Gidan Kwarata Complete by Maman Teddy

Description

The officer finished his paperwork and forwarded it to the D.P.O. so that he could attempt another mediation between them. As I sat there waiting, they went inside the office and then came back out. We said our goodbyes, and they left.
The prolonged silence and the fact that our father hadn't returned yet made me deeply anxious. I absolutely despised the idea of those boys spending the night in that place, and I desperately wanted a resolution. I called Usaini on his phone to find out the latest update, and he assured me that they were all on their way back, including the neighborhood head (Mai Unguwa).
I hung up the phone, my heart heavy with unease.
When they arrived at the station, a lengthy meeting was held in the D.P.O.'s office. All the boys were brought out, looking thoroughly traumatized by the single day they had spent locked up. They even looked visibly gaunt and unkempt. The area around Kamalu's eye was slightly swollen, as if he had been struck or from crying continuously.
I took one look at them and quickly averted my eyes. With great difficulty, a settlement was finally reached. Even so, that stubborn water-vendor insisted on being compensated for his tires and wheels, claiming he hadn't left his water-cart in that damaged condition.
The bail was set at thirty thousand Naira. They demanded ten thousand Naira for each boy. In total, the cash I had on hand didn't exceed thirteen thousand Naira. There was no way I could bail out two people and leave the third behind. They committed their foolishness together, and besides, his parents lacked the means to afford it, barely getting by with what they ate. I handed over what remained in my possession, went out to withdraw the rest of the money, and completed the required amount for them. Only then did they release the boys to us, and we headed home just before nine o'clock at night.
As we were entering the house, I noticed that Kamalu was limping, and both he and Saminu were skulking along, hugging the walls.
Usaini, on the other hand, kept swatting the backs of their heads. That was how we entered the house while everyone stood around watching in clusters. I opened my room, went inside, and sat down, my legs still trembling uncontrollably.
I could hear the commotion of their voices outside until it eventually died down, signaling that everyone had dispersed to attend to their own affairs. I got up and peeped into the courtyard through my bedroom window. There I saw the two of them sitting in the center of the courtyard all by themselves. Kamalu was huddled near the earthen tripod stove, tightly hugging his knees. Yusi was kneeling in front of him, crying. I steeled my heart and called out, "Hey, Yusi, what are you crying for? Get up from there and come inside."
He quickly looked up at me and said, "Mama, please, for God's sake, forgive him and don't beat him. His body is aching and his leg is swollen. He promised he won't do it again."
I said, "I am not going to beat him. Get up and come back to the room."
He took his brother's hand, saying, "Big brother, get up, let's go. She said she won't beat you." Kamalu raised his head and looked at me. I said, "Get up and come inside, I won't beat you." At that moment, tears began to stream down his face. I quickly turned away and left the window.
I collapsed heavily onto the mat, and despite my absolute best efforts to suppress the intense, overwhelming weeping that had been building up inside me, I failed. It burst forth with great force, so I put my hand over my mouth to muffle it. I slid down, lying on the floor, crying bitterly while reflecting on the day Allah would finally lift this agonizing distress that had enveloped me since my youth.

