His greeting interrupted the short, sweet sleep she had just fallen into. She lifted her head and replied. He smiled at her. In his hand were two small black nylon bags. He returned to where he had been sitting earlier, opened one of the bags, and said,
“Here’s medicine—take it.”
She blinked, closing and opening her eyes in disbelief. Today, she was being told, “Here is medicine”? Could it really be her—Maimunatu? Before she recovered from the surprise, she heard his voice again as he handed her another bag.
“But eat something first. I know when people are sick they often don’t feel like eating. That’s how my mother struggles with Zubaida whenever they fall ill.”
He stood up as he finished speaking.
“I’ll give you some space. But if you don’t take the medicine, I’ll come back.”
He walked away, and she watched him until he disappeared from view. Then she slowly lowered her wide eyes to the bags, pulled them closer, and opened them.
The first bag contained medicines—many tablets. The second held fresh bread. She swallowed hard. Even though she was unwell, the old hunger surged inside her. Without hesitation, she picked up the bread and began to eat, closing her eyes as the pain of hunger she had been enduring overwhelmed her.
Normally, whenever Inna treated her with such cruelty, she would secretly milk a cow during grazing and drink the warm milk to survive the day. Though she knew milking was usually done in the morning, necessity forced her to do it at odd times. If she managed to do it without Inna noticing, she would spend the day without hunger tormenting her. Over time, milk had become her main food. That was why she had no flesh on her body at all—her thinness went beyond the usual slenderness of a Fulani girl.
She didn’t stop eating because she was full—no. She stopped out of shame and restraint, fearing he might return and find her overeating. She opened the medicine bag and found a sachet of pure water. She lifted it and turned it in her hand—she could not remember ever drinking sachet water in her life. Then she looked at the tablets, separated them as she saw fit, and swallowed them with the water.
She closed her eyes again, feeling her breathing slowly steady—thanks to the bread even before the medicine could take effect. She inhaled the cool air and listened to the distant sounds of livestock calling out. Her body felt utterly weak, as though she had been beaten.
From afar, he watched her. Her closed eyes made her face even more beautiful. He sensed an unusual aura around her. He wanted to know who she truly was and why she kept herself so distant from people.
His greeting made her open her eyes.
“Are you done?” he asked.
She nodded, staring at the ground, shame flooding her. She felt embarrassed at having eaten food given to her by a young man.
“Hand me your stick,” he said, pointing to where it lay.
She looked at the stick, then back at him. He understood her hesitation and simply smiled. He walked over, picked it up himself, while she watched him in deep amazement.
Who is he? she kept asking herself.
From where she sat, she watched him skillfully gather her animals with wisdom and expertise far greater than hers. Clearly, he was also experienced in herding. He didn’t take long before returning, resting the stick on his shoulder.
“Shall we go?” he said.
She looked at him, then turned her gaze away. The idea unsettled her. How could she walk beside him into the settlement? Too many eyes would be watching, and her shyness would never allow it.
“Let’s go—or can’t you stand up?” he repeated gently.
She slowly shook her head.
“You can go. Thank you. I’ll take them home myself. Thank you very much.”
He looked at her for a moment, then sighed softly and lowered the stick from his shoulder. He understood—she was a true Fulani woman in every sense.
“Alright. I’ll drive them ahead. Just follow behind me. Don’t worry—no one will realize we’re together.”
Though he reassured her, she didn’t want to burden him further. But before she could object, he had already started moving. Left with no choice, she stood up, adjusted her head covering, lifted her bag, and followed him.
Whether he noticed or not, she couldn’t tell—but she did. People stared at him as he drove the cattle she was responsible for, while she followed behind. She felt extremely uneasy, her heart tight with discomfort, until they finally reached home.
He handed her back the stick, smiling as he studied her face.
“Until later?” he said softly.
“Later,” she replied briefly.
He nodded.
“May God grant you health. Take your medicine properly.”
“May God reward you,” she said, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his kindness.
Even as he headed home, she filled his thoughts, a smile refusing to leave his face. He felt strongly that he had met the woman he would marry—and at exactly the right time. He felt no hesitation about telling his mother, even though his father was away. It was only right she should know and later inform his father upon his return.
With a greeting, he entered their spacious compound. His stepmother—whose real name was Rahama but whom everyone called Ramatu, and the children called Yuuma—was crouched by the hearth, finishing the evening meal and washing the pot when he arrived.
