She sat there, but her mind was far from her body. One look at her made it clear that she was in deep distress, something she could not hide even though her face was beautiful.
She thought to herself, wondering who those people were and why they were following and harassing her. At that moment, one voice in her heart quickly warned her not to assume they were evil—
but another voice replied that they were indeed evil, people who had long intended to harm her.
“Tsk…” she clicked her tongue softly. “I’m honestly scared,” she said in a crying voice, dropping her head onto the table in front of her.
So who exactly were these people? What did they want from her? What offense had she committed that made them follow her life like this? Since she could not find answers to her questions, she stood up, grabbed her bag, and headed for the exit of the school restaurant toward the lecture hall. She noticed them exchanging signals with one another, pointing at her to stand up and follow her. When she saw that, she immediately left the place without stopping to pay—her worry had not even allowed her to order anything.
When she stepped out, she noticed she was being followed, but it did not distract her anymore because her mind was focused on getting to the lecture hall. She arrived just as the lecturer had entered. Since the class was not a strict one, she quickly slipped in and sat beside her friend Amira.
Amira whispered into her ear, “I’ve been calling your phone—where did you disappear to? You left your phone ringing uselessly. I almost wanted you to miss attendance.”
All of Amira’s chatter meant nothing to her; she did not even realize she was being addressed. She simply stood up, changed seats, and said, “Mind your business.”
When the lecture ended, she did not even look at Amira and left immediately. It was their last lecture of the day anyway. When she went out, she was not surprised to see them again—she already knew they would be waiting.
She headed home. Even while riding a tricycle (keke napep), she noticed they were still following her. When she was about to enter her house, they turned back and left.
As she entered the house, she released a heavy sigh from her heart. She greeted her father, who had already returned home, and squatted respectfully to greet him. He replied warmly. She stood up to leave, had already taken a few steps, when she heard him call, “Hanna.”
“Hanna?” she repeated the name in her heart, then turned politely and calmly. “Yes, Baba?”
“When you go inside, greet your mother for me,” he said. She replied and turned to go.
She continued walking quietly when she overheard a conversation that completely unsettled her thoughts and plunged her into deeper worry. She moved her ears closer to the door and heard Hajiyah Lami—whom they called Amma—saying:
“I’ve improved the cleric’s work; it’s working well. I told you long ago that he sent a jinn to her to prevent her from getting married. What I’m telling you is true—up till today, no man has ever come to greet her with the intention of marriage. Everything is ready; we’re just waiting. And she keeps quiet like a slave under a spell.”
After saying this, they clapped and burst into devilish laughter. She did not wait to hear anything more. Dizzy and shaken, she hurried away.
When she entered her mother’s room, she collapsed onto the bed and burst into helpless, heart-piercing tears.
Since her mother was not around, she cried her fill. Afterwards, she washed her face, performed ablution, prayed the Asr prayer, and kept making supplications, seeking refuge from the evil of humans and jinn.
Her mother and Inna Kaltu, their house help, were in the kitchen cooking. Her father asked for tea.
“Inna Kaltu, have you seen your daughter? Has she returned from school?”
“I haven’t seen her; maybe she hasn’t returned yet,” Inna Kaltu replied.
Her mother felt a brief wave of worry.
A boy of about twelve years greeted them. “Mama, Baba says where did you go? He’s waiting for you in the living room.”
“Tell him I’m coming,” she replied.
She went out holding a tray of tea and met her husband reading a newspaper. Her greeting made him put it down and remove his glasses. He replied and she sat, poured the tea, and handed it to him. He sipped it, cleared his throat, and her mother turned to face him, sensing the matter was important.
“What is wrong with Halima? I’ve noticed lately she’s not herself—no joy, no cheerfulness. What’s troubling her?”
She sighed deeply. “Wallahi, Alhaji, I’ve been watching her too and I can’t tell what’s wrong. Honestly, I feel that girl has truly been married by a jinn.”
“Don’t ever let me hear that again,” he warned sharply. “I feel something good is following her life. As her mother, you should talk to her and understand her worries.”
She suddenly felt as though a shadow stood over her and startled awake—then she sighed in relief when she saw her mother standing above her.
