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Part 1: The Daily Encounters
I was holding two children by their hands; the boy was five years old, and the girl was three. Their two older brothers walked ahead of them—one was eight, and the other was ten—born closely after one another despite the two-year age gap.
They were all dressed in dark blue uniforms with white collared shirts and neckties, matching canvas shoes on their feet. Judging by their attire, it was clear they were nursery and primary school students. They attended Kiddies School in Katsina city, located around the Kofar Marusa low-cost housing area, which trendy people refer to as the "Layout."
I was the one leading the youngest ones by the hand. As their older sister, I could call them all my younger siblings. My reason for holding their hands was simple: I was walking them to school. It wasn't just for fun; our house was close to the school, but the main issue was that they had to cross a busy main road.
As we walked, the children and I joked around, sharing lighthearted banter that made us all burst into laughter. I crossed the road with them every morning, and when they closed at 2:00 PM, we all went to Islamic school (Islamiya) together.
I glanced at my wristwatch; it read exactly 7:20 AM. We were definitely late this morning. Suddenly, hearing the low rumble of a car engine behind me, I turned around slowly and simply smiled to myself.
Once the car pulled up right beside me, I looked up at the driver. He was driving a Honda Integra. He wasn't dark-skinned, nor could he be called exceptionally fair; his complexion perfectly matched mine—a shade often called light brown, or what Westerners call "chocolate skin." Just looking at him, you could tell he was a serene, composed man who disliked noise or drama. He admired me, and I had long since nicknamed him "The Handsome and Gentle Man."
Every single morning when I took the kids to school, we would cross paths. Similarly, when we returned from Islamic school at 6:00 PM, I would see him driving past.
This was despite the gossip I heard from our neighbors, who claimed he possessed a terrible character. They rumored that he couldn't live peacefully with women, that he beat his wives, locked his house to prevent visitors, strictly rationed his food provisions, and never greeted anyone in the neighborhood, let alone engage in conversation. Nobody even knew what he did for a living or where he originally came from.
For the past year and three months that I had been taking my siblings to school, we encountered each other twice a day, yet he had never once spoken to my siblings or even waved his hand.
Despite his cold demeanor, I found myself deeply charmed by him and couldn't blame him for his ways. I felt he simply hadn't met the right woman yet, even though people gossiped that he had already married and divorced three different women. Some of those marriages didn't even last a year; his most recent bride lasted only three months.
It was a lingering question that boggled my mind: was it the fault of his wives, or was it his? Every day, this man crossed my mind at least ten times. Yet, I was certain I wasn't in love with him; I was simply fascinated by his lifestyle.
What troubled me was that if I walked down the street and didn't catch a glimpse of him, I would feel completely restless until evening came and I finally saw him pass by. If it was a Thursday, I would constantly check the clock to track his usual transit time, sometimes peeking through our father's parlor window just to see him.
I was lost in these exact thoughts on my way back home after dropping the children off at school.
Part 2: The Hospital Encounter & The Proposal (Page 5 & 22)
I cursed my tailors silently. I had already put on my clothes, and they looked terrible; only my prayer outfit was decent. I picked up my belongings, walking with a deep sense of embarrassment, feeling as though the entire hospital staff was staring at me.
When I reached the hospital room, I found the luggage I had left in the boot of his car already neatly placed on the floor. This filled me with surprise. As I set my things down, Alhaji Ya'u questioned me: "Hey, who was that man from earlier? Look, he even brought these clothes inside for you. Did you go together because you were in a hurry?"
Before I left, he had offered to drive me to pick them up quickly since we were running out of time. "Where do you know him from?" Alhaji Ya'u asked. I replied that he lived just behind our street, right at the corner. Someone inside the room chimed in, "That's what I heard people saying too." He fell silent. I quietly walked over to the bed where Mama was lying fast asleep.
Around 6:00 PM, all visitors were cleared out of the ward. It was time for the patients to rest, as visiting hours had concluded. I was told to stay behind to look after Mama in case any errands were needed. Mama Karima was her primary caregiver. Seeing that everyone had left and my mind was at ease after seeing Mama awake and stable, I went to take a shower and changed into the clothes I had brought from home.
