From that exact moment, Ummami did not see Mr. Yassar again, nor did they catch so much as a glimpse of his shadow within the hospital premises for seven full days following their admission. However, the wholesome, highly nutritious food and drinks he had pre-paid the clinic to deliver to them arrived strictly on schedule every day. They ate heartily, gradually recovering their strength, and their cheeks began to flush with healthy color. On a Saturday afternoon, while Ummami was gently spoon-feeding Keltouma slices of banana and papaya, she turned to the camp leader who had visited and remarked, "For my part, I have been continuously praying that all is well with Malam Yassar. You see, it has been total silence up until today; he hasn't checked back in on us. I am praying that Allah aligns our paths and brings us face-to-face with him just one more time, so I can adequately express my gratitude." The camp leader replied, "Even back at the displacement camp, I haven't seen him for the past couple of days; he hasn't been coming around. It is only his colleague—the Yoruba man—and the other lady from another tribe who are there." She then asked Ummami if they had previously known him somewhere else prior to their arrival at the camp, noting how deeply astonished she was by how much he genuinely cared for them. Everyone in the camp had witnessed that they were the only ones he personally took care of among all the internally displaced persons. Ummami replied, "Not at all. It is purely an affinity of the blood, or rather, I should say he is one of God's chosen people, the likes of whom it is said will never cease to exist in this world..." Ummami had barely finished speaking when Mr. Yassar's Islamic greeting (Salam) echoed in their ears. He stood gracefully at the entrance of the hospital room, a gentle, serene smile playing upon his soft lips. Ummami's parting words had entered his ears perfectly. He was dressed immaculately in a grand, deep-colored Getzner Shadda gown, his head bare without a cap. His innate dignity and commanding presence instantly filled the vision of everyone present in the room, while the distinct, luxurious aroma of his Baccarat Rouge perfume greeted everyone's senses. Ummami's face broke into a wide, uncontainable smile that looked as though it would never close, and she returned his greeting with immense eagerness and joy. Stepping into the room, he said, "Ummami, you have gained some healthy weight and you look wonderful, Masha Allah." Her eyes, without needing words, completely betrayed how deeply she had missed his presence, while simultaneously revealing her lingering worry over his prolonged absence. With a single glance, however, her eyes picked up on just how visibly emaciated he had become in the few days she hadn't seen him. Even Keltouma, who had been admitted to the hospital bed with her life hanging by a thread in Allah's hands, had not lost as much weight or looked as drained as Mr. Yassar did now. What Ummami did not know was that it was his very own blood that had been drawn and transfused into Keltouma's veins... After donating his blood, he had returned home only to be bedridden by his own illness. His body had collapsed under the weight of overwhelming exhaustion and a profound, aching sorrow in his heart whose source he couldn't quite fathom. He only knew that his singular, desperate hope was for Keltouma to stand on her feet and survive—to live a long life. He knew all too well the lethal danger of a severe gastric ulcer; it was the exact ailment that had suddenly and abruptly claimed the life of his close friend, Salah. Ummami was overwhelmed, barely knowing how best to welcome him out of sheer joy and relief. Yassar, meanwhile, kept stealing glances toward the bed where Keltouma lay. She was currently receiving a combined transfusion of intravenous fluids and blood. He harbored no doubt whatsoever that it was his own lifeblood dripping steadily, drop by drop, into her body. He had strictly instructed the medical team not to use commercial or anonymous bank blood for her; he insisted they screen his blood first, and if it matched, they should draw as many pints as necessary. A sudden, sharp shiver ran completely through his body when his eyes fully settled on Keltouma. Today, she was wearing only a simple white camisole (shimi), her head completely uncovered. Although her hair was somewhat tangled—having not been washed, combed, or styled—it was a rich, deep, silken jet-black. Ummami was flustered, trying to offer him a chair while eagerly filling the air with conversation, saying to him, "If it were within my power, I would have thrown a massive tantrum at you, Malam Yassar! Today marks the eighth day since I last laid eyes on you, and I had absolutely no idea where to look for you. It isn't as if I could easily wander into the town to launch a public search, asking if anyone had found my son, Yassar, the man of Paradise?" She made him laugh so heartily that his gentle smile widened significantly. She continued, "By Allah, there is nothing I didn't ponder in my heart regarding how I would search for you across Zamfara State and its surroundings. If you hadn't shown up today, I was fully prepared to venture into every nook and cranny of this city, asking around for Ummami's son." His subtle smile transitioned into genuine laughter. Yassar laughed repeatedly, then bowed his head deeply, almost to his knees, as he formally and respectfully greeted her. In a soothing, apologetic tone, he said, "I beg for your forgiveness, our dear Ummami. I, too, have been battling a severe bout of fever. It hasn't completely left my system even now. I only forced myself out of bed today because I felt a pressing need to check on you. Even on the day we first brought you here, I had barely recovered from the initial fever. The moment I returned home, it struck me with renewed force. But Alhamdulillah, I feel much better today. In fact, before heading to the camp, I made sure this was my very first stop because I missed seeing you immensely as well." Ummami was deeply touched by his words and felt a wave of maternal sympathy for him. She remarked, "So it turns out it was a case of a bedridden son and a bedridden younger sister simultaneously!" Then, with a playful, teasing smile, she added, "Was it only me you missed seeing, Malam Yassar? What about your crying machine of a younger sister?" This time, Yassar could not suppress the sudden, violent thumping of his heart, though he managed to mask it on his face with a thin, subtle smile. Slowly and deliberately, he raised his head to look at Keltouma, who was sound asleep on the hospital bed. It was only then that Ummami realized Keltouma was not fully clothed; she hurriedly pulled the