THE BEGINNING

Malam Salisu, the cap-maker, is our father. He was a very patient, gentle-natured man who despised conflict; it was extremely rare for any neighborhood dispute to break out and have his name associated with it. He always strove to maintain his dignity and self-respect. As the story went, from the time he was young, he grew up with a strong drive to earn his own livelihood. This was the reason he originally started traveling from town to town as a merchant selling caps. It was only when his mother, Iya, expressed her disapproval of his constant traveling that he reluctantly stopped. However, that trading venture brought him the immense blessing of meeting his senior wife—our mother, whose name was Saratu. Originally from Maiduguri, a city widely renowned for the craftsmanship of various traditional caps, Allah brought him together with our mother in a market where she had gone shopping near the shop where he ran his business. It didn't take long after they grew fond of each other for a deep love to blossom. Their parents then stepped in, conducted thorough background checks on both sides, and found no issues whatsoever. Our father’s guardians took charge, traveling all the way to Borno State, where the marriage was officially solemnized.
Our father had no housing problems since his father had only three children and had allocated a plot of land to each before his passing. Our mother moved into his house located in the Kabuga quarters within the ancient city of Kano, bringing along all her cultural traditions. They were overjoyed when they realized her new home was close to the residence of Dada's close friend (Dada being her mother). They continuously thanked Allah for ensuring there was someone trustworthy with whom they could entrust her safekeeping in the city.
Thus, Gwaggo, the mother of Yaya Aminu, became our mother's mentor and an maternal figure to her.
Our mother went a long time without conceiving. Our father became deeply anxious, especially seeing how his younger brother, Sule, had immediately started having children after his marriage. As you know with traditional Hausa households, our father began displaying certain behavioral changes. He altered completely. Even though he lacked financial strength and they barely scratched by daily, he nonetheless began making arrangements to marry a second wife, who was a divorcee. Little did they know, our mother was already pregnant at the time, though she was unaware of it, and neither was he. The sheer distress she was under had completely disoriented her, making her unable to recognize her condition. She was an intensely jealous woman. This was the exact reason she grew gaunt and wasted away, and there was never any peace between her and her husband. He, on the other hand, was completely blinded at the time by his desperate desire for offspring.
Consequently, she packed her belongings and fled to Gwaggo’s house with the firm resolve that she would never return and was completely finishing with the marriage. She refused to live in a polygamous home. Gwaggo tried repeatedly to soothe her, but she flatly refused to go back.
Meanwhile, our father seemed completely under a spell at the time, showing no respect to anyone except the mother of Hadiza (Ummansu Hadiza). Even Iya, his own mother, failed to reason with him. She visited Gwaggo's house to persuade our mother to return to her matrimonial home. Gwaggo stated that if the husband wished to continue the marriage, he should come over so a proper mediation could be arranged.
As it turned out, it was Baba Sule who was instigating him, telling him not to go and advising him to dissolve his marriage to our mother entirely, claiming she brought bad luck and that he would never prosper with her. He insisted that marrying Murja (who became Ummansu Hadiza) was far better for him since she was his wife's older sister, and her family possessed both wealth and a track record of fertility.
Our father listened to his brother's advice. He abandoned our mother at Gwaggo's house, leaving her in marital limbo—neither properly married nor divorced.
While Gwaggo was making preparations to inform Dada and the rest of the family back home about the situation, our mother suddenly developed a severe ailment in her legs, leaving her unable to walk and reducing her to crawling.
Gwaggo sent word to inform our father of her critical condition. He refused to come, as he had already solemnized his new marriage by then and moved in with his new wife in one of the rooms in the main house.
Gwaggo did not have a husband; he had passed away nearly five years prior, leaving her with four orphans whom she was single-handedly supporting through various small-scale handicraft businesses, which kept her afloat. She took our mother to the hospital herself for various medical tests. The doctor confirmed that she was six months pregnant, and the baby had shifted positions, which was the direct cause of the severe pain and swelling in her legs.
Nothing is impossible by God's decree, but the revelation left everyone astonished. Gwaggo sent for our father a second time, but he still refused to come. She then packed up and went directly to his shop, confronting him with the matter and showing him the written medical results.
He was deeply shaken and filled with awe at Allah's power. Deflated, he couldn't look Gwaggo in the eye and began making clumsy excuses to defend his behavior. Gwaggo told him, "Well, since childbearing was the issue, come and take your wife back. Fear Allah and be just, for both of you were entrusted to us as a sacred trust." She then turned back home, leaving him in deep remorse.
Baba Sule tried to instigate him further to resist, casting doubt on the pregnancy and claiming it wasn't his. Our father refused to accept his advice because he knew the virtue of his wife better than anyone else.
As it happened, the issues with childbearing actually stemmed from our father. Even though Ummansu Hadiza was a divorcee who had children elsewhere, she did not conceive immediately upon entering his house. It was only five years after our mother gave birth to Anti Yagana that Ummansu Hadiza finally conceived her first child with him. By God's decree, two days after she gave birth to the baby, Allah took his soul back. She wept bitterly, accusing our mother of scalding the infant with hot water, simply because our mother had bathed the baby shortly before he passed away.
Naturally, they lived like oil and water. Our mother constantly suppressed her feelings in her role as the senior wife to avoid being labeled as the one opposed to peace. Nevertheless, whenever Ummansu Hadiza pushed her to the wall, she would come out, and they would engage in fierce shouting matches. She was patient at times, but she absolutely loathed disrespect. That was why Anti Yagana always remarked that I inherited her exact temperament of not tolerating any nonsense.
Hadiza and I were conceived at almost the exact same time. According to the accounts Ummansu Hadiza used to give us, both mothers experienced morning sickness together until Allah brought the time of delivery; there was only a nine-day gap between Hadiza and me. She was born first, followed by me. At her birth, a massive sheep was slaughtered for her naming ceremony. When it came to me, however, our father claimed he had no money and told our mother to be patient, arguing that he had already thrown a big ceremony for her firstborn.
Our mother wept bitterly, protesting that it was unfair since it was a prophetic tradition (Sunnah), demanding that just as a sheep was slaughtered for her co-wife, one must be slaughtered for her as well. He maintained that it wasn't compulsory, and he simply named his daughter Amina, just as he had named his other daughter Hadiza.
When our mother’s family back home heard the news, they were deeply displeased. Since Dada kept a livestock of goats, she ordered one to be slaughtered. It was perfectly fried, and when they came to visit me, they brought it along with other essential baby supplies.
Despite this, the issue continued to rankle our mother because our father openly showed favoritism even in the baby clothing, ensuring Hadiza's gifts were plentiful while mine were meager. Whenever she complained, he would dismiss it by saying she wasn't a first-time mother.
This constant favoritism sparked frequent arguments in the house. Whenever our father made moves to correct his path after realizing his mistakes, Baba Sule would intervene and ruin it, setting him on an entirely different, biased path... ✍️
Our father's passive nature was the reason Baba Sule constantly interfered in all his affairs. Allah did not align Sule's spirit with our mother's at all; from the moment she entered the household, he never exchanged proper, respectful greetings with her. Sometimes he would come into the house, perform his business, and leave without acknowledging her presence, despite her being his brother's wife living under the same roof. She, however, would always overlook it and greet him respectfully. On days when she was feeling less tolerant, she would simply ignore him until he finished whatever brought him to the house, after which he would leave while muttering passive-aggressive insinuations like a gossiping woman.
Our mother bottled up these continuous domestic frustrations in her heart, which eventually caused her to develop a chronic heart condition that ultimately claimed her life. It happened so suddenly; she had been ailing while managing to stay on her feet until her body began to swell. Only then did Baba realize the severity of the situation and rushed her to the hospital, where the doctor confirmed her heart was failing. Gwaggo was thrown into absolute panic because our mother had completely reached the limit of her endurance, and Gwaggo had to constantly soothe her. At that point, our father was also deeply frightened and focused all his energy on seeking medical remedies, both orthodox and traditional Hausa medicine. He pleaded with Gwaggo not to inform her family back home about the critical state of her health.
The brief moments of attention our mother received due to her illness sparked intense jealousy in Ummansu Hadiza. She immediately began fabricating illnesses of her own, constantly taking to her bed and claiming she was unwell. Consequently, our father became utterly overwhelmed during that period, split between the lack of peace in his home and the frantic search for daily sustenance.
By the time we were eight years old, Hadiza and I were growing up together when, by God's decree, both mothers conceived again at the exact same time. The pregnancy compounded our mother's morning sickness and her chronic heart ailment, which flared up periodically. Were it not for Gwaggo and our father standing firmly by her side, constantly seeking out remedies—especially potent Hausa herbal treatments—she wouldn't have managed. Whenever they tried a remedy, it brought temporary relief. However, when a person's appointed time comes, nothing can avert it. Our mother's illness flared up with severe intensity while she was five months pregnant.
Upon arriving at the hospital, she was immediately admitted, at which point she could no longer even recognize those standing around her bed.
Two days later, her family members arrived, as none of them had been aware of what was happening. Seeing how critical the situation had become, Gwaggo had finally informed them. A well-to-do brother of Dada's ordered that she be transferred to a major referral hospital, promising to cover every expense required. However, there was to be no further suffering or financial loss, as her soul departed while the transfer arrangements were being finalized. Our mother passed away with the unborn child in her womb on a Thursday night, and she was buried on Friday morning.
At that young age, I did not fully understand the concept of death. I simply noticed her prolonged absence, and whenever I asked Gwaggo, she would tell me that our mother had traveled to Saudi Arabia.
Once the mourning period concluded, Dada requested that Baba hand me over to her since I was the youngest. Ummansu Hadiza objected, insisting that I should be left in her care so she could raise me alongside her own daughter, claiming that if I were taken away, Hadiza would be heartbroken.
Seeing the apparent concern she displayed, our father asked Dada to be patient and take Anti Yagana instead, suggesting that I could be brought to the village from time to time to visit them.
That was exactly what happened; they left with Anti Yagana while she and I wept bitterly as we parted ways. Gwaggo held me close, comforting me and promising that I would be taken to see them periodically.
I passed completely into the custody of Ummansu Hadiza. At first, she treated me decently, but as time went on, she began showing blatant favoritism and disparity between me and her own children, Hadiza and Fati (whom she gave birth to after our mother's death). She made no effort to hide her bias. I would watch her buy new underwear, earrings, and cosmetics for her daughters while buying absolutely nothing for me. My only relief was visiting Gwaggo's house; if Gwaggo noticed I had no earrings, she would buy me a pair or remove her own and put them on me. Sometimes, she would boil hot water and wash me along with the single pair of underwear I had on, which I often wore for over a month without changing. Gwaggo was the one who bought me underwear and beauty products, and she would unbraid my hair and give me money to get it neatly braided by her neighbors.
When Ummansu Hadiza noticed this pattern, she banned me from visiting Gwaggo's house entirely. Whenever we returned from the Islamic evening school, Hadiza would immediately go to lie down and rest, while I was saddled with sweeping the compound and washing the dishes before going to collect errand money from our father to buy household groceries. Before I even reached the age of twelve, I was already cooking all the family meals. I suffered numerous burns on my hands and feet; whenever I showed them to her, she would ignore me completely, only offering a half-hearted sympathy whenever she felt like it. My wounds simply healed on their own. I was also responsible for washing our school uniforms. Sometimes, while I was doing the laundry, Ummansu Hadiza would gather the small clothes of the twins she was nursing—Hassana and Usaina—and toss them at me, commanding me to wash them as well.
I had absolutely no time for myself. Whenever I went to school, I would constantly doze off because sometimes she would even send me on late-night errands to local vendors and shops whenever she needed something.
One day, as Hadiza and I were returning from secular school, Yaya Aminu rode up on his bicycle. I smiled broadly as he stopped in front of us, smiling back. Hadiza twisted her mouth in contempt and walked away without greeting him. I, however, exchanged warm greetings with him, and he joked with me as he usually did, asking why I had stopped visiting their house. I didn't hide anything from him and informed him that Ummansu Hadiza had forbidden me from coming.
He comforted me greatly, saying, "Keep exercising patience. The good thing is that you are a girl; you will get married one day, and all of this will just become a distant memory." He pulled out two hundred Naira and handed it to me.
The moment I stepped inside the house, Ummansu Hadiza unleashed a torrent of scolding on me, accusing me of loitering around when I knew there was work waiting for me. I told her that I had only stopped to greet Yaya Aminu, which was why I didn't come in early. From inside the room, I heard Hadiza chiming in, saying, "That worthless fellow is a rogue! If you keep standing around with him, he will ruin you."
I was deeply hurt, but I ignored her and said nothing, and their mother did not correct her either. I took off my school uniform to attend to the chores before me.
From time to time, Yaya Aminu would give me two hundred Naira whenever we crossed paths. I would accept it with joy and gratitude because that money helped me immensely during school recess, especially since Sahura sometimes brought extra food that we shared, which greatly alleviated my hunger. As for Hadiza and the others, their mother gave them fifty Naira every day, while I was the only one left empty-handed. It turned out Hadiza was spying on me; when she noticed me buying tiger nuts and peanuts during recess, she went and reported it to their mother. Her mother then cornered me, aggressively interrogating me and accusing me of running after men who were allegedly giving me money and taking advantage of me.
I wept bitterly, protesting my innocence and telling her it wasn't true, explaining that it was only Yaya Aminu who occasionally gave me two hundred Naira. She scoffed and said, "Well, he is a rogue himself—a giant, overgrown bachelor living at forty without a wife! Of course his desires are overwhelming him, which is why he hangs around people's young daughters, touching them." I cried out, "Wallahi, he does nothing of the sort to me, Umma! You can send for Sahura and ask her; I do not talk to men."
Hadiza chimed in again, saying, "Sahura is exactly like you; that's why she throws money around at school too."
When our father returned, she reported the matter to him. He scolded me severely, though he didn't actively suspect me of wrongdoing. However, when Baba Sule visited, Ummansu Hadiza told him as well. He hurled insults at me and insulted my late mother, going as far as beating me with the laundry clothesline, shouting that I would not tarnish their family lineage.
Ummansu Hadiza acted as though she had completely severed my ties with my mother's relatives. Whenever I was taken to the village, I never stayed long; I would cause a fuss until I was brought back. Even when Anti Yagana had her first child and we visited with Gwaggo, and Gwaggo suggested leaving me there for a few days so the extended family could spend time with me, I burst into intense crying, insisting that I would not stay behind and would follow her back step for step. Dada would scold me until she grew tired and gave up, observing that I could never relax around them and preferred to remain in the midst of my hardships, just as Dada always used to say.
Consequently, my heart hardened further, and I felt deep down that no one had the right to separate me from Gwaggo's family, for they were the ones who supported my mother when she had no one, and now they were supporting me. Even though they shared no blood ties with our mother—their bond being purely a deep friendship and originating from the same hometown as Dada—whenever I looked at Gwaggo, I felt as though I was in the presence of my mother's actual relatives. I visited her house to greet her from time to time, but I never allowed Hadiza to find out.
Sahura was my closest friend, and her family lived right behind our house. We were in the same class in both secular and Islamic schools, as well as the evening classes. Her father was a moderately wealthy man. Though he had passed away, he left them with some inheritance; he believed firmly in western education, and there was great unity in their household, meaning their family ties never fractured. That was where I went to find solace; sometimes I would cry bitterly while she comforted me. I told her that I desperately wanted to obtain at least a diploma so I could secure a job and stand on my own feet. She promised me she would speak to their eldest brother to assist both of us once our exam results were released.
We grew up as four young girls in our household. Hadiza was the eldest, followed by me, then Fati (who was born after my mother's passing), and then the twins she had. After the twins, she did not conceive again. Eventually, our father married Saminu's mother, whose name was Sakina. Upon her arrival, she immediately started giving birth to boys, though her twin son, Hassan, passed away two days after birth.
Due to the extreme hardship and heavy labor I endured in our house, my physical growth was stunted, and I remained very petite. My actual age was hidden by my small frame. As a result, even the younger girls like Hassana grew to look more physically developed and attractive as teenagers than I did. Of course, Hadiza and Fati were in a league of their own, as their mother closely managed their appearance with fine clothes and cosmetics. They inherited her robust, heavily-built frame. Her main ambition at the time was for suitors to appear so she could marry them off all at once. She cared nothing for the condition I was in. They both began menstruating long before I did. When I finally started my first period, I was deeply embarrassed, hiding myself and crying. With great difficulty, I managed myself, following the hygiene steps we were taught at the evening Islamic school. However, I possessed only two pairs of underwear and had no access to sanitary pads; I saw Hadiza and the others using them, while I had to tear up my old headties into two pieces to use as rags. They would constantly mock me for it. It was only Usaina among them who felt dynamic with me; she would secretly take pads from her own stash and bring them to me.
Anti Sakina, Saminu's mother, was a perfect match for Ummansu Hadiza because she entered our household fully prepared for drama. Furthermore, since she noticed she had secure standing by giving birth to boys first in the house, she cemented her position. Even Ummansu Hadiza, realizing she was dealing with a sharp, modern rival, chose to maintain boundaries. Occasionally, Anti Sakina would speak out whenever she noticed the blatant selfishness exhibited in the house. She would argue aggressively, saying, "Your daughters are treated like royalty, anointed with oil, so they never lift a finger to do any chores! This isn't genuine love you are showing them, Murja; you will marry them off tomorrow, and you don't know what kind of homes they will find themselves in. You are only pampering them, whereas hardships are merely passing phases, and a child who isn't taught..."

Story Summary

The text progresses through a painful resolution in the present day before transitioning into a foundational flashback titled "The Beginning" (Mafari). In the present, Amina manages to secure the bail and release of her son Kamalu and his friends from the police station after a stressful day in custody. Returning home deeply traumatized by the persistent hatred and false accusations aimed at her family, Amina breaks down in bitter tears, triggering memories of her agonizing youth.
The flashback introduces her late parents: Malam Salisu, a gentle cap-maker from Kano, and Saratu, her mother from Maiduguri. Their marriage fractures under the toxic influence of Salisu's brother, Baba Sule, who instigates Salisu into marrying a second wife, Murja (Ummansu Hadiza), out of a desperate desire for more children. Saratu passes away suddenly from a broken heart and a chronic cardiac condition while five months pregnant, leaving the eight-year-old Amina completely at the mercy of her wicked stepmother, Murja. The narrative details years of severe domestic abuse, emotional neglect, physical stunting, and malicious gaslighting that Amina endured while Murja pampered her own daughters, establishing the root cause of Amina's lifelong trauma.

Original Story Description & Themes

• Genre: Hausa Family Drama / Generational Trauma Fiction.
• Setting: The conservative, tightly-knit quarters of Kabuga in Kano, shifting between the late 1990s/early 2000s childhood flashback and a modern polygamous household.
• Core Themes:
  • The Wicked Stepmother Archetype (Muguntar Kofato): The text explicitly exposes the systematic abuse of orphans within extended families. Murja enforces severe child labor, starves Amina of basic needs (forcing her to use torn rags for menstrual hygiene), and falsely accuses her of sexual delinquency.
  • Toxic Male Instigation: The character of Baba Sule highlights how external family interference can completely dismantle marital peace, driving a wedge between brothers and encouraging the financial and emotional abandonment of a vulnerable wife.

  • Generational Resiliency: Despite her stunted growth and extreme psychological trauma, Amina’s childhood bond with her true maternal allies (Gwaggo and Sahura) foreshadows the fierce independence and entrepreneurial drive she displays as an adult.

    Follow-up Question

    Given the deeply rooted trauma and favoritism Amina experienced under her stepmother Murja, how do you see these childhood hardships shaping her current defensive reactions toward her co-wife Jamila and her fierce protection of her son Kamalu?