Life has become so difficult for us during this year's rainy season. If a woman does not possess immense patience, she will constantly be at loggerheads with her husband because things have become incredibly tough everywhere. I can even say that we only survive in this house because of my small business, as Umma has completely tightened her purse strings and sworn not to spend a dime. As for me, being a devoted wife, whenever I see my husband in distress, I immediately break open my little piggy bank, take out the money, and we use it to get by. Thankfully, Allah has immensely blessed my business; people love my sorrel drink (zobo), tigernut milk (kunun ayya), and the small bags of ice that I painstakingly package. Hamza returned to school, though he didn't stay long before returning home to harvest his farm produce. A new task arose for me, and I had to handle it single-handedly because Mama Hafsi was away traveling to check on her daughter, who was reportedly sent home sick with a severe cough caused by her husband. I was left entirely on my own, standing firm and struggling to process and pack all the goods brought into the house. I have lost weight, my skin has darkened, and I look completely unkempt like an illiterate village woman. Even when Asma'u and the others are home, they refuse to help me with anything. Instead, they mockingly say that the goods belong to my husband, so I can choose to take care of them or leave them to rot. One day, Hamza overheard this while walking into the house. He caught Asma'u sitting on a mortar, spitefully ridiculing me: "Young girl, you weren't even mature enough for marriage when you rushed into it, and now look at you—perpetually working without rest or pity. You have emaciated and shrunk, looking just like an old woman." I replied with a light laugh, "Asma'u, have you ever heard of anyone escaping their destiny? Early marriage is my destiny, and I do not despise it because Allah knows best why I married early." Just then, Hamza entered the house. With a single sharp glare, he sent Asma'u scurrying quietly into her mother's room, knowing instantly that he had overheard everything. I continued winnowing the corn, cleaning it, and pouring it into sacks. "Welcome back," I greeted him, standing up to fetch him some water. He replied, "Let it be, Humaira. Let me give you a break. May Allah bless you." A profound sense of joy and happiness flooded my heart. He added, "Please bear with it. I spoke with Mama on the phone, and she told me she will return tomorrow, Insha Allah. She will assist you because this workload is far too heavy for you." I smiled, lifting my face which was covered in corn dust, and replied, "As long as this work earns me the spiritual rewards of my marriage, I will never grow weary or fail at it, Insha Allah." He stood there for a while, watching me work. Then, he sighed deeply into the air and muttered, "Indeed, I must change my approach with these children. I just left the farm angry because of Jibril, and now I step into the house only to encounter Asma'u's arrogance." I said, "You just have to be patient, for you are the one they rely on in this entire world." "It's alright," he said aloud, "I will definitely put an end to this insolence; otherwise, they will never understand the reality of things." He went into the room, muttering to himself, gulped down two bags of cold pure water, and came out to carry the food I had finished cooking since noon to take to the laborers on the farm. Before leaving, he paused to help me pick up some scattered corn from the floor. I felt immense pity for him because he knew that this marriage was a true test, even though it was an arranged one. If it were Kubra, neither he nor his farm work would even catch her attention, let alone cleaning farm produce. Umma peeked out from her room on her way to the restroom and saw him crouching, picking up corn from the floor. She snapped: "Oh! So, Baba, you haven't taken food to those poor servants waiting in the bush yet? You're standing here wasting time until they starve?" He jumped up quickly, saying, "Umma, I am leaving right now. I just saw corn scattered on the floor and decided to pick it up." He stood up, grabbed the large container filled with food, and headed out the door. Mama eventually returned, and we completed the remaining work together, as she is very energetic. By God's grace, this season brought abundance to the people; anyone who planted early harvested far beyond expectations. Hamza was among the fortunate farmers blessed with an incredibly bountiful harvest this year. Because of this, Hamza's name became prominent in the town, and everyone began talking about his blessed harvest. He did not return to school until he calculated and distributed the Zakat (obligatory charity) as prescribed by Islamic law. After fulfilling the religious requirements, he went around the neighborhood distributing extra alms (Sadaka) so people would pray for God's blessing on his wealth. Umma remained silent about all the houses he sent charity to, until it was time to send some to my parents' house. She abruptly said, "Sa'adatu, stop there and reduce the quantity." Visibly upset, Hamza looked up from where he was kneeling and said, "Haba Umma! Why reduce it for them? We endured all this grueling farm work alongside their daughter. Umma, even if it is solely out of respect for Humaira, they deserve much more than this." Frowning deeply, she retorted, "This is how I choose to give it to them. Do you have an objection?" He answered quietly, "No, Umma. Go ahead and reduce it." Yet, everyone watched in silence as she sent twice the amount to her close friend, Mama Sa'a, and no one dared utter a word. Baba Mudi came to the house in person to express his gratitude, wishing that next year's harvest would be even more bountiful. He was the first person to show such appreciation, prompting Mama Hafsi to remark, "Look at someone who values kindness; he came to thank us as soon as it was delivered." Umma, sitting on a low stool, sneered, "Of course he would come. Perhaps he was just waiting around for food to eat." "Innalillahi! Umma, who? Malam Mudi?" Ibrahim interjected as he walked in, eating bread and bean cakes (kosai) from a nylon bag. "Wallahi, lying is forbidden. Just the day before yesterday, I saw sacks of Dangote goods being delivered to his house." "Exactly, Umma. These were the very people who used to