blanket up, covering her body entirely, leaving only her smooth, peaceful face visible as she breathed deeply in stable health. Ummami had completely forgotten that Keltouma was only wearing a camisole. She only realized it when she noticed Mr. Yassar stealing a glance at her. Then, as if pulled by a powerful magnet, his eyes locked onto her face, completely unable to look away. For the first time, he was seeing Keltouma in her true, natural element. He was beholding a raw, striking beauty in her features that he had never observed in any woman before. Furthermore, he looked at her through the lens of mercy and deep compassion for the sick, completely devoid of the annoyed, dismissive glares he used to give her in the past. This was the very first day he found himself looking at her with absolute focus—a calm, peaceful, and tranquil gaze. He was fortunate enough to witness her natural being while she was completely still, free from crying, anger, or wiping her nose. Thanks to the daily sponge baths given to her by the nurses, she looked clean, radiant, and thoroughly refreshed, with no traces of tears in her eyes. The prolonged period of proper nourishment had visibly restored her health. He silently admitted to himself: "She is truly beautiful, if you strip away her excessive entitlement and spoiled nature." Her complexion had become exceptionally fair and smooth, reminiscent of an Arab woman. Her skin had softened completely, resembling that of a newborn baby. Her delicate, slender nose stood out elegantly. Because she was now bathed every morning and evening, all the accumulated grime and dust of the displacement camp had completely vanished from both Keltouma and her mother. Allah had blessed Keltouma with a perfectly straight, sharp nose, looking as though it had been meticulously sculpted and placed between her eyes. Her mouth was tiny and naturally pinkish; merely observing it when she spoke or cried was enough to captivate any man. She lay flat on her back as the intravenous fluids and blood steadily entered her body, drop by drop. The thought that "This is my blood!" ignited a sudden spark within his soul. He marvelled at his own actions—how he had willingly given his own lifeblood to save her. He recalled how, when the doctor mentioned they would need to purchase significant quantities of blood to transfuse her, the words had escaped his lips automatically: "Screen mine. If it matches, draw it. Do not give her anyone else's blood except mine; I do not want commercial blood." He had explicitly uttered the words "My blood!" without even realizing he was speaking aloud. His internal thoughts had broken out into the open, so much so that Ummami caught a snippet of it, causing her to turn around and ask, "What is it? Did I hear you mention something about blood, my son? Yes, ever since we arrived, they have been continuously administering blood to her, as she had lost a tremendous amount of blood internally from her stomach." Yassar quickly snapped out of his reverie, instantly realizing his slip of the tongue. He hurriedly corrected his statement, saying, "Oh, Ummami! I was only saying that I noticed the blood bag is nearly empty. Let me go call the nurse so they can come and disconnect it." After speaking with the nurse outside, who came in to disconnect the depleted blood bag, the nurse informed him that the Chief Medical Director was requesting his presence in his office. Yassar went to the office and greeted him warmly as usual. Dr. Kazim remarked, "Keltouma's recovery has been remarkable in such a short period, Alhamdulillah. It has far exceeded my expectations. We thank Allah, and we thank noble individuals like yourself. Keltouma has recovered so well it is as if she was never ill, but there is a strong probability this ailment could return if she goes back to a life of starvation and the severe emotional distress she faced previously." "Her mother informed me that you are not actually her biological brother. I was deeply astonished when she mentioned that you only came to their displacement camp for a standard work assignment, yet you chose to personally rescue and support them at a time when nobody else cared about their plight. I am extremely impressed!" The doctor paused, then added, "I hope you are consuming all the iron-rich foods and supplements I listed for you, in order to rapidly replenish your own blood supply and restore your physical strength?" Yassar replied, "Do not worry, Doctor. Insha Allah, I will be fine. I will take care of myself. My only concern is for Ummami to be happy, and for Keltouma to stay healthy." The doctor laughed softly and teased, "Malam Yassar, could it be that...? Well, let me leave the chicken inside its feathers for now. When it is fully cooked with aromatic spices and its fragrance spreads, everyone will smell it anyway." Yassar didn't quite grasp the metaphorical, double-meaning joke Dr. Kazim was making. He simply offered a polite smile, stood up, and left the office without saying another word, genuinely oblivious to the doctor's underlying hint. Throughout the ten days of Keltouma's hospitalization, the bond between Yassar and Keltouma's mother had grown exceptionally deep. They had become completely comfortable around each other, especially since Ummami herself was barely in her early forties. Consequently, to the hospital staff, she was often assumed to be Yassar's older sister. Every day after completing his field duties, his very first stop was the clinic, where he would spend hours with Ummami. They had truly become like a protective younger brother and his older sister. As for Keltouma—the notorious crying machine—absolute silence reigned from her corner now. It was as if she were an entirely different person; she had completely stopped crying. She remained entirely quiet, never interjecting in their long conversations. She would either be sleeping soundly or completely engrossed in the music and movie channels playing on the television mounted on the wall facing her bed. She was living a completely new life! Her primary occupation now was eating, drinking, and reversing the long-standing physical toll of starvation. She thoroughly enjoyed the soft hospital mattress—the likes of which she hadn't slept on since her biological father was alive—only sitting up when the nurses came in to administer her medications or injections. Yassar had long since stopped calling the mother "Iya" (Ma'am) and had adopted "Ummami," matching how her daughter addressed her. This brought immense joy to the mother's heart, as she perceived Mr. Yassar to be an incredibly humble, respectful, and well-mannered young man. He would arrive early in the morning and stay until the afternoon sun was high, chatting warmly with his "older sister," while Keltouma remained completely mute in their presence, as if she were deaf. Whenever Yassar was in the room, she became completely silent until the moment he departed. She never looked at them, never joined their conversations, and had long since forgotten how to cry. In short, Yassar had come to fully understand Keltouma's true nature: the profound trauma of the IDP camp, combined with her intense hatred for living in such degradation, was the true cause of her severe physical and emotional breakdown, rather than just the grief over losing her father. Consequently, whenever their eyes accidentally locked, Yassar would wait for Ummami to look away and then shoot Keltouma a playful, stern glare. However, she wouldn't even look in his direction enough to notice, rendering his glares entirely useless—like frowning in the dark. Previously, he had assumed that crying was an inseparable part of Keltouma's biological makeup, because it was rare to ever see her without tears. He had once thought to himself: "If one were to collect all of Keltouma's tears, you could easily fill an entire water well." Now, whatever provisions they required, Mr. Yassar M. Jalloh was fully present to provide it before they could even ask. Whether it was premium food, healthy drinks to boost her vitality, medications, or daily toiletries, they lacked absolutely nothing. They had completely shed the grime, dust, and emaciation of their past, looking thoroughly refined right there on the hospital bed. Even the camp leader secretly wished they wouldn't be discharged anytime soon, as she would visit daily and happily inherit their surplus provisions to take back to the camp, treating them with immense respect now. By nature, Yassar was neither an excessively quiet man nor an overly talkative person; he completely lacked any boisterous or rowdy behavior. The volume of his speech was entirely dependent on how much his heart accepted a person. In other words, if Yassar loved you and his soul connected with yours, his warmth, humor, and conversation would flow beautifully. This was precisely what happened between him and Ummami. Today, as their conversation deepened, she revealed to him that her real, legal name was Nana Aicha. Keltouma had given her the nickname "Ummami" (meaning 'My Mother') during her early childhood, and the name eventually stuck, becoming what everyone called her. During this hospital stay, Yassar had completely wormed his way into Ummami's heart through his unceasing kindness, generosity, and continuous financial and material support. He cared for them with the exact level of devotion one would reserve for their own mother or biological sister. He sat before Ummami with absolute humility, conversing easily while gently correcting her broken Hausa dialect. Yet, it would have been deeply fascinating to observe Keltouma during these moments when Mr. Yassar was with them. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) spoke the absolute truth when he said that hearts are naturally inclined to love those who show them kindness. Despite Keltouma's naturally reserved, quiet, and aloof demeanor, she had spent a long time secretly observing, collecting, and analyzing everything regarding Mr. Yassar in her heart. She was acutely aware of the sheer magnitude of his benevolence; after all, even a madman recognizes who treats him well. Slowly, from a tender, hidden corner of her soul, she found herself genuinely wishing for him to walk through the door. Her ears actively longed to hear his soft, masculine voice resonate in the room, whether he was greeting her mother or sharing amusing stories about his overly dramatic colleague, Femi. A beautiful, pleasant feeling would wash over Keltouma's entire soul whenever Mr. Yassar's Islamic greeting echoed into her sickroom. One evening, while Yassar and Ummami were conversing, Mr. Yassar asked, "Ummami, what is your absolute greatest aspiration in life right now?" Without needing any prolonged deliberation or hesitation, Ummami replied in a profoundly moving, emotional voice: "My greatest dream in life right now is to return to my ancestral homeland, to live among my people, my relatives, and my extended family—if any of them are still left alive." "It has been ages since I last saw my home or anyone belonging to me, ever since my biological father married me off to Keltouma's father during our early youth. Right now, I am approaching thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of age. I do not even know if I have any surviving relatives left or not. As for my paternal uncle (Baffana), I received news of his passing a long time ago, during the final trip Keltouma's father made back home while he was still alive." She continued, "It was marriage that pulled me away from my parents' home, and I have never laid eyes on a single soul from my lineage since that day. My parents both passed away in my absence because whenever I pleaded with Monsour that I wanted to visit home whenever he was traveling, he would flatly refuse. He was always terrified that if I ever went back home, I would refuse to return with him to Hausaland." "Today, Monsour is no longer in this world, and I have absolutely no idea how to navigate my way back to my country, because we originally entered Hausaland riding on the backs of camels." Yassar interjected eagerly, asking Ummami for the exact name of the country she had migrated from. He had become deeply intrigued and desperate to hear her history. In this short span of time, all logical restraint had slipped from his grasp; his heart had ceased its denial and fully accepted that he had fallen into a deep, overwhelming love in a highly unexpected place. His singular hope now was for Ummami to reveal an honorable, noble lineage—proof that they possessed a pure, dignified heritage and were not merely faceless wanderers from the streets. Their conversation extended late into the evening. He found himself opening up completely, sharing stories about his wealthy parents and his vast extended family in Sokoto. He even shared stories about his grand-uncle, Baba Ado—the iron-willed, highly spiritual elder whom he loved so dearly. From the way he spoke, Ummami could intuitively sense that Yassar was the offspring of highly influential, elite people, coming from a grand household steeped in both deep Islamic scholarship, western education, immense wealth, and flawless moral upbringing. His noble character was clearly an inheritance, not something Muhammad Yassar had merely picked up off the streets. Eventually, she began narrating her own history to him—a detailed life story that Ummami had never even shared with Keltouma. Ummami began unrolling their historical lineage, saying:
OUR TRUE ORIGIN!!!
