Ever since Abba left to meet with Malam Suleiman, I couldn't sit still or stand straight; I just found myself overwhelmed by a deep sense of dread and a heavy heart. Amir suddenly pushed aside the parlor curtain, making me spring to my feet as I listened to him speak insolently.
“Hey, you should come. Your father is sitting with them.”
"Me?" I threw the question at him, confused. He curled his lip before saying, "Yes, you, madam." Having dropped that line, he let go of the curtain and turned to leave, muttering under his breath. With a heavy heart, I walked out, treading carefully like a hen with a broken egg inside her. I reached the outer hall, my mouth offering a greeting that Abba and Malam Suleiman both acknowledged.
"Abba, here I am. They said you were looking for me." He paused for a moment before finally saying, “My daughter, what exactly is going on? Your teacher here has brought a complaint that you are no longer focusing on your studies.”
I lowered my head, saying, "Abba, it’s nothing." He quickly cut me off. “My daughter, it must be something; you weren't like this before.”
“Abba, it's just the brief illness I had recently; that's why.”
Malam Suleiman chimed in immediately to catch the conversation. "Amatullah, there is something troubling you. Your whole demeanor has changed. You've stopped focusing on your studies even though you know you are one of the students scheduled to recite on the day of our ceremony. You must bite the bullet on whatever is in your heart and face what is coming in your life." My body went completely cold, as if the strength had been drained from my marrow. Tears filled the wells of my eyes, causing me to quickly look down, which allowed the tears to spill over.
In a soft voice, Abba asked, “Amatullah, what is happening?”
“It’s nothing, Abba.”
"Don’t pressure her, Malam Munnir," Malam Suleiman said, “but I would like you to focus more on your studies. To be honest, you are our overall hope, Amatullah. All the effort you put in won't just benefit you; it will affect us, your teachers, and the school as well.”
"God willing, Malam. Thank you very much. May Allah reward you with goodness." They both replied "Amen" in unison and gave me permission to leave. I went back inside and headed to Amira’s room, where I found her on the phone with Mansur. I sat beside her, resting my chin on my hands in deep sorrow, like a woman in mourning.
"And what’s wrong with you?" she asked.
“Amira, how can I go back to the way I was before? Even I know I’ve changed in a way that I might never be right again.”
She let out a heavy sigh that I could hear before she found the chance to say, "Everything will return to normal gradually; it can't happen all at once. Now, tell me what happened." I recounted everything that transpired with Abba. She remained silent for a few minutes before saying, “Then you must focus on your studies before they start suspecting something else. I know it’s heavy, Amatullah, but what can we do against destiny?”
I burst into tears like a little girl, my body shaking like a reed. She took my hand and I rested my head on her lap.
“Amatullah, what are you trying to turn yourself into? Or do you want to bring another illness upon yourself? Since the day this happened, you cry more than five times a day. Haba, Amatullah! What happened has already happened. Worrying and crying won't fix the past.”
“Oh Allah, I repent. Forgive me. Do not punish me for a sin I committed out of ignorance...”
Before I could finish, Amira covered my mouth. "Don’t blame yourself for something you had no power to change or prevent. Everyone you see in this world has their own style of destiny. And believing in destiny is part of a believer's faith." I said nothing more until her phone rang. She spoke with Mansur, and after they said their goodbyes, she said, “Get up, let’s go. Mansur is at the door.”
"You go ahead," I muttered briefly, my breath feeling constricted.
"Let’s not start an argument, Amatullah. Just get up and go, because I'm sure as soon as I leave this spot, you’ll just continue crying." I didn't argue; I stood up with no strength in my body. We went out together and found Auwal and Ummi in the hall chatting. She glared at us, and Amira didn't hesitate to glare back. We reached Mansur, who was standing by his car as usual, tapping on his phone and jingling his car keys.
“Welcome, star of my heart's city, the light that illuminates my soul so that I can walk even without a guiding stick.”
