Fyade Book Compelet By Maman Teddy

Description

As was his daily routine, he sat quietly to one side, sliding his prayer beads through his fingers while waiting for Hajiya to conclude her supplications. He wanted to offer his morning greetings and share the brief, intimate conversation they always enjoyed. Once she finished, they wiped their faces in unison to seal the prayers. He shifted much closer, bowing respectfully before her to greet her.
She responded warmly, reaching out her hand to pat his head affectionately as she prayed, "May Allah bless your life and the lives of your children. May He grant immense blessings in your business pursuits and sanctify everything you acquire. May Allah shield you from the malice of both mankind and Jinn, and from every hateful thing."
He continuously murmured, "Amen, Amen."
Once the prayers were complete, she adjusted her posture and said, "Yesterday, Sani’s mother came regarding the charitable Friday food distribution; some essential supplies have run out. I told her to draw up a comprehensive budget just like we always do. Furthermore, this time around, I want the names of one hundred orphaned children compiled for the Eid clothing drive; let the Zeena Foundation handle the task of identifying the children who truly deserve this assistance so we can distribute the items to them. As for the wedding furniture packages, Amina brought forward two names. Her team has concluded their background checks, and the young women are indeed destitute orphans. I instructed her to head over to the main estate and coordinate directly with the manager at Zeena Furnitures, following our standard procedure."
He lowered his head even further in profound respect. "Alright, Hajiya. Whatever decisions you make are perfectly correct."
She studied his face intently. "You haven't informed me yet—have you had a proper discussion with that young girl?"
"Yes, I managed to meet her father, exactly as you advised me to do," he replied. "He asked me a few vetting questions before he finally went inside the house and sent her out to speak with me."
"What kind of questions did he ask you?"
"Well, he asked about our residential neighborhood, and then he questioned me regarding my religious practice, my livelihood, and my personal creed. He was thoroughly satisfied, despite the fact that I explicitly told him I was a mere shop apprentice. He remarked that his only requirement was that a man possess a legitimate trade, no matter how humble it might be, for Allah is the ultimate opener of doors. He then gave me his blessing to speak with her, stating that if we find ourselves compatible, he would willingly give her to me in marriage."
Hajiya fell silent for a brief moment, digesting the information. Then she asked, "What exactly is your wisdom behind hiding your true social status from them?"
He adjusted his seating posture. "Hajiya, I want to find a love that is pure and solely for the sake of Allah—one that is completely untainted by the material wealth in my hands. I want to lay the foundation of a brand-new domestic life that bears no resemblance to my past failed marriages."
A proud, aristocratic smile touched her lips. "That is indeed my son speaking. There is undoubtedly profound wisdom in what you intend to do. I fully endorse your approach. So, how did the girl receive you? What ground did you cover?"
He cast his gaze downward. "To be honest, I haven't fully secured her affection yet. I am exercising great patience with her because she is exceptionally young; she is just about to finish her senior secondary school exams, and their Islamic school graduation ceremony is coming up soon. Moreover, I happen to be her very first suitor. Because of this, she is still completely unable to decipher whether she truly loves me or not."
Hajiya murmured thoughtfully, analytical lines appearing on her face. "May Allah choose whatever is best for us. We will continue to seek His divine guidance through prayers."
"Amen," he replied. "I am deeply grateful, Hajiya."
They remained locked in pleasant conversation until Juma stepped into the room, quietly and meticulously arranging food flasks filled with fresh bean cakes (ƙosai), steamed bean puddings (alale), fried egg patties, and a flask of hot water, alongside rich peanut gruel (kunun gyaɗa) and a complete tea service. Shamaki personally brewed a thick, potent cup of tea for Hajiya, exactly the way she preferred it. After setting everything perfectly before her, he served himself his own breakfast, and they continued their discussion over the meal.
🖊️🖊️🖊️
HAMSHAƘIYAR UWA🧕🏻 (The Regal Mother)
BY HALIMA ABDULLAHI K/ MASHI
PAID BOOK (Access Bank / MTN Airtime)
Copyright Warning & Advertising Contact: 09068032427
Shamaki found himself utterly astonished by his own behavior—he was deeply impatient for nightfall to arrive. The continuous, distant smiles playing across his face whenever he fell into silent thought quickly triggered a wave of gossip among his sales apprentices at the market. They began whispering that the boss had fallen head over heels in love.
When Shamaki tried to casually dismiss their observations, one of the younger apprentices named Ɗahiru decided to test him to see if his suspicions were correct. Ɗahiru turned on a deeply emotional love song by the famous Hausa artist Hamisu Breaker, then went to sit right by the office entrance, pretending to mind his own business.