"As I mentioned to you previously, my name is Nana Aicha. In our household since my childhood, everyone called me 'Aichata.' Keltouma's father and I share the exact same bloodline and ancestral roots; we emerge from the exact same tribe." "Our ancestral history dictates that our people are known as the 'Arabs of the Sahara.' Our specific tribe is called the Tuareg. Our native tongue and language is entirely the Tuareg language (Tamasheq)." "My parents and his parents both emerged from a dense, rugged desert terrain situated right beneath the outermost borders of the town of Arlit. Arlit is located within a region of the Niger Republic. However, my maternal ancestors originally migrated from Somalia." "It is a well-known fact that the Arabs of the Sahara never settle permanently in a single location. We continuously navigate the vast sands and arid deserts of various African Saharan regions, purely in search of green oases where our livestock can graze freely, find fresh water, and thrive. However, historical records within our family show that our immediate ancestors rarely wandered too far across the globe; their entire migratory circle never exceeded the perimeter of the Arlit Sahara and the direct borders separating the Niger Republic from Nigeria." "In addition to sharing the exact same ancestral roots, my parents and Keltouma's father shared the exact same faith—the religion of Islam, which is the dominant faith enveloping Sub-Saharan Africa, particularly in nations like Sudan, Egypt, Chad, Mali, Somalia, Mauritania, and Algeria." "When I reached the age of fourteen, our society was struck by a catastrophic national economic collapse. This disaster plunged our community into severe, agonizing destitution, rampant starvation, and a total lack of employment for the youth. This intense poverty and hunger brought about by the economic crash was felt most severely within our specific desert region of Arlit." "Consequently, a vast number of our young men chose to migrate illegally, desperately trying to salvage their youth, find food, establish self-reliance, and send support back to our elderly elders whose physical strength had completely faded." "Truly, the starvation during that era was absolute; even our camels were reduced to mere skin and bone—or rather, skeletons with a faint spark of life. They completely lost their strength and vitality. Eventually, a morning broke where our camels could no longer lift themselves off the ground due to the sheer severity of the hunger that overwhelmed them. Despite the legendary biological resilience that camels are naturally known for, the plague of starvation spared none of them." "Monsour Salihou was one of the vibrant young men experiencing the height of his youth and vitality within the Tuareg tribe during that difficult period. Monsour was an incredibly ambitious, determined young man who cared deeply for his parents' welfare; he was highly respected among the youth of our Tuareg clan." "Monsour was among those who ultimately resolved to migrate away from Arlit in a desperate search for sustenance. One late afternoon, he approached his biological father—a highly revered elder approaching eighty years of age, known as Modibbo Salihou. Monsour laid bare the decision he had made, seeking his father's validation, blessings, and prayers to embark on seasonal labor migration (ci-rani)." "Modibbo Salihou looked at his son, Monsour, and said, 'You know fully well that I will never prevent you from seeking a livelihood. However, it must be on one strict condition: I must marry you off immediately. That way, you will travel alongside your wife wherever you go, until the day you finally return home.'" "Monsour was not remotely prepared for marriage at that stage in his life, but he was left with absolutely no choice but to submit to his father's condition so he would be permitted to venture into the world for seasonal work." "Without wasting a single day, Modibbo Salihou went directly to the home of my biological father, Malam Tajo, to formally seek my hand in marriage for his son, Monsour. Monsour and I were immediate neighbors; there were barely three houses separating my parents' home from his. At that time, I was being raised under the care of my father's co-wife, Iya Tinau. My biological mother had passed away when I was a mere infant, leaving me entirely in Tinau's hands until I grew up." "My father had numerous children with Tinau, but I was the singular child he shared with his late first wife—my mother." "If the discussion is purely about physical beauty, I, Nana Aicha, stood entirely apart from all the young women of the Tuareg tribe. I completely eclipsed my peers, to the point where my beauty became a legendary benchmark in our town; people would constantly say, 'She possesses the grace and striking beauty of Aichata.' I grew up with that distinct, flawless physical symmetry and facial structure; no one could look at me without commenting on it." "Before the week concluded, my marriage to Monsour was officially solemnized, with a dowry fixed at five premium camels. In securing this union, Monsour successfully bypassed countless young suitors, purely due to the immense respect Modibbo Salihou commanded across the entire Tuareg tribe—none of the later suitors dared challenge his son." "Two weeks after our wedding, Monsour informed his father that he was ready to depart, true to their initial agreement. Modibbo flatly refused to let him leave me behind at home; he insisted that Monsour must take me along with him to wherever his journey led, knowing fully well that his son might not return until Allah willed it. Monsour agreed. Modibbo showered us with prayers, and we formally joined the migrating caravan." "This caravan of travelers set out from the Arlit Sahara for seasonal migration without any concrete knowledge of their final destination; truth be told, they didn't even know where they would eventually land. They simply set out with the mindset of traveling until their resources completely ran out. You would be astonished to learn that the travelers in this caravan possessed absolutely nothing in the form of travel provisions, save for the wealth of their long, emaciated camels—which constituted their sole earthly assets—and a small supply of drinking water stored in leather canteens hung around their necks." "Thus, they journeyed across the desert atop their camels. Whenever they grew exhausted, they would dismount and continue on foot, pulling the camels' reins behind them, until they finally crossed the outer boundaries of the great Sahara..."
Part 2: Narrative Continuity Summary
This section marks a profound emotional turning point in the novel, shifting from the harsh structural realities of the IDP camp to deep personal intimacy, medical sacrifice, and ancestral revelation.
1. The Hidden Medical Sacrifice
It is revealed that Yassar did not merely facilitate Keltouma's hospitalization; he secretly donated his own blood to save her life when she was dying of a severe gastric ulcer. He explicitly barred the hospital from using anonymous bank blood. This intense physical strain, combined with an overwhelming emotional awakening, caused Yassar to suffer a severe relapse of fever, explaining his seven-day disappearance.
2. Physical Transformation & The Power of "Blood"
Upon his return, dressed in premium Getzner Shadda and wearing Baccarat Rouge perfume, Yassar finds Keltouma completely transformed. Proper medical care, daily hygiene, and nutrition have stripped away the grime of the IDP camp, revealing her raw, staggering beauty as a fair-skinned, silken-haired woman. The realization that his own blood is literally flowing through her veins acts as an emotional "ignition" for Yassar, confirming his profound love for her.
3. Deepening Bonds & The "Sister" Facade
Because of Ummami's young age (late 30s), the hospital staff mistake her for Yassar's older sister. Yassar embraces this, calling her "Ummami" and treating her with the utmost chivalry, respect, and financial generosity. Meanwhile, Keltouma maintains a silent, aloof exterior while Yassar is present, but internally, she experiences a powerful romantic awakening. She finds herself longing for his masculine voice and feeling an intense inner joy whenever he enters the room.
4. The Revelation of Tuareg Royalty
The climax of this segment is the unveiling of "Asalinmu" (Our Origin). Spurred by Yassar's desire to ensure she comes from an honorable background, Ummami reveals their true identity:
They are not faceless refugees; they are Tuareg ("Arabs of the Sahara") from Arlit, Niger Republic, with maternal roots stretching to Somalia.
They are devout Muslims of noble, tight-knit desert lineages.
They were forced into Nigeria entirely due to a devastating climate and economic collapse that decimated their ancestral camel herds, forcing her late husband, Monsour, into a life of desperate seasonal migration.