She responded warmly to his greeting. She was a woman of great kindness, patience, wisdom, and propriety. Though God had not blessed her with children of her own, she never showed bitterness toward her co-wife’s children. She treated Ibrahim and his siblings as if she had given birth to them herself. Despite Safiya, Ibrahim’s mother, being impatient and temperamental, Yuuma endured. Their peaceful household was admired throughout the village—though few realized that more than eighty percent of that peace came from Yuuma’s patience.
He greeted her again and asked,
“Is Inna not around?”
“No, she’s inside. She only just left here—sleep probably overtook her. She said she wasn’t feeling well.”
He nodded and asked again,
“And the children? Safiya?”
“Inna sent them out, but they’re about to return.”
He took a few steps, then turned back.
“When did Baba say he’d return?”
She smiled.
“Today, God willing.”
He nodded, pleased. His father had gone to Ikko to sell cattle—a place Ibrahim himself often stayed. Tired of being there, he had returned home to rest before going back. His siblings were on semester break, so he wasn’t staying there for studies.
He lifted the curtain to Inna’s room and found her asleep, then quietly withdrew to his own room. After attending to himself, he came out to perform Maghrib ablution. Before he finished, Inna emerged, adjusting her headscarf.
“When did you arrive, Himu?” she asked.
“Not long ago. I found you sleeping. How are you feeling?”
“Alhamdulillah. I took the remaining medicine you brought earlier—it’s already helping.”
“Alhamdulillah. Let me pray and come back.”
At the doorway, he met his two younger sisters. He told them to go inside—the call to prayer had begun. They obeyed, but watched him closely, having already heard rumors about him.
After the night prayer, he returned to the compound. Only Yuuma sat outside her room, listening to her small radio. She told him his food was with Inna. He thanked her and went straight to his mother’s room.
Inside, Safiya, Zubaida, and their younger brother Sadam were chatting. They greeted him, and he sat down.
“Here’s your food, Sadam—hand it to him,” Inna said.
He began eating, deeply enjoying the meal. Yuuma’s cooking was loved by everyone in the house, though Inna’s was also good.
As he ate, he joined the conversation, but more than half his mind was focused on how to tell his mother what he had to say. Normally he would tell Yuuma first, but he knew his mother preferred to hear everything directly.
When he finished eating and washed his hands, he adjusted himself nervously and said,
“Inna… there’s something I want to talk about.”
“You’ve been restless all this time—why not speak? If you don’t tell me, who will you tell?”
“I’m listening,” she said.
After a brief pause, he said,
“Inna… I’ve found a girl I want to marry.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“I’m listening. Who is she?”
He rubbed his head lightly.
“Her name is Maimunatu.”
“Maimunatu from Laulo’s family,” Zubaida interjected.
Inna turned sharply toward her, while Himu also looked at Zubaida, relieved she’d clarified.
“You mean her, Himu?”
“The one whose house is near the Maraba stream,” he added.
“This boy wants to bring calamity upon us in broad daylight,” Inna said.
“What kind of calamity?”
“He says he wants to marry Maimunatu.”
Yuuma repeated the name thoughtfully, then understood.
Her tension eased.
“I was frightened, Inna. I thought something far worse had happened.”
“Is there anything worse than this?”
“In fact,” Yuuma said calmly, “there’s no girl in this camp as composed, disciplined, and well-mannered as Maimunatu…”
“But you know who she really is, don’t you?” Inna interrupted coldly.
“All that is rumor and conjecture. No one has proof. What this camp believes is nothing but ignorance and baseless suspicion. No one has ever caught Maimunatu in wrongdoing.”
Inna stared at her.
“Yuuma… is it because you didn’t give birth to Himu that you’re defending her so fiercely?”
The words struck Yuuma like a blade. Tears welled as she shook her head.
“If only God had given me a child like Ibrahim… I swear I would speak the same truth. Forgive me for interfering.”
She rose and left, tears streaming.
Silence filled the room.
But Inna hardened her heart.
“Enough,” she snapped when Ibrahim tried to speak. “I don’t want to hear Maimunatu’s name again. I will never allow you—or anyone—to marry her. I’ve already chosen your wife years ago. Go to Maimunatu’s family and ask for Gaje instead.”
Ibrahim’s world turned upside down.
How could she tell him to marry Gaje instead of Maimunatu? What flaw could possibly justify destroying the fragile love he had just begun to nurture?