Inside the office, Shamaki’s heart swelled as he listened intently to the musician’s deep philosophies on the nature of love. Unable to contain himself, he called out, "Ɗahiru!"
The boy answered and stepped inside with immense respect. "Yes, Alhaji?"
"Can you boys never get through a day without playing music?" Shamaki asked, trying to mask his excitement. "Though, I must admit, I find this particular song very beautiful and full of deep meaning. Who is the artist? Transfer the audio file to my personal phone; I want to study the lyrics a bit more closely."
Ɗahiru took the phone, walked back out to the sales floor, and immediately began recounting the interaction to the other apprentices, who burst into muffled laughter. Shamaki spent the rest of the day with that song playing on a continuous loop.
By evening, he called his personal driver, Malam Bala, instructing him to wash the luxury vehicle because he would be going out after the Isha (night) prayer. Shamaki began calculating his route: he planned to stop by Zeena Store to pack an assortment of imported sweets, and then drive down to Zeena Factory to assemble a lavish collection of gourmet snacks and pastries for her.
Just who exactly do you think you are going to see, and what is your current financial standing in her eyes? a sudden, mocking voice from his inner conscience questioned him.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, realizing his mistake. "Should I buy garden eggs or local bitter tomatoes instead to look poor?" he muttered to himself. He let out a sharp click of his tongue and spoke aloud in frustration, "No, I will just buy common bananas and oranges!"
Hassan, who was seated inside the office writing out a sales receipt, looked up in confusion. "Whom should we collect those fruits from, Alhaji?"
Shamaki blinked, looking at Hassan. "What did I say?"
"I heard you talking about buying bananas and oranges, sir."
He dismissed it with another quick click of his tongue. "Yes... I was thinking of having someone fetch them, but never mind. I'll just purchase them myself when I head out."
On the other side of the city, long before the night prayer commenced, I was already completely dressed and waiting. I wasn't menstruating, so I didn't have to perform the prayers; instead, I sat quietly, anxiously awaiting his arrival. My heart was pounding violently against my ribs as I imagined what our conversation would feel like tonight.
I kept coaching myself, rehearsing sweet, carefully selected words to say to him when he arrived, and reminding myself not to speak to him in the ordinary, everyday voice I used with everyone else. A gentler, softer tone would surely make me far more attractive to him. I smiled, utterly convinced by my own romantic strategies, fully accepting that this man was incredibly special to me.
Meanwhile, Shamaki had to go to extreme lengths to assemble an outfit that would successfully make him look like a common, low-income civilian. He eventually selected a white outfit made of a lightweight fabric; though it looked plain, it was actually an incredibly expensive weave of fabric, but its true value could only be detected by a true connoisseur of luxury textiles. He emptied his pockets, dumping his four high-end smartphones onto his bed. In their place, he picked up a basic, cheap button-phone (mai boturan) into which he had inserted a brand-new SIM card. He stripped off his luxury wristwatch and his heavy silver rings, leaving them on the dresser, and made his way toward Hajiya's wing of the mansion.
She scrutinized his appearance from head to toe before acknowledging his greeting. He said, "I am heading out to see Rabi'atu now, just as I informed you the day before yesterday."
"I understand," she replied smoothly. "Go, and may Allah grant you success. Make sure to extend my warmest regards to her. Furthermore, ensure that you successfully capture her heart tonight, because I can clearly see you are profoundly in love with this girl. May Allah bless both of you."
"Amen," he replied, quickly rising and exiting the room.
Hajiya watched his retreating figure, a deep frown settling on her face. She muttered aloud to the empty room, "There is a serious problem here. He is far too deeply infatuated. I would have much preferred him to find a woman who loved him more than he loves her. I must take action immediately."
Outside, Shamaki looked at his driver. "Malam Bala, when you reach the fruit vendors, look for the local ones who sell unpeeled oranges."
When they arrived at the roadside stalls, Shamaki found himself completely out of his depth; he had absolutely no idea how much common fruit a regular person was supposed to buy. He handed a five-thousand-naira note to his driver and said, "Malam Bala, take this money and have them divide the fruits into two equal portions."
When the massive bags were brought to the car, Shamaki looked at the sheer volume and realized it was far too much for a poor suitor to carry. "Malam Bala, keep one half of these bags for yourself," he instructed.
They drove until they just bypassed the entrance of her narrow alleyway, where Shamaki ordered the car to stop. "You may go," he told the driver. "I will call you to pick me up in about two hours." He stepped out of the vehicle, holding the two large plastic bags of fruit in his hands, and walked down into the dark, crowded alleyway.