bring us food in the past. I never forget anyone who has shown me kindness in this neighborhood," Ibrahim added. Mama Hafsi chimed in, "Well, your elder sister has forgotten. She even tried to stop the share my son set aside for him." Ibrahim countered, "Kai, Umma, wallahi your memory is short. Don't you remember Malam Mudi? Even when my late father was alive, whenever he was traveling, he would always say, 'If anything happens, tell Mudi before I return.'" "Ibrahim! Ibrahim! Did I give birth to you, or did you give birth to me? Wallahi, back off before I lose my temper with you!" Umma yelled. "But Umma, how can you reduce Malam Mudi's share while the friend you sent a portion to was complaining? I passed by her house and overheard her saying, 'With all the massive harvest they got, is this measly portion all she could send me?' Wallahi, I wanted to confront her, but I decided to leave it. But I am telling you, if she denies it, I will confront her alongside Yawale, whom she was gossiping with in their entrance hall." Hamza smiled and said, "Drop the matter, Ibrahim, since it is already done." "Wallahi, Yayanmu, that woman Sa'a is a hypocrite. Umma just fails to see her true colors. She is the one spreading all our family secrets across town," Ibrahim insisted. Umma burst into a defensive rage, prompting Ibrahim to leave the house. He stopped by my room, picked up two bags of pure water, drank them, and walked out. At the entrance, Hamza met his brother, and they discussed Umma's difficult behavior further. Hamza advised that they must remain patient with her and part ways amicably, as a mother's status is sacred and not to be trifled with. They were all sitting down as Hamza calculated how to manage the harvested grain and what portion to set aside for home consumption before his return to school the following Sunday. He said, "I will give Humaira one sack of beans and two sacks of rice." Before he could finish, Umma interrupted, "On what grounds are you giving her that?" "Umma, do not forget that I took her money initially when we had a medical emergency. Furthermore, the money I routinely collect from her..." She interrupted again, "Then you should repay her in cash! I don't understand this. Just because you used your wife's money, you think you must repay her with all these foodstuffs? I disagree. I absolutely object! Good Lord, the marriage has barely begun, and I am sitting right here watching a small girl outsmart you." "What is deceitful about this, Yaya? Everything he is giving her, if she were to buy it with the money he took from her, the cost would far exceed this value," Mama Hafsi countered. "I said I do not agree! There is clearly an underlying issue here," Umma insisted. "Yaya, the boy simply wants to fulfill his financial obligation to this young girl, yet you are blocking it," Mama Hafsi argued. I heard their entire conversation from my room. Though it broke my heart, I swallowed my grief, stepped out to pack the clothes I had washed, and took them inside. My presence did not stop Umma; she continued ranting until she eventually tired herself out and stopped. Later, Hamza came into the room while I was reviewing my lecture handouts for an upcoming test. He said, "Do not let Umma's words upset you, Humaira. I will find a way to repay your money." Suppressing my sadness, I replied, "Haba Yayanmu, Umma is right. Just because you took my money doesn't mean you must formally repay me." "Humaira, it is your right. I must return what belongs to you because it wasn't a free gift," he insisted. I replied, "Whatever belongs to me belongs to you." He packed his bags thoroughly to return to school, though he was slightly late due to the farm duties he had stayed behind to finish. My life in the house continued in this manner, completely devoid of personal freedom. If I even drank cold water in front of Umma, she would complain that we lived extravagantly. If I craved anything, I had to secretly tell Mama Hafsi to buy it for me so I could eat it in Umma's absence just to maintain peace. I dared not put a small pot on the fire to cook instant noodles or pasta; if I did, the ensuing drama would likely drive me back to my parents' house. I was forced to eat whatever communal food was cooked, even if I disliked it. Meanwhile, Asma'u and the others did exactly as they pleased without Umma saying a word. I eventually grew tired and accustomed to it. Only Yaya Ibrahim would occasionally defy the tension, secretly bringing me treats and telling me that Hamza had entrusted me to his care. Umma would scold him in plain sight, but he refused to stop. He rarely returned home without bringing me sugarcane, peanuts, carrots, mangoes, oranges, or watermelon, insisting he bought them specifically for me. Umma and her neighboring close friend grew even closer, and the children eventually grew wary of their constant prying eyes. Umma then started spending her entire day at Sa'a's house, claiming it was more ventilated than ours. She would stay there until evening, and whenever I cooked, her food had to be delivered to her there. This temporary arrangement brought us some relief from her constant hostility at home. Mama and I could finally prepare and enjoy small treats before her return. However, she brought misery to the women of that household too, as they complained she was instigating drama between them and their mothers-in-law. Hamza was sitting in class, reviewing a difficult textbook, when Halima walked in. "Hamza, I've been looking for you all morning. So here you are," she said. He lifted his stern face, his eyes locking onto her. An intense sensation gripped his soul, and a slight, involuntary smile escaped his lips. He felt his heart beginning to throb softly. As she drew closer to him, he caught a whiff of her intoxicating, mysterious perfume. Instantly, he became disoriented, confused, and overwhelmed as a wave of sudden weakness washed over his body. He felt incredibly lethargic, as though hit by a sudden wave of deep sleep. He closed his textbook and rested his head on the desk. She reached out and placed her hand on his neck to execute her hidden agenda, murmuring, "What's wrong with you all of a sudden?" Once she was certain she had rubbed the substance on her hands onto him, he lifted his eyes, which had turned blood-red. He stammered, "It's nothing. I just want to go back to the hostel and rest." Stepping even closer, she