Ummami (Nana Aicha) was the legendary beauty of the Tuareg clan, married to Monsour via a traditional dowry of camels before crossing into Hausaland on camelback.
JARABABBEN NAMIJI BOOK COMPELET BY OUM APHNAN
From that exact moment, Ummami did not see Mr. Yassar again, nor did they catch so much as a glimpse of his shadow within the hospital premises for seven full days following their admission. However, the wholesome, highly nutritious food and drinks he had pre-paid the clinic to deliver to them arrived strictly on schedule every day. They ate heartily, gradually recovering their strength, and their cheeks began to flush with healthy color.
On a Saturday afternoon, while Ummami was gently spoon-feeding Keltouma slices of banana and papaya, she turned to the camp leader who had visited and remarked,
"For my part, I have been continuously praying that all is well with Malam Yassar. You see, it has been total silence up until today; he hasn't checked back in on us. I am praying that Allah aligns our paths and brings us face-to-face with him just one more time, so I can adequately express my gratitude."
The camp leader replied, "Even back at the displacement camp, I haven't seen him for the past couple of days; he hasn't been coming around. It is only his colleague—the Yoruba man—and the other lady from another tribe who are there." She then asked Ummami if they had previously known him somewhere else prior to their arrival at the camp, noting how deeply astonished she was by how much he genuinely cared for them. Everyone in the camp had witnessed that they were the only ones he personally took care of among all the internally displaced persons.
Ummami replied, "Not at all. It is purely an affinity of the blood, or rather, I should say he is one of God's chosen people, the likes of whom it is said will never cease to exist in this world..."
Ummami had barely finished speaking when Mr. Yassar's Islamic greeting (Salam) echoed in their ears. He stood gracefully at the entrance of the hospital room, a gentle, serene smile playing upon his soft lips. Ummami's parting words had entered his ears perfectly. He was dressed immaculately in a grand, deep-colored Getzner Shadda gown, his head bare without a cap. His innate dignity and commanding presence instantly filled the vision of everyone present in the room, while the distinct, luxurious aroma of his Baccarat Rouge perfume greeted everyone's senses.
Ummami's face broke into a wide, uncontainable smile that looked as though it would never close, and she returned his greeting with immense eagerness and joy. Stepping into the room, he said, "Ummami, you have gained some healthy weight and you look wonderful, Masha Allah." Her eyes, without needing words, completely betrayed how deeply she had missed his presence, while simultaneously revealing her lingering worry over his prolonged absence.
With a single glance, however, her eyes picked up on just how visibly emaciated he had become in the few days she hadn't seen him. Even Keltouma, who had been admitted to the hospital bed with her life hanging by a thread in Allah's hands, had not lost as much weight or looked as drained as Mr. Yassar did now.
What Ummami did not know was that it was his very own blood that had been drawn and transfused into Keltouma's veins...
After donating his blood, he had returned home only to be bedridden by his own illness. His body had collapsed under the weight of overwhelming exhaustion and a profound, aching sorrow in his heart whose source he couldn't quite fathom. He only knew that his singular, desperate hope was for Keltouma to stand on her feet and survive—to live a long life. He knew all too well the lethal danger of a severe gastric ulcer; it was the exact ailment that had suddenly and abruptly claimed the life of his close friend, Salah.
Ummami was overwhelmed, barely knowing how best to welcome him out of sheer joy and relief. Yassar, meanwhile, kept stealing glances toward the bed where Keltouma lay. She was currently receiving a combined transfusion of intravenous fluids and blood. He harbored no doubt whatsoever that it was his own lifeblood dripping steadily, drop by drop, into her body. He had strictly instructed the medical team not to use commercial or anonymous bank blood for her; he insisted they screen his blood first, and if it matched, they should draw as many pints as necessary.
A sudden, sharp shiver ran completely through his body when his eyes fully settled on Keltouma. Today, she was wearing only a simple white camisole (shimi), her head completely uncovered. Although her hair was somewhat tangled—having not been washed, combed, or styled—it was a rich, deep, silken jet-black.
Ummami was flustered, trying to offer him a chair while eagerly filling the air with conversation, saying to him,
"If it were within my power, I would have thrown a massive tantrum at you, Malam Yassar! Today marks the eighth day since I last laid eyes on you, and I had absolutely no idea where to look for you. It isn't as if I could easily wander into the town to launch a public search, asking if anyone had found my son, Yassar, the man of Paradise?"
She made him laugh so heartily that his gentle smile widened significantly. She continued, "By Allah, there is nothing I didn't ponder in my heart regarding how I would search for you across Zamfara State and its surroundings. If you hadn't shown up today, I was fully prepared to venture into every nook and cranny of this city, asking around for Ummami's son."
His subtle smile transitioned into genuine laughter. Yassar laughed repeatedly, then bowed his head deeply, almost to his knees, as he formally and respectfully greeted her. In a soothing, apologetic tone, he said,
"I beg for your forgiveness, our dear Ummami. I, too, have been battling a severe bout of fever. It hasn't completely left my system even now. I only forced myself out of bed today because I felt a pressing need to check on you. Even on the day we first brought you here, I had barely recovered from the initial fever. The moment I returned home, it struck me with renewed force. But Alhamdulillah, I feel much better today. In fact, before heading to the camp, I made sure this was my very first stop because I missed seeing you immensely as well."
Ummami was deeply touched by his words and felt a wave of maternal sympathy for him. She remarked, "So it turns out it was a case of a bedridden son and a bedridden younger sister simultaneously!" Then, with a playful, teasing smile, she added, "Was it only me you missed seeing, Malam Yassar? What about your crying machine of a younger sister?"
This time, Yassar could not suppress the sudden, violent thumping of his heart, though he managed to mask it on his face with a thin, subtle smile.
Slowly and deliberately, he raised his head to look at Keltouma, who was sound asleep on the hospital bed. It was only then that Ummami realized Keltouma was not fully clothed; she hurriedly pulled the blanket up, covering her body entirely, leaving only her smooth, peaceful face visible as she breathed deeply in stable health.