My younger brother Jafar came running into our compound, practically overwhelmed by the heavy bags he was carrying. He panted, "Umma! A man outside asked me to give these to you. He said Yaya Baby should come out to meet him."
My stomach instantly did a violent flip. I scrambled to grab a plastic kettle, pretending I needed to use the restroom, but Umma stopped me in my tracks. "Hey, hold it right there! What is wrong with you? You've been sitting here perfectly fine all evening, and the exact moment your guest arrives, you suddenly need to bolt to the bathroom?"
I gasped, "I swear, Umma, the very moment Jafar said his name, my stomach just turned upside down!" I rushed inside the stall.
I could hear Jamila outside, clicking her tongue and grumbling loudly, "Are you seriously going to go out there smelling like a restroom?"
When I emerged, I quickly doused myself in another heavy layer of perfume and stepped out. I found that Jamila had already laid out a woven plastic mat for him and set down a sachet of pure water.
I greeted him with deep reverence, making sure to politely ask about Hajiya and his children.
"She sends her warmest regards to you," he replied, smiling. "And everyone at home is doing perfectly well."
I looked at the massive bags of fruit and murmured, "Why did you go through all this immense trouble and expense for us? Truly, you shouldn't stress yourself out financially like this in your current situation; there is absolutely no need to bring me gifts every time."
"Do not worry yourself at all, Baby," he said gently. "I am fully capable of handling this. Now, please, give me some news about my love. I am deeply desperate for us to begin exchanging romantic expressions, because I am honestly beginning to feel like a fool—I can no longer endure the constant, agonizing thought of you."
I lowered my gaze, my voice dropping to a shy whisper. "Even though I have absolutely no experience with romance, I have come to realize that you are an incredibly special man to me. Throughout all my daily movements, you are constantly on my mind, and try as I might, I have been completely unable to find a single flaw in your character. My heart keeps telling me to make excuses for your past and to accept you as my husband. I am thoroughly satisfied with what my heart is telling me, and I formally accept to be your wife... once I am safely in your house, you can teach me how to love you properly." I concluded my confession by tightly closing my eyes in sheer embarrassment.
"Alhamdulillah!" he exclaimed, his face radiating pure joy. "That exact feeling you are describing is the absolute definition of love, Baby! Now that we have settled that, let us discuss our marriage. How soon do you think we should become husband and wife?"
I blushed. "Well, that is a discussion you will have to hold directly with Abba and Umma."
He took a slow breath. "Has a specific date been set for your Islamic school graduation ceremony yet?"
"Yes, the formal invitations for the VIP guests were printed and distributed since last week," I explained. "Our personal family invitations are being printed this week, and by Allah's grace, I will hand yours to you. I truly hope you will come to watch our Quranic recitations."
"Actually," he said, his eyes gleaming, "I am strongly thinking that we should combine our wedding ceremony with your graduation day..."
"What?!" I interrupted him, utterly shocked. I lowered my voice to an anxious whisper. "Our graduation ceremony is just five weeks away! How on earth can a wedding be organized in such a short time?"
He exhaled. "What kind of wedding preparations are you referring to, exactly?"
I cast my eyes downward. "When will you formally bring the bride-price to set the date? What about the bridal chest (lefe)? And then there is the massive issue of my parents providing the traditional room furniture (kayan ɗaki), not to mention the food and expenses for the wedding guests. You see, all of these are major things that require time and planning."
"You are entirely right," he conceded smoothly. "But I can easily set aside a portion of my savings this very week to bring fifty thousand naira as the formal bride-price. Besides, I know for a certainty that even if there is no lavish bridal chest, you would still marry me, wouldn't you?"
"Deep in my heart, I would absolutely marry you without a single gift, Yaya," I confessed honestly. "But the real problem lies with my parents. They simply do not have the financial means to purchase an entire set of room furniture within a single month. Right now, they are completely stressed out just trying to scrape together enough resources to save me from embarrassment during my upcoming graduation ceremony."
He leaned in closer. "What exactly do you need to spend money on for this graduation?"
"It's just a modest catering budget for a small family gathering here at the house," I replied.
"How much will it cost you?"
I quickly cut him off. "No! Absolutely not. I will not place any financial burdens on your shoulders. Please do not spoil me like this. Let me get used to your actual financial reality from the very beginning; teach me how we will survive together through times of abundance and times of scarcity."