purred, "Just because you saw me come to you, you want to run away and leave me?" He realized that if he spent a few more minutes with her, he would completely lose all self-control. Therefore, using pleasant words to appease her, he managed to break away and struggled back to the hostel with great difficulty. He found Mansur, Hindatu's husband, who had also come to the hostel looking for him. Seeing Hamza's visibly distressed and unusual state, Mansur became deeply alarmed. Hamza did not hide anything; he narrated the strange, overwhelming physical attraction and sensations he felt whenever he was around Halima. "Innalillahi!" Mansur repeated constantly. "That hypocritical woman knows exactly what spell she cast on you. No wonder she has been searching for you since morning." "God will expose her. That wicked, manipulative woman! We are going to confront her face-to-face in this school," Mansur declared angrily. Gradually, Halima's charms took a firm hold on Hamza; he could no longer bear spending a single day without seeing her. She was the type of aggressive woman who constantly initiated physical contact with men. She would casually grab his hands or kiss him without hesitation. Though he initially felt embarrassed, he eventually stopped resisting, even in public. Furthermore, she was at least ten years older than him, but because she dressed exquisitely and maintained a youthful appearance, it wasn't immediately obvious to an undiscerning eye. Still, anyone could easily deduce that she was far older than him. Yet, she was completely obsessed with the young boy, constantly calling him "My Hamze." She spent lavish amounts of money on him, buying various trivial and extravagant gifts. Initially, other students assumed she hovered around him because of his academic brilliance, but they eventually realized it was a deep, intense, and alarming romantic obsession. As the weekend approached when students usually traveled home, Hamza announced that he wouldn't be able to make it this time. Deep down, he felt he could not bear to be away from Halima for long, knowing that a trip home would mean spending four or five days away before returning to campus. Thus, Mansur embarked on the journey back to Jega all by himself, without his usual travel companion, Hamza. He arrived home close to maghrib, carrying the small gifts he had purchased in Sokoto. He found Hindatu beautifully dressed as usual, eagerly awaiting his arrival. She welcomed him with deep affection and her customary warm embrace. She remarked, "Did you drop Hamza off at his house today? He didn't stop by here to eat." Visibly upset, Mansur walked straight toward their inner room, muttering, "Hamza has fallen into a trap. He is completely helpless; we can only pray for Allah's intervention." Hindatu quickly followed behind him, asking, "I don't understand. What exactly are you saying happened?" "Give me a moment," he said as he stepped into the restroom to freshen up and relieve his upset stomach. Hindatu was burning with curiosity and grew slightly irritated that Mansur didn't come out immediately to explain what was wrong. He finally emerged, having bathed and performed ablution. He changed his clothes, sat down in their living room, and asked, "Where is Mama? I haven't heard her movement. Did she go into town today too?" She replied, "A message was sent a short while ago that Gwago Amma is unwell, so Mama decided to go check on her health." "But what exactly happened to Hamza?" she pressed. Sighing heavily in anger, Mansur replied, "That vile woman has completely brainwashed and trapped him within a short period. He desperately needs help." "Hmm," Hindatu murmured. "So Aisha's predictions were right about those types of women. Once they ensnare a man, he loses his mind completely unless God intervenes." "May Allah protect us all and shield us from these predatory, loose women." Mansur later went out, leaving Hindatu alone in the room, deeply troubled, muttering and cursing the woman under her breath. My husband had promised me that they would return this weekend, as it was their routine to come home at the end of every month, spend two nights, and return to school. I had thoroughly cleaned the room, the entire house, and groomed myself meticulously, getting beautiful hair braids and fresh henna designs. However, night fell, and I saw no sign of them. I knew they never traveled late at night; dusk was their absolute limit. By 9:00 PM, a wave of intense sadness and frustration washed over me, causing me to retreat to my room in a foul mood. Ibrahim walked into the house shortly after and asked, "So, Yayanmu didn't return today?" Mama replied, "He hasn't arrived yet, even though today was their scheduled date to return." Ibrahim asked, "Where is Madam?" Mama replied, "She went into her room not too long ago." He pulled my room curtain aside and said, "Let me help you call him so we can find out if he is safe and why he didn't return today." He pulled out a small, old Nokia phone equipped with a flashlight and dialed his brother's number. The first call rang out without an answer. He dialed a second time, and just as the call was about to disconnect, someone finally picked up. "Hello," a voice answered. Ibrahim handed the phone to me and turned back toward the kitchen rack where the food bowls were kept. I said: "Assalamu Alaikum." "Wa'alaikis salam," he responded. I asked, "Yayanmu, good evening." He abruptly replied, "What is it, Aisha?" He spoke in a tone whose underlying secret was known only to me. My heart skipped a beat violently three consecutive times. Instantly, a terrible suspicion about Hamza crossed my mind. I quickly dismissed the negative thought, whispering, "Astaghfirullah." In a strained voice, I asked, "Yayanmu, is everything alright? Why couldn't you make it home this weekend?" "I will call you back later. I am busy right now," he replied, his voice incredibly weak, sounding like a man completely engrossed in an intimate encounter with a woman. Without waiting for my response, he abruptly hung up the phone. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un," I repeated continuously. Ibrahim walked back to me and asked, "Did you get through to him?" I answered with a pitiful, strained "Yes." He teased me, laughing, "Ah, look at that! Someone is heartbroken tonight because her boss didn't show up." I forced a fake smile until he left the room, continuing his teasing. The moment he left, I collapsed onto the bed, my mind racing with a myriad of painful and unsettling thoughts. Meanwhile, at that very moment, Hamza was enduring an aggressive, seductive touch from Halima—the kind of wicked advances a honorable man should never experience. Despite his desperate attempts to stop her, she persisted. He was on the verge of giving in to her seduction, and during our brief phone call, he couldn't even hide the intense physical arousal he was experiencing due to her actions. With great effort, he finally managed to push her away onto the side of the bed after hanging up the phone. He gasped, "Haba! Halima, what you are doing is entirely forbidden in my religion, and even according to your own faith, this is completely unacceptable." "You are not a child to suggest we behave like stray dogs. In our religion, these things only happen within the sanctity of marriage." "So, from this day onward, I am warning you to stay away from me in this manner. I have never committed fornication, and Insha Allah, I will not start with you." "Haba Hamze, I love you! To be sincere, I can do absolutely anything for you, wallahi," she pleaded. Attempting to stand up, he said, "But I do not want this kind of love. Keep it until a legitimate bond is established between us." "Look, Hamze, do you mean to tell me we can't even share intimate kisses until we are married?" she asked. Standing firmly, he replied, "Yes, that is exactly what I mean." She grabbed his hands and stood up, sending another wave of physical shock through his body. Steeling himself, he said, "Let's go, let me escort you back. It is getting late, and you know the neighborhood thugs will soon start roaming the streets." She looked at him seductively and murmured, "If it gets too late, can't I just spend the night here with you?" He turned to her sharply and barked, "What?!" She smiled and replied, "Yes, why not?" "Move, let's go. Let me get you a commercial motorcycle so you can leave. Don't forget you mentioned we have an early morning lecture tomorrow," he insisted. As she started walking, she grumbled, "Whenever I am with you, I don't really care about the lectures. My only goal is simply to feel your body against mine." "Are you not ashamed to make such statements, Halima?" he asked. "Why should I feel ashamed about expressing what my heart truly desires?" she retorted. They continued walking as she kept injecting satanic whispers into his heart until they reached the main road. He hailed a motorcycle for her, and once she departed, he turned back toward his hostel. Only after she had left did he feel a sense of immense relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was only then that he remembered our phone call. He dialed Ibrahim's number, but Ibrahim informed him that he was currently out of the neighborhood, strolling around town. Reluctantly, Hamza hung up the phone. He had wanted to apologize to me for failing to return home, but since Ibrahim wasn't home with the phone, he had to drop it. A long silence ensued, and I still hadn't stepped out of my room. As the night deepened, Mama Hafsi noticed I hadn't made an appearance. Seeing the light still on in my room, she deduced I wasn't asleep and was likely occupied. She gently pulled my room curtain aside and stepped in. She saw me lying face down on the bed, pretending to be asleep. She walked over to me slowly. Placing her hand gently on my shoulder, she caused me to lift my head to see who it was. Looking at me with deep concern, Mama Hafsi said, "Is it because your husband didn't return today that you are so deeply distressed?" "Didn't you tell me you spoke with him on the phone?" Quickly wiping away my tears before she could notice them, I lied, "Mama, I just have a severe headache. It's not because Yayanmu didn't return. The hair braiding I did yesterday is what triggered this headache." "Oh, poor thing! Take some medication and rest. Do you have any medicine with you, or should I go out to the main road and buy some for you?" "Don't worry, Mama. I have some paracetamol left. I will take it and go to sleep." "Alright, hurry up, take it and sleep, my blessed daughter. And do not worry, since you know he is safe and sound." I replied, "Thank you, Mama." As she walked away, she added, "There's no need to thank me. Just make sure to lock your door because the night is far spent."
If you have not paid for this book, please do not read it. Do not infringe on someone else's rights, please. The following morning, I went to school, but my mind was completely blank throughout the lectures. After closing, I boarded a commercial motorcycle intending to head straight home. However, an inner voice urged me to stop by Hindatu's house first to check if none of them had returned. As soon as I reached the entrance, I saw clear signs indicating that Mansur was indeed in town. Initially, I wanted to turn back and leave, but I eventually paid the motorcycle rider and walked inside to greet them and find out exactly what had happened to my husband.
English Summary
The text narrates a multi-layered family and romantic drama centered around difficult household dynamics, early marriage, agricultural success, and external romantic temptations:
Domestic Hardship and Resilience: The female narrator (Aisha/Humaira) describes the intense economic hardships of the rainy season. Despite facing hostility and mockery from her mother-in-law (Umma) and sister-in-law (Asma'u) for her early marriage, she independently manages her small beverage business (zobo and kunun ayya) and works tirelessly processing her husband Hamza's bountiful farm harvest.
Family Conflict: Hamza's exceptional harvest brings him town-wide recognition. However, it sparks internal family conflict when Umma bitterly tries to reduce the charitable shares (Zakat and Sadaka) intended for Aisha's family and local elders, while favoring her own hypocritical friends. Furthermore, Umma aggressively blocks Hamza from repaying Aisha for a previous financial loan she gave him during a medical emergency.
The Campus Plot and Obsession: Upon returning to his higher institution, Hamza becomes the target of a predatory, highly aggressive older student named Halima (Lima). Halima utilizes physical touch and alleged charms to manipulate Hamza, creating an intense, debilitating physical infatuation that prevents him from traveling home for his scheduled monthly visit.