She lowered her head and greeted her. Her mother did not reply immediately; she sat down and said, “Hanna.”
She looked up gently. “Yes, Mama?”
“What is troubling you? Tell me. I don’t like seeing you worried.”
She forced a smile. “Nothing, Mama.”
Her mother stared at her silently, studying her. A mother knows her child; no matter how much one hides distress, a mother senses it.
“Hanna,” her mother called again. She raised her head.
“I am your mother. If you don’t tell me your problem, there is no one else more deserving to hear it.”
She tried to smile again. “Mama, it’s nothing. My leg hurts, and the semester is at its peak—studies are intense.”
“May Allah grant you healing. Take medicine and rest,” her mother said, not fully convinced, but said it anyway.
After her mother left, she released another deep sigh, took the Qur’an, and continued reciting. At that moment, about eighty percent of her worry eased.
She closed the Qur’an, folded her prayer mat calmly, and headed for the door to leave the room.
---
It was a vast kingdom—so great that even without explanation one would know it was like the Kano Emirate, one of the largest kingdoms. It was a populous land, filled with abundant blessings, ruled by a just, courageous, elderly king of noble heart: King Abdulaziz Lamido.
I saw a woman sitting in the grand royal hall, dressed in luxury. One look told you she was the queen—from her attire to the texture of her skin. Though she lacked cheerfulness, her beauty still shone, and a single glance revealed the worry on her face.
Slowly, she wiped tears with the edge of her veil and said, “Your Majesty, is it because he isn’t my biological son that you accepted my plan? You know how much I love him—more than the children I gave birth to.”
Crying, she continued, “It hurts me that he is 35 years old and still unmarried, and we just watch him.”
“In my opinion, the girl he’s obsessed with is not human—she’s a jinn,” she said. The king only stared at her, not wanting to encourage the thought.
“How can it be that for nine years it’s been the same one person he talks about? We don’t know her, we’ve never seen her.”
“Your Majesty, shouldn’t we consider this? If you follow my advice, we should gather clerics to pray until that jinn leaves him.”
The king cleared his throat. “I’m not rejecting your opinion, but we should wait until the time he gave us is over before making a decision.”
“There’s no need to wait,” she insisted. “She’s not human. Let him marry his cousin Intisar.”
“Kilishi! Kilishi! Kilishi!” the king called her name sternly and said, “I promised him I would let him finish the time he requested. I don’t want to hear this issue again.”
“Alright,” she replied reluctantly and left for her chamber, ignoring the greetings of the palace attendants—she was a proud woman.
---
Staying at home became unbearable for her because all she heard were whispers and mockery. When her mother heard what Amma and the others were saying, she did not confront them—she was used to it, a patient woman whose anger was hard to detect.
She turned to Inna Kaltu and continued their work. That day, she cooked herself, as she never allowed a maid to cook for her husband.
“Hanna,” she stood up intending to enter her room. Hafsat and Rabi’ah, her cousins living with them, clapped and laughed. Hafsat said, “Of course, all that suits you is staying indoors—no groom!”
Hanna rushed into her room, her head aching terribly, and burst into intense tears.
But that day, she finally found the answer to the question that had long tormented her: truly, a jinn had married her—she had heard it with her own ears.
Then who were those following her? Were they also jinn? she asked herself.
She could not find an answer, nor did she know who to ask. She resolved that no one would hear this matter from her. If a jinn was stronger than her, then she knew where to take her complaint.
She vowed to stay awake that night, denying herself sleep until Allah granted her relief from those oppressors following her life.
---
I saw a massive mansion—so vast that words could not describe its size or beauty. Even the security alone was astonishing: soldiers guarding every corner. I assumed I would see only Arab soldiers, but I was wrong—there were soldiers from many nations, each wearing their country’s uniform, too many to count.
Astonishment filled me: who was this human being whose life was guarded like this? Even presidential security did not match it.
This was Major General (MG) Abdullahi, a man as formidable as a thousand, a warrior whose mere presence terrified enemies worldwide. That was why many countries contributed to protecting him—he was a man who sacrificed his life and health for humanity.