He raised a single hand, cutting through my protest. "Look, stop right there and listen to me. I have the financial means to handle this, which is why I am offering. You didn't beg me for money; just tell me how much will be sufficient for you, or else I will simply take the money I intended to bring for our marriage and use it to fund your graduation myself."
I panicked slightly. "Umma will scold me severely! This is only your second time visiting our house, and..."
"And what?" he pressed, a soft smile on his lips.
I mumbled, "Alright... it's just three thousand naira."
"Fine, I will give you that amount. What else do you need?"
"Nothing else," I replied.
"What about the graduation uniform cloth (anko), the matching hijabs, the customized refreshments, and the commemorative calendars?" he asked knowingly. "You must remember that I have also completed a Quranic graduation ceremony in my youth; I know exactly how these events are run."
"Abba and Umma have already purchased all of those items for me," I said.
"Very well then. I will bring the three thousand naira the day after tomorrow, and then we will finalize our plans so I can officially send my elders to bring the bride-price, agreed?"
"Let me inform Umma and Abba first," I replied.
"Please, the moment you step inside, let them know," he urged. "And I will call your mother's phone tonight, no matter how late it gets, just to hear if they have given their official consent."
"Alright, that's fine," I said, before pausing. "But I would also like to request a major favor from you."
He focused his entire attention on me. "Speak quickly. If it is within my power, consider it granted."
"I deeply desire to continue my education after our marriage, even if it is just to enroll in a local nursing and health technology school."
He fell completely silent, his expression turning guarded. After a long pause, he said, "I cannot make you a firm promise on that right now due to certain personal reasons, but let us shelve that discussion for a later date."
"Alright, that's fine," I murmured, a bit disappointed.
He suddenly mimicked my soft tone, teasing, "Thank you so much, my Baby."
I quickly pulled my hands up to cover my blushing face.
He stood up to leave. "Well, let me begin heading home."
I glanced down at his hands and joked, "I notice you didn't bring your classic adult bicycle with you tonight?"
"Ah, the front tire suffered a severe puncture earlier today on my way back from the market," he lied smoothly, smiling.
"May Allah grant a safe journey back," I said.
His entire face lit up with a brilliant, sweeping smile. "Amen. And I will certainly pass your regards along to Hajiya, by Allah's grace." He neatly rolled up the plastic mat, stepped out of the corridor, and added, "Extend my warmest greetings to Umma and everyone in the household."
Inside the house, I found Abba in the middle of a serious lecture, thoroughly convinced I had begged for the gifts. "Did you explicitly tell Aliyu that you wanted to drink orange juice?" he was demanding. "These modern children simply cannot be trusted!"
I quickly sat down. "I swear by Allah, Abba, I didn't beg him for a single thing! In fact, you don't even know what we actually discussed. He openly asked me to give him a full budget for my graduation ceremony so he could pay for it, but I flatly refused and told him to save his money. That's the only reason he got upset!"
Umma interjected, defending me. "Father of Baby, I told you before—even Jamila wouldn't resort to begging, let alone Baby. Even though one can never completely vouch for this modern generation, there are certain baseline virtues you know your own child possesses."
Abba softened, a smile breaking across his face. "Well, may Allah bless both of you, and may He bless you as well, Mother of the House, for this wonderful upbringing is entirely a credit to your discipline. As for Aliyu, may Allah reward him abundantly and have mercy on his ancestors."
We all chanted, "Amen."
"Go ahead and slice up the fruits so everyone can have a share," Abba instructed. "Make sure to set a portion aside to send over to your aunt's house; we must not consume all of this luxury fruit by ourselves."
As Jamila happily busied herself slicing the fruits, I sat in absolute, frozen silence, completely terrified of how to deliver the rest of his message to my parents.
Umma looked at me. "What is wrong with you? Your father already realizes you didn't beg for the fruits."
"It's not that, Umma," I stammered. "He said... he said he wants to formally bring the bride-price this very week. And he said that if you both consent, he wants our wedding to be held concurrently with my graduation ceremony next month."
Umma suddenly choked violently on the piece of banana she was chewing. She began coughing dramatically, her face turning red. I lunged forward in a panic, fetching a cup of water and patting her back while calling out, "Sannu, Umma! Sannu!"
Abba scrambled over as well, highly anxious. Once she managed to catch her breath and steady her breathing, she gasped out, "Absolutely not! We cannot rush into this blindly without conducting a thorough background check on this man. Besides, we simply do not have the financial capability to fund a wedding ceremony within a single month!"