His greeting interrupted the short, sweet sleep she had just fallen into. She lifted her head and replied. He smiled at her. In his hand were two small black nylon bags. He returned to where he had been sitting earlier, opened one of the bags, and said,
“Here’s medicine—take it.”
She blinked, closing and opening her eyes in disbelief. Today, she was being told, “Here is medicine”? Could it really be her—Maimunatu? Before she recovered from the surprise, she heard his voice again as he handed her another bag.
“But eat something first. I know when people are sick they often don’t feel like eating. That’s how my mother struggles with Zubaida whenever they fall ill.”
He stood up as he finished speaking.
“I’ll give you some space. But if you don’t take the medicine, I’ll come back.”
He walked away, and she watched him until he disappeared from view. Then she slowly lowered her wide eyes to the bags, pulled them closer, and opened them.
The first bag contained medicines—many tablets. The second held fresh bread. She swallowed hard. Even though she was unwell, the old hunger surged inside her. Without hesitation, she picked up the bread and began to eat, closing her eyes as the pain of hunger she had been enduring overwhelmed her.
Normally, whenever Inna treated her with such cruelty, she would secretly milk a cow during grazing and drink the warm milk to survive the day. Though she knew milking was usually done in the morning, necessity forced her to do it at odd times. If she managed to do it without Inna noticing, she would spend the day without hunger tormenting her. Over time, milk had become her main food. That was why she had no flesh on her body at all—her thinness went beyond the usual slenderness of a Fulani girl.
She didn’t stop eating because she was full—no. She stopped out of shame and restraint, fearing he might return and find her overeating. She opened the medicine bag and found a sachet of pure water. She lifted it and turned it in her hand—she could not remember ever drinking sachet water in her life. Then she looked at the tablets, separated them as she saw fit, and swallowed them with the water.
She closed her eyes again, feeling her breathing slowly steady—thanks to the bread even before the medicine could take effect. She inhaled the cool air and listened to the distant sounds of livestock calling out. Her body felt utterly weak, as though she had been beaten.
From afar, he watched her. Her closed eyes made her face even more beautiful. He sensed an unusual aura around her. He wanted to know who she truly was and why she kept herself so distant from people.
His greeting made her open her eyes.
“Are you done?” he asked.
She nodded, staring at the ground, shame flooding her. She felt embarrassed at having eaten food given to her by a young man.
“Hand me your stick,” he said, pointing to where it lay.
She looked at the stick, then back at him. He understood her hesitation and simply smiled. He walked over, picked it up himself, while she watched him in deep amazement.
Who is he? she kept asking herself.
From where she sat, she watched him skillfully gather her animals with wisdom and expertise far greater than hers. Clearly, he was also experienced in herding. He didn’t take long before returning, resting the stick on his shoulder.
“Shall we go?” he said.
She looked at him, then turned her gaze away. The idea unsettled her. How could she walk beside him into the settlement? Too many eyes would be watching, and her shyness would never allow it.
“Let’s go—or can’t you stand up?” he repeated gently.
She slowly shook her head.
“You can go. Thank you. I’ll take them home myself. Thank you very much.”
He looked at her for a moment, then sighed softly and lowered the stick from his shoulder. He understood—she was a true Fulani woman in every sense.
“Alright. I’ll drive them ahead. Just follow behind me. Don’t worry—no one will realize we’re together.”
Though he reassured her, she didn’t want to burden him further. But before she could object, he had already started moving. Left with no choice, she stood up, adjusted her head covering, lifted her bag, and followed him.
Whether he noticed or not, she couldn’t tell—but she did. People stared at him as he drove the cattle she was responsible for, while she followed behind. She felt extremely uneasy, her heart tight with discomfort, until they finally reached home.
He handed her back the stick, smiling as he studied her face.
“Until later?” he said softly.
“Later,” she replied briefly.
He nodded.
“May God grant you health. Take your medicine properly.”
“May God reward you,” she said, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of his kindness.
Even as he headed home, she filled his thoughts, a smile refusing to leave his face. He felt strongly that he had met the woman he would marry—and at exactly the right time. He felt no hesitation about telling his mother, even though his father was away. It was only right she should know and later inform his father upon his return.
With a greeting, he entered their spacious compound. His stepmother—whose real name was Rahama but whom everyone called Ramatu, and the children called Yuuma—was crouched by the hearth, finishing the evening meal and washing the pot when he arrived.