He sat in the grand hall, one leg crossed over the other, gently shaking his foot with calm elegance. He was extremely fair and handsome, tall, broad-chested, truly striking—glory be to Allah. His eyes were bright, his hair jet black, his lips pink. His beauty was beyond words.
His phone rang. He opened his eyes calmly, picked it up, and answered the greeting with a smile that revealed dimples on both cheeks. It was surprising when he spoke Hausa.
“Yes, Abba, but I’m busy and haven’t finished yet… I’ll come later this week. I miss you too,” he said gently, then ended the call.
He sighed heavily—he didn’t want to go home yet. He preferred to wait until the time was right.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. A beautiful Arab woman, not more than fifty-five, approached—his mother. She sat beside him, touched him, and spoke in Arabic, comforting him.
He replied softly, “Ummi, I don’t want to be loved for my looks, money, or power.”
She pulled him close, stroking his head, praying silently for Allah to ease his son’s trial.
---
As usual, she prepared neatly for school—wearing a long dress and covering her head with its scarf, subtly revealing a magical beauty. She greeted her father, received some money, and left with his prayers.
She took a tricycle to school. Though they had changed vehicles, she still recognized them following her all the way to school.
After lectures, hunger struck her, so she bought a malt drink and biscuits. As she turned, she collided with someone and almost fell. He quickly caught her and steadied her. When their eyes met, a strange feeling washed over them both—an indescribable shock.
He finally said, “Sorry,” in a voice that could steal a woman’s heart, though he did not intend deception. Her heart raced; she replied, “It’s okay,” and hurried away, not wanting to feel that dangerous gaze again.
She left straight for home—she could not bear the strange new feeling growing inside her.
“Who is she?” he asked himself. “Whoever she is, I must find her.” Smiling, he drove on peacefully, humming with joy.
She arrived at her aunt’s house, greeted the elderly man at the gate, and was warmly welcomed. Inside, she reunited with her sister and niece, laughter and hugs filling the space.
She helped cook—simple, balanced meals—cleaned the house, prayed, dressed modestly, and prepared to go out with them.
As she opened the door, she felt someone staring at her. She turned—and there he was, leaning against the door, arms folded, staring straight at her.
She sat there, but her mind was far from her body. One look at her made it clear that she was in deep distress, something she could not hide even though her face was beautiful.
She thought to herself, wondering who those people were and why they were following and harassing her. At that moment, one voice in her heart quickly warned her not to assume they were evil—
but another voice replied that they were indeed evil, people who had long intended to harm her.
“Tsk…” she clicked her tongue softly. “I’m honestly scared,” she said in a crying voice, dropping her head onto the table in front of her.
So who exactly were these people? What did they want from her? What offense had she committed that made them follow her life like this? Since she could not find answers to her questions, she stood up, grabbed her bag, and headed for the exit of the school restaurant toward the lecture hall. She noticed them exchanging signals with one another, pointing at her to stand up and follow her. When she saw that, she immediately left the place without stopping to pay—her worry had not even allowed her to order anything.
When she stepped out, she noticed she was being followed, but it did not distract her anymore because her mind was focused on getting to the lecture hall. She arrived just as the lecturer had entered. Since the class was not a strict one, she quickly slipped in and sat beside her friend Amira.
Amira whispered into her ear, “I’ve been calling your phone—where did you disappear to? You left your phone ringing uselessly. I almost wanted you to miss attendance.”
All of Amira’s chatter meant nothing to her; she did not even realize she was being addressed. She simply stood up, changed seats, and said, “Mind your business.”
When the lecture ended, she did not even look at Amira and left immediately. It was their last lecture of the day anyway. When she went out, she was not surprised to see them again—she already knew they would be waiting.
She headed home. Even while riding a tricycle (keke napep), she noticed they were still following her. When she was about to enter her house, they turned back and left.
As she entered the house, she released a heavy sigh from her heart. She greeted her father, who had already returned home, and squatted respectfully to greet him. He replied warmly. She stood up to leave, had already taken a few steps, when she heard him call, “Hanna.”
“Hanna?” she repeated the name in her heart, then turned politely and calmly. “Yes, Baba?”
“When you go inside, greet your mother for me,” he said. She replied and turned to go.