The Investigation: Hamza's strange behavior during a brief, strained phone call leaves Aisha deeply heartbroken and suspicious at home. Meanwhile, Hamza's friend Mansur discovers Hamza's compromised state at the hostel and vows to confront Halima. Mansur travels back to Jega alone and reveals the alarming situation to his wife, Hindatu. The story concludes with Aisha discovering that Mansur is back in town and deciding to visit his house to uncover the truth behind her husband's absence.
Life has become so difficult for us during this year's rainy season. If a woman does not possess immense patience, she will constantly be at loggerheads with her husband because things have become incredibly tough everywhere.
I can even say that we only survive in this house because of my small business, as Umma has completely tightened her purse strings and sworn not to spend a dime.
As for me, being a devoted wife, whenever I see my husband in distress, I immediately break open my little piggy bank, take out the money, and we use it to get by.
Thankfully, Allah has immensely blessed my business; people love my sorrel drink (zobo), tigernut milk (kunun ayya), and the small bags of ice that I painstakingly package.
Hamza returned to school, though he didn't stay long before returning home to harvest his farm produce.
A new task arose for me, and I had to handle it single-handedly because Mama Hafsi was away traveling to check on her daughter, who was reportedly sent home sick with a severe cough caused by her husband.
I was left entirely on my own, standing firm and struggling to process and pack all the goods brought into the house.
I have lost weight, my skin has darkened, and I look completely unkempt like an illiterate village woman.
Even when Asma'u and the others are home, they refuse to help me with anything. Instead, they mockingly say that the goods belong to my husband, so I can choose to take care of them or leave them to rot.
One day, Hamza overheard this while walking into the house. He caught Asma'u sitting on a mortar, spitefully ridiculing me:
"Young girl, you weren't even mature enough for marriage when you rushed into it, and now look at you—perpetually working without rest or pity. You have emaciated and shrunk, looking just like an old woman."
I replied with a light laugh, "Asma'u, have you ever heard of anyone escaping their destiny? Early marriage is my destiny, and I do not despise it because Allah knows best why I married early."
Just then, Hamza entered the house. With a single sharp glare, he sent Asma'u scurrying quietly into her mother's room, knowing instantly that he had overheard everything.
I continued winnowing the corn, cleaning it, and pouring it into sacks.
"Welcome back," I greeted him, standing up to fetch him some water. He replied, "Let it be, Humaira. Let me give you a break. May Allah bless you."
A profound sense of joy and happiness flooded my heart.
He added, "Please bear with it. I spoke with Mama on the phone, and she told me she will return tomorrow, Insha Allah. She will assist you because this workload is far too heavy for you."
I smiled, lifting my face which was covered in corn dust, and replied, "As long as this work earns me the spiritual rewards of my marriage, I will never grow weary or fail at it, Insha Allah."
He stood there for a while, watching me work.
Then, he sighed deeply into the air and muttered, "Indeed, I must change my approach with these children. I just left the farm angry because of Jibril, and now I step into the house only to encounter Asma'u's arrogance."
I said, "You just have to be patient, for you are the one they rely on in this entire world."
"It's alright," he said aloud, "I will definitely put an end to this insolence; otherwise, they will never understand the reality of things."
He went into the room, muttering to himself, gulped down two bags of cold pure water, and came out to carry the food I had finished cooking since noon to take to the laborers on the farm.
Before leaving, he paused to help me pick up some scattered corn from the floor.
I felt immense pity for him because he knew that this marriage was a true test, even though it was an arranged one. If it were Kubra, neither he nor his farm work would even catch her attention, let alone cleaning farm produce.
Umma peeked out from her room on her way to the restroom and saw him crouching, picking up corn from the floor. She snapped:
"Oh! So, Baba, you haven't taken food to those poor servants waiting in the bush yet? You're standing here wasting time until they starve?"
He jumped up quickly, saying, "Umma, I am leaving right now. I just saw corn scattered on the floor and decided to pick it up."
He stood up, grabbed the large container filled with food, and headed out the door.
Mama eventually returned, and we completed the remaining work together, as she is very energetic.
By God's grace, this season brought abundance to the people; anyone who planted early harvested far beyond expectations.
Hamza was among the fortunate farmers blessed with an incredibly bountiful harvest this year.
Because of this, Hamza's name became prominent in the town, and everyone began talking about his blessed harvest.
He did not return to school until he calculated and distributed the Zakat (obligatory charity) as prescribed by Islamic law.
After fulfilling the religious requirements, he went around the neighborhood distributing extra alms (Sadaka) so people would pray for God's blessing on his wealth.
Umma remained silent about all the houses he sent charity to, until it was time to send some to my parents' house. She abruptly said, "Sa'adatu, stop there and reduce the quantity."
Visibly upset, Hamza looked up from where he was kneeling and said, "Haba Umma! Why reduce it for them? We endured all this grueling farm work alongside their daughter. Umma, even if it is solely out of respect for Humaira, they deserve much more than this."
Frowning deeply, she retorted, "This is how I choose to give it to them. Do you have an objection?"
He answered quietly, "No, Umma. Go ahead and reduce it."
Yet, everyone watched in silence as she sent twice the amount to her close friend, Mama Sa'a, and no one dared utter a word.
Baba Mudi came to the house in person to express his gratitude, wishing that next year's harvest would be even more bountiful.