Just as I finished getting dressed, I heard a greeting at the door. Looking up, I saw Alhaji Nura entering, flanked by two female nurses. As he walked in, he didn't even look in my direction. He went straight to Mama's bedside to greet her first.
He spoke to the nurses in English, instructing them to take extra care of Mama because she was his sister. He wished her a quick recovery, and she replied that she was feeling better. He then turned to greet Mama Karima. He didn't say a single word to me. As he reached the exit, he turned back and said, "Only two people are allowed to sleep over."
Someone clarified, "No, Doctor Deen gave explicit orders that this young girl should stay over to assist the primary caregiver." He replied, "Okay," and walked out.
In my mind, I thought about how cold, proud, or rude he seemed, yet I couldn't find it in myself to label him with any of those traits. Everything he did simply charmed me, especially now that I knew how sweet his voice sounded. The only problem plaguing me now was the intense shyness I felt around him, especially since I realized he had seen through my embarrassing outfit earlier.
Part 3: The Proposal and The Ring
Our stay at the hospital lasted ten days, and Mama had improved significantly, even starting to practice walking two days prior. Mama's illness was typhoid fever, which had caused complications in her intestines, requiring surgical intervention. This was why we had to stay long, unlike other surgical patients who spent only three to seven days. What baffled me, however, was that ever since they announced "Doctor Deen" would be managing Mama's case, he had never once shown up. Instead, different doctors came daily to check on her. I kept asking myself: Is Doctor Deen among these daily rotating doctors? I never asked anyone out loud, as I wasn't one to ask too many questions.
I stood up and went outside to stroll around the hospital grounds, tired of sitting in one place. Visiting hours were approaching as evening set in. I walked calmly behind our ward until I reached a quiet, beautifully landscaped garden with vibrant flowers. Looking for a place to sit, I spotted two green plastic chairs. Joyfully, I pulled one over, sat down, rested my feet on the other chair, and opened a romance novel titled Love Scene.
I must have spent over an hour completely lost in my reading, occasionally lifting my head to observe the hospital activities. The novel was filled with deeply moving, romantic lines that made one melt and instantly long for a lover. Strangely, the descriptions of the male lead in the book perfectly matched Alhaji Nura, with one exception: the character in the book was playful and cheerful, whereas I didn't truly know Alhaji Nura's personal side yet.
I reached a particularly romantic quote spoken by the male lead to the female protagonist. I quickly closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself in the scene, when a voice suddenly shattered my daydream: "I went to your room, and they told me you had been out for a while. I came looking for you, but I didn't find you until now."
I snapped my eyes open to find Alhaji Nura standing right in front of me. I quickly adjusted my veil, wrapping it securely around myself, pulled my feet off the second chair, stood up, and pulled my chair back. Instead of sitting back down, I bowed slightly to greet him. He answered warmly and pulled up a chair to sit. He looked incredibly handsome; his outfit suited him beautifully—he was wearing a perfectly tailored green Shadda top.
"Rumana, you said your name was, right?" he asked.
"We've spent so many days together, it's time you remembered my name instead of just calling me 'Hey!' as if I'm your firstborn daughter," I replied playfully.
He let out a soft smile—a side of him I had never seen before. Instantly, the smile illuminated his handsome features. "From this day on, I will never forget your name," he said, dipping his hands into his pockets. He pulled out two small items and handed one to me. "Here is a small souvenir I brought for you."
I stretched out both hands to receive it, saying, "May Allah reward you with goodness." He smiled gently, and a comfortable silence settled between us for about two minutes. Suddenly, he extended his hand toward me. "Hand over the novel, let me see if I can read it."
I made a gesture to close the page to save my spot. "Please, don't close it," he insisted. I looked at him. "Or do you think I am incapable of reading it?"
"I didn't say that," I murmured, handing the book over with a respectful bow.