She continued walking quietly when she overheard a conversation that completely unsettled her thoughts and plunged her into deeper worry. She moved her ears closer to the door and heard Hajiyah Lami—whom they called Amma—saying:
“I’ve improved the cleric’s work; it’s working well. I told you long ago that he sent a jinn to her to prevent her from getting married. What I’m telling you is true—up till today, no man has ever come to greet her with the intention of marriage. Everything is ready; we’re just waiting. And she keeps quiet like a slave under a spell.”
After saying this, they clapped and burst into devilish laughter. She did not wait to hear anything more. Dizzy and shaken, she hurried away.
When she entered her mother’s room, she collapsed onto the bed and burst into helpless, heart-piercing tears.
Since her mother was not around, she cried her fill. Afterwards, she washed her face, performed ablution, prayed the Asr prayer, and kept making supplications, seeking refuge from the evil of humans and jinn.
Her mother and Inna Kaltu, their house help, were in the kitchen cooking. Her father asked for tea.
“Inna Kaltu, have you seen your daughter? Has she returned from school?”
“I haven’t seen her; maybe she hasn’t returned yet,” Inna Kaltu replied.
Her mother felt a brief wave of worry.
A boy of about twelve years greeted them. “Mama, Baba says where did you go? He’s waiting for you in the living room.”
“Tell him I’m coming,” she replied.
She went out holding a tray of tea and met her husband reading a newspaper. Her greeting made him put it down and remove his glasses. He replied and she sat, poured the tea, and handed it to him. He sipped it, cleared his throat, and her mother turned to face him, sensing the matter was important.
“What is wrong with Halima? I’ve noticed lately she’s not herself—no joy, no cheerfulness. What’s troubling her?”
She sighed deeply. “Wallahi, Alhaji, I’ve been watching her too and I can’t tell what’s wrong. Honestly, I feel that girl has truly been married by a jinn.”
“Don’t ever let me hear that again,” he warned sharply. “I feel something good is following her life. As her mother, you should talk to her and understand her worries.”
She suddenly felt as though a shadow stood over her and startled awake—then she sighed in relief when she saw her mother standing above her.
She lowered her head and greeted her. Her mother did not reply immediately; she sat down and said, “Hanna.”
She looked up gently. “Yes, Mama?”
“What is troubling you? Tell me. I don’t like seeing you worried.”
She forced a smile. “Nothing, Mama.”
Her mother stared at her silently, studying her. A mother knows her child; no matter how much one hides distress, a mother senses it.
“Hanna,” her mother called again. She raised her head.
“I am your mother. If you don’t tell me your problem, there is no one else more deserving to hear it.”
She tried to smile again. “Mama, it’s nothing. My leg hurts, and the semester is at its peak—studies are intense.”
“May Allah grant you healing. Take medicine and rest,” her mother said, not fully convinced, but said it anyway.
After her mother left, she released another deep sigh, took the Qur’an, and continued reciting. At that moment, about eighty percent of her worry eased.
She closed the Qur’an, folded her prayer mat calmly, and headed for the door to leave the room.
---
It was a vast kingdom—so great that even without explanation one would know it was like the Kano Emirate, one of the largest kingdoms. It was a populous land, filled with abundant blessings, ruled by a just, courageous, elderly king of noble heart: King Abdulaziz Lamido.
I saw a woman sitting in the grand royal hall, dressed in luxury. One look told you she was the queen—from her attire to the texture of her skin. Though she lacked cheerfulness, her beauty still shone, and a single glance revealed the worry on her face.
Slowly, she wiped tears with the edge of her veil and said, “Your Majesty, is it because he isn’t my biological son that you accepted my plan? You know how much I love him—more than the children I gave birth to.”
Crying, she continued, “It hurts me that he is 35 years old and still unmarried, and we just watch him.”
“In my opinion, the girl he’s obsessed with is not human—she’s a jinn,” she said. The king only stared at her, not wanting to encourage the thought.
“How can it be that for nine years it’s been the same one person he talks about? We don’t know her, we’ve never seen her.”
“Your Majesty, shouldn’t we consider this? If you follow my advice, we should gather clerics to pray until that jinn leaves him.”
The king cleared his throat. “I’m not rejecting your opinion, but we should wait until the time he gave us is over before making a decision.”