Amira closed her eyes, enjoying his words, and began, "Welcome, King who rules my entire heart. I don't know what words to use to show you how much I’ve missed you, oh love of my life." They began to exchange soft smiles filled with hidden messages.
"As for me, let me go back inside before you two finish," I said, which brought them back to reality. Mansur folded his hands in a pleading gesture, saying, "Forgive me, Your Highness, great friend. I didn't notice you at all. Please forgive my oversight." I pouted. "If I have any feelings, I should stop accompanying her. Every day I’m told my presence wasn't even noticed." They both laughed before Mansur continued.
“We repent and ask for forgiveness. Actually, I came specifically for you; I came to check on you because she told me you haven't been well for days.”
I nodded. “I see, even though it felt like I was being chased away.”
“So, how is your body feeling now?”
“Better, Alhamdulillah.”
"Just 'Muslim health' (slight improvement), our friend, but I don't see signs of true recovery in you. You look so haggard, as if you’ve been ill for a year." I forced a smile before saying, “It really is much better than before. You know, illness strikes in an instant, but healing or finding relief happens slowly.”
He nodded in agreement. “That’s true. May Allah increase your relief and give you useful health.”
"Amen, oh Allah," Amira and I replied together. We chatted for a bit before Mansur suggested we go in, get ready, and he would drop us off at Hajiya Tasalla’s house. We went in, said goodbye to my mother and Amira’s mother, and came back out. Unwillingly, I got into Mansur's car and he drove us there.
He brought out two large bags and placed them in front of me. I looked at the bags and then at him, seeking an explanation.
"This is yours, Your Highness. May Allah increase your health." I started to speak, but he cut me off. “For the sake of Allah, don't say anything and don't stop me from doing the good deed I intended. You are a teacher; you know it's not good to reject a gift.”
"Tell her exactly that; maybe she'll listen," Amira joked, stifling a laugh. I glared at her before thanking Mansur. They said their goodbyes, and I took the bags as we went inside. As soon as we entered the house, my heart skipped a beat—a feeling that forced me to close my eyes and recite every prayer that came to mind.
The house was empty because the regular overnight guests hadn't started arriving yet; they usually finish their revelry before returning late at night. We found Hajiya Tasalla with a young girl whose skin was so bleached it looked raw and red, the skin on her face crumpled in spots as if she had been pelted with hot coals. From the moment I laid eyes on her, my heartbeat intensified. Even after we sat down, I couldn't take my eyes off her. We greeted Hajiya; she responded and offered us food, but we said we were full. I felt so uneasy that I stood up to go inside.
“Hajiya, is this the one who was struck by that misfortune?”
I stopped dead in my tracks at those words. Before I could turn around, I heard Hajiya reply, “Uh-huh! Just leave it be, that's her, I'm telling you.”
"Hajiya, is she Ramlatu?" I threw the question at her, tears filling my eyes.
"She is. She has been asking about you since she arrived." Immediately, my body began to shake. As much as I wanted to vent the frustration eating at my soul, my mouth refused to cooperate. My legs failed to support my weight until Amira came over to hold me. I pulled away and ran into the room, collapsing onto the mattress, crying as if my soul were about to leave my body.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard, "Are you Amatullah, or whoever?" I ignored her without saying a word, which gave her the chance to continue.
“Hajiya told me everything that happened, and I felt very sad, especially when she told me how you carried yourself and tried to protect your dignity and the honor of your home. You should raise your hands and thank Allah that you didn't lead yourself into it; it was destiny that befell you. Whether you came to this house or not, if Allah decreed it, it would have happened. Mus'bahu is a full man; I'm sure even you enjoyed being with him...”
Her last words struck my heart and blackened my spirit. I sprang up and sat, slapping her hand away from me.
“As a woman, you are saying this? Do you not feel even a shred of pity for me in your heart? By Allah, it's only because I have no choice and no way out that I am here, otherwise, I would have stopped coming to this house. I won't say anything more to you, nor do I want to hear anything from you. I accept that this is my destiny, and I seek relief from the One who has the power to ease my affairs.”