She responded warmly to his greeting. She was a woman of great kindness, patience, wisdom, and propriety. Though God had not blessed her with children of her own, she never showed bitterness toward her co-wife’s children. She treated Ibrahim and his siblings as if she had given birth to them herself. Despite Safiya, Ibrahim’s mother, being impatient and temperamental, Yuuma endured. Their peaceful household was admired throughout the village—though few realized that more than eighty percent of that peace came from Yuuma’s patience.
He greeted her again and asked,
“Is Inna not around?”
“No, she’s inside. She only just left here—sleep probably overtook her. She said she wasn’t feeling well.”
He nodded and asked again,
“And the children? Safiya?”
“Inna sent them out, but they’re about to return.”
He took a few steps, then turned back.
“When did Baba say he’d return?”
She smiled.
“Today, God willing.”
He nodded, pleased. His father had gone to Ikko to sell cattle—a place Ibrahim himself often stayed. Tired of being there, he had returned home to rest before going back. His siblings were on semester break, so he wasn’t staying there for studies.
He lifted the curtain to Inna’s room and found her asleep, then quietly withdrew to his own room. After attending to himself, he came out to perform Maghrib ablution. Before he finished, Inna emerged, adjusting her headscarf.
“When did you arrive, Himu?” she asked.
“Not long ago. I found you sleeping. How are you feeling?”
“Alhamdulillah. I took the remaining medicine you brought earlier—it’s already helping.”
“Alhamdulillah. Let me pray and come back.”
At the doorway, he met his two younger sisters. He told them to go inside—the call to prayer had begun. They obeyed, but watched him closely, having already heard rumors about him.
After the night prayer, he returned to the compound. Only Yuuma sat outside her room, listening to her small radio. She told him his food was with Inna. He thanked her and went straight to his mother’s room.
Inside, Safiya, Zubaida, and their younger brother Sadam were chatting. They greeted him, and he sat down.
“Here’s your food, Sadam—hand it to him,” Inna said.
He began eating, deeply enjoying the meal. Yuuma’s cooking was loved by everyone in the house, though Inna’s was also good.
As he ate, he joined the conversation, but more than half his mind was focused on how to tell his mother what he had to say. Normally he would tell Yuuma first, but he knew his mother preferred to hear everything directly.
When he finished eating and washed his hands, he adjusted himself nervously and said,
“Inna… there’s something I want to talk about.”
“You’ve been restless all this time—why not speak? If you don’t tell me, who will you tell?”
“I’m listening,” she said.
After a brief pause, he said,
“Inna… I’ve found a girl I want to marry.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“I’m listening. Who is she?”
He rubbed his head lightly.
“Her name is Maimunatu.”
“Maimunatu from Laulo’s family,” Zubaida interjected.
Inna turned sharply toward her, while Himu also looked at Zubaida, relieved she’d clarified.
“You mean her, Himu?”
“The one whose house is near the Maraba stream,” he added.
Inna’s heart sank. Maimunatu? Gaje’s cousin? Gaje—the daughter of Inna Furaira.
“Yuuma! Yuuma! Come hear this terrible news!”
The room fell silent as Yuuma rushed in.
“What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“This boy wants to bring calamity upon us in broad daylight,” Inna said.
“What kind of calamity?”
“He says he wants to marry Maimunatu.”
Yuuma repeated the name thoughtfully, then understood.
Her tension eased.
“I was frightened, Inna. I thought something far worse had happened.”
“Is there anything worse than this?”
“In fact,” Yuuma said calmly, “there’s no girl in this camp as composed, disciplined, and well-mannered as Maimunatu…”
“But you know who she really is, don’t you?” Inna interrupted coldly.
“All that is rumor and conjecture. No one has proof. What this camp believes is nothing but ignorance and baseless suspicion. No one has ever caught Maimunatu in wrongdoing.”
Inna stared at her.
“Yuuma… is it because you didn’t give birth to Himu that you’re defending her so fiercely?”
The words struck Yuuma like a blade. Tears welled as she shook her head.
“If only God had given me a child like Ibrahim… I swear I would speak the same truth. Forgive me for interfering.”
She rose and left, tears streaming.
Silence filled the room.
But Inna hardened her heart.
“Enough,” she snapped when Ibrahim tried to speak. “I don’t want to hear Maimunatu’s name again. I will never allow you—or anyone—to marry her. I’ve already chosen your wife years ago. Go to Maimunatu’s family and ask for Gaje instead.”
Ibrahim’s world turned upside down.
How could she tell him to marry Gaje instead of Maimunatu? What flaw could possibly justify destroying the fragile love he had just begun to nurture?