Ummami had completely forgotten that Keltouma was only wearing a camisole. She only realized it when she noticed Mr. Yassar stealing a glance at her. Then, as if pulled by a powerful magnet, his eyes locked onto her face, completely unable to look away. For the first time, he was seeing Keltouma in her true, natural element. He was beholding a raw, striking beauty in her features that he had never observed in any woman before. Furthermore, he looked at her through the lens of mercy and deep compassion for the sick, completely devoid of the annoyed, dismissive glares he used to give her in the past.
This was the very first day he found himself looking at her with absolute focus—a calm, peaceful, and tranquil gaze. He was fortunate enough to witness her natural being while she was completely still, free from crying, anger, or wiping her nose. Thanks to the daily sponge baths given to her by the nurses, she looked clean, radiant, and thoroughly refreshed, with no traces of tears in her eyes. The prolonged period of proper nourishment had visibly restored her health. He silently admitted to himself: "She is truly beautiful, if you strip away her excessive entitlement and spoiled nature."
Her complexion had become exceptionally fair and smooth, reminiscent of an Arab woman. Her skin had softened completely, resembling that of a newborn baby. Her delicate, slender nose stood out elegantly. Because she was now bathed every morning and evening, all the accumulated grime and dust of the displacement camp had completely vanished from both Keltouma and her mother.
Allah had blessed Keltouma with a perfectly straight, sharp nose, looking as though it had been meticulously sculpted and placed between her eyes. Her mouth was tiny and naturally pinkish; merely observing it when she spoke or cried was enough to captivate any man. She lay flat on her back as the intravenous fluids and blood steadily entered her body, drop by drop.
The thought that "This is my blood!" ignited a sudden spark within his soul. He marvelled at his own actions—how he had willingly given his own lifeblood to save her. He recalled how, when the doctor mentioned they would need to purchase significant quantities of blood to transfuse her, the words had escaped his lips automatically:
"Screen mine. If it matches, draw it. Do not give her anyone else's blood except mine; I do not want commercial blood."
He had explicitly uttered the words "My blood!" without even realizing he was speaking aloud. His internal thoughts had broken out into the open, so much so that Ummami caught a snippet of it, causing her to turn around and ask, "What is it? Did I hear you mention something about blood, my son? Yes, ever since we arrived, they have been continuously administering blood to her, as she had lost a tremendous amount of blood internally from her stomach."
Yassar quickly snapped out of his reverie, instantly realizing his slip of the tongue. He hurriedly corrected his statement, saying, "Oh, Ummami! I was only saying that I noticed the blood bag is nearly empty. Let me go call the nurse so they can come and disconnect it."
After speaking with the nurse outside, who came in to disconnect the depleted blood bag, the nurse informed him that the Chief Medical Director was requesting his presence in his office.
Yassar went to the office and greeted him warmly as usual. Dr. Kazim remarked, "Keltouma's recovery has been remarkable in such a short period, Alhamdulillah. It has far exceeded my expectations. We thank Allah, and we thank noble individuals like yourself. Keltouma has recovered so well it is as if she was never ill, but there is a strong probability this ailment could return if she goes back to a life of starvation and the severe emotional distress she faced previously."
"Her mother informed me that you are not actually her biological brother. I was deeply astonished when she mentioned that you only came to their displacement camp for a standard work assignment, yet you chose to personally rescue and support them at a time when nobody else cared about their plight. I am extremely impressed!"
The doctor paused, then added, "I hope you are consuming all the iron-rich foods and supplements I listed for you, in order to rapidly replenish your own blood supply and restore your physical strength?"
Yassar replied, "Do not worry, Doctor. Insha Allah, I will be fine. I will take care of myself. My only concern is for Ummami to be happy, and for Keltouma to stay healthy."
The doctor laughed softly and teased, "Malam Yassar, could it be that...? Well, let me leave the chicken inside its feathers for now. When it is fully cooked with aromatic spices and its fragrance spreads, everyone will smell it anyway."
Yassar didn't quite grasp the metaphorical, double-meaning joke Dr. Kazim was making. He simply offered a polite smile, stood up, and left the office without saying another word, genuinely oblivious to the doctor's underlying hint.
Throughout the ten days of Keltouma's hospitalization, the bond between Yassar and Keltouma's mother had grown exceptionally deep. They had become completely comfortable around each other, especially since Ummami herself was barely in her early forties. Consequently, to the hospital staff, she was often assumed to be Yassar's older sister.
Every day after completing his field duties, his very first stop was the clinic, where he would spend hours with Ummami. They had truly become like a protective younger brother and his older sister. As for Keltouma—the notorious crying machine—absolute silence reigned from her corner now. It was as if she were an entirely different person; she had completely stopped crying. She remained entirely quiet, never interjecting in their long conversations. She would either be sleeping soundly or completely engrossed in the music and movie channels playing on the television mounted on the wall facing her bed. She was living a completely new life! Her primary occupation now was eating, drinking, and reversing the long-standing physical toll of starvation. She thoroughly enjoyed the soft hospital mattress—the likes of which she hadn't slept on since her biological father was alive—only sitting up when the nurses came in to administer her medications or injections.
Yassar had long since stopped calling the mother "Iya" (Ma'am) and had adopted "Ummami," matching how her daughter addressed her. This brought immense joy to the mother's heart, as she perceived Mr. Yassar to be an incredibly humble, respectful, and well-mannered young man.
He would arrive early in the morning and stay until the afternoon sun was high, chatting warmly with his "older sister," while Keltouma remained completely mute in their presence, as if she were deaf. Whenever Yassar was in the room, she became completely silent until the moment he departed. She never looked at them, never joined their conversations, and had long since forgotten how to cry.
In short, Yassar had come to fully understand Keltouma's true nature: the profound trauma of the IDP camp, combined with her intense hatred for living in such degradation, was the true cause of her severe physical and emotional breakdown, rather than just the grief over losing her father.
