Early this morning, he and Munzali went out together to inspect a plot of land. They deliberated back and forth, building and dismantling plans in their minds, before finally deciding to construct a secular primary school that is strictly Islamic-oriented (one that places its core emphasis on religious education). From the moment they set out, Abbati had been deeply lost in thought, figuring out how to slip away and travel to Abuja following the urgent call Shazali had made to him in the morning. Munzali had grown weary of trying to initiate a conversation, only to be left speaking to himself. On top of that, Abbati kept completely dodging any talk regarding his troubles back in Kirikasamma. "By the way, did you manage to get Farha's phone number from Mardiyya?" The question struck him like the heavy blow of a sledgehammer. Farha—the very girl who had completely robbed his heart of peace, yet whom he could not bring himself to call even after Mardiyya sent the number, all because of his intense self-loathing. What would a girl like her want with a filthy person like him, a man who had essentially become a dumping ground for the wealthy? If he were to marry her, wouldn't that make him an incredibly cruel and heartless man? In the past, when he fondly imagined that his repentance would be a simple, straightforward path, he had firmly resolved to bind his life to hers—but absolutely not anymore. Munzali cast a long, bewildered look at him. These past few days, he couldn't fathom what was plaguing Abbati. They were always together, sharing their thoughts and planning, but that was as far as it went. He knew this was not the Abbati he had always known. This version of him did nothing but indulge in endless overthinking, with a profound distress clearly etched all over his face. Munzali was thoroughly exhausted by this new behavior, which had plunged him into deep suspicion and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one who had wronged him. He had made provisions for the two of them—provisions about which he would normally consult Abbati—but now found himself unable to even speak of them. He had gathered all the money they made in Abuja, taken his own ten million Naira, added a top-up to it, and transferred it to a private hospital in Italy. The hospital was highly renowned for performing gender reassignment surgeries, but it also housed a specific department that conducted specialized therapy for individuals seeking to revert to their original, biological state. Through his research, Munzali discovered that this department could significantly help them eradicate the urges that might otherwise pull them back into their past lifestyle. He had even spoken directly with one of the senior doctors at the hospital to secure satisfactory explanations. He learned that there are individuals born with genetic defects, appearing outwardly as one gender while their biological and psychological reality belongs to the opposite. You might find a tall, strapping young man speaking with a woman's voice and swaying effeminate mannerisms (a dan daudu). Or a woman with a booming, deep voice, walking and asserting herself like a male footballer. For such individuals, surgery is often performed to suppress the weaker trait so they can become whole. The second category, however, which was precisely where they fell, consists of the 'infiltrators'—those who were forced or conditioned into this lifestyle through sheer manipulation and coercion long before they even understood the meaning of such intimacy. These are the ones who are fully capable of marrying and procreating, yet continue to secretly pursue members of their own sex on the side. The problem people like them face is the recurrence of those urges from time to time due to deep-seated habit. It was a cure for this specific urge that Munzali wanted to secure for them, because he knew full well they still battled it. From what he could see, Farha had completely captured Abbati's mind, and Munzali would hate nothing more than for their past, corrupted life to find a single loophole to resurface after Abbati married her. Screeech! He slammed his foot violently onto the brakes. The car lurched forward so aggressively it felt as though they would be hurled straight through the windshield, before jolting to a powerful halt by the roadside. Only then did Abbati snap out of his trance. He looked at Munzali in shock, glances darting around to see what had caused the sudden stop. "Is everything alright? Is there a problem with the brakes, or what?" In a completely detached, nonchalant tone, Munzali replied, "Not at all. I noticed I've been talking to myself for so long without you hearing a single word, so I did this just to bring you back to the world of the living." "I'm sorry. My mind had wandered off somewhere far away." Frustrated by Abbati's endless secrecy, Munzali spoke with visible irritation: "A place so far that I am not allowed to follow you, let alone know what is troubling you so we can fix it together? You know what, I don't even care to know anymore. It's not mandatory for you to tell me everything about yourself, since human beings are entitled to their secrets. But at the very least, tell Baaba Mari or someone else you believe can help you find a way out." Abbati stared at him intently before asking, "Are you implying that there is something you are hiding from me?" "Hey, you aren't the only one who knows the meaning of the saying 'the stomach wasn't created solely to hold food.' Keep your troubles to yourself then, but by Allah, stop displaying them right in front of me. You aren't going to make me sit in isolation every day, drowning in worry over your problems. Look, we have a daughter to raise, and I am also looking to get married soon. A man should be left alone in his solitude to think about his girlfriend and ways to win her over!" 'Oh, Munzali,' Abbati thought to himself, a soft smile breaking across his face. "You persistent guy, I am still not telling you. As old as I am, you're trying to play reverse psychology on me? This emotional blackmail won't work. Go back to whoever taught you that and demand a refund on your money." Munzali burst into a hearty laugh, thoroughly delighted that he had successfully dragged Abbati back from whatever dark corner his mind had wandered into. Gradually smoothing his expression, he stopped laughing. "But in all seriousness, is it that you already told Farha you love her and she rejected you?" Abbati lightly pressed his forehead, shaking his head slowly. "No. I am the one who backed out entirely, because I don't believe a man like me—someone covered in filth—deserves to have the love of a woman like her. You haven't seen her, Munzali, but there isn't a single trace of modern frivolity or waywardness in her character." Munzali fell into a temporary, heavy silence, prompting Abbati to call his name repeatedly. When he finally responded, his eyes were brimmed with tears that began to spill down his cheeks. Without his voice trembling, he whispered, "Abbati, will you ever be able to forgive me? I am the sole reason you entered this lifestyle. I ruined you, and I ruined myself in the most catastrophic way possible." His heart burned with an intense, agonizing ache as he continued to speak, weeping like a small child. "I have wanted to beg for your forgiveness for so long, but I was terrified that you would abandon me. Abbati, I didn't lose my parents to death, yet many orphans enjoy far more parental care than I ever did. My parents did absolutely nothing for me in this life except bring me into the world. Out of all the children from my mother's womb, I feel only Ummakati has a semi-decent life. The rest of my younger siblings are entirely wild, each living solely for themselves. That is why I never hesitate to give them money, just to stop them from begging or stealing, even though I know money alone won't give them a moral upbringing. I was completely selfish when it came to you, because I weaponized your deep affection for me to keep us permanently trapped in sin..." They were both weeping now, each completely consumed by crushing regret and profound self-hatred. If only time could be turned backward, Munzali would have chosen to beg for scraps on the street rather than ever accept a single plate of food from Shazali. "Stop this crying now. In sha Allah, we will secure a good, beautiful life ahead of us, even if we have to live without money." "What kind of beautiful life can we have when I am the very cause of what might prevent you from marrying the one you truly love?" Abbati suddenly scowled, putting on a stern face. "Get out of here with that voice sounding like a well-fed rooster! Stop crying, you're completely filling my ears with noise." Munzali pouted his lips, deliberately sniffling loudly. "Ah, thank God... so it means you don't actually hate me." "I don't hate you, but you know fully well I absolutely despise that disgusting sniffling. Just drive the car and let's get moving before you make me throw up." He dramatically pinched his nose. Out of pure mischief, Munzali extended his hand toward him. "Come on then, let's shake hands to prove I am still dear to your heart, whether in life or death!" "May Allah forbid me from ever touching a hand that was just wiped on a nose!" Abbati barked, slapping Munzali's hand away. As the car cruised down the road, the air was filled with nothing but their shared laughter and endless, playful bickering, resembling a classic cat-and-mouse dynamic. Munzali was now utterly convinced that Farha was the one anchoring Abbati's heart, which was precisely why he resolved to track down Mardiyya and marry her. By doing so, he would rescue her from her toxic mother, and then enjoy the ultimate satisfaction of pushing Abbati toward Farha until he finally saw them safely married.
I just published "15" of my story "UWA UWACE...". https://my.w.tt/nvrHssbTfbb
UWA UWACE... Chapter 15
By Batul Mamman💖 Maula ya salli wa sallim da'iman abada Ala habibika khairil khalqi kulli himi MUHAMMADUN SAYYADUL KAWNAINI WA SAQALAIN WAL FARIQAINI MIN URBIN WA MIN AJAMI
Oh my Master, send your salutations and blessings forever Upon your beloved, the best of the whole creation MUHAMMAD IS THE LEADER OF BOTH WORLDS AND OF MAN AND JINN LEADER OF THE ARABS AND NON-ARABS AND THEIR KIN. OUR RASUL, OUR HONOUR Sallallahu alaihi wa sallam.
"Doctor, when exactly are you going to discharge that woman in Room 3? I don't mean to pry into your medical duties, but it's honestly better she goes home to recuperate, if only for the sake of her newborn infant. Today marks four full days, and absolutely no one has come to visit her, let alone bring her a hot meal. Every single day, she just hands over two hundred Naira for us to buy her local fried dough buns (bons) and a bottle of water." The doctor had been walking briskly at first, but hearing the words of her subordinate staff member made her halt dead in her tracks. "Which woman? Is there actually someone admitted in Room 3?" The cleaner responsible for sweeping and washing the bathrooms widened her eyes in sheer astonishment. "Doctor, don't tell me you completely forgot about her?! Oh my goodness, no wonder! That explains why no medical staff has been entering the room." She added with profound pity, "The woman you performed the post-delivery stitches on!" The doctor marched straight toward the room. The moment she swung the door open, her expression hardened completely with intense irritation. The room was stifling hot, and a piercing, agonizing cry of a newborn baby filled the air—a cry they had been hearing even before stepping through the threshold. "Hajiyar Zara?" she called out in absolute shock mixed with rising anger. "Did a fresh medical complication bring you back here?" Zara forced a weak, pathetic smile, struggling to sit up on the mattress but failing to do so. Her baby girl lay at the far corner of the bed, completely devoid of any proper receiving blanket, kicking her tiny legs wildly as she cried from absolute starvation. "I never left," Zara said with a hollow, forced smile. "I've been right here since that day, waiting to be officially discharged." Thoroughly incensed, the doctor reached deep into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out her mobile phone. "The moment I finished your stitches, I explicitly told you I was not admitting you because you didn't suffer any severe blood loss that required a transfusion or close observation. And look at your daughter..." She scooped the infant into her arms, and the moment her fingers brushed against the baby's skin, a wave of profound anger washed over her. The child hadn't been bathed a single time since she entered the world. Dialing the reception desk, she demanded they pull up Alhaji Unais's file immediately and text his phone number to her. Hearing this, Zara's heart leapt into her throat. Her original plan had been to hide away in the hospital until the day of the baby's naming ceremony, and then return straight to her matrimonial home. "Doctor, please just leave him out of this. We can manage right here until the day after tomorrow, then I will leave," she pleaded foolishly. "Do you possess a single grain of sanity?!" the doctor snapped. "Neither you nor your newborn baby has had a bath since you delivered. I am told you've been eating nothing but fried dough buns every day—how on earth do you expect your body to produce quality breast milk?!" Zara's mental capacity was severely compromised. Ever since her stitches were repaired, a horrific, burning pain had flared up in her nether regions over the last two days. Urinating had become an absolute torture; she could barely dab water on herself due to the sheer agony. The area had become severely inflamed and infected due to total lack of postpartum hygiene and care. The sheer intensity of the infection was now triggering a raging fever that threatened her cognitive faculties. Any rational conversation requiring basic logic was entirely beyond Zara's capacity right now. Her mind could process only one overwhelming reality: pain. The moment Alhaji Unais answered the doctor's call, she unleashed a furious torrent of condemnation, blasting him for his utter negligence toward the health and survival of his family. "Come and pick her up this very instant! And ensure every single dime for the room occupancy over these past days is settled in full!" She slammed the phone down. Unais immediately hurried into his mother's quarters to break the news. Hajiyar Fatakwal, however, spat in disgust, declaring that Zara was entirely a curse brought upon them by Allah. If Zara weren't currently out of her sight, she would have physically laid hands on her. "You are going absolutely nowhere," she commanded. "Send a driver to dump her right at her parents' doorstep. As for the servant who drove her to the hospital in the first place, fire him immediately. In this house, it is either me or Zara. I swear by Allah, she will rot in her parents' house. If she thinks she can play games with me, she has met her match." Pausing for a brief moment as a malicious thought crossed her mind, she stood up abruptly. "Let's drive over to Innayo's house ourselves before you dispatch the driver." Alhaji Unais didn't comprehend the twisted wisdom behind her move until they arrived at the compound. His mother was cleverly executing a scheme to completely absolve herself and her son of any blame right in front of Zara's family. Innayo was sitting entirely alone in her room, listening to her small radio, when a greeting suddenly rang out, accompanied by a thick cloud of expensive perfume that flooded the entrance of her room. The voice definitely didn't belong to Munzali—he was the one who had been visiting frequently these past two days, filling their space with a beautiful, pleasant fragrance. Answering the greeting, she reached for a wrap to cover her body so she could peer outside, but the visitors marched right in without waiting for permission. Innayo shook her head in disapproval, realizing that whoever it was held no respect for her boundaries. Her eyes widened in absolute shock as she recognized Alhaji Unais standing directly behind the woman who had barged in. The last time he had ever set foot in her room was during the brief traditional greeting following their wedding. "Where are the mother and newborn? The room feels awfully quiet for a house celebrating a birth," Hajiyar Fatakwal uttered with a thoroughly plastic, forced smile. Her heart pounding with sudden terror, Innayo gasped, "What mother and newborn? Who on earth gave birth?!" Hajiyar Fatakwal feigned absolute, theatrical shock. "What do you mean, Zara's mother? What are you saying? Zara and her baby daughter left for this house five days ago to begin her traditional postpartum care (wankan jego), and you're here asking me who gave birth?!" Oh, poor Innayo! Completely traumatized, she leapt to her feet, her wrapper slipping from her waist as she desperately clutched at it to keep it secure. "Please explain this to me in a way I can understand! Zara has not stepped foot into this house, and absolutely no one here has a single clue that she has put to bed!" Right in front of her, Alhaji Unais dialed the driver who had been instructed to bring her home days ago. The driver explained that Zara had explicitly ordered him to drop her off at the hospital instead. Innayo felt as though a mountain had been dropped squarely onto her head. What on earth was happening? Snatching up the veil she had grabbed earlier, she frantically asked for the name of the hospital. The moment he muttered the name, she dialed Hasiya to break the terrifying news. Maimuna happened to be visiting Hasiya's house at that exact moment. "You and Maimuna should meet me there immediately!" Innayo grabbed her small purse, which fortunately contained some money because Munzali had gifted her twenty thousand Naira during his visit two days prior. Truly, that money was destined to be her saving grace today. Without even taking the time to lock her bedroom door, she hurried out, trailing closely behind Hajiyar Fatakwal and her son. Despite his flaws, Alhaji Unais's mind was genuinely fraught with worry over his wife. Hajiyar Fatakwal, however, was entirely focused on planting a 'black thorn'—the bitter nickname she had assigned to Zara and her lineage. Even if her son were to eventually take Zara back, it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon. Having absolutely no intention of setting foot inside a public hospital, the moment Innayo caught up to the vehicle and reached out to open the back door, Hajiyar Fatakwal sharply cut her off. She refused to share a car ride with this woman whose skin had been entirely drained and hardened by a lifetime of poverty and hardship. In her mind, the woman would only fill her luxury car with a foul stench. "Zara's mother, I strongly suggest you catch a commercial tricycle (adaidaita sahu) instead, because we have to run some errands immediately after leaving the hospital." Innayo froze dead in her tracks. A profound, crushing wave of humiliation washed over her from the blatant insult. She understood perfectly well that they simply deemed her unworthy of riding in their vehicle. Otherwise, since they were both heading to the exact same destination right now, what logical reason was there to refuse her a seat? A sharp, stabbing pain pierced her heart as she remembered how Zara had constantly elevated these very people far above her own flesh and blood. Forcing a hollow, superficial laugh, she whispered, "Oh, it's completely fine. Please go ahead, I know the name of the hospital." Hajiyar Fatakwal sneered, "Alright then, see you there." Innayo watched in silence as they sped off. She turned toward the main road with frantic steps, her eyes completely filled to the brim with unshed tears. She had never imagined that Zara's actions would lower her dignity to the point where her own in-laws would disgustedly refuse to share a vehicle with her. Yet, despite the bitter heartbreak, her heart never stopped pouring out desperate prayers for her daughter's survival and safety. Just as she was about to hail a commercial tricycle, a voice called out from behind her. "Innayo, where are you heading?" It was Munzali. She recognized his voice instantly before she even turned around. With a quick wave of his hand, he dismissed the tricycle driver, stepped forward respectfully, and opened the back door of his own car for her. The moment she slid into the seat, a torrent of profound blessings and prayers poured from her lips as he walked around to take the driver's seat. "May Allah preserve your sight and your hearing, Munzali. May He grant you a peaceful, honorable exit from this world. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," she wept, fighting to suppress her tears. When one person rejects you, Allah will always raise another to cherish you. The very child she carried in her womb had brought her nothing but raw humiliation, yet her husband's son—a boy who never used to care about any of them—was now treating her with the utmost honor and reverence. Munzali's heart swelled with a joy he couldn't even hide. His own biological mother, Asabe, had never offered him prayers of such profound depth. For Asabe, if he handed her a massive stack of cash, she would simply mutter a transactional 'thank you.' If she deemed the amount too small, she would dismissively say 'thanks.' "Where are you heading in this scorching afternoon sun?" Innayo laid out the entire bitter encounter with Zara's husband and mother-in-law. Munzali's blood boiled with intense rage at their disgusting display of arrogance, and he began to furiously curse their behavior. "Don't waste your breath on them. It is Zara herself who showed them that we hold absolutely no value in her eyes. It has been ten whole months since she last stepped foot into our family home." They continued to discuss the absolute breakdown of discipline and unity within their household until they finally pulled up to the hospital. Failing to see Unais's car anywhere in the parking lot, Innayo began to panic, wondering if she had misheard the hospital's name. As they stood there debating whether to drive straight to Zara's house to confirm the clinic, Hasiya and Maimuna arrived. Munzali stepped out to meet them, explaining that they weren't entirely certain if this was the right facility. "I am fairly certain this is the place," Hasiya insisted. "Let's step inside and ask." The moment Munzali mentioned Zara's name at the reception desk, all eyes instantly snapped toward them. Whispers erupted across the room, with staff pointing fingers, muttering, and casting judgmental sideways glances. It turned out the hospital staff was stunned to discover that Zara actually had a respectable family nearby, considering she had been abandoned in the ward like a piece of worthless garbage. They were escorted directly to the room where she was being kept. The moment they stepped inside, their hearts shattered into a million pieces at the sight of Zara. Her skin had turned an unnatural, dark ash color—the unmistakable mark of profound physical suffering and accumulated filth. Her lips were cracked and peeling, and her skin looked as though she had been bedridden for a year. Her eyes were deeply sunken into her skull, staring blankly. Yet, all of Zara's misery paled in comparison to the horrific state of her newborn infant. The baby was emitting a profoundly sour, pungent odor. Maimuna quickly scooped the child onto her lap and unfastened the diaper with the intention of changing her. The sight that met her eyes caused her breath to catch completely. Her voice trembling violently, she erupted into desperate prayers. "La'ilaha illallah... Zara?!" Innayo, who had been fully focused on listening to the doctor's medical explanation regarding Zara's state, spun around instantly. Munzali and Hasiya's eyes darted to the baby as well. "What is it now?!" Innayo demanded, her patience entirely exhausted. With hands shaking uncontrollably, Maimuna peeled the diaper completely open. The poor infant let out a piercing, agonizing shriek that didn't even sound like the cry of a newborn. At first glance, they horribly feared that the baby's raw skin had literally fused to the diaper due to being completely saturated and left unchanged for days. The horrific reality was plain to see: this wasn't from today. The infant's waste had turned an entirely unnatural color, violently eroding her delicate skin from prolonged exposure to moisture. The doctor stepped out and quickly dispatched a cleaner with a thermos of hot water from her private office, knowing that waiting for the hospital kitchen to boil water would take far too long. Maimuna carried the baby into the bathroom to gently wash her raw wounds while Hasiya carefully poured the warm water. Between the two sisters, it was impossible to tell who was weeping harder. Innayo's chest burned with an explosive ache, yet she stubbornly refused to shed a single tear. What kind of generational curse had Alhaji Rabi'u inflicted upon his own household? He had abandoned his wives completely, leaving them to raise the children entirely on their own. "Allah is my witness that I did my absolute best for you, Zara. I never withheld a single thing from whatever provisions Allah blessed me with. Yet today, out of your desperate running from me—just so people wouldn't say your mother is a poor, uneducated woman—look at the horrific state it has brought you to." Zara pouted defiantly. "What exactly did I do wrong now?" Innayo seized her hand from the bed, her grip tightening despite the intense physical pain vibrating through her own body. "You did absolutely nothing wrong, Zara. Now stand up, we are going home. I am not going to waste my breath arguing with you, because I can see plain as day that you are completely out of your mind." Once the baby was thoroughly cleansed, they didn't even bother looking for a pair of training pants to put on her due to the raw, inflamed state of her skin; they simply wrapped her loosely in a soft cloth. Munzali walked downstairs to settle Zara's medical bill, only to be informed that her records were tied to a corporate family account. "Calculate the bill strictly from the day she was admitted as an individual," he commanded. They computed the total, and he handed over his debit card to settle it in full. He would swear before Allah that he had never felt like a complete, honorable man in his entire life quite like today. Here he was, dedicating his time and resources to fiercely protecting and caring for his own bloodline. He knew that in this entire world, he could never thank Abbati enough for guiding him down this path. Upon arriving back at the family compound, Innayo immediately set up two firewood hearths in the courtyard and placed large pots of water to boil. Asabe watched their arrival alongside Munzali in absolute astonishment, but her desperate curiosity to uncover the gossip kept her from unleashing her usual venom on him. She overheard him dialing Ummakati, instructing her to come over to the family house today or tomorrow because Zara had put to bed. Asabe sucked her teeth loudly in profound disgust. "What on earth is so special about her giving birth that you are frantically summoning my daughter away from her husband's house?!" Munzali maintained absolute silence, knowing fully well that if he offered a single response, she would drag it into a massive, toxic shouting match, raining down insults as she always did. Before the water could even reach a boil, Innayo locked her bedroom door to privately examine Zara's condition. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, she dialed Uwani on her phone. "Are you done with your shift at work?" Uwani hesitated on the line, terrified of what her answer might trigger because she couldn't fathom the reason behind the question. Finally, she muttered, "Yes, we've closed. I am at home." Sensing that Innayo was about to request something, she quickly added, "Wallahi, you know the month has gone so far, every single dime in my pocket is completely finished." "Save your pathetic lies for a day when they might actually do you some good. Right now, tell your husband that I need you here immediately. And make sure you come along with your medical kit. You have a postpartum stitch that needs urgent medical management..." Uwani felt like screaming at the top of her lungs. For years, she had actively fled from the day Innayo would start summoning her to administer free medical treatment to family members simply because of her nursing profession—tasks like administering injections or setting up IV drips, which Innayo used to make her do before she got married. Back then, Innayo rarely allowed her to charge them, constantly telling her to view it as a charity so others could benefit from her knowledge. The moment Uwani got married, she made it crystal clear she was done with forced charity. If people couldn't pay, they could go to a public hospital. Without waiting to hear the end of the sentence, she snapped: "Honestly, Innayo, you better tell whoever it is to prepare cash. For managing stitches, if it's not a first-time delivery, I charge nothing less than ten thousand Naira." "Allah will never deprive me of the means to pay your fee. Just get over here quickly," Innayo uttered quietly before hanging up the phone. A sudden chill settled over Uwani's heart. However, since a specific payment had been guaranteed, she wasted no time stepping into her car and driving over to the family house. By the time she arrived, Maimuna had finished bathing the newborn baby girl. The poor infant was wailing in pain, and Maimuna was weeping right along with her out of pure heartbreak for the child's raw skin. Zara sat completely motionless in the room like a lifeless mannequin throughout the entire process. Hasiya unzipped the baby bag, only to find that every single piece of clothing packed inside belonged to a baby boy. Sifting through the pile, she managed to find a single unisex outfit and handed it to Maimuna to dress the child. As for the diaper area, after thoroughly coating the raw wounds with raw shea butter, they left it completely uncovered so the skin could breathe. Once the infant was dressed, Hasiya mixed a bottle of infant formula using the feeding bottle found in the bag. Maimuna fed her, and the starving baby drank greedily before falling into a deep sleep. The entire sight filled them with profound pity. Only then did Innayo allow her own tears to fall. She stood up and walked out of the room, refusing to let her emotional resolve break completely in front of them. Zara had broken her heart far deeper than any action she had ever committed in the past. The moment Uwani arrived, Innayo finished prepping the hot medicinal bathwater in the bathroom. "Maimuna, take your niece and move over to Asabe's side of the house, because I know you possess a terribly weak heart. Don't you dare step foot near my bedroom door until we are entirely finished in here." Terrified by the command, Maimuna scrambled to her feet instantly. The moment she heard talks of reconstructing and treating infected postpartum stitches, her entire spirit had gone weak with dread. She hurried over to Asabe's quarters, offering her greetings as she found a corner to settle down...
Part 2: Narrative & Literary Analytics
1. The Dichotomy of Intentional Reformation vs. Generational Corruption
This chapter presents a stark contrast between Munzali’s proactive redemption and Zara’s catastrophic descent into the consequences of generational dysfunction.
Munzali’s Redemption: His evolution shifts from a passive desire to change to active execution. His financial commitment to medical therapy in Italy highlights a desperate bid to permanently sever ties with his past identity. His shift in tone—using his resources to protect Innayo—highlights a reclamation of masculinity divorced from toxic exploitation.
The Sledgehammer of Self-Loathing:Abbati’s internal monologue regarding Farha exposes the psychological wounds of exploitation. He views himself as "filth" and a "dumping ground for the wealthy." This introduces a powerful themes of unworthiness that often accompanies survival from sexual corruption.
2. Postpartum Neglect as a Metaphor for Materialistic Blindness
Zara’s horrifying predicament in Room 3 serves as a visceral, tragic critique of hyper-materialism and the rejection of maternal roots.
The Symbolic Infection: The physical rotting of Zara’s stitches and the chemical burns on her infant's skin from unchanged diapers directly mirror the moral decay of her marital alignment with Hajiyar Fatakwal and Alhaji Unais.
The Toxic In-Laws: Hajiyar Fatakwal’s refusal to allow Innayo into her luxury vehicle ("she will fill my car with a foul stench") underscores the absolute dehumanization of the poor by the elite class in the narrative universe. Zara bartered her familial protection for material status, only to be discarded like garbage when she became a medical liability.
3. Structural Analysis of the Polygamous Dynamics
The interaction between Innayo and Uwani exposes how structural poverty and a lack of parental unity erode sibling empathy. Uwani's refusal to administer medical care without a guaranteed ten thousand Naira fee demonstrates how commercialized survival becomes when a patriarch (Alhaji Rabi'u) completely abdicates his financial responsibilities.
Early this morning, he and Munzali went out together to inspect a plot of land. They deliberated back and forth, building and dismantling plans in their minds, before finally deciding to construct a secular primary school that is strictly Islamic-oriented (one that places its core emphasis on religious education).
From the moment they set out, Abbati had been deeply lost in thought, figuring out how to slip away and travel to Abuja following the urgent call Shazali had made to him in the morning. Munzali had grown weary of trying to initiate a conversation, only to be left speaking to himself. On top of that, Abbati kept completely dodging any talk regarding his troubles back in Kirikasamma.
"By the way, did you manage to get Farha's phone number from Mardiyya?"
The question struck him like the heavy blow of a sledgehammer. Farha—the very girl who had completely robbed his heart of peace, yet whom he could not bring himself to call even after Mardiyya sent the number, all because of his intense self-loathing. What would a girl like her want with a filthy person like him, a man who had essentially become a dumping ground for the wealthy? If he were to marry her, wouldn't that make him an incredibly cruel and heartless man? In the past, when he fondly imagined that his repentance would be a simple, straightforward path, he had firmly resolved to bind his life to hers—but absolutely not anymore.
Munzali cast a long, bewildered look at him. These past few days, he couldn't fathom what was plaguing Abbati. They were always together, sharing their thoughts and planning, but that was as far as it went. He knew this was not the Abbati he had always known. This version of him did nothing but indulge in endless overthinking, with a profound distress clearly etched all over his face. Munzali was thoroughly exhausted by this new behavior, which had plunged him into deep suspicion and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one who had wronged him. He had made provisions for the two of them—provisions about which he would normally consult Abbati—but now found himself unable to even speak of them. He had gathered all the money they made in Abuja, taken his own ten million Naira, added a top-up to it, and transferred it to a private hospital in Italy.
The hospital was highly renowned for performing gender reassignment surgeries, but it also housed a specific department that conducted specialized therapy for individuals seeking to revert to their original, biological state. Through his research, Munzali discovered that this department could significantly help them eradicate the urges that might otherwise pull them back into their past lifestyle. He had even spoken directly with one of the senior doctors at the hospital to secure satisfactory explanations. He learned that there are individuals born with genetic defects, appearing outwardly as one gender while their biological and psychological reality belongs to the opposite. You might find a tall, strapping young man speaking with a woman's voice and swaying effeminate mannerisms (a dan daudu). Or a woman with a booming, deep voice, walking and asserting herself like a male footballer. For such individuals, surgery is often performed to suppress the weaker trait so they can become whole.
The second category, however, which was precisely where they fell, consists of the 'infiltrators'—those who were forced or conditioned into this lifestyle through sheer manipulation and coercion long before they even understood the meaning of such intimacy. These are the ones who are fully capable of marrying and procreating, yet continue to secretly pursue members of their own sex on the side. The problem people like them face is the recurrence of those urges from time to time due to deep-seated habit. It was a cure for this specific urge that Munzali wanted to secure for them, because he knew full well they still battled it. From what he could see, Farha had completely captured Abbati's mind, and Munzali would hate nothing more than for their past, corrupted life to find a single loophole to resurface after Abbati married her.
Screeech! He slammed his foot violently onto the brakes. The car lurched forward so aggressively it felt as though they would be hurled straight through the windshield, before jolting to a powerful halt by the roadside.
Only then did Abbati snap out of his trance. He looked at Munzali in shock, glances darting around to see what had caused the sudden stop. "Is everything alright? Is there a problem with the brakes, or what?"
In a completely detached, nonchalant tone, Munzali replied, "Not at all. I noticed I've been talking to myself for so long without you hearing a single word, so I did this just to bring you back to the world of the living."
"I'm sorry. My mind had wandered off somewhere far away."
Frustrated by Abbati's endless secrecy, Munzali spoke with visible irritation:
"A place so far that I am not allowed to follow you, let alone know what is troubling you so we can fix it together? You know what, I don't even care to know anymore. It's not mandatory for you to tell me everything about yourself, since human beings are entitled to their secrets. But at the very least, tell Baaba Mari or someone else you believe can help you find a way out."
Abbati stared at him intently before asking, "Are you implying that there is something you are hiding from me?"
"Hey, you aren't the only one who knows the meaning of the saying 'the stomach wasn't created solely to hold food.' Keep your troubles to yourself then, but by Allah, stop displaying them right in front of me. You aren't going to make me sit in isolation every day, drowning in worry over your problems. Look, we have a daughter to raise, and I am also looking to get married soon. A man should be left alone in his solitude to think about his girlfriend and ways to win her over!"
'Oh, Munzali,' Abbati thought to himself, a soft smile breaking across his face. "You persistent guy, I am still not telling you. As old as I am, you're trying to play reverse psychology on me? This emotional blackmail won't work. Go back to whoever taught you that and demand a refund on your money."
Munzali burst into a hearty laugh, thoroughly delighted that he had successfully dragged Abbati back from whatever dark corner his mind had wandered into. Gradually smoothing his expression, he stopped laughing.
"But in all seriousness, is it that you already told Farha you love her and she rejected you?"
Abbati lightly pressed his forehead, shaking his head slowly.
"No. I am the one who backed out entirely, because I don't believe a man like me—someone covered in filth—deserves to have the love of a woman like her. You haven't seen her, Munzali, but there isn't a single trace of modern frivolity or waywardness in her character."
Munzali fell into a temporary, heavy silence, prompting Abbati to call his name repeatedly. When he finally responded, his eyes were brimmed with tears that began to spill down his cheeks. Without his voice trembling, he whispered, "Abbati, will you ever be able to forgive me? I am the sole reason you entered this lifestyle. I ruined you, and I ruined myself in the most catastrophic way possible."
His heart burned with an intense, agonizing ache as he continued to speak, weeping like a small child.
"I have wanted to beg for your forgiveness for so long, but I was terrified that you would abandon me. Abbati, I didn't lose my parents to death, yet many orphans enjoy far more parental care than I ever did. My parents did absolutely nothing for me in this life except bring me into the world. Out of all the children from my mother's womb, I feel only Ummakati has a semi-decent life. The rest of my younger siblings are entirely wild, each living solely for themselves. That is why I never hesitate to give them money, just to stop them from begging or stealing, even though I know money alone won't give them a moral upbringing. I was completely selfish when it came to you, because I weaponized your deep affection for me to keep us permanently trapped in sin..."
They were both weeping now, each completely consumed by crushing regret and profound self-hatred. If only time could be turned backward, Munzali would have chosen to beg for scraps on the street rather than ever accept a single plate of food from Shazali.
"Stop this crying now. In sha Allah, we will secure a good, beautiful life ahead of us, even if we have to live without money."
"What kind of beautiful life can we have when I am the very cause of what might prevent you from marrying the one you truly love?"
Abbati suddenly scowled, putting on a stern face. "Get out of here with that voice sounding like a well-fed rooster! Stop crying, you're completely filling my ears with noise."
Munzali pouted his lips, deliberately sniffling loudly. "Ah, thank God... so it means you don't actually hate me."
"I don't hate you, but you know fully well I absolutely despise that disgusting sniffling. Just drive the car and let's get moving before you make me throw up." He dramatically pinched his nose.
Out of pure mischief, Munzali extended his hand toward him. "Come on then, let's shake hands to prove I am still dear to your heart, whether in life or death!"
"May Allah forbid me from ever touching a hand that was just wiped on a nose!" Abbati barked, slapping Munzali's hand away.
As the car cruised down the road, the air was filled with nothing but their shared laughter and endless, playful bickering, resembling a classic cat-and-mouse dynamic. Munzali was now utterly convinced that Farha was the one anchoring Abbati's heart, which was precisely why he resolved to track down Mardiyya and marry her. By doing so, he would rescue her from her toxic mother, and then enjoy the ultimate satisfaction of pushing Abbati toward Farha until he finally saw them safely married.
UWA UWACE... Chapter 15
By Batul Mamman💖
Maula ya salli wa sallim da'iman abada
Ala habibika khairil khalqi kulli himi
MUHAMMADUN SAYYADUL KAWNAINI WA SAQALAIN
WAL FARIQAINI MIN URBIN WA MIN AJAMI
"Doctor, when exactly are you going to discharge that woman in Room 3? I don't mean to pry into your medical duties, but it's honestly better she goes home to recuperate, if only for the sake of her newborn infant. Today marks four full days, and absolutely no one has come to visit her, let alone bring her a hot meal. Every single day, she just hands over two hundred Naira for us to buy her local fried dough buns (bons) and a bottle of water."
The doctor had been walking briskly at first, but hearing the words of her subordinate staff member made her halt dead in her tracks.
"Which woman? Is there actually someone admitted in Room 3?"
The cleaner responsible for sweeping and washing the bathrooms widened her eyes in sheer astonishment.
"Doctor, don't tell me you completely forgot about her?! Oh my goodness, no wonder! That explains why no medical staff has been entering the room." She added with profound pity, "The woman you performed the post-delivery stitches on!"
The doctor marched straight toward the room. The moment she swung the door open, her expression hardened completely with intense irritation. The room was stifling hot, and a piercing, agonizing cry of a newborn baby filled the air—a cry they had been hearing even before stepping through the threshold.
"Hajiyar Zara?" she called out in absolute shock mixed with rising anger. "Did a fresh medical complication bring you back here?"
Zara forced a weak, pathetic smile, struggling to sit up on the mattress but failing to do so. Her baby girl lay at the far corner of the bed, completely devoid of any proper receiving blanket, kicking her tiny legs wildly as she cried from absolute starvation.
"I never left," Zara said with a hollow, forced smile. "I've been right here since that day, waiting to be officially discharged."
Thoroughly incensed, the doctor reached deep into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out her mobile phone.
"The moment I finished your stitches, I explicitly told you I was not admitting you because you didn't suffer any severe blood loss that required a transfusion or close observation. And look at your daughter..."
She scooped the infant into her arms, and the moment her fingers brushed against the baby's skin, a wave of profound anger washed over her. The child hadn't been bathed a single time since she entered the world. Dialing the reception desk, she demanded they pull up Alhaji Unais's file immediately and text his phone number to her.
Hearing this, Zara's heart leapt into her throat. Her original plan had been to hide away in the hospital until the day of the baby's naming ceremony, and then return straight to her matrimonial home.
"Doctor, please just leave him out of this. We can manage right here until the day after tomorrow, then I will leave," she pleaded foolishly.
"Do you possess a single grain of sanity?!" the doctor snapped. "Neither you nor your newborn baby has had a bath since you delivered. I am told you've been eating nothing but fried dough buns every day—how on earth do you expect your body to produce quality breast milk?!"
Zara's mental capacity was severely compromised. Ever since her stitches were repaired, a horrific, burning pain had flared up in her nether regions over the last two days. Urinating had become an absolute torture; she could barely dab water on herself due to the sheer agony. The area had become severely inflamed and infected due to total lack of postpartum hygiene and care. The sheer intensity of the infection was now triggering a raging fever that threatened her cognitive faculties. Any rational conversation requiring basic logic was entirely beyond Zara's capacity right now. Her mind could process only one overwhelming reality: pain.
The moment Alhaji Unais answered the doctor's call, she unleashed a furious torrent of condemnation, blasting him for his utter negligence toward the health and survival of his family.
"Come and pick her up this very instant! And ensure every single dime for the room occupancy over these past days is settled in full!"
She slammed the phone down. Unais immediately hurried into his mother's quarters to break the news. Hajiyar Fatakwal, however, spat in disgust, declaring that Zara was entirely a curse brought upon them by Allah. If Zara weren't currently out of her sight, she would have physically laid hands on her.
"You are going absolutely nowhere," she commanded. "Send a driver to dump her right at her parents' doorstep. As for the servant who drove her to the hospital in the first place, fire him immediately. In this house, it is either me or Zara. I swear by Allah, she will rot in her parents' house. If she thinks she can play games with me, she has met her match."
Pausing for a brief moment as a malicious thought crossed her mind, she stood up abruptly. "Let's drive over to Innayo's house ourselves before you dispatch the driver." Alhaji Unais didn't comprehend the twisted wisdom behind her move until they arrived at the compound. His mother was cleverly executing a scheme to completely absolve herself and her son of any blame right in front of Zara's family.
Innayo was sitting entirely alone in her room, listening to her small radio, when a greeting suddenly rang out, accompanied by a thick cloud of expensive perfume that flooded the entrance of her room. The voice definitely didn't belong to Munzali—he was the one who had been visiting frequently these past two days, filling their space with a beautiful, pleasant fragrance. Answering the greeting, she reached for a wrap to cover her body so she could peer outside, but the visitors marched right in without waiting for permission. Innayo shook her head in disapproval, realizing that whoever it was held no respect for her boundaries. Her eyes widened in absolute shock as she recognized Alhaji Unais standing directly behind the woman who had barged in. The last time he had ever set foot in her room was during the brief traditional greeting following their wedding.
"Where are the mother and newborn? The room feels awfully quiet for a house celebrating a birth," Hajiyar Fatakwal uttered with a thoroughly plastic, forced smile.
Her heart pounding with sudden terror, Innayo gasped, "What mother and newborn? Who on earth gave birth?!"
Hajiyar Fatakwal feigned absolute, theatrical shock. "What do you mean, Zara's mother? What are you saying? Zara and her baby daughter left for this house five days ago to begin her traditional postpartum care (wankan jego), and you're here asking me who gave birth?!"
Oh, poor Innayo! Completely traumatized, she leapt to her feet, her wrapper slipping from her waist as she desperately clutched at it to keep it secure.
"Please explain this to me in a way I can understand! Zara has not stepped foot into this house, and absolutely no one here has a single clue that she has put to bed!"
Right in front of her, Alhaji Unais dialed the driver who had been instructed to bring her home days ago. The driver explained that Zara had explicitly ordered him to drop her off at the hospital instead. Innayo felt as though a mountain had been dropped squarely onto her head. What on earth was happening? Snatching up the veil she had grabbed earlier, she frantically asked for the name of the hospital. The moment he muttered the name, she dialed Hasiya to break the terrifying news. Maimuna happened to be visiting Hasiya's house at that exact moment.
"You and Maimuna should meet me there immediately!"
Innayo grabbed her small purse, which fortunately contained some money because Munzali had gifted her twenty thousand Naira during his visit two days prior. Truly, that money was destined to be her saving grace today. Without even taking the time to lock her bedroom door, she hurried out, trailing closely behind Hajiyar Fatakwal and her son.
Despite his flaws, Alhaji Unais's mind was genuinely fraught with worry over his wife. Hajiyar Fatakwal, however, was entirely focused on planting a 'black thorn'—the bitter nickname she had assigned to Zara and her lineage. Even if her son were to eventually take Zara back, it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon. Having absolutely no intention of setting foot inside a public hospital, the moment Innayo caught up to the vehicle and reached out to open the back door, Hajiyar Fatakwal sharply cut her off. She refused to share a car ride with this woman whose skin had been entirely drained and hardened by a lifetime of poverty and hardship. In her mind, the woman would only fill her luxury car with a foul stench.
"Zara's mother, I strongly suggest you catch a commercial tricycle (adaidaita sahu) instead, because we have to run some errands immediately after leaving the hospital."
Innayo froze dead in her tracks. A profound, crushing wave of humiliation washed over her from the blatant insult. She understood perfectly well that they simply deemed her unworthy of riding in their vehicle. Otherwise, since they were both heading to the exact same destination right now, what logical reason was there to refuse her a seat? A sharp, stabbing pain pierced her heart as she remembered how Zara had constantly elevated these very people far above her own flesh and blood.
Forcing a hollow, superficial laugh, she whispered, "Oh, it's completely fine. Please go ahead, I know the name of the hospital."
Hajiyar Fatakwal sneered, "Alright then, see you there."
Innayo watched in silence as they sped off. She turned toward the main road with frantic steps, her eyes completely filled to the brim with unshed tears. She had never imagined that Zara's actions would lower her dignity to the point where her own in-laws would disgustedly refuse to share a vehicle with her. Yet, despite the bitter heartbreak, her heart never stopped pouring out desperate prayers for her daughter's survival and safety.
Just as she was about to hail a commercial tricycle, a voice called out from behind her.
"Innayo, where are you heading?"
It was Munzali. She recognized his voice instantly before she even turned around. With a quick wave of his hand, he dismissed the tricycle driver, stepped forward respectfully, and opened the back door of his own car for her. The moment she slid into the seat, a torrent of profound blessings and prayers poured from her lips as he walked around to take the driver's seat.
"May Allah preserve your sight and your hearing, Munzali. May He grant you a peaceful, honorable exit from this world. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," she wept, fighting to suppress her tears. When one person rejects you, Allah will always raise another to cherish you. The very child she carried in her womb had brought her nothing but raw humiliation, yet her husband's son—a boy who never used to care about any of them—was now treating her with the utmost honor and reverence.
Munzali's heart swelled with a joy he couldn't even hide. His own biological mother, Asabe, had never offered him prayers of such profound depth. For Asabe, if he handed her a massive stack of cash, she would simply mutter a transactional 'thank you.' If she deemed the amount too small, she would dismissively say 'thanks.'
"Where are you heading in this scorching afternoon sun?"
Innayo laid out the entire bitter encounter with Zara's husband and mother-in-law. Munzali's blood boiled with intense rage at their disgusting display of arrogance, and he began to furiously curse their behavior.
"Don't waste your breath on them. It is Zara herself who showed them that we hold absolutely no value in her eyes. It has been ten whole months since she last stepped foot into our family home."
They continued to discuss the absolute breakdown of discipline and unity within their household until they finally pulled up to the hospital. Failing to see Unais's car anywhere in the parking lot, Innayo began to panic, wondering if she had misheard the hospital's name. As they stood there debating whether to drive straight to Zara's house to confirm the clinic, Hasiya and Maimuna arrived. Munzali stepped out to meet them, explaining that they weren't entirely certain if this was the right facility.
"I am fairly certain this is the place," Hasiya insisted. "Let's step inside and ask."
The moment Munzali mentioned Zara's name at the reception desk, all eyes instantly snapped toward them. Whispers erupted across the room, with staff pointing fingers, muttering, and casting judgmental sideways glances. It turned out the hospital staff was stunned to discover that Zara actually had a respectable family nearby, considering she had been abandoned in the ward like a piece of worthless garbage.
They were escorted directly to the room where she was being kept. The moment they stepped inside, their hearts shattered into a million pieces at the sight of Zara. Her skin had turned an unnatural, dark ash color—the unmistakable mark of profound physical suffering and accumulated filth. Her lips were cracked and peeling, and her skin looked as though she had been bedridden for a year. Her eyes were deeply sunken into her skull, staring blankly. Yet, all of Zara's misery paled in comparison to the horrific state of her newborn infant. The baby was emitting a profoundly sour, pungent odor. Maimuna quickly scooped the child onto her lap and unfastened the diaper with the intention of changing her. The sight that met her eyes caused her breath to catch completely. Her voice trembling violently, she erupted into desperate prayers.
"La'ilaha illallah... Zara?!"
Innayo, who had been fully focused on listening to the doctor's medical explanation regarding Zara's state, spun around instantly. Munzali and Hasiya's eyes darted to the baby as well.
"What is it now?!" Innayo demanded, her patience entirely exhausted.
With hands shaking uncontrollably, Maimuna peeled the diaper completely open. The poor infant let out a piercing, agonizing shriek that didn't even sound like the cry of a newborn. At first glance, they horribly feared that the baby's raw skin had literally fused to the diaper due to being completely saturated and left unchanged for days. The horrific reality was plain to see: this wasn't from today. The infant's waste had turned an entirely unnatural color, violently eroding her delicate skin from prolonged exposure to moisture. The doctor stepped out and quickly dispatched a cleaner with a thermos of hot water from her private office, knowing that waiting for the hospital kitchen to boil water would take far too long.
Maimuna carried the baby into the bathroom to gently wash her raw wounds while Hasiya carefully poured the warm water. Between the two sisters, it was impossible to tell who was weeping harder. Innayo's chest burned with an explosive ache, yet she stubbornly refused to shed a single tear. What kind of generational curse had Alhaji Rabi'u inflicted upon his own household? He had abandoned his wives completely, leaving them to raise the children entirely on their own.
"Allah is my witness that I did my absolute best for you, Zara. I never withheld a single thing from whatever provisions Allah blessed me with. Yet today, out of your desperate running from me—just so people wouldn't say your mother is a poor, uneducated woman—look at the horrific state it has brought you to."
Zara pouted defiantly. "What exactly did I do wrong now?"
Innayo seized her hand from the bed, her grip tightening despite the intense physical pain vibrating through her own body.
"You did absolutely nothing wrong, Zara. Now stand up, we are going home. I am not going to waste my breath arguing with you, because I can see plain as day that you are completely out of your mind."
Once the baby was thoroughly cleansed, they didn't even bother looking for a pair of training pants to put on her due to the raw, inflamed state of her skin; they simply wrapped her loosely in a soft cloth. Munzali walked downstairs to settle Zara's medical bill, only to be informed that her records were tied to a corporate family account.
"Calculate the bill strictly from the day she was admitted as an individual," he commanded.
They computed the total, and he handed over his debit card to settle it in full. He would swear before Allah that he had never felt like a complete, honorable man in his entire life quite like today. Here he was, dedicating his time and resources to fiercely protecting and caring for his own bloodline. He knew that in this entire world, he could never thank Abbati enough for guiding him down this path.
Upon arriving back at the family compound, Innayo immediately set up two firewood hearths in the courtyard and placed large pots of water to boil. Asabe watched their arrival alongside Munzali in absolute astonishment, but her desperate curiosity to uncover the gossip kept her from unleashing her usual venom on him. She overheard him dialing Ummakati, instructing her to come over to the family house today or tomorrow because Zara had put to bed.
Asabe sucked her teeth loudly in profound disgust. "What on earth is so special about her giving birth that you are frantically summoning my daughter away from her husband's house?!"
Munzali maintained absolute silence, knowing fully well that if he offered a single response, she would drag it into a massive, toxic shouting match, raining down insults as she always did.
Before the water could even reach a boil, Innayo locked her bedroom door to privately examine Zara's condition. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, she dialed Uwani on her phone.
"Are you done with your shift at work?"
Uwani hesitated on the line, terrified of what her answer might trigger because she couldn't fathom the reason behind the question. Finally, she muttered,
"Yes, we've closed. I am at home." Sensing that Innayo was about to request something, she quickly added, "Wallahi, you know the month has gone so far, every single dime in my pocket is completely finished."
"Save your pathetic lies for a day when they might actually do you some good. Right now, tell your husband that I need you here immediately. And make sure you come along with your medical kit. You have a postpartum stitch that needs urgent medical management..."
Uwani felt like screaming at the top of her lungs. For years, she had actively fled from the day Innayo would start summoning her to administer free medical treatment to family members simply because of her nursing profession—tasks like administering injections or setting up IV drips, which Innayo used to make her do before she got married. Back then, Innayo rarely allowed her to charge them, constantly telling her to view it as a charity so others could benefit from her knowledge. The moment Uwani got married, she made it crystal clear she was done with forced charity. If people couldn't pay, they could go to a public hospital. Without waiting to hear the end of the sentence, she snapped:
"Honestly, Innayo, you better tell whoever it is to prepare cash. For managing stitches, if it's not a first-time delivery, I charge nothing less than ten thousand Naira."
"Allah will never deprive me of the means to pay your fee. Just get over here quickly," Innayo uttered quietly before hanging up the phone.
A sudden chill settled over Uwani's heart. However, since a specific payment had been guaranteed, she wasted no time stepping into her car and driving over to the family house. By the time she arrived, Maimuna had finished bathing the newborn baby girl. The poor infant was wailing in pain, and Maimuna was weeping right along with her out of pure heartbreak for the child's raw skin.
Zara sat completely motionless in the room like a lifeless mannequin throughout the entire process. Hasiya unzipped the baby bag, only to find that every single piece of clothing packed inside belonged to a baby boy. Sifting through the pile, she managed to find a single unisex outfit and handed it to Maimuna to dress the child. As for the diaper area, after thoroughly coating the raw wounds with raw shea butter, they left it completely uncovered so the skin could breathe. Once the infant was dressed, Hasiya mixed a bottle of infant formula using the feeding bottle found in the bag. Maimuna fed her, and the starving baby drank greedily before falling into a deep sleep. The entire sight filled them with profound pity. Only then did Innayo allow her own tears to fall. She stood up and walked out of the room, refusing to let her emotional resolve break completely in front of them. Zara had broken her heart far deeper than any action she had ever committed in the past.
The moment Uwani arrived, Innayo finished prepping the hot medicinal bathwater in the bathroom.
"Maimuna, take your niece and move over to Asabe's side of the house, because I know you possess a terribly weak heart. Don't you dare step foot near my bedroom door until we are entirely finished in here."
Terrified by the command, Maimuna scrambled to her feet instantly. The moment she heard talks of reconstructing and treating infected postpartum stitches, her entire spirit had gone weak with dread. She hurried over to Asabe's quarters, offering her greetings as she found a corner to settle down...
Part 2: Narrative & Literary Analytics
1. The Dichotomy of Intentional Reformation vs. Generational Corruption
This chapter presents a stark contrast between Munzali’s proactive redemption and Zara’s catastrophic descent into the consequences of generational dysfunction.
The Sledgehammer of Self-Loathing: Abbati’s internal monologue regarding Farha exposes the psychological wounds of exploitation. He views himself as "filth" and a "dumping ground for the wealthy." This introduces a powerful themes of unworthiness that often accompanies survival from sexual corruption.
2. Postpartum Neglect as a Metaphor for Materialistic Blindness
Zara’s horrifying predicament in Room 3 serves as a visceral, tragic critique of hyper-materialism and the rejection of maternal roots.
The Toxic In-Laws: Hajiyar Fatakwal’s refusal to allow Innayo into her luxury vehicle ("she will fill my car with a foul stench") underscores the absolute dehumanization of the poor by the elite class in the narrative universe. Zara bartered her familial protection for material status, only to be discarded like garbage when she became a medical liability.
3. Structural Analysis of the Polygamous Dynamics
The interaction between Innayo and Uwani exposes how structural poverty and a lack of parental unity erode sibling empathy. Uwani's refusal to administer medical care without a guaranteed ten thousand Naira fee demonstrates how commercialized survival becomes when a patriarch (Alhaji Rabi'u) completely abdicates his financial responsibilities.