Knowing how embarrassing the romantic lines on that page were, I pulled my veil tightly over my face, peeking at him through the fabric. He looked at me and shook his head. "Rumana, never trick yourself into believing that the things written in these romance novels can easily happen in real life. Trust me, life changes at any given moment. Life is like a passing shade."
He paused, resting his head in both hands. "Rumana, don't deceive yourself with what authors write in books, whether they are Hausa prose or English novels. You must realize that finding someone who will love you with all their heart is incredibly difficult to come by in this world. These books are written strictly for entertainment, education, moral lessons, and correcting life's mistakes." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Umma, do you have someone you love?"
I shook my head from beneath my veil.
"Me neither," he confessed. "I have no one I love in this life. I just want to live out my days alone until I die."
I slowly uncovered my face and looked at him intently. "Alhaji! Why would you say such a thing?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he tilted his head back against the chair, staring upward as if reading something in the sky. I wasn't deeply in love with Alhaji Nura yet, but at that exact moment, my heart broke for him. A profound sense of pity washed over me.
Part 4: The Truth and the Dramatic Twist
I could feel his presence, but he didn't make another move. One voice in my mind told me to look up and see if he was okay, while another voice told me he was just trying to draw my attention.
"Rumana! Rumana!! Rumana!!!" He repeated my name three times in a voice filled with raw emotion and tenderness—the kind of voice a true lover uses when they are completely smitten, much like how people described the elusive doctor's demeanor.
Instead of lifting my head, my tears began to fall in response to his call. Every hair on my body stood on end; my heart raced as if I had encountered something terrifying.
I felt his hands gently lifting my face. He stared deeply into my eyes, looking completely amazed by the tears on my face. Instead of wiping them away with a tissue, he used his index finger to trace a line from my forehead down to my lips, gently outlining them before cupping my cheeks tenderly, as if cradling something incredibly fragile.
I managed to turn my face away slightly, shaking my head.
"Rumana, will you marry me? I swear by Allah, I swear, I swear, I love you! You know I am no longer a boy; I understand what love means. I know who you are, and this isn't a fleeting whim. By Allah, you are the one my heart and entire being desire the most. Please, save my life by becoming my partner and companion."
He locked his eyes onto mine, waiting. "I need your acceptance, Umma."
"I... I..." I stammered, unable to find the words.
"Just forget about what happened in the past, and answer me," he pleaded.
"I accept," I whispered.
A bright smile broke across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful ring, taking hold of my hand. "Your acceptance means this ring has finally found its rightful home." He slipped the ring onto my finger and gently kissed my hand. Overwhelmed by intense shyness, I broke away, ran past the garden stream, and sprinted off.
I was filled with pure, unadulterated joy. He, as if expecting my reaction, chased after me with great effort, laughing heartily. "Come on, walk with me to my car so I can leave. My mind is completely split right now. On Thursday, I performed a major surgery on an elderly woman, and my mind hasn't been at peace. Yesterday, I came down here specifically to see my 'sister'—whom I now want to officially rename my 'wife.' Now that I have won your heart, I can go back to saving lives. People always complain that Doctor Deen doesn't pay attention to his job; well, now that I have you, I will listen to your scoldings and focus on my duties!"
I glared at him playfully. "You've completely won me over since I gifted you my heart. Even if you want me to lay down so you can step on me, I gladly will." I put on a mock-furious face and said, "But tomorrow is Sunday!"
"I'm so sorry, but I swear I will return early this week. Honestly, you should even return home soon; the environment there is much more relaxed and beautiful. I will even build a house for us right by this garden stream since I know you love it, so our love story can go down in history." We shared a tender smile, and he held my hands tightly. "I promise you, I will come back tomorrow early in the morning."
"No, it's fine," I replied. "Just come whenever you find the time. If Baba sends someone to pick me up to go home before then, you're off the hook." He went silent for a moment. "It feels like your father, the Alhaji, doesn't like me very much."
"I don't like it when men talk like this," I teased. "Alright, I'll drop it," he replied. We walked side by side toward his car.
Part 5: The Wedding Preparation and The Shocking Discovery
My wedding date with Doctor Deen was officially set for November 20, 2004. There was exactly one month and three days left. In our house and among my relatives, no one talked about anything else except my upcoming wedding to the doctor. The doctor himself talked about nothing else whenever he came to visit. His immense excitement constantly baffled me; he exhibited a level of thrill that made him look like a man who had never been married before, completely erasing the fact that he had already married and divorced three distinct women.
Once, when I brought up his past wives, his face darkened instantly, and he went cold, refusing to speak to me for three whole days until I had to send him a formal written apology note. When he finally came to visit, he pinched my ear playfully and warned me never to bring up that topic ever again.
Meanwhile, my bridal gifts (Lefe) had arrived from his family in Azare. They brought five high-end Samsonite suitcases filled with luxury clothes, alongside two pairs of expensive designer trousers, a matching jacket, and a skirt set. There were forty-five complete outfits, including countless matching bags, luxury shoes, and cosmetics. The underwear sets looked like a boutique inventory, alongside premium nightgowns imported from Jandikko (the UK). The boxes filled up Mama’s entire room. My big brother even selected five fabrics and took them to a professional nurse to sew for me, claiming he highly admired the unique tailoring styles.
My friend Hamsa came to visit me for two days to help plan the wedding festivities, as they were organizing a grand bridal party alongside Deen and our other friends, like Yahanazu. By the time Hamsa was ready to leave, there were only fourteen days left until the wedding. That evening, we left Yahanazu's house, where Hamsa had gone to bid her farewell, promising to return a week before the main event.
As we walked back, carrying bags of gifts that Yahanazu’s mother had given Hamsa—including a beautiful matching cup-and-jug set, Tang powdered juice, and various traditional household items—we chatted excitedly about the wedding.
Suddenly, as if prompted by instinct, I raised my eyes and spotted the mysterious man from months ago sitting right outside his front gate. He was wearing a singlet, holding a newspaper in his hands, completely absorbed in reading.
However, unlike months ago, he now had two luxury chairs set up with a tea table placed between them, and his feet were relaxed on top of the table. God is my witness, this man had always deeply charmed me. It was only at that moment that it clicked in my memory: people in our neighborhood always said that Doctor Deen’s house was located in this exact area! I mentally scolded myself for my past foolishness and lack of curiosity, realizing I had never bothered to check where my fiancé actually lived, knowing also that our religion discourages a woman from snooping around a man’s house before marriage.
I quickly dismissed the thoughts from my mind as we drew parallel to the man. The newspaper completely covered his face, but today there was a difference: months ago, he used to read the Daily Trust, but today, the bold masthead on the paper read New Nigerian.
Unable to contain myself, I whispered to Hamsa: "Hamsa, look at that man reading the newspaper over there. Doesn't he look charming? From behind, his build and posture look exactly like my Doctor Deen, even though his face is covered."
Hamsa glanced at him and joked, "You shameless girl, you're out here checking out other men when you literally have a husband-to-be!"
"Oh, come on, Hamsa, you know my heart belongs strictly to the doctor," I replied. "I'm just saying... love is different from mere admiration. Besides, I've actually grown to dislike this guy for no reason. Let's walk past him quickly before he looks up."
Before I could finish my sentence, the front door of the house swung open, and a stunningly beautiful young woman stepped out. She looked to be around twenty years old. She was fair-skinned and glowing, possessing the kind of perfect body structure that hides a person's true age. I froze when I looked at her dress: she was wearing an Atamfa fabric that was a mirror image of one of the outfits inside my bridal suitcases! I stared intently and realized even the tailoring style was identical to the custom design the doctor had done for me, which everyone had praised.
She carried a beautiful serving tray containing a jug of fresh juice. She set it gently on the table, poured a glass, and handed it to the newspaper reader. Witnessing their intimate chemistry, I admired them instantly, thinking to myself that I would do the exact same for the doctor—dressing up elegantly, serving him juice while he worked or read, and making him buy matching outdoor chairs so we could relax in the evening air.
But before my thoughts could finish, my hands lost all strength. The gift bags slipped from my grip, hitting the asphalt with a loud, shattering CRASH! as the glass bottles inside smashed to pieces.
The loud noise broke the peaceful evening. The man and the woman jumped up in shock, their attention snapping directly toward us.
I stood frozen as the man lowered the newspaper and rushed toward us. My eyes locked onto his face, and my entire world collapsed.
With a trembling voice, I gasped to my friend, who was busy kneeling on the ground, furiously cursing at me for breaking the expensive gifts: "Hamsa... look. It's the doctor. It's Doctor Deen... and that's his wife! He already has a wife and I never knew! Hamsa, the doctor is with his wa... wa... wife!"
Before I could finish my sentence, I turned around and sprinted down the street in absolute terror and heartbreak, running away as fast as my legs could carry me as Doctor Deen rushed forward, desperately trying to catch me.
Part 6: The Flashback (Page 7 - The Foot Injury)
(Note: This section functions as a chronologically earlier event explaining how Rumana ended up in the hospital and met the doctor intimately).
He ordered that I be brought into the room. I found two medical staff inside, along with two laborers who were pushing the wheelchair I sat in while tears streamed down my face. I was taken directly into the minor operating theatre. I knew I couldn't place any weight on my foot, let alone lift myself onto the operating table. The laborers stepped forward to lift me, but he intervened immediately.
"Stop," his deep voice commanded.
He stepped forward, lifted me in his arms effortlessly, placed me gently on the operating table, and covered my lower body with a blue surgical sheet. The moment he began untying the temporary bandage I had wrapped around my foot, an excruciating, unbearable wave of pain surged straight to my brain.
"It hurts! It hurts so bad! My foot! Oh my God!" I shrieked hysterically.
Without breaking composure, he gently stroked my hair, soothing me as if I were a frightened little child. "I am so sorry, my lovely sister. Believe me, I feel this pain deeply in my heart too," he murmured softly. "If we don't stitch this wound up right now, it will lead to a massive infection. The cut is incredibly deep, even if you can't see it clearly right now."
Turning to his assistant, he asked, "Doctor, let's administer local anesthesia immediately."
"We absolutely must," the assistant replied. "The injury happened over three hours ago, so the tissue is already highly sensitive and inflamed."
I watched in fear as they prepared two syringes. Suddenly, I felt the sharp prick of the first needle driven directly into the sole of my injured foot, followed by the second one injected deep into my hip. I winced in pain, tensing my entire body.
"Please relax, loosen your muscles so it doesn't hurt you more," he instructed gently. I forced myself to obey. He lifted his head and looked at me through his prescription glasses, which added an immense amount of charm to his handsome face.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly, offering a warm, reassuring smile as he pulled out a clean handkerchief to wipe the tears from my face. Caught between intense physical pain and overwhelming shyness, I quickly averted my gaze.
I could feel them working on my foot, cutting and cleaning, but the pain had completely vanished. Every now and then, my eyes locked with Doctor Nura's. My heart finally accepted the reality: the handsome neighbor named Alhaji Nura was, in fact, a qualified medical doctor. Yet, I still wondered about the mysterious "Doctor Deen" everyone in the hospital kept praising.
Once the stitches were completed, he personally lifted me back into the wheelchair and wheeled me back to our ward. He stayed by my side as we entered the room, where my family had gathered—including my paternal uncles, my mother's siblings, family friends, and my father, who sat prominently on a chair while others sat on floor mats.
They all greeted the doctor respectfully. He explained to my father that he would allocate a private emergency room close by for my recovery free of charge, ensuring I could safely learn to take my first steps on my newly bandaged foot.
2. Narrative Summary
The story revolves around Rumana, a young woman living in Katsina, who develops a quiet obsession with a mysterious, wealthy neighbor she nicknames "The Handsome and Gentle Man." Neighbors spread dark rumors about him—claiming he is a thrice-divorced, abusive, and anti-social elitist whose profession and origins are unknown.