Consequently, whenever their eyes accidentally locked, Yassar would wait for Ummami to look away and then shoot Keltouma a playful, stern glare. However, she wouldn't even look in his direction enough to notice, rendering his glares entirely useless—like frowning in the dark.
Previously, he had assumed that crying was an inseparable part of Keltouma's biological makeup, because it was rare to ever see her without tears. He had once thought to himself: "If one were to collect all of Keltouma's tears, you could easily fill an entire water well."
Now, whatever provisions they required, Mr. Yassar M. Jalloh was fully present to provide it before they could even ask. Whether it was premium food, healthy drinks to boost her vitality, medications, or daily toiletries, they lacked absolutely nothing. They had completely shed the grime, dust, and emaciation of their past, looking thoroughly refined right there on the hospital bed. Even the camp leader secretly wished they wouldn't be discharged anytime soon, as she would visit daily and happily inherit their surplus provisions to take back to the camp, treating them with immense respect now.
By nature, Yassar was neither an excessively quiet man nor an overly talkative person; he completely lacked any boisterous or rowdy behavior. The volume of his speech was entirely dependent on how much his heart accepted a person. In other words, if Yassar loved you and his soul connected with yours, his warmth, humor, and conversation would flow beautifully.
This was precisely what happened between him and Ummami. Today, as their conversation deepened, she revealed to him that her real, legal name was Nana Aicha. Keltouma had given her the nickname "Ummami" (meaning 'My Mother') during her early childhood, and the name eventually stuck, becoming what everyone called her.
During this hospital stay, Yassar had completely wormed his way into Ummami's heart through his unceasing kindness, generosity, and continuous financial and material support. He cared for them with the exact level of devotion one would reserve for their own mother or biological sister. He sat before Ummami with absolute humility, conversing easily while gently correcting her broken Hausa dialect.
Yet, it would have been deeply fascinating to observe Keltouma during these moments when Mr. Yassar was with them. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) spoke the absolute truth when he said that hearts are naturally inclined to love those who show them kindness.
Despite Keltouma's naturally reserved, quiet, and aloof demeanor, she had spent a long time secretly observing, collecting, and analyzing everything regarding Mr. Yassar in her heart. She was acutely aware of the sheer magnitude of his benevolence; after all, even a madman recognizes who treats him well. Slowly, from a tender, hidden corner of her soul, she found herself genuinely wishing for him to walk through the door. Her ears actively longed to hear his soft, masculine voice resonate in the room, whether he was greeting her mother or sharing amusing stories about his overly dramatic colleague, Femi. A beautiful, pleasant feeling would wash over Keltouma's entire soul whenever Mr. Yassar's Islamic greeting echoed into her sickroom.
One evening, while Yassar and Ummami were conversing, Mr. Yassar asked,
"Ummami, what is your absolute greatest aspiration in life right now?"
Without needing any prolonged deliberation or hesitation, Ummami replied in a profoundly moving, emotional voice:
"My greatest dream in life right now is to return to my ancestral homeland, to live among my people, my relatives, and my extended family—if any of them are still left alive."
"It has been ages since I last saw my home or anyone belonging to me, ever since my biological father married me off to Keltouma's father during our early youth. Right now, I am approaching thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of age. I do not even know if I have any surviving relatives left or not. As for my paternal uncle (Baffana), I received news of his passing a long time ago, during the final trip Keltouma's father made back home while he was still alive."
She continued, "It was marriage that pulled me away from my parents' home, and I have never laid eyes on a single soul from my lineage since that day. My parents both passed away in my absence because whenever I pleaded with Monsour that I wanted to visit home whenever he was traveling, he would flatly refuse. He was always terrified that if I ever went back home, I would refuse to return with him to Hausaland."
"Today, Monsour is no longer in this world, and I have absolutely no idea how to navigate my way back to my country, because we originally entered Hausaland riding on the backs of camels."
Yassar interjected eagerly, asking Ummami for the exact name of the country she had migrated from. He had become deeply intrigued and desperate to hear her history. In this short span of time, all logical restraint had slipped from his grasp; his heart had ceased its denial and fully accepted that he had fallen into a deep, overwhelming love in a highly unexpected place. His singular hope now was for Ummami to reveal an honorable, noble lineage—proof that they possessed a pure, dignified heritage and were not merely faceless wanderers from the streets.
Their conversation extended late into the evening. He found himself opening up completely, sharing stories about his wealthy parents and his vast extended family in Sokoto. He even shared stories about his grand-uncle, Baba Ado—the iron-willed, highly spiritual elder whom he loved so dearly. From the way he spoke, Ummami could intuitively sense that Yassar was the offspring of highly influential, elite people, coming from a grand household steeped in both deep Islamic scholarship, western education, immense wealth, and flawless moral upbringing. His noble character was clearly an inheritance, not something Muhammad Yassar had merely picked up off the streets.
Eventually, she began narrating her own history to him—a detailed life story that Ummami had never even shared with Keltouma.
Ummami began unrolling their historical lineage, saying:
OUR TRUE ORIGIN!!!
"As I mentioned to you previously, my name is Nana Aicha. In our household since my childhood, everyone called me 'Aichata.' Keltouma's father and I share the exact same bloodline and ancestral roots; we emerge from the exact same tribe."
"Our ancestral history dictates that our people are known as the 'Arabs of the Sahara.' Our specific tribe is called the Tuareg. Our native tongue and language is entirely the Tuareg language (Tamasheq)."
"My parents and his parents both emerged from a dense, rugged desert terrain situated right beneath the outermost borders of the town of Arlit. Arlit is located within a region of the Niger Republic. However, my maternal ancestors originally migrated from Somalia."
"It is a well-known fact that the Arabs of the Sahara never settle permanently in a single location. We continuously navigate the vast sands and arid deserts of various African Saharan regions, purely in search of green oases where our livestock can graze freely, find fresh water, and thrive. However, historical records within our family show that our immediate ancestors rarely wandered too far across the globe; their entire migratory circle never exceeded the perimeter of the Arlit Sahara and the direct borders separating the Niger Republic from Nigeria."