Abba waved his hand reassuringly. "Calm down and stop talking until you've fully recovered from that choke. Honestly, Salamatu, if such an arrangement could be successfully made, I would be the happiest man alive to see Baby married off on the exact day of her Quranic graduation. However, the financial burden is indeed massive, especially given your impending delivery—you could go into labor today or tomorrow."
Umma countered, "The childbirth expense is a simple matter; I don't intend to hold any lavish naming ceremony. May Allah deliver me safely. My main concern is her marriage."
Abba reasoned, "Amen. But remember, the man told me from the very first day that he was strictly looking for immediate marriage. He has been married before, so it is completely natural that he wants a wife in his home as soon as possible. I suggest we agree to let them bring the formal bride-price this week, and then we can hold a proper meeting with his elders to negotiate a sensible timeline."
Umma sighed. "Very well then. You can deliver that message to him when he visits."
I lowered my eyes shyly. "He said I should inform him over the phone. He promised to call Umma’s line as soon as he gets home tonight to hear your final decision."
Abba nodded. "Alright, you may inform him when he calls." I clutched Umma's phone tightly and went into our bedroom, staring at the screen in intense anticipation until exhaustion overtook me and I drifted into a light sleep.
Meanwhile, Shamaki was growing incredibly impatient. He hurried to dismiss the small crowd of neighborhood men who usually blocked his path after the night prayer to present their financial problems to him. For minor financial requests, he handed out cash on the spot, while for larger, systemic issues, he formally referred them to the headquarters of the Zeena Foundation. Tonight, he was completely desperate to escape them; he had been agonizing since yesterday to hear how Baby’s conversation with her parents had gone.
He turned to Malam Sabitu, the Chief Imam of the mosque attached to his estate. "Malam, I will step inside now. Tomorrow, I will hand you an official medical referral card to give to that sick man. Have him take it directly to Zeena Hospital; the management will contact me regarding the full coverage of his medical bills."
"Thank you, Alhaji!" the Imam prayed fervently. "May Allah expand your immense wealth and reward you."
"It is nothing," Shamaki replied hurriedly. "Malam, please excuse me from the rest of the congregation tonight; I have an urgent matter to attend to inside."
He tried to slip straight to his private quarters, but protocol forced him to stop by Hajiya’s wing first. She was seated on her mat reciting her nightly litanies, while Azima sat nearby, waiting for her to finish so she could massage her shins with therapeutic ointment. Shamaki sat down to wait, but his mind instantly drifted thousands of miles away to thoughts of Baby. In just one month, she will be living right here in my house, he mused happily. I will give her a life of unimaginable luxury; I will turn her into my absolute queen...
"Yaya Shamaki!"
Azima’s loud, sharp shout shattered his daydream. He jolted violently, blinking in confusion as he blurted out, "Baby, is everything okay?!"
He instantly snapped back to reality, his blood turning to ice as he met Hajiya’s razor-sharp, piercing gaze fixed directly onto his face. He quickly lowered his head. "Good evening, Hajiya."
She didn't answer his greeting. Instead, she turned to the young girl. "Azima, go to your room and come back later."
Once the door closed, she turned her majestic, terrifying gaze entirely back to him. "Aliyu."
She pronounced his birth name with a cold, terrifying precision. Shamaki’s eyes widened in sheer terror, his entire body breaking into a cold sweat as he sat bolt upright. In their household, whenever Hajiya abandoned his title "Shamaki" and invoked his birth name "Aliyu," it meant he had reached the absolute threshold of provoking her wrath.
She took a slow, deliberate breath. "Tell me exactly what kind of obsessive thoughts are consuming your mind right now."
He stammered, "It's... it's nothing major, Hajiya. I simply promised to call that young girl last night, but I failed to fulfill my promise, so I was just thinking about it."
She pointed a long, authoritative finger directly at his face. "So, is that the real reason you rushed back into this house tonight—not out of a desire to fulfill your duties or listen to the desperate plights of the needy citizens waiting outside your gates, but simply to escape them? You come into my presence and sink into a deep ocean of romantic daydreaming right before my eyes! Tell me, Aliyu, if I choose to withdraw my blessing and cancel my consent regarding this girl right now, what exactly will you do?"
Shamaki’s heart dropped straight into his stomach. In a state of sheer panic, the words burst out of his mouth before he could think: "I know for a certainty you would never do that to me, Hajiya!"
Hajiya’s eyes widened in profound, absolute astonishment. The submissive, deeply ingrained response she had expected to hear from her son was his lifelong mantra: “Whatever decisions you make are perfectly correct, Hajiya.” Instead, he had openly countered her.
She slowly closed her eyes, a heavy cloud of maternal disappointment settling over her face. After a long, tense silence, she spoke coldly, "Very well. I see that tonight, we will not be enjoying our usual dinner together, nor will we be reviewing our corporate accounts and charity ledgers. Stand up, leave my sight, and go make your phone call."
