“Tsitt!” — there was complete silence, like mute drummers beating invisible drums, in the Islamiyya school compound.
All of them were children not more than twelve years old. They were covered in dust and dirt, as if water and soap did not exist in the world. Truly, if environmental and personal hygiene companies knew about the living condition of these girls in the compound, they would make huge profits — because every single one of them was so dusty that you would stare twice, the dust on their bodies clinging to them like thick honey.
As soon as Mallam Isa entered, Babo saw the smile on his face and immediately knew they were in serious trouble.
He turned and picked his double-ended whip.
“All you shameless Islamiyya children of the compound, today you will taste your father!”
Slowly, they began blinking nervously. Other students burst into laughter, covering their mouths.
Mairo stepped forward with Haule, and Dijee followed them.
From afar, Mallam Isa stretched his long neck, miswak hanging from his mouth. He was wearing a long, wide jallabiya and holding the whip, his cap tilted sideways as he spoke harshly:
“Where is your shameless leader? Come out so I can deal with you!”
Buba pointed and said, “Mallam, she’s behind that rock.”
“Will you come out, or should I come and drag you out?”
Before he finished speaking, she appeared — dragging her long legs hardened by dust, without water or sandals. Her cracked feet showed deep lines on her toes, like someone who came straight from a farm camp.
Her small mouth was tightly pursed, dry and cracked. Only skin clung to her face, but her sharp nose, beautiful eyebrows, and wide forehead stood out — her loose, fluffy Fulani-style hair making her look even more striking.
“Wallahi, by Allah, Buba, you’ll suffer if Mallam catches me!” she shouted.
A terrible smell escaped her mouth — her teeth had turned brownish-yellow. Yet despite her dirt, she was undeniably captivating, with large expressive eyes she fixed angrily on Buba, as if they could speak her rage.
This was Aishatu Indo.
Indo was known throughout Modirre village as the dirtiest and most troublesome girl. Her madness and stubbornness earned her the nickname Fitina.
The only thing that truly frightened Indo in her life was the whip — remove the lizard, and it was still the whip she feared most.
Her closest friends were three: Haule, Mairo, and Dijee.
As she reached them, Mallam Isa gave each of them five lashes.
They cried loudly — except Indo, who bit her lip, refusing to show weakness.
Afterward, Mallam wrote on the board:
KITTABUN (Book)
QALAMMUN (Pen)
SAIYYARATUN (Car)
He ordered them to copy it and left.
When the final class ended, Indo and her friends headed home, cursing Mallam Isa as they walked.
“Allah will deal with that wicked teacher one day,” Dijee said.
Indo suddenly stopped near a narrow path behind a water channel. She waited until Buba passed, reciting “Kittabun, littafi…”
Suddenly — whoosh!
Indo grabbed him by the neck. Dijee joined in, and they beat him mercilessly. Buba screamed for help.
His father, Mallam Yusuf, came running.
Seeing him, Indo and her friends fled into the alleyways.
Mallam Yusuf shouted angrily, “Today, Indo, I will teach you a lesson! Who will stop me?!”
Indo ran home immediately. Finding no one inside, she rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of rice dumplings with moringa, didn’t even wash her hands, ate quickly, drank water, and ran out again as the Maghrib call to prayer echoed.
She met her friends, laughing.
“Are you ready or not?” she said. “I swear, I fear Buba’s father. That man has no mercy. Prevention is better than cure!”
Together they replied, “We’re ready!”
“LET’S GO!”
They rubbed pepper into their eyes to force tears and rushed to the village head’s house, crying loudly.
The village head came out, already knowing trouble had arrived.
“What’s wrong, Indo? Why are you shouting as if your eyes are being pulled out?”
She lied confidently: “At Islamiyya, Buba insulted me. I replied. He threw a stone at me. Then his father beat me badly — ask Dijee!”
Dijee and the others nodded quickly.
Even Mallam Yusuf arrived to lodge a complaint.
But the village head sighed. He knew Indo very well.
“Go home,” he said gently. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”
Everyone knew Indo would never be punished — the village head always protected her.
---
WHO IS AISHATU INDO?
Aishatu Indo was born on the 27th of Ramadan, a blessed day.
Her father died before she was born. She grew up under the care of her mother, who spoiled her deeply because she was her only child.
The village head was her uncle. She had many relatives in Modirre village.
She attended Arabic school, Islamiyya, and Western school — but she remained stuck in Primary Two due to constant failure and lack of seriousness.
“Mallam after Mallam…”
“Tsitt!” — there was complete silence, like mute drummers beating invisible drums, in the Islamiyya school compound.
All of them were children not more than twelve years old. They were covered in dust and dirt, as if water and soap did not exist in the world. Truly, if environmental and personal hygiene companies knew about the living condition of these girls in the compound, they would make huge profits — because every single one of them was so dusty that you would stare twice, the dust on their bodies clinging to them like thick honey.
As soon as Mallam Isa entered, Babo saw the smile on his face and immediately knew they were in serious trouble.
He turned and picked his double-ended whip.
“All you shameless Islamiyya children of the compound, today you will taste your father!”
Slowly, they began blinking nervously. Other students burst into laughter, covering their mouths.
Mairo stepped forward with Haule, and Dijee followed them.
From afar, Mallam Isa stretched his long neck, miswak hanging from his mouth. He was wearing a long, wide jallabiya and holding the whip, his cap tilted sideways as he spoke harshly:
“Where is your shameless leader? Come out so I can deal with you!”
Buba pointed and said, “Mallam, she’s behind that rock.”
“Will you come out, or should I come and drag you out?”
Before he finished speaking, she appeared — dragging her long legs hardened by dust, without water or sandals. Her cracked feet showed deep lines on her toes, like someone who came straight from a farm camp.
Her small mouth was tightly pursed, dry and cracked. Only skin clung to her face, but her sharp nose, beautiful eyebrows, and wide forehead stood out — her loose, fluffy Fulani-style hair making her look even more striking.
“Wallahi, by Allah, Buba, you’ll suffer if Mallam catches me!” she shouted.
A terrible smell escaped her mouth — her teeth had turned brownish-yellow. Yet despite her dirt, she was undeniably captivating, with large expressive eyes she fixed angrily on Buba, as if they could speak her rage.
This was Aishatu Indo.
Indo was known throughout Modirre village as the dirtiest and most troublesome girl. Her madness and stubbornness earned her the nickname Fitina.
The only thing that truly frightened Indo in her life was the whip — remove the lizard, and it was still the whip she feared most.
Her closest friends were three: Haule, Mairo, and Dijee.
As she reached them, Mallam Isa gave each of them five lashes.
They cried loudly — except Indo, who bit her lip, refusing to show weakness.
Afterward, Mallam wrote on the board:
KITTABUN (Book)
QALAMMUN (Pen)
SAIYYARATUN (Car)
He ordered them to copy it and left.
When the final class ended, Indo and her friends headed home, cursing Mallam Isa as they walked.
“Allah will deal with that wicked teacher one day,” Dijee said.
Indo suddenly stopped near a narrow path behind a water channel. She waited until Buba passed, reciting “Kittabun, littafi…”
Suddenly — whoosh!
Indo grabbed him by the neck. Dijee joined in, and they beat him mercilessly. Buba screamed for help.
His father, Mallam Yusuf, came running.
Seeing him, Indo and her friends fled into the alleyways.
Mallam Yusuf shouted angrily, “Today, Indo, I will teach you a lesson! Who will stop me?!”
Indo ran home immediately. Finding no one inside, she rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of rice dumplings with moringa, didn’t even wash her hands, ate quickly, drank water, and ran out again as the Maghrib call to prayer echoed.
She met her friends, laughing.
“Are you ready or not?” she said. “I swear, I fear Buba’s father. That man has no mercy. Prevention is better than cure!”
Together they replied, “We’re ready!”
“LET’S GO!”
They rubbed pepper into their eyes to force tears and rushed to the village head’s house, crying loudly.
The village head came out, already knowing trouble had arrived.
“What’s wrong, Indo? Why are you shouting as if your eyes are being pulled out?”
She lied confidently: “At Islamiyya, Buba insulted me. I replied. He threw a stone at me. Then his father beat me badly — ask Dijee!”
Dijee and the others nodded quickly.
Even Mallam Yusuf arrived to lodge a complaint.
But the village head sighed. He knew Indo very well.
“Go home,” he said gently. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”
Everyone knew Indo would never be punished — the village head always protected her.
---
WHO IS AISHATU INDO?
Aishatu Indo was born on the 27th of Ramadan, a blessed day.
Her father died before she was born. She grew up under the care of her mother, who spoiled her deeply because she was her only child.
The village head was her uncle. She had many relatives in Modirre village.
She attended Arabic school, Islamiyya, and Western school — but she remained stuck in Primary Two due to constant failure and lack of seriousness.
In short — this is the origin of Indo.
---