She watched me until I finished speaking, then laughed and said, “I didn't mean to upset you, servant of Allah. But I would like to ask you one question: with a stature and beauty like yours, are you saying no man has ever approached you...?”
“Get out before I lose control and hurt you, or give you a wound that will stay with you until you return to your Creator!”
She stood up, hands on her hips, looking me up and down before saying, "I'll leave as you requested. But before I go, I'll give you a piece of advice that I'm sure will benefit you. I heard you're looking for Mus'bahu; well, you'll never find him. I'm certain that from the day he did that, he packed his bags and left town. He might not even be in the country anymore." Having said that, she walked out, leaving me to let out a piercing cry that would weaken the heart of anyone listening. I didn't stop until Amira came in to comfort me. I took her phone and started reading the Qur'an. By midnight, I put the phone down, said a long prayer, and finally fell into a fitful sleep, only to wake up with a start.
"Are you okay?" Amira asked, her voice laced with concern. Instead of answering, I just burst into tears.
“Amira, am I going to go crazy?”
In a soft voice, she said, "Nothing will happen to you, In Sha Allah." She pulled over the bag of items Mansur had brought and took out fruits, some large cold chocolates, and five different types of bottled juice. She insisted I eat something; unwillingly, I drank some juice and ate some fruit. The next day at the Islamic school, Malam Suleiman sent for me. He sat me down and gave me advice and guidance. I couldn't hold back my tears. By the time I left his office, school had closed. I didn't see Rauda or Ammi; they had said they were going straight from school to the tailor's to pick up the ceremony uniforms.
I walked slowly, as if afraid to step on the ground. As I stepped out of the school to cross the road, I heard my name and turned quickly.
"Brother Alhassan," I whispered in surprise, not expecting to see him then.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 35**
I hurried to where he was standing by his motorcycle with a friend who had been watching me since I approached. I offered a greeting. They replied in unison, and I greeted them again.
"You’ve closed for the day then?" He nodded as I continued, "I actually wanted to come to your house to apologize for what happened regarding those clothes..." He quickly raised his hand, signaling he didn't want to hear the rest.
“What happened is in the past; we just have to prevent it in the future. I heard you were unwell; I’ve wanted to come and check on you, but I was afraid of the drama it might cause. That’s why I came to the school. What’s bothering you, Amatullah? You’ve grown so thin, you don't look like yourself. What is so serious?”
I sighed deeply before finding the chance to say, “It’s just a fever and the stress of my studies.”
"Amatullah, don't say something that contradicts what your face is already showing. Surely there is something happening, or should I say, something bothering you." I remained silent, looking down.
"Alhassan, for God's sake, don't be the cause of tears on this beautiful creature's face," his friend said, softening his voice. "Little sister, what’s wrong?" I looked at him briefly, then looked away and said, “Nothing.”
Brother Alhassan took over. “Alright, I won't pressure you, but whatever it is, I wish you a quick solution. When is the date of your ceremony?”
I forced a smile. "It's tomorrow at nine in the morning." He nodded. “What do you want me to bring for you, since Umma stopped me from doing that good deed I intended?”
“Just your coming is enough for me; you don't need to bring anything.”
He frowned. "If you won't tell me, then I'll just buy whatever I intended. If you want, you can throw it away or give it out—that’s up to you." I gave a small smile. “Okay then, I leave the choice to you. Whatever you bring, I welcome it.”
"If only my gift would be accepted too," his friend joked. I looked at him once and looked back down.
I changed the subject. “Brother Alhassan, please tell Sister Zulaihatu as well, because I haven't informed her.”
He touched his chin. "There isn't a relative I haven't told that my one and only friend is graduating. So rest easy, you'll see a whole crowd that day. Now, take this and get a ride home; I see sunset is approaching." He finished by handing me five hundred naira from his pocket. I accepted it and thanked him. I crossed the road and got into a tricycle (Napep), seeing them leave.
When I got to our street, I saw Amira standing with Bashir at the door. They both looked at me. I tried to head inside as if I hadn't seen them, but Amira stopped me.
“Amatullah, don't you see you have a guest?”
“Amira, please, I'm tired. Please leave me alone.”
As I finished, I went inside. She followed and got in front of me.
“Why are you acting like this, Amatullah? Even if you won't say much to him, you should listen to what he has to say. Someone who cares about you and your situation shouldn't be treated with such disrespect.”
"What language do I need to explain this in for you to understand? I told you I don't want any connection with any man, not even for greetings, as long as he isn't my relative (Mahram)." I tried to pass, but she held my hand firmly.
"Don't forget, you gave him the chance. Don't be a promise-breaker." I wrenched my hand away. "Go and apologize to him because I can't listen to him. I feel in my soul that this is our last meeting anyway." I didn't wait for her reply; I went straight to our room with a quiet greeting.
I knelt down to greet Umma, whom I found sitting in the parlor counting a large sum of money. She didn't answer until I was tired of waiting. As I stood to go to the room, she spoke briefly.
“When you go in, there is a package for you on the mattress.”
“Okay.”
I answered, though I wanted more explanation. I entered the room, took off my hijab, and opened the bag on the bed. Inside was a hijab and a long dress adorned with stones. I let out a squeal of joy and jumped on the bed in excitement. I hugged the hijab, grinning ear to ear as if I had been gifted a trip to Hajj. Umma had truly made me happy; I had given up hope of having the uniform for our ceremony after what happened with the clothes Brother Alhassan brought.
After my excitement cooled, I went out and thanked Umma profusely. I hadn't felt this kind of happiness since before my ordeal began. However, the words she met me with dampened my spirit.
"Just focus very hard on your studies. Both your father and I trust you; that’s why we sent you to that school. Amatullah..." Before she could say more, I burst into tears, my body shaking. She stood still, looking at me as if she had never seen me before.
"What is the crying for now? Get up and leave if you won't be quiet." I continued crying until the sunset prayer (Maghrib). Umma eventually left me there. I got up with difficulty, performed ablution, and prayed. Before I even finished my post-prayer supplications, I felt a sharp fever taking hold of me. I picked up the Qur'an and began to read with deep emotion and understanding of the verses. I felt a strange sense of peace and soul-felt tranquility. I felt as if the day wouldn't break in time for the ceremony. I insisted that I wouldn't go to Hajiya Tasalla’s house that night because of the preparations for tomorrow.
Abba brought two measures of beans and ingredients, saying we should make bean cakes (Alala) for the graduation. He also gave me two thousand naira for hibiscus drink (Zobo). Despite my efforts to stop her, Amira told Mansur about the ceremony. That night, he came and did a lot of shopping for us, saying he would attend by God's grace. We washed the beans, set them to dry, and bought the Zobo ingredients. We didn't go to bed until nearly eleven. I bathed, prayed two units (Raka'ah), and poured out my gratitude to my Creator in my final prostration. I read the Qur'an until 2:00 AM. Despite trying to sleep, I couldn't; I tossed and turned until the dawn call to prayer. I jumped up as the muezzin called. I went out to perform ablution, and Amira came out, blinding me with her phone flashlight.
“Hafiza Amatullahi!”
I smiled, shielding my eyes. “If you're going to pray, do it and come out so we can start working.”
"At your service, Your Highness," she replied. I went back in, prayed, and practiced my recitation for the ceremony. Then we washed the beans, took them to be ground, and started steaming the bean cakes. By daybreak, they were ready. We packed the juices Mansur brought into bags with the bean cakes—fifty-three portions in total.
We made the Zobo too. Amira suggested that since we had the bottled juice, I should save the Zobo for my friends and guests. As we worked, Adnan's father came out in his work clothes, followed by his wife.
Amira nudged me. “Look at them. By Allah, I have to say something to him just to annoy her this morning.”
"Keep yourself out of trouble." She didn't listen; she did exactly what she intended. She softened her voice and said, “Good morning, Adnan's father. Are you heading out already? May Allah reward you for this work of yours...”
Ever since Abba left to meet with Malam Suleiman, I couldn't sit still or stand straight; I just found myself overwhelmed by a deep sense of dread and a heavy heart. Amir suddenly pushed aside the parlor curtain, making me spring to my feet as I listened to him speak insolently.
“Hey, you should come. Your father is sitting with them.”
"Me?" I threw the question at him, confused. He curled his lip before saying, "Yes, you, madam." Having dropped that line, he let go of the curtain and turned to leave, muttering under his breath. With a heavy heart, I walked out, treading carefully like a hen with a broken egg inside her. I reached the outer hall, my mouth offering a greeting that Abba and Malam Suleiman both acknowledged.
"Abba, here I am. They said you were looking for me." He paused for a moment before finally saying, “My daughter, what exactly is going on? Your teacher here has brought a complaint that you are no longer focusing on your studies.”
I lowered my head, saying, "Abba, it’s nothing." He quickly cut me off. “My daughter, it must be something; you weren't like this before.”
“Abba, it's just the brief illness I had recently; that's why.”
Malam Suleiman chimed in immediately to catch the conversation. "Amatullah, there is something troubling you. Your whole demeanor has changed. You've stopped focusing on your studies even though you know you are one of the students scheduled to recite on the day of our ceremony. You must bite the bullet on whatever is in your heart and face what is coming in your life." My body went completely cold, as if the strength had been drained from my marrow. Tears filled the wells of my eyes, causing me to quickly look down, which allowed the tears to spill over.
In a soft voice, Abba asked, “Amatullah, what is happening?”
“It’s nothing, Abba.”
"Don’t pressure her, Malam Munnir," Malam Suleiman said, “but I would like you to focus more on your studies. To be honest, you are our overall hope, Amatullah. All the effort you put in won't just benefit you; it will affect us, your teachers, and the school as well.”
"God willing, Malam. Thank you very much. May Allah reward you with goodness." They both replied "Amen" in unison and gave me permission to leave. I went back inside and headed to Amira’s room, where I found her on the phone with Mansur. I sat beside her, resting my chin on my hands in deep sorrow, like a woman in mourning.
"And what’s wrong with you?" she asked.
“Amira, how can I go back to the way I was before? Even I know I’ve changed in a way that I might never be right again.”
She let out a heavy sigh that I could hear before she found the chance to say, "Everything will return to normal gradually; it can't happen all at once. Now, tell me what happened." I recounted everything that transpired with Abba. She remained silent for a few minutes before saying, “Then you must focus on your studies before they start suspecting something else. I know it’s heavy, Amatullah, but what can we do against destiny?”
I burst into tears like a little girl, my body shaking like a reed. She took my hand and I rested my head on her lap.
“Amatullah, what are you trying to turn yourself into? Or do you want to bring another illness upon yourself? Since the day this happened, you cry more than five times a day. Haba, Amatullah! What happened has already happened. Worrying and crying won't fix the past.”
“Oh Allah, I repent. Forgive me. Do not punish me for a sin I committed out of ignorance...”
Before I could finish, Amira covered my mouth. "Don’t blame yourself for something you had no power to change or prevent. Everyone you see in this world has their own style of destiny. And believing in destiny is part of a believer's faith." I said nothing more until her phone rang. She spoke with Mansur, and after they said their goodbyes, she said, “Get up, let’s go. Mansur is at the door.”
"You go ahead," I muttered briefly, my breath feeling constricted.
"Let’s not start an argument, Amatullah. Just get up and go, because I'm sure as soon as I leave this spot, you’ll just continue crying." I didn't argue; I stood up with no strength in my body. We went out together and found Auwal and Ummi in the hall chatting. She glared at us, and Amira didn't hesitate to glare back. We reached Mansur, who was standing by his car as usual, tapping on his phone and jingling his car keys.
“Welcome, star of my heart's city, the light that illuminates my soul so that I can walk even without a guiding stick.”
Amira closed her eyes, enjoying his words, and began, "Welcome, King who rules my entire heart. I don't know what words to use to show you how much I’ve missed you, oh love of my life." They began to exchange soft smiles filled with hidden messages.
"As for me, let me go back inside before you two finish," I said, which brought them back to reality. Mansur folded his hands in a pleading gesture, saying, "Forgive me, Your Highness, great friend. I didn't notice you at all. Please forgive my oversight." I pouted. "If I have any feelings, I should stop accompanying her. Every day I’m told my presence wasn't even noticed." They both laughed before Mansur continued.
“We repent and ask for forgiveness. Actually, I came specifically for you; I came to check on you because she told me you haven't been well for days.”
I nodded. “I see, even though it felt like I was being chased away.”
“So, how is your body feeling now?”
“Better, Alhamdulillah.”
"Just 'Muslim health' (slight improvement), our friend, but I don't see signs of true recovery in you. You look so haggard, as if you’ve been ill for a year." I forced a smile before saying, “It really is much better than before. You know, illness strikes in an instant, but healing or finding relief happens slowly.”
He nodded in agreement. “That’s true. May Allah increase your relief and give you useful health.”
"Amen, oh Allah," Amira and I replied together. We chatted for a bit before Mansur suggested we go in, get ready, and he would drop us off at Hajiya Tasalla’s house. We went in, said goodbye to my mother and Amira’s mother, and came back out. Unwillingly, I got into Mansur's car and he drove us there.
He brought out two large bags and placed them in front of me. I looked at the bags and then at him, seeking an explanation.
"This is yours, Your Highness. May Allah increase your health." I started to speak, but he cut me off. “For the sake of Allah, don't say anything and don't stop me from doing the good deed I intended. You are a teacher; you know it's not good to reject a gift.”
"Tell her exactly that; maybe she'll listen," Amira joked, stifling a laugh. I glared at her before thanking Mansur. They said their goodbyes, and I took the bags as we went inside. As soon as we entered the house, my heart skipped a beat—a feeling that forced me to close my eyes and recite every prayer that came to mind.
The house was empty because the regular overnight guests hadn't started arriving yet; they usually finish their revelry before returning late at night. We found Hajiya Tasalla with a young girl whose skin was so bleached it looked raw and red, the skin on her face crumpled in spots as if she had been pelted with hot coals. From the moment I laid eyes on her, my heartbeat intensified. Even after we sat down, I couldn't take my eyes off her. We greeted Hajiya; she responded and offered us food, but we said we were full. I felt so uneasy that I stood up to go inside.
“Hajiya, is this the one who was struck by that misfortune?”
I stopped dead in my tracks at those words. Before I could turn around, I heard Hajiya reply, “Uh-huh! Just leave it be, that's her, I'm telling you.”
"Hajiya, is she Ramlatu?" I threw the question at her, tears filling my eyes.
"She is. She has been asking about you since she arrived." Immediately, my body began to shake. As much as I wanted to vent the frustration eating at my soul, my mouth refused to cooperate. My legs failed to support my weight until Amira came over to hold me. I pulled away and ran into the room, collapsing onto the mattress, crying as if my soul were about to leave my body.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard, "Are you Amatullah, or whoever?" I ignored her without saying a word, which gave her the chance to continue.
“Hajiya told me everything that happened, and I felt very sad, especially when she told me how you carried yourself and tried to protect your dignity and the honor of your home. You should raise your hands and thank Allah that you didn't lead yourself into it; it was destiny that befell you. Whether you came to this house or not, if Allah decreed it, it would have happened. Mus'bahu is a full man; I'm sure even you enjoyed being with him...”
Her last words struck my heart and blackened my spirit. I sprang up and sat, slapping her hand away from me.
“As a woman, you are saying this? Do you not feel even a shred of pity for me in your heart? By Allah, it's only because I have no choice and no way out that I am here, otherwise, I would have stopped coming to this house. I won't say anything more to you, nor do I want to hear anything from you. I accept that this is my destiny, and I seek relief from the One who has the power to ease my affairs.”
She watched me until I finished speaking, then laughed and said, “I didn't mean to upset you, servant of Allah. But I would like to ask you one question: with a stature and beauty like yours, are you saying no man has ever approached you...?”
“Get out before I lose control and hurt you, or give you a wound that will stay with you until you return to your Creator!”
She stood up, hands on her hips, looking me up and down before saying, "I'll leave as you requested. But before I go, I'll give you a piece of advice that I'm sure will benefit you. I heard you're looking for Mus'bahu; well, you'll never find him. I'm certain that from the day he did that, he packed his bags and left town. He might not even be in the country anymore." Having said that, she walked out, leaving me to let out a piercing cry that would weaken the heart of anyone listening. I didn't stop until Amira came in to comfort me. I took her phone and started reading the Qur'an. By midnight, I put the phone down, said a long prayer, and finally fell into a fitful sleep, only to wake up with a start.
"Are you okay?" Amira asked, her voice laced with concern. Instead of answering, I just burst into tears.
“Amira, am I going to go crazy?”
In a soft voice, she said, "Nothing will happen to you, In Sha Allah." She pulled over the bag of items Mansur had brought and took out fruits, some large cold chocolates, and five different types of bottled juice. She insisted I eat something; unwillingly, I drank some juice and ate some fruit. The next day at the Islamic school, Malam Suleiman sent for me. He sat me down and gave me advice and guidance. I couldn't hold back my tears. By the time I left his office, school had closed. I didn't see Rauda or Ammi; they had said they were going straight from school to the tailor's to pick up the ceremony uniforms.
I walked slowly, as if afraid to step on the ground. As I stepped out of the school to cross the road, I heard my name and turned quickly.
"Brother Alhassan," I whispered in surprise, not expecting to see him then.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 35**
I hurried to where he was standing by his motorcycle with a friend who had been watching me since I approached. I offered a greeting. They replied in unison, and I greeted them again.
"You’ve closed for the day then?" He nodded as I continued, "I actually wanted to come to your house to apologize for what happened regarding those clothes..." He quickly raised his hand, signaling he didn't want to hear the rest.
“What happened is in the past; we just have to prevent it in the future. I heard you were unwell; I’ve wanted to come and check on you, but I was afraid of the drama it might cause. That’s why I came to the school. What’s bothering you, Amatullah? You’ve grown so thin, you don't look like yourself. What is so serious?”
I sighed deeply before finding the chance to say, “It’s just a fever and the stress of my studies.”
"Amatullah, don't say something that contradicts what your face is already showing. Surely there is something happening, or should I say, something bothering you." I remained silent, looking down.
"Alhassan, for God's sake, don't be the cause of tears on this beautiful creature's face," his friend said, softening his voice. "Little sister, what’s wrong?" I looked at him briefly, then looked away and said, “Nothing.”
Brother Alhassan took over. “Alright, I won't pressure you, but whatever it is, I wish you a quick solution. When is the date of your ceremony?”
I forced a smile. "It's tomorrow at nine in the morning." He nodded. “What do you want me to bring for you, since Umma stopped me from doing that good deed I intended?”
“Just your coming is enough for me; you don't need to bring anything.”
He frowned. "If you won't tell me, then I'll just buy whatever I intended. If you want, you can throw it away or give it out—that’s up to you." I gave a small smile. “Okay then, I leave the choice to you. Whatever you bring, I welcome it.”
"If only my gift would be accepted too," his friend joked. I looked at him once and looked back down.
I changed the subject. “Brother Alhassan, please tell Sister Zulaihatu as well, because I haven't informed her.”
He touched his chin. "There isn't a relative I haven't told that my one and only friend is graduating. So rest easy, you'll see a whole crowd that day. Now, take this and get a ride home; I see sunset is approaching." He finished by handing me five hundred naira from his pocket. I accepted it and thanked him. I crossed the road and got into a tricycle (Napep), seeing them leave.
When I got to our street, I saw Amira standing with Bashir at the door. They both looked at me. I tried to head inside as if I hadn't seen them, but Amira stopped me.