"In addition to sharing the exact same ancestral roots, my parents and Keltouma's father shared the exact same faith—the religion of Islam, which is the dominant faith enveloping Sub-Saharan Africa, particularly in nations like Sudan, Egypt, Chad, Mali, Somalia, Mauritania, and Algeria."
"When I reached the age of fourteen, our society was struck by a catastrophic national economic collapse. This disaster plunged our community into severe, agonizing destitution, rampant starvation, and a total lack of employment for the youth. This intense poverty and hunger brought about by the economic crash was felt most severely within our specific desert region of Arlit."
"Consequently, a vast number of our young men chose to migrate illegally, desperately trying to salvage their youth, find food, establish self-reliance, and send support back to our elderly elders whose physical strength had completely faded."
"Truly, the starvation during that era was absolute; even our camels were reduced to mere skin and bone—or rather, skeletons with a faint spark of life. They completely lost their strength and vitality. Eventually, a morning broke where our camels could no longer lift themselves off the ground due to the sheer severity of the hunger that overwhelmed them. Despite the legendary biological resilience that camels are naturally known for, the plague of starvation spared none of them."
"Monsour Salihou was one of the vibrant young men experiencing the height of his youth and vitality within the Tuareg tribe during that difficult period. Monsour was an incredibly ambitious, determined young man who cared deeply for his parents' welfare; he was highly respected among the youth of our Tuareg clan."
"Monsour was among those who ultimately resolved to migrate away from Arlit in a desperate search for sustenance. One late afternoon, he approached his biological father—a highly revered elder approaching eighty years of age, known as Modibbo Salihou. Monsour laid bare the decision he had made, seeking his father's validation, blessings, and prayers to embark on seasonal labor migration (ci-rani)."
"Modibbo Salihou looked at his son, Monsour, and said, 'You know fully well that I will never prevent you from seeking a livelihood. However, it must be on one strict condition: I must marry you off immediately. That way, you will travel alongside your wife wherever you go, until the day you finally return home.'"
"Monsour was not remotely prepared for marriage at that stage in his life, but he was left with absolutely no choice but to submit to his father's condition so he would be permitted to venture into the world for seasonal work."
"Without wasting a single day, Modibbo Salihou went directly to the home of my biological father, Malam Tajo, to formally seek my hand in marriage for his son, Monsour. Monsour and I were immediate neighbors; there were barely three houses separating my parents' home from his. At that time, I was being raised under the care of my father's co-wife, Iya Tinau. My biological mother had passed away when I was a mere infant, leaving me entirely in Tinau's hands until I grew up."
"My father had numerous children with Tinau, but I was the singular child he shared with his late first wife—my mother."
"If the discussion is purely about physical beauty, I, Nana Aicha, stood entirely apart from all the young women of the Tuareg tribe. I completely eclipsed my peers, to the point where my beauty became a legendary benchmark in our town; people would constantly say, 'She possesses the grace and striking beauty of Aichata.' I grew up with that distinct, flawless physical symmetry and facial structure; no one could look at me without commenting on it."
"Before the week concluded, my marriage to Monsour was officially solemnized, with a dowry fixed at five premium camels. In securing this union, Monsour successfully bypassed countless young suitors, purely due to the immense respect Modibbo Salihou commanded across the entire Tuareg tribe—none of the later suitors dared challenge his son."
"Two weeks after our wedding, Monsour informed his father that he was ready to depart, true to their initial agreement. Modibbo flatly refused to let him leave me behind at home; he insisted that Monsour must take me along with him to wherever his journey led, knowing fully well that his son might not return until Allah willed it. Monsour agreed. Modibbo showered us with prayers, and we formally joined the migrating caravan."
"This caravan of travelers set out from the Arlit Sahara for seasonal migration without any concrete knowledge of their final destination; truth be told, they didn't even know where they would eventually land. They simply set out with the mindset of traveling until their resources completely ran out. You would be astonished to learn that the travelers in this caravan possessed absolutely nothing in the form of travel provisions, save for the wealth of their long, emaciated camels—which constituted their sole earthly assets—and a small supply of drinking water stored in leather canteens hung around their necks."
"Thus, they journeyed across the desert atop their camels. Whenever they grew exhausted, they would dismount and continue on foot, pulling the camels' reins behind them, until they finally crossed the outer boundaries of the great Sahara..."
Part 2: Narrative Continuity Summary
This section marks a profound emotional turning point in the novel, shifting from the harsh structural realities of the IDP camp to deep personal intimacy, medical sacrifice, and ancestral revelation.
1. The Hidden Medical Sacrifice
It is revealed that Yassar did not merely facilitate Keltouma's hospitalization; he secretly donated his own blood to save her life when she was dying of a severe gastric ulcer. He explicitly barred the hospital from using anonymous bank blood. This intense physical strain, combined with an overwhelming emotional awakening, caused Yassar to suffer a severe relapse of fever, explaining his seven-day disappearance.
2. Physical Transformation & The Power of "Blood"
Upon his return, dressed in premium Getzner Shadda and wearing Baccarat Rouge perfume, Yassar finds Keltouma completely transformed. Proper medical care, daily hygiene, and nutrition have stripped away the grime of the IDP camp, revealing her raw, staggering beauty as a fair-skinned, silken-haired woman. The realization that his own blood is literally flowing through her veins acts as an emotional "ignition" for Yassar, confirming his profound love for her.
3. Deepening Bonds & The "Sister" Facade
Because of Ummami's young age (late 30s), the hospital staff mistake her for Yassar's older sister. Yassar embraces this, calling her "Ummami" and treating her with the utmost chivalry, respect, and financial generosity. Meanwhile, Keltouma maintains a silent, aloof exterior while Yassar is present, but internally, she experiences a powerful romantic awakening. She finds herself longing for his masculine voice and feeling an intense inner joy whenever he enters the room.
4. The Revelation of Tuareg Royalty
The climax of this segment is the unveiling of "Asalinmu" (Our Origin). Spurred by Yassar's desire to ensure she comes from an honorable background, Ummami reveals their true identity: