In sudden haste, I stepped further back, continuing to stare at the woman whose eyes were green—exactly as I had seen them in my dream. I honestly didn’t know whether she recognized me or not; without a word, she walked past me and entered the living room. I followed her with my eyes, but before she could reach Ammy, she collapsed, shaking violently like someone injected with madness.
Everyone rushed to help before Ammy came calling her name, shaking her repeatedly.
“Rashida? Rashida?”
There was no change—rather, the pain only worsened. The students had already begun leaving on Sheikh Rayyadeen’s instruction. He stood firmly, as though he himself was not in pain. Everyone left, including the doctor who had come to treat him. Mujahida came and held my hand, but I remained frozen like a statue.
Sheikh, who was standing, fixed his eyes on me and said firmly,
“Leave.”
I gently shook my head, driven by a voice pounding in my heart:
“Khadeeja, you are not useless. Allah showed you this woman in a dream—perhaps you are the one meant to save her.”
Mujahida left me behind because Sheikh was glaring at us as though his eyes would fall out.
From where I stood, I said,
“Burn black seed (habbatu sauda) for her.”
Ammy looked at me, then told Sheikh,
“Go and bring it. You—go and fetch charcoal.”
Only then did I step out into the living room. It was empty; clearly, the students had all gone.
I looked around, searching for the kitchen, when suddenly my eyes fell on a family photograph—exactly like the one I had seen in my dream. Slowly, I walked closer. Two things confused me deeply: every person in the picture had something tightly tied around their necks, except Sheikh and an elderly woman whom I assumed was his grandmother.
I reached out and touched Sheikh’s image. When I touched the old woman’s image, I heard a voice behind me.
“Who are you?”
The question came in a dark, terrifying voice. I turned quickly and came face-to-face with the old woman. I was about to speak when Aliya said,
“Grand-Maa, I’ve been looking for you since morning. Rashida is unwell.”
I stepped back as they walked past me. They entered ahead of me, and soon I saw Grand-Maa come out coughing violently, as though her soul was leaving her body.
The look she gave me—with her red eyes like those of a witch—terrified me. I ran out of the house entirely.
Outside the gate, I saw Mujahida sitting on a bench, talking on the phone. I went and sat beside her. She quickly ended the call and stared at me intensely.
“What?” I asked.
She widened her eyes.
“Since when did you become so bold, Khadeeja? Didn’t you see how angry Sheikh was? You didn’t even flinch! And this is how you expect him to accept your love?”
“I don’t think I did anything wrong,” I replied.
“Then why did you stay when everyone else left?”
I grabbed both her hands.
“Mujahida, that woman who came in—she’s the one I told you about. The one I saw in my dream. I swear her eyes were exactly like a snake’s.”
She pulled her hands away.
“I’m not part of this mystery. How can you see a woman today and claim she appeared in your dream?”
“Believe me. Even the family photograph I told you about—I saw it today.”
She went quiet, thinking.
“I saw the photo too, but I thought maybe you’d seen it before and Sheikh hung it up.”
I shook my head, fear wrapping around me. Together, we returned to school.
The class buzzed with gossip, pairing Sheikh Rayyadeen’s name with Sadiya’s. It deeply upset me. Mujahida tried to comfort me.
“Don’t worry. She’s just pretending. Look at her—does she even look like the kind of woman Sheikh would want?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve heard stories that dark-skinned women possess special powers. Scholars know women’s secrets—maybe Sadiya has something like that.”
Mujahida scoffed.
“She’s old! She’s over thirty-five, and she’s still showing off.”
She laughed darkly, then whispered in my ear,
“But my friend, there will be a struggle ahead. They say witches are the most wicked women—and with Sheikh’s knowledge, I know there will be serious encounters when you two are alone.”
A strange chill ran through me. I nudged her playfully.
“How did your thoughts even get there? I’ve never imagined us at that level.”
She smiled softly.
“Khadeeja, do you know why I love you for Allah’s sake? Seeing you happy is the most precious thing to me. That love is why I accepted Yaya Hamza, even though he’s not my type.”
I sighed.
“But why don’t you like fair-skinned men?”
“They don’t appeal to me.”
“And Yaya Hamza does?”
She smiled.
“He’s your blood. I had no choice.”
I held her hand.
“Please don’t play with my brother’s heart. He truly loves you.”
“I know. He tells me all the time.”
Before I could respond, a senior student called for silence and addressed us. She urged us to continue studying despite Sheikh’s illness and asked Sadiya and A’isha—both Qur’an memorizers—to help others.
Everyone agreed. Yet, despite Sadiya’s beautiful recitation, jealousy filled me—even though she wasn’t better than me.
I refused to move. A’isha was assigned to those needing correction. Mujahida went forward to be taught. Sadiya looked at me. I turned away.
She approached and banged the table.
“You—can you recite?”
“I don’t need teaching,” I replied. “Only those with opinions do.”
Before she could speak, Malam Ibrahim entered. He praised our focus.
“She says she doesn’t need teaching,” Sadiya said, pointing at me.
Malam Ibrahim looked at me carefully.
“Khadeeja, since when did you become like this?”
I pouted.
“I don’t like being taught by women—except my mother.”
The class burst into laughter, calling me “Mommy’s girl,” until Malam silenced them.
Sadiya shot me a sharp look and moved away. Mujahida whispered that I’d made enemies.
“So what?” I replied, grabbed my bag, and left.
I called the driver and waited. While riding home, I checked Sheikh’s Facebook page and saw a new photo. I laughed uncontrollably until the driver asked what was wrong.
At home, Daddy asked why I returned early. I rambled foolishly about Sheikh’s illness and even said I wanted to return to secular school so I could care for him. Daddy’s stare made me realize my mistake.
He asked why I stopped wearing my veil.
I gave excuses. He questioned further. I joked nervously.
Finally, he told me to prepare Ummah’s room—she was coming that evening.
I jumped with joy, begged for her to stay in my room, but Daddy refused because she couldn’t climb stairs.
Later, while bathing, I stood before the mirror, blushing, imagining Sheikh’s eyes instead of my reflection. I quickly showered, dressed, and checked Sheikh’s profile again. I discovered his birthday was in two weeks—he would be turning forty-two.
I began thinking about a gift.
---
SHEIKH RAYYADEEN
He was a man whose desire rarely stirred—but when it did, it drove him insane. After mentioning Khadeeja’s name to Ammy, only Allah and fasting saved him. His entire body burned with need. Yet he had never married. Women proposed to him, but they mysteriously died one after another.
His illness worsened. On the day he went to school to approve new admissions, he saw Khadeeja running—her body moving beneath her hijab. He turned back immediately, his condition worsening.
When she later touched his hand, he nearly lost control but endured because students were present.
Rashida’s collapse distracted him. After burning black seed incense, she regained consciousness. Tearfully, she confessed betrayal. Ammy embraced her.
But Rashida was silenced—Sheikh insisted Ammy rest.
Later, Rashida dreamed of Grand-Maa threatening her eternal sleep, pouring a charm into her mouth. She convulsed, was rushed to hospital, unaware she’d been delivered into greater danger.
At the hospital, evil spirits disguised as cats attacked her. A nurse demanded money. A guard warned Ammy the illness was spiritual, not medical.
They returned home. Mama treated Rashida with Mayu incense. She revived but couldn’t speak—realizing Grand-Maa was behind everything.
Sheikh, angry and humiliated by Khadeeja’s defiance, longed for morning to punish her.
When Ammy told him she planned to seek traditional medicine, he hesitated.
“Are you sure it’s not shirk?” he asked.
“It’s only medicine,” she replied. “It once helped me conceive you.”
KUNDIN TSATUBA
In sudden haste, I stepped further back, continuing to stare at the woman whose eyes were green—exactly as I had seen them in my dream. I honestly didn’t know whether she recognized me or not; without a word, she walked past me and entered the living room. I followed her with my eyes, but before she could reach Ammy, she collapsed, shaking violently like someone injected with madness.
Everyone rushed to help before Ammy came calling her name, shaking her repeatedly.
“Rashida? Rashida?”
There was no change—rather, the pain only worsened. The students had already begun leaving on Sheikh Rayyadeen’s instruction. He stood firmly, as though he himself was not in pain. Everyone left, including the doctor who had come to treat him. Mujahida came and held my hand, but I remained frozen like a statue.
Sheikh, who was standing, fixed his eyes on me and said firmly,
“Leave.”
I gently shook my head, driven by a voice pounding in my heart:
“Khadeeja, you are not useless. Allah showed you this woman in a dream—perhaps you are the one meant to save her.”
Mujahida left me behind because Sheikh was glaring at us as though his eyes would fall out.
From where I stood, I said,
“Burn black seed (habbatu sauda) for her.”
Ammy looked at me, then told Sheikh,
“Go and bring it. You—go and fetch charcoal.”
Only then did I step out into the living room. It was empty; clearly, the students had all gone.
I looked around, searching for the kitchen, when suddenly my eyes fell on a family photograph—exactly like the one I had seen in my dream. Slowly, I walked closer. Two things confused me deeply: every person in the picture had something tightly tied around their necks, except Sheikh and an elderly woman whom I assumed was his grandmother.
I reached out and touched Sheikh’s image. When I touched the old woman’s image, I heard a voice behind me.
“Who are you?”
The question came in a dark, terrifying voice. I turned quickly and came face-to-face with the old woman. I was about to speak when Aliya said,
“Grand-Maa, I’ve been looking for you since morning. Rashida is unwell.”
I stepped back as they walked past me. They entered ahead of me, and soon I saw Grand-Maa come out coughing violently, as though her soul was leaving her body.
The look she gave me—with her red eyes like those of a witch—terrified me. I ran out of the house entirely.
Outside the gate, I saw Mujahida sitting on a bench, talking on the phone. I went and sat beside her. She quickly ended the call and stared at me intensely.
“What?” I asked.
She widened her eyes.
“Since when did you become so bold, Khadeeja? Didn’t you see how angry Sheikh was? You didn’t even flinch! And this is how you expect him to accept your love?”
“I don’t think I did anything wrong,” I replied.
“Then why did you stay when everyone else left?”
I grabbed both her hands.
“Mujahida, that woman who came in—she’s the one I told you about. The one I saw in my dream. I swear her eyes were exactly like a snake’s.”
She pulled her hands away.
“I’m not part of this mystery. How can you see a woman today and claim she appeared in your dream?”
“Believe me. Even the family photograph I told you about—I saw it today.”
She went quiet, thinking.
“I saw the photo too, but I thought maybe you’d seen it before and Sheikh hung it up.”
I shook my head, fear wrapping around me. Together, we returned to school.
The class buzzed with gossip, pairing Sheikh Rayyadeen’s name with Sadiya’s. It deeply upset me. Mujahida tried to comfort me.
“Don’t worry. She’s just pretending. Look at her—does she even look like the kind of woman Sheikh would want?”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve heard stories that dark-skinned women possess special powers. Scholars know women’s secrets—maybe Sadiya has something like that.”
Mujahida scoffed.
“She’s old! She’s over thirty-five, and she’s still showing off.”
She laughed darkly, then whispered in my ear,
“But my friend, there will be a struggle ahead. They say witches are the most wicked women—and with Sheikh’s knowledge, I know there will be serious encounters when you two are alone.”
A strange chill ran through me. I nudged her playfully.
“How did your thoughts even get there? I’ve never imagined us at that level.”
She smiled softly.
“Khadeeja, do you know why I love you for Allah’s sake? Seeing you happy is the most precious thing to me. That love is why I accepted Yaya Hamza, even though he’s not my type.”
I sighed.
“But why don’t you like fair-skinned men?”
“They don’t appeal to me.”
“And Yaya Hamza does?”
She smiled.
“He’s your blood. I had no choice.”
I held her hand.
“Please don’t play with my brother’s heart. He truly loves you.”
“I know. He tells me all the time.”
Before I could respond, a senior student called for silence and addressed us. She urged us to continue studying despite Sheikh’s illness and asked Sadiya and A’isha—both Qur’an memorizers—to help others.
Everyone agreed. Yet, despite Sadiya’s beautiful recitation, jealousy filled me—even though she wasn’t better than me.
I refused to move. A’isha was assigned to those needing correction. Mujahida went forward to be taught. Sadiya looked at me. I turned away.
She approached and banged the table.
“You—can you recite?”
“I don’t need teaching,” I replied. “Only those with opinions do.”
Before she could speak, Malam Ibrahim entered. He praised our focus.
“She says she doesn’t need teaching,” Sadiya said, pointing at me.
Malam Ibrahim looked at me carefully.
“Khadeeja, since when did you become like this?”
I pouted.
“I don’t like being taught by women—except my mother.”
The class burst into laughter, calling me “Mommy’s girl,” until Malam silenced them.
Sadiya shot me a sharp look and moved away. Mujahida whispered that I’d made enemies.
“So what?” I replied, grabbed my bag, and left.
I called the driver and waited. While riding home, I checked Sheikh’s Facebook page and saw a new photo. I laughed uncontrollably until the driver asked what was wrong.
At home, Daddy asked why I returned early. I rambled foolishly about Sheikh’s illness and even said I wanted to return to secular school so I could care for him. Daddy’s stare made me realize my mistake.
He asked why I stopped wearing my veil.
I gave excuses. He questioned further. I joked nervously.
Finally, he told me to prepare Ummah’s room—she was coming that evening.
I jumped with joy, begged for her to stay in my room, but Daddy refused because she couldn’t climb stairs.
Later, while bathing, I stood before the mirror, blushing, imagining Sheikh’s eyes instead of my reflection. I quickly showered, dressed, and checked Sheikh’s profile again. I discovered his birthday was in two weeks—he would be turning forty-two.
I began thinking about a gift.
---
SHEIKH RAYYADEEN
He was a man whose desire rarely stirred—but when it did, it drove him insane. After mentioning Khadeeja’s name to Ammy, only Allah and fasting saved him. His entire body burned with need. Yet he had never married. Women proposed to him, but they mysteriously died one after another.
His illness worsened. On the day he went to school to approve new admissions, he saw Khadeeja running—her body moving beneath her hijab. He turned back immediately, his condition worsening.
When she later touched his hand, he nearly lost control but endured because students were present.
Rashida’s collapse distracted him. After burning black seed incense, she regained consciousness. Tearfully, she confessed betrayal. Ammy embraced her.
But Rashida was silenced—Sheikh insisted Ammy rest.
Later, Rashida dreamed of Grand-Maa threatening her eternal sleep, pouring a charm into her mouth. She convulsed, was rushed to hospital, unaware she’d been delivered into greater danger.
At the hospital, evil spirits disguised as cats attacked her. A nurse demanded money. A guard warned Ammy the illness was spiritual, not medical.
They returned home. Mama treated Rashida with Mayu incense. She revived but couldn’t speak—realizing Grand-Maa was behind everything.
Sheikh, angry and humiliated by Khadeeja’s defiance, longed for morning to punish her.
When Ammy told him she planned to seek traditional medicine, he hesitated.
“Are you sure it’s not shirk?” he asked.
“It’s only medicine,” she replied. “It once helped me conceive you.”