“There’s no need to wait,” she insisted. “She’s not human. Let him marry his cousin Intisar.”
“Kilishi! Kilishi! Kilishi!” the king called her name sternly and said, “I promised him I would let him finish the time he requested. I don’t want to hear this issue again.”
“Alright,” she replied reluctantly and left for her chamber, ignoring the greetings of the palace attendants—she was a proud woman.
---
Staying at home became unbearable for her because all she heard were whispers and mockery. When her mother heard what Amma and the others were saying, she did not confront them—she was used to it, a patient woman whose anger was hard to detect.
She turned to Inna Kaltu and continued their work. That day, she cooked herself, as she never allowed a maid to cook for her husband.
“Hanna,” she stood up intending to enter her room. Hafsat and Rabi’ah, her cousins living with them, clapped and laughed. Hafsat said, “Of course, all that suits you is staying indoors—no groom!”
Hanna rushed into her room, her head aching terribly, and burst into intense tears.
But that day, she finally found the answer to the question that had long tormented her: truly, a jinn had married her—she had heard it with her own ears.
Then who were those following her? Were they also jinn? she asked herself.
She could not find an answer, nor did she know who to ask. She resolved that no one would hear this matter from her. If a jinn was stronger than her, then she knew where to take her complaint.
She vowed to stay awake that night, denying herself sleep until Allah granted her relief from those oppressors following her life.
---
I saw a massive mansion—so vast that words could not describe its size or beauty. Even the security alone was astonishing: soldiers guarding every corner. I assumed I would see only Arab soldiers, but I was wrong—there were soldiers from many nations, each wearing their country’s uniform, too many to count.
Astonishment filled me: who was this human being whose life was guarded like this? Even presidential security did not match it.
This was Major General (MG) Abdullahi, a man as formidable as a thousand, a warrior whose mere presence terrified enemies worldwide. That was why many countries contributed to protecting him—he was a man who sacrificed his life and health for humanity.
He sat in the grand hall, one leg crossed over the other, gently shaking his foot with calm elegance. He was extremely fair and handsome, tall, broad-chested, truly striking—glory be to Allah. His eyes were bright, his hair jet black, his lips pink. His beauty was beyond words.
His phone rang. He opened his eyes calmly, picked it up, and answered the greeting with a smile that revealed dimples on both cheeks. It was surprising when he spoke Hausa.
“Yes, Abba, but I’m busy and haven’t finished yet… I’ll come later this week. I miss you too,” he said gently, then ended the call.
He sighed heavily—he didn’t want to go home yet. He preferred to wait until the time was right.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. A beautiful Arab woman, not more than fifty-five, approached—his mother. She sat beside him, touched him, and spoke in Arabic, comforting him.
He replied softly, “Ummi, I don’t want to be loved for my looks, money, or power.”
She pulled him close, stroking his head, praying silently for Allah to ease his son’s trial.
---
As usual, she prepared neatly for school—wearing a long dress and covering her head with its scarf, subtly revealing a magical beauty. She greeted her father, received some money, and left with his prayers.
She took a tricycle to school. Though they had changed vehicles, she still recognized them following her all the way to school.
After lectures, hunger struck her, so she bought a malt drink and biscuits. As she turned, she collided with someone and almost fell. He quickly caught her and steadied her. When their eyes met, a strange feeling washed over them both—an indescribable shock.
He finally said, “Sorry,” in a voice that could steal a woman’s heart, though he did not intend deception. Her heart raced; she replied, “It’s okay,” and hurried away, not wanting to feel that dangerous gaze again.
She left straight for home—she could not bear the strange new feeling growing inside her.
“Who is she?” he asked himself. “Whoever she is, I must find her.” Smiling, he drove on peacefully, humming with joy.
She arrived at her aunt’s house, greeted the elderly man at the gate, and was warmly welcomed. Inside, she reunited with her sister and niece, laughter and hugs filling the space.
She helped cook—simple, balanced meals—cleaned the house, prayed, dressed modestly, and prepared to go out with them.
As she opened the door, she felt someone staring at her. She turned—and there he was, leaning against the door, arms folded, staring straight at her.