He was the first person to show such appreciation, prompting Mama Hafsi to remark, "Look at someone who values kindness; he came to thank us as soon as it was delivered."
Umma, sitting on a low stool, sneered, "Of course he would come. Perhaps he was just waiting around for food to eat."
"Innalillahi! Umma, who? Malam Mudi?" Ibrahim interjected as he walked in, eating bread and bean cakes (kosai) from a nylon bag. "Wallahi, lying is forbidden. Just the day before yesterday, I saw sacks of Dangote goods being delivered to his house."
"Exactly, Umma. These were the very people who used to bring us food in the past. I never forget anyone who has shown me kindness in this neighborhood," Ibrahim added.
Mama Hafsi chimed in, "Well, your elder sister has forgotten. She even tried to stop the share my son set aside for him."
Ibrahim countered, "Kai, Umma, wallahi your memory is short. Don't you remember Malam Mudi? Even when my late father was alive, whenever he was traveling, he would always say, 'If anything happens, tell Mudi before I return.'"
"Ibrahim! Ibrahim! Did I give birth to you, or did you give birth to me? Wallahi, back off before I lose my temper with you!" Umma yelled.
"But Umma, how can you reduce Malam Mudi's share while the friend you sent a portion to was complaining? I passed by her house and overheard her saying, 'With all the massive harvest they got, is this measly portion all she could send me?' Wallahi, I wanted to confront her, but I decided to leave it. But I am telling you, if she denies it, I will confront her alongside Yawale, whom she was gossiping with in their entrance hall."
Hamza smiled and said, "Drop the matter, Ibrahim, since it is already done."
"Wallahi, Yayanmu, that woman Sa'a is a hypocrite. Umma just fails to see her true colors. She is the one spreading all our family secrets across town," Ibrahim insisted.
Umma burst into a defensive rage, prompting Ibrahim to leave the house. He stopped by my room, picked up two bags of pure water, drank them, and walked out.
At the entrance, Hamza met his brother, and they discussed Umma's difficult behavior further. Hamza advised that they must remain patient with her and part ways amicably, as a mother's status is sacred and not to be trifled with.
They were all sitting down as Hamza calculated how to manage the harvested grain and what portion to set aside for home consumption before his return to school the following Sunday.
He said, "I will give Humaira one sack of beans and two sacks of rice."
Before he could finish, Umma interrupted, "On what grounds are you giving her that?"
"Umma, do not forget that I took her money initially when we had a medical emergency. Furthermore, the money I routinely collect from her..."
She interrupted again, "Then you should repay her in cash! I don't understand this. Just because you used your wife's money, you think you must repay her with all these foodstuffs? I disagree. I absolutely object! Good Lord, the marriage has barely begun, and I am sitting right here watching a small girl outsmart you."
"What is deceitful about this, Yaya? Everything he is giving her, if she were to buy it with the money he took from her, the cost would far exceed this value," Mama Hafsi countered.
"I said I do not agree! There is clearly an underlying issue here," Umma insisted.
"Yaya, the boy simply wants to fulfill his financial obligation to this young girl, yet you are blocking it," Mama Hafsi argued.
I heard their entire conversation from my room. Though it broke my heart, I swallowed my grief, stepped out to pack the clothes I had washed, and took them inside.
My presence did not stop Umma; she continued ranting until she eventually tired herself out and stopped.
Later, Hamza came into the room while I was reviewing my lecture handouts for an upcoming test. He said, "Do not let Umma's words upset you, Humaira. I will find a way to repay your money."
Suppressing my sadness, I replied, "Haba Yayanmu, Umma is right. Just because you took my money doesn't mean you must formally repay me."
"Humaira, it is your right. I must return what belongs to you because it wasn't a free gift," he insisted. I replied, "Whatever belongs to me belongs to you."
He packed his bags thoroughly to return to school, though he was slightly late due to the farm duties he had stayed behind to finish.
My life in the house continued in this manner, completely devoid of personal freedom. If I even drank cold water in front of Umma, she would complain that we lived extravagantly.
If I craved anything, I had to secretly tell Mama Hafsi to buy it for me so I could eat it in Umma's absence just to maintain peace.
I dared not put a small pot on the fire to cook instant noodles or pasta; if I did, the ensuing drama would likely drive me back to my parents' house.
I was forced to eat whatever communal food was cooked, even if I disliked it. Meanwhile, Asma'u and the others did exactly as they pleased without Umma saying a word. I eventually grew tired and accustomed to it.
Only Yaya Ibrahim would occasionally defy the tension, secretly bringing me treats and telling me that Hamza had entrusted me to his care.
Umma would scold him in plain sight, but he refused to stop. He rarely returned home without bringing me sugarcane, peanuts, carrots, mangoes, oranges, or watermelon, insisting he bought them specifically for me.
Umma and her neighboring close friend grew even closer, and the children eventually grew wary of their constant prying eyes.
Umma then started spending her entire day at Sa'a's house, claiming it was more ventilated than ours. She would stay there until evening, and whenever I cooked, her food had to be delivered to her there.
This temporary arrangement brought us some relief from her constant hostility at home. Mama and I could finally prepare and enjoy small treats before her return.
However, she brought misery to the women of that household too, as they complained she was instigating drama between them and their mothers-in-law.
Hamza was sitting in class, reviewing a difficult textbook, when Halima walked in.