He knew instantly that she was cutting him with deep, aristocratic sarcasm. He quickly attempted to backpedal. "We will review the accounts, Hajiya! I am right here. It's just that my stomach feels completely bloated and full tonight; that's why I can't eat."
Hajiya remained stone-silent. She reached over, picked up her smartphone, and dialed Hassan, the head apprentice at the market plaza.
Hassan answered immediately with profound respect. After a brief greeting, Hajiya asked directly, "Hassan, I called to inquire about today. When the afternoon catering meals were delivered to the market headquarters, did Shamaki eat his lunch?"
Hassan replied honestly, "No, Hajiya. He didn't touch the main food at all today; he only consumed a massive amount of luxury fruits."
"I see. Thank you," she said, cutting the line.
She turned her frigid gaze back to Shamaki. "Stand up and go to your quarters. We will hold our discussion tomorrow morning. As you are right now, I do not believe your mind is capable of processing a single word I have to say to you."
"Please, Hajiya, don't upset yourself!" he pleaded desperately. "I swear by Allah, the situation is not at all what you are assuming!"
She simply pointed her finger toward the exit door of her wing. "Go and make your call."
Defeated and heavy-hearted, Shamaki slowly stood up. He bowed deeply. "May we wake up in good health, Hajiya. May Allah cool your anger."
"May Allah bless you," she uttered, looking away.
As he walked away, Hajiya watched his retreating figure, her heart burning with immense resentment. In the past, if she had ever commanded Shamaki to leave her sight, he would have dropped to his knees, begged for her forgiveness, and wept tears of absolute submission until her anger completely thawed. He would have forced himself to eat her food even if he wasn't hungry, and they would have meticulously balanced their financial ledgers just like they always did.
This girl has completely bewitched my son, she thought grimly. I must take drastic measures before this madness spins entirely out of control.
She reached for one of her private phones and dialed a specific number. The line was answered by their family’s elite spiritual advisor, the mallam who handled their massive fortifying prayers and spiritual protection.
"Malam," Hajiya said without preamble. "A severe crisis is looming over my household. My only son, Shamaki, has fallen into a state of intense infatuation with a common girl. He is behaving exactly like a mindless fool; his transformation utterly terrifies me. I want you to perform an intensive spiritual investigation (bincike) immediately. I need to know if this girl has used dark magic or love potions on him! Furthermore, I want to know if there is a single drop of blessings or good fortune for our family in this union!"
The mallam replied smoothly, "By Allah's grace, Hajiya, you will receive a comprehensive spiritual report by tomorrow afternoon. We will investigate this thoroughly from the spiritual realms. Can we obtain the girl's full name?"
Hajiya paused. "Hold on, let me get it." She cut the line and immediately rang Shamaki’s phone.
Shamaki was currently stripping off his clothes, preparing his bed in a frantic rush to call his lover, when Hajiya's caller ID flashed on his screen. His heart skipped a terrified beat. He answered instantly. "Yes, Hajiya?"
"What is the exact name of that girl you are pursuing?" she demanded coldly.
He replied quickly, "Her name is Baby Amira, but her actual birth name is Rabi'atu. Everyone calls her by those names."
Hajiya immediately slammed the phone down without another word.
Once the unsettling call ended, Shamaki pushed his anxieties aside, lay down across the center of his massive luxury bed with his legs dangling over the edge, and dialed Baby's mother's phone number.
On my bed, I was completely exhausted from weeping and agonizing over why Yaya Aliyu hadn't called me. A dark voice in my mind whispered that I should break protocol and call his number first, but my pride and self-respect fiercely restrained me. I had been completely unable to eat all day, and I had spent hours secretly crying to Allah, begging Him that if there was an impending heartbreak or problem, He should completely avert it. By the time Jamila and I curled up to sleep, and Umma's phone remained dead silent, I completely surrendered to despair, fully convinced the man had changed his mind and abandoned me.
Suddenly, the loud, distinctive Nokia ringtone shattered the silence of the night.
I bolted upright, my ears straining into the dark to see if Umma would wake up and call me. The ringing cut off. I scrambled out of my bed, rushing into the central courtyard just as the phone began to blare a second time. I whispered a frantic greeting at the door of Umma's room, but received no response. I stepped inside; Umma was fast asleep, her phone plugged into the wall charger, and Abba hadn't even returned from his late-night security shift yet.
I snatched the phone off the charger and sprinted back into my bedroom. The call disconnected just as I was about to press the answer button. Panic gripped me; I began frantically pressing the keys to check the balance so I could flash him back, but his incoming call flashed on the screen again. I threw myself onto our thin, sunken mattress, pressed the phone tightly against my ear, and breathed a soft, trembling, "Assalamu alaikum."