“Amatullah, don't you see you have a guest?”
“Amira, please, I'm tired. Please leave me alone.”
As I finished, I went inside. She followed and got in front of me.
“Why are you acting like this, Amatullah? Even if you won't say much to him, you should listen to what he has to say. Someone who cares about you and your situation shouldn't be treated with such disrespect.”
"What language do I need to explain this in for you to understand? I told you I don't want any connection with any man, not even for greetings, as long as he isn't my relative (Mahram)." I tried to pass, but she held my hand firmly.
"Don't forget, you gave him the chance. Don't be a promise-breaker." I wrenched my hand away. "Go and apologize to him because I can't listen to him. I feel in my soul that this is our last meeting anyway." I didn't wait for her reply; I went straight to our room with a quiet greeting.
I knelt down to greet Umma, whom I found sitting in the parlor counting a large sum of money. She didn't answer until I was tired of waiting. As I stood to go to the room, she spoke briefly.
“When you go in, there is a package for you on the mattress.”
“Okay.”
I answered, though I wanted more explanation. I entered the room, took off my hijab, and opened the bag on the bed. Inside was a hijab and a long dress adorned with stones. I let out a squeal of joy and jumped on the bed in excitement. I hugged the hijab, grinning ear to ear as if I had been gifted a trip to Hajj. Umma had truly made me happy; I had given up hope of having the uniform for our ceremony after what happened with the clothes Brother Alhassan brought.
After my excitement cooled, I went out and thanked Umma profusely. I hadn't felt this kind of happiness since before my ordeal began. However, the words she met me with dampened my spirit.
"Just focus very hard on your studies. Both your father and I trust you; that’s why we sent you to that school. Amatullah..." Before she could say more, I burst into tears, my body shaking. She stood still, looking at me as if she had never seen me before.
"What is the crying for now? Get up and leave if you won't be quiet." I continued crying until the sunset prayer (Maghrib). Umma eventually left me there. I got up with difficulty, performed ablution, and prayed. Before I even finished my post-prayer supplications, I felt a sharp fever taking hold of me. I picked up the Qur'an and began to read with deep emotion and understanding of the verses. I felt a strange sense of peace and soul-felt tranquility. I felt as if the day wouldn't break in time for the ceremony. I insisted that I wouldn't go to Hajiya Tasalla’s house that night because of the preparations for tomorrow.
Abba brought two measures of beans and ingredients, saying we should make bean cakes (Alala) for the graduation. He also gave me two thousand naira for hibiscus drink (Zobo). Despite my efforts to stop her, Amira told Mansur about the ceremony. That night, he came and did a lot of shopping for us, saying he would attend by God's grace. We washed the beans, set them to dry, and bought the Zobo ingredients. We didn't go to bed until nearly eleven. I bathed, prayed two units (Raka'ah), and poured out my gratitude to my Creator in my final prostration. I read the Qur'an until 2:00 AM. Despite trying to sleep, I couldn't; I tossed and turned until the dawn call to prayer. I jumped up as the muezzin called. I went out to perform ablution, and Amira came out, blinding me with her phone flashlight.
“Hafiza Amatullahi!”
I smiled, shielding my eyes. “If you're going to pray, do it and come out so we can start working.”
"At your service, Your Highness," she replied. I went back in, prayed, and practiced my recitation for the ceremony. Then we washed the beans, took them to be ground, and started steaming the bean cakes. By daybreak, they were ready. We packed the juices Mansur brought into bags with the bean cakes—fifty-three portions in total.
We made the Zobo too. Amira suggested that since we had the bottled juice, I should save the Zobo for my friends and guests. As we worked, Adnan's father came out in his work clothes, followed by his wife.
Amira nudged me. “Look at them. By Allah, I have to say something to him just to annoy her this morning.”
"Keep yourself out of trouble." She didn't listen; she did exactly what she intended. She softened her voice and said, “Good morning, Adnan's father. Are you heading out already? May Allah reward you for this work of yours...”