The plot shifts when Rumana’s mother falls critically ill with typhoid complications, requiring an emergency operation. Around the same time, Rumana suffers a severe foot laceration. At the hospital, she is treated by a charming, brilliant doctor named Alhaji Nura. Nura treats her with profound tenderness, consoles her through her pain, and eventually confesses his love, proposing to her with a ring. Rumana accepts, ignoring the community gossip regarding Nura's closed-off nature and past marriages, believing he simply hasn't found the right woman.
As their wedding date approaches (November 20, 2004), Nura’s family sends lavish bridal gifts (Lefe). However, a massive plot twist occurs just fourteen days before the wedding. While walking past the "mysterious neighbor's" house with her friend Hamsa, Rumana discovers that her charming fiancé, Alhaji Nura, is actually the infamous Doctor Deen. Horrifyingly, she catches him relaxing outside his house with a stunning twenty-year-old woman who is wearing the exact custom-tailored bridal fabric from Rumana's wedding chests. Realizing that her fiancé has been living a double life and is currently living with another wife, a heartbroken Rumana drops her things and flees in terror.
3. Character Descriptions
- Rumana (The Narrator / "Umma"): A dutiful, modest, and highly observant young woman who takes care of her younger siblings and stands by her ailing mother. She is a romantic at heart, avidly reading romance novels, which skews her perception of real-world relationships. She is deeply shy, easily charmed, and prone to ignoring red flags due to infatuation.
- Alhaji Nura / Doctor Deen: A complex, highly attractive, and wealthy medical doctor. On one hand, he is a brilliant, gentle, and empathetic surgeon who sweeps Rumana off her feet with soft words and romantic gestures. On the other hand, he is secretive, manipulative, and defensive about his past. He harbors a notorious reputation in the neighborhood for being an abusive, reclusive husband who has quickly cycled through three divorces.
- Hamsa: Rumana’s close, pragmatic friend. She is playful, speaks her mind, and acts as a sounding board for Rumana during the wedding preparations. She serves as the witness to the ultimate betrayal in the story.
Mama: Rumana’s mother, whose severe battle with typhoid fever and subsequent surgery serves as the narrative bridge that brings Rumana and Doctor Nura together in the hospital setting.
4. Literary Analytics
A. The Motif of the "Double Life" and Misdirection
The author employs clever narrative misdirection by splitting the antagonist/love interest into two distinct entities in Rumana's mind:
- The mysterious, toxic neighbor (rumored to be a wife-beater and thrice-divorced).
Alhaji Nura/Doctor Deen (the gentle, sweet-talking savior at the hospital).
By keeping the doctor's face covered by a newspaper (Daily Trust or New Nigerian) whenever he is in his domestic environment, the author builds dramatic irony. The reader and the protagonist are led to believe Rumana is choosing a gentle doctor over a toxic neighbor, only to discover they are the exact same individual.B. Analytical Breakdown of Key Themes
ThemeNarrative ManifestationPerception vs. RealityRumana consumes romance novels (Love Scene) and projects those idealized fantasies onto Nura, willfully ignoring neighborhood warnings and his aggressive reaction when his past marriages are questioned.The Toxicity of SilenceNura’s refusal to communicate about his past, paired with Rumana's self-admitted trait of "not asking too many questions," creates a vacuum of deceit that allows the predatory behavior to thrive until the final climax.Materialism in MarriageThe heavy focus on the Lefe (the 5 Samsonite suitcases, 45 outfits, UK imports) highlights how material lavishness is used in the culture to legitimize a marriage and blind the bride's family to character deficiencies.C. Structural Flaws and Pacing
The text jumps sharply between the present timeline (wedding preparations/discovery) and a sudden, unannounced flashback (the minor theatre foot surgery). While this provides crucial context on how they met, the lack of clear structural transitions can confuse a reader. The emotional pacing, however, is highly effective, building a false sense of security through the romantic garden proposal before violently shattering it with the broken glass bottles at the gate.