"Hamza, I've been looking for you all morning. So here you are," she said. He lifted his stern face, his eyes locking onto her.
An intense sensation gripped his soul, and a slight, involuntary smile escaped his lips.
He felt his heart beginning to throb softly.
As she drew closer to him, he caught a whiff of her intoxicating, mysterious perfume.
Instantly, he became disoriented, confused, and overwhelmed as a wave of sudden weakness washed over his body.
He felt incredibly lethargic, as though hit by a sudden wave of deep sleep.
He closed his textbook and rested his head on the desk.
She reached out and placed her hand on his neck to execute her hidden agenda, murmuring, "What's wrong with you all of a sudden?"
Once she was certain she had rubbed the substance on her hands onto him, he lifted his eyes, which had turned blood-red. He stammered, "It's nothing. I just want to go back to the hostel and rest."
Stepping even closer, she purred, "Just because you saw me come to you, you want to run away and leave me?"
He realized that if he spent a few more minutes with her, he would completely lose all self-control.
Therefore, using pleasant words to appease her, he managed to break away and struggled back to the hostel with great difficulty.
He found Mansur, Hindatu's husband, who had also come to the hostel looking for him.
Seeing Hamza's visibly distressed and unusual state, Mansur became deeply alarmed.
Hamza did not hide anything; he narrated the strange, overwhelming physical attraction and sensations he felt whenever he was around Halima.
"Innalillahi!" Mansur repeated constantly. "That hypocritical woman knows exactly what spell she cast on you. No wonder she has been searching for you since morning."
"God will expose her. That wicked, manipulative woman! We are going to confront her face-to-face in this school," Mansur declared angrily.
Gradually, Halima's charms took a firm hold on Hamza; he could no longer bear spending a single day without seeing her.
She was the type of aggressive woman who constantly initiated physical contact with men. She would casually grab his hands or kiss him without hesitation. Though he initially felt embarrassed, he eventually stopped resisting, even in public.
Furthermore, she was at least ten years older than him, but because she dressed exquisitely and maintained a youthful appearance, it wasn't immediately obvious to an undiscerning eye.
Still, anyone could easily deduce that she was far older than him.
Yet, she was completely obsessed with the young boy, constantly calling him "My Hamze."
She spent lavish amounts of money on him, buying various trivial and extravagant gifts.
Initially, other students assumed she hovered around him because of his academic brilliance, but they eventually realized it was a deep, intense, and alarming romantic obsession.
As the weekend approached when students usually traveled home, Hamza announced that he wouldn't be able to make it this time.
Deep down, he felt he could not bear to be away from Halima for long, knowing that a trip home would mean spending four or five days away before returning to campus.
Thus, Mansur embarked on the journey back to Jega all by himself, without his usual travel companion, Hamza.
He arrived home close to maghrib, carrying the small gifts he had purchased in Sokoto.
He found Hindatu beautifully dressed as usual, eagerly awaiting his arrival.
She welcomed him with deep affection and her customary warm embrace.
She remarked, "Did you drop Hamza off at his house today? He didn't stop by here to eat."
Visibly upset, Mansur walked straight toward their inner room, muttering, "Hamza has fallen into a trap. He is completely helpless; we can only pray for Allah's intervention."
Hindatu quickly followed behind him, asking, "I don't understand. What exactly are you saying happened?"
"Give me a moment," he said as he stepped into the restroom to freshen up and relieve his upset stomach.
Hindatu was burning with curiosity and grew slightly irritated that Mansur didn't come out immediately to explain what was wrong.
He finally emerged, having bathed and performed ablution. He changed his clothes, sat down in their living room, and asked, "Where is Mama? I haven't heard her movement. Did she go into town today too?"
She replied, "A message was sent a short while ago that Gwago Amma is unwell, so Mama decided to go check on her health."
"But what exactly happened to Hamza?" she pressed.
Sighing heavily in anger, Mansur replied, "That vile woman has completely brainwashed and trapped him within a short period. He desperately needs help."
"Hmm," Hindatu murmured. "So Aisha's predictions were right about those types of women. Once they ensnare a man, he loses his mind completely unless God intervenes."
"May Allah protect us all and shield us from these predatory, loose women."
Mansur later went out, leaving Hindatu alone in the room, deeply troubled, muttering and cursing the woman under her breath.
My husband had promised me that they would return this weekend, as it was their routine to come home at the end of every month, spend two nights, and return to school.
I had thoroughly cleaned the room, the entire house, and groomed myself meticulously, getting beautiful hair braids and fresh henna designs.
However, night fell, and I saw no sign of them. I knew they never traveled late at night; dusk was their absolute limit.
By 9:00 PM, a wave of intense sadness and frustration washed over me, causing me to retreat to my room in a foul mood.
Ibrahim walked into the house shortly after and asked, "So, Yayanmu didn't return today?"
Mama replied, "He hasn't arrived yet, even though today was their scheduled date to return."
Ibrahim asked, "Where is Madam?" Mama replied, "She went into her room not too long ago."
He pulled my room curtain aside and said, "Let me help you call him so we can find out if he is safe and why he didn't return today."
He pulled out a small, old Nokia phone equipped with a flashlight and dialed his brother's number.
The first call rang out without an answer. He dialed a second time, and just as the call was about to disconnect, someone finally picked up.
"Hello," a voice answered.
Ibrahim handed the phone to me and turned back toward the kitchen rack where the food bowls were kept. I said:
"Assalamu Alaikum."
