalances her lack of children by drawing people toward her.
Narrative Style & Pacing
The story uses a raw, colloquial, yet emotionally resonant first-person narrative ("Za'a yi ta ta k'are"). It shifts seamlessly from intense household dialogue to deep, internal monologues where the protagonist analyzes her environment. The inclusion of modern cultural details (e.g., fabrics from Malaysia, WhatsApp business adverts, traditional bridal logistics) roots the story firmly in contemporary Hausa society.