"Wa alaikumus salam," his rich, deep voice washed over me. "Did I wake you from a deep sleep, my Baby?"
"Yes... I was just starting to drift off," I lied softly, trying to sound composed.
"Please forgive me, my love," he murmured with immense tenderness. "A barrage of urgent matters completely overwhelmed me tonight, preventing me from calling at the exact hour I promised."
I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, the heavy burden lifting from my chest. "To be completely honest, Yaya, your silence severely traumatized my mind today. I spent the entire day locked in deep worry, wondering if you had suffered an accident or fallen ill. I desperately wanted to call your line, but my heart stopped me, warning me that you might be in the middle of an important business engagement or riding your bicycle through traffic, and I didn't want to distract you. I eventually went to bed completely sick with those thoughts."
"Alhamdulillah!" Shamaki exclaimed, his voice thick with profound emotion. "Now I have absolute, undeniable proof that you love me, Baby! It brings me unimaginable joy. Please, I beg you in the name of Allah, never hide your true feelings from me again—whether it is joy, sorrow, or anxiety, I want to hear every single detail of your heart, do you hear me, Baby?"
I blushed fiercely in the dark. "Alright, Yaya. I will always tell you."
"Now, tell me," he pressed eagerly. "How did your discussion with Umma and your father go?"
"They have fully consented to let your elders bring the formal bride-price this week," I explained. "But just as I warned you before, they cannot agree to hold the wedding next month concurrently with my graduation. The timeline is simply too sudden, and our family's economic situation cannot bear it. Besides, I don't want you to stress your own finances either. The Islamic scholars always teach us that extreme haste is an direct manipulation from Satan; we must take things slowly and smoothly."
He took a long, heavy breath over the receiver. "You speak the absolute truth, Rabi'atu, but there is something fundamental I need you to understand. I have tasted the sweetness of marriage before; I know the immense comfort of having a wife in my home, and I am in desperate need of that stability right now. I cannot endure a long, drawn-out courtship. Since you have already proven your absolute virtue and selflessness by agreeing to marry me without demanding a lavish bridal chest, what stops me from making a major sacrifice regarding your room furniture? Why can't I provide it myself? Is this marriage not being built entirely for my sake?"
"Of course it is being built for you, Yaya," I replied gently. "But you must understand how malicious and hypocritical society can be. The neighborhood women will unleash a vicious wave of gossip, mocking my parents and claiming they were so poor they couldn't even afford to buy common chairs or a bed for their first-born daughter. As for the bridal chest, we can easily lie to the public and claim we have safely locked it away in storage."
He let out a hearty, resonant laugh that sent pleasant shivers down my spine. "Perfect! And if people ask about our marital bed, we can simply tell them the carpenter hasn't finished building it yet!" he joked, his voice full of pure amusement.
I giggled softly. "If Umma and Abba can be convinced to accept that arrangement, then I have absolutely no objection. After all, you are the only one I am getting married to; the thin mattress I am currently lying on right now is barely a fraction thicker than a common straw mat."
He let out a warm, joyful laugh that instantly filled me with a sudden wave of intense shyness. "Well, I happen to own a massive, king-sized mattress, and my mother Hajiya has an abundance of cooking pots in her kitchen! Therefore, the only thing I truly need in my life is my wife."
A surge of pure, unadulterated happiness shot through my veins at the sound of him calling me his wife. O Allah, please bring this beautiful day to reality, I prayed fervently within the secret chambers of my heart.
"Amen, my Babyna," his voice suddenly murmured.
I gasped in total shock. "Wait! Did I speak that prayer out loud? I thought I only prayed it in my mind!"
He let out a soft, intimate chuckle. "I answered the prayer in my own mind, my love! Did you actually hear me?"
"Yes, I did!" I gasped.
"Ah, then it is absolutely true—we share a truly extraordinary, spiritual connection," he said softly. "Our ears are literally capable of hearing the silent whispers of each other's hearts. We must perform endless gratitude to Allah for this gift. By the way, Baby, may I ask you a deeply serious question?"
I lazily closed my eyes, rolling over onto my stomach as the heavy blankets of sleep began to wrap around my consciousness. "You can ask me absolutely anything you desire, Yaya."
"Can you live peacefully under the same roof with a mother-in-law?"
The question hit me like a bucket of ice water. My eyes snapped wide open, every ounce of sleep instantly evaporating from my system as my mind began to race. In the deep, hidden corners of her true desires, her immediate instinct was—

2. Story Summary Update

This segment accelerates the narrative tension by bringing the hidden conflict between the ultra-wealthy elite world of Aliyu Shamaki and the impoverished, traditional world of Baby to a dangerous flashpoint.

• The Generosity of an Incognito Billionaire: Shamaki continues his humble "shop boy" persona, yet his immense wealth accidentally leaks through his actions—such as buying 5,000 naira worth of unpeeled oranges (a massive fortune for fruit in a low-income alley) and casually offering 50,000 naira for the bride-price and funding her graduation out of his pocket.
• Baby’s Profound Devotion: Baby formally confesses her love and accepts his marriage proposal, delivering a beautifully raw and selfless vow: she is willing to marry him even if he cannot provide a bridal chest (lefe), and asks him to teach her how to love him through times of abundance and scarcity.
• The Mother’s Growing Malice: Hajiya discovers Shamaki’s emotional rebellion when he prioritizes calling Baby over his corporate duties and explicitly defends his independent choices. Outraged by his unprecedented defiance, Hajiya immediately contacts their elite family spiritual advisor to launch an intensive spiritual background check (bincike) on Baby, suspecting the poor girl has used dark magic/love potions on her son.

• The High-Stakes Proposal: Shamaki proposes an immediate wedding in five weeks, volunteering to secretly fund Baby’s traditional room furniture (kayan ɗaki) to shield her parents from poverty-shaming. The chapter ends on a massive cliffhanger as Shamaki drops the ultimate test question: "Can you live peacefully with a mother-in-law?"

  3. Character & Setting Developments

  Character Updates

• Aliyu Shamaki: Displays an alarming level of emotional vulnerability. He is so consumed by his love for Baby that he openly defies Hajiya for the first time in his life, breaking their lifelong sacred domestic protocols.
• Hajiya: Evolves into a formidable, high-stakes antagonist. Her deep psychological control over Shamaki is threatened. She views Baby not merely as a poor girl, but as a dangerous spiritual or psychological threat who has "turned her son into a fool," prompting her to weaponize her wealth and spiritual networks against the romance.

• Baby / Rabi'atu: Solidifies her character as a fiercely independent, proud, and mature young woman. She refuses to place financial burdens on Shamaki, values her parents' social dignity above material comfort, and demands that her future husband permit her to pursue a professional career in nursing.

  Setting Updates

• Zeena Foundation, Zeena Hospital, & Zeena Furnitures: The vast scale of Shamaki's multi-million-naira empire is highlighted through these institutions, which manage everything from mass orphan sponsorships to private healthcare coverage.

• The Mud-Wall Courtyard at Night: Serving as the backdrop for Baby’s late-night phone call, this low-income setting provides a sharp, aesthetic contrast to Shamaki’s luxurious, king-sized bedroom suite.

  4. Literary Analytics

  Key Motifs & Symbolism

1. The Pure Water Sachet (Fiyawata) vs. Premium Tea Service: In Shamaki's mansion, his breakfast is a lavish, high-end affair served by domestic staff. At Baby's house, he is served a basic plastic sachet of warm water on a woven plastic mat. His absolute contentment with this stark downgrade symbolizes his desperate desire to escape the suffocating luxury of his mother's control.
2. The White Lightweight Fabric: Shamaki’s choice of attire is a brilliant metaphor for his double life. He wears a plain white fabric to look like a common laborer, yet the fabric is secretly an ultra-expensive luxury weave. This symbolizes that no matter how hard he tries to camouflage himself as a poor man, his elite background is permanently woven into his identity.

3. The Spiritual Investigation (Bincike): Hajiya launching a spiritual inquiry into Baby’s background is a classic cultural motif in Northern Nigerian prose. It represents the elite class's immediate defensive mechanism: attributing a wealthy man's genuine love for a poor woman to supernatural manipulation rather than authentic human connection.

   Suspense & Cliffhanger Mechanics

   The chapter uses parallel narrative tracking to perfection. The author juxtaposes Shamaki's blissful, telepathic romantic banter with the dark, looming threat of Hajiya’s corporate and spiritual counter-attack. The final question regarding the mother-in-law functions as a structural trapdoor—the reader is fully aware of Hajiya's active hostility, making Baby’s internal hesitation a ticking time bomb for the next phase of the novel.