"Wa'alaikis salam," he responded.
I asked, "Yayanmu, good evening." He abruptly replied, "What is it, Aisha?"
He spoke in a tone whose underlying secret was known only to me.
My heart skipped a beat violently three consecutive times.
Instantly, a terrible suspicion about Hamza crossed my mind.
I quickly dismissed the negative thought, whispering, "Astaghfirullah."
In a strained voice, I asked, "Yayanmu, is everything alright? Why couldn't you make it home this weekend?"
"I will call you back later. I am busy right now," he replied, his voice incredibly weak, sounding like a man completely engrossed in an intimate encounter with a woman.
Without waiting for my response, he abruptly hung up the phone.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un," I repeated continuously.
Ibrahim walked back to me and asked, "Did you get through to him?" I answered with a pitiful, strained "Yes."
He teased me, laughing, "Ah, look at that! Someone is heartbroken tonight because her boss didn't show up."
I forced a fake smile until he left the room, continuing his teasing.
The moment he left, I collapsed onto the bed, my mind racing with a myriad of painful and unsettling thoughts.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Hamza was enduring an aggressive, seductive touch from Halima—the kind of wicked advances a honorable man should never experience. Despite his desperate attempts to stop her, she persisted.
He was on the verge of giving in to her seduction, and during our brief phone call, he couldn't even hide the intense physical arousal he was experiencing due to her actions.
With great effort, he finally managed to push her away onto the side of the bed after hanging up the phone. He gasped, "Haba! Halima, what you are doing is entirely forbidden in my religion, and even according to your own faith, this is completely unacceptable."
"You are not a child to suggest we behave like stray dogs. In our religion, these things only happen within the sanctity of marriage."
"So, from this day onward, I am warning you to stay away from me in this manner. I have never committed fornication, and Insha Allah, I will not start with you."
"Haba Hamze, I love you! To be sincere, I can do absolutely anything for you, wallahi," she pleaded.
Attempting to stand up, he said, "But I do not want this kind of love. Keep it until a legitimate bond is established between us."
"Look, Hamze, do you mean to tell me we can't even share intimate kisses until we are married?" she asked.
Standing firmly, he replied, "Yes, that is exactly what I mean."
She grabbed his hands and stood up, sending another wave of physical shock through his body.
Steeling himself, he said, "Let's go, let me escort you back. It is getting late, and you know the neighborhood thugs will soon start roaming the streets."
She looked at him seductively and murmured, "If it gets too late, can't I just spend the night here with you?"
He turned to her sharply and barked, "What?!" She smiled and replied, "Yes, why not?"
"Move, let's go. Let me get you a commercial motorcycle so you can leave. Don't forget you mentioned we have an early morning lecture tomorrow," he insisted.
As she started walking, she grumbled, "Whenever I am with you, I don't really care about the lectures. My only goal is simply to feel your body against mine."
"Are you not ashamed to make such statements, Halima?" he asked.
"Why should I feel ashamed about expressing what my heart truly desires?" she retorted.
They continued walking as she kept injecting satanic whispers into his heart until they reached the main road. He hailed a motorcycle for her, and once she departed, he turned back toward his hostel.
Only after she had left did he feel a sense of immense relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was only then that he remembered our phone call.
He dialed Ibrahim's number, but Ibrahim informed him that he was currently out of the neighborhood, strolling around town.
Reluctantly, Hamza hung up the phone. He had wanted to apologize to me for failing to return home, but since Ibrahim wasn't home with the phone, he had to drop it.
A long silence ensued, and I still hadn't stepped out of my room. As the night deepened, Mama Hafsi noticed I hadn't made an appearance. Seeing the light still on in my room, she deduced I wasn't asleep and was likely occupied.
She gently pulled my room curtain aside and stepped in.
She saw me lying face down on the bed, pretending to be asleep. She walked over to me slowly.
Placing her hand gently on my shoulder, she caused me to lift my head to see who it was.
Looking at me with deep concern, Mama Hafsi said, "Is it because your husband didn't return today that you are so deeply distressed?"
"Didn't you tell me you spoke with him on the phone?"
Quickly wiping away my tears before she could notice them, I lied, "Mama, I just have a severe headache. It's not because Yayanmu didn't return. The hair braiding I did yesterday is what triggered this headache."
"Oh, poor thing! Take some medication and rest. Do you have any medicine with you, or should I go out to the main road and buy some for you?"
"Don't worry, Mama. I have some paracetamol left. I will take it and go to sleep."
"Alright, hurry up, take it and sleep, my blessed daughter. And do not worry, since you know he is safe and sound." I replied, "Thank you, Mama."
As she walked away, she added, "There's no need to thank me. Just make sure to lock your door because the night is far spent."
If you have not paid for this book, please do not read it. Do not infringe on someone else's rights, please.
The following morning, I went to school, but my mind was completely blank throughout the lectures.
After closing, I boarded a commercial motorcycle intending to head straight home. However, an inner voice urged me to stop by Hindatu's house first to check if none of them had returned.
As soon as I reached the entrance, I saw clear signs indicating that Mansur was indeed in town. Initially, I wanted to turn back and leave, but I eventually paid the motorcycle rider and walked inside to greet them and find out exactly what had happened to my husband.
English Summary
The text narrates a multi-layered family and romantic drama centered around difficult household dynamics, early marriage, agricultural success, and external romantic temptations: