Even at this stage in his life, Ammih always kept a close eye on him, standing by to care for him and coax him before he would do anything. For instance, regarding taking medicine when he was unwell, Ammih would administer it to him herself, with her own hands, ensuring he ate his meals strictly on schedule. You would never see Ammih Tarha more panicked or frantic than when Yassar was sick. Ammih never looked at him as someone who had grown up. To her, he was always her little baby (Ibny), no different from the thirty-three-year-old man he was now, whom she used to carry on her back tied with a traditional cloth wrapper every single day, keeping him close to her body. Fortunately, within their entire extended family—the lineage of Judge Jalloh Ahmadu—no one depended on Abbih or waited for him to give them handouts. More often than not, whether he contributed financially or not, they didn't even notice. Allah had blessed them all and expanded their wealth, with the sole exception of Baba Ado, whose income was modest. Yet, if one looked closely at Baba Ado's solitary life, he was living quite comfortably within the bounds of Allah’s sufficiency where he resided. He lacked nothing in terms of food, drink, or clothing. The only difference was that his lifestyle stood in stark contrast to that of his late brother, the Chief Judge of Tambuwal Jalloh. Baba Ado’s entire existence was centered around asceticism and the rejection of worldly vanities; he harbored no desire for modern luxuries or accumulating wealth. Whatever he produced or acquired, he shared and ate alongside his advanced Islamic students (almajirai). Having no interest in worldly pleasures, he focused his heart entirely on his Islamic scholarship and his farming. Their aircraft continued its gradual descent through the clouds of the heavens, fully entering African airspace. It carried Mr. Yassar Muhammad Jalloh, who until that moment remained with his eyes closed, reflecting deeply on his life, his parents, and his grandfather's brother, Baba Ado. Immersed in these thoughts, they finally landed in the city of Kano. Losing no time, they immediately boarded their connecting flight to the city of Sokoto. Mr. Yassar Muhammad Ahmad Jalloh—as it was officially written inside his passport—landed in his ancestral country during a night heavily blanketed by dark storm clouds. Not long after they touched down at the Sokoto airport, the heavens opened up, and the rain began to pour down in absolute torrents. Truth be told, Zamfara State was one of the northern Nigerian states he held dearest to his heart, primarily because it bordered his parents' home state. They also shared almost the exact same linguistic dialect. Consequently, he loved the city of Zamfara deeply, matching the affection he felt for Sokoto State. Therefore, with a profound Bismillah on his lips and a silent prayer for the success of the mission that brought him here, he officially entered Zamfara. Upon their arrival, the chauffeur who had been waiting for them picked them up in a sleek, brand-new white UNICEF Hilux truck bearing the organization's official logo. He drove them straight into the capital city of Zamfara: Gusau. Once in Gusau, he dropped them off at their accommodation—a well-appointed suite arranged for them at the famous Nahuche Hotel, situated right in the heart of central Gusau. It wasn't until the following morning, after they had thoroughly slept off their exhaustion, showered, and descended to the ground floor for breakfast in the hotel dining room, that they began their active field deployment. Without returning to their rooms, the chauffeur assigned to handle their daily transportation throughout Zamfara—the same driver from the night before, named Kamilu—drove them to the town of Anka. Alongside Femi and Mrs. Sylvanus, Yassar claimed the front passenger seat next to the driver, while Femi and Ngozi sat comfortably in the back of the Hilux. Today, Mr. Yassar was dressed in a modern, high-quality "sea green" Sheraton Shadda fabric, tailored into an elegant Caftan style favored by affluent Northern men at leisure. It had been so long since he last wore traditional attire that he had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing a polished Shadda Caftan and a matching cap. The outfit suited him phenomenally well, bringing out his authentic African heritage. Femi couldn't hold his peace upon witnessing how exceptionally handsome and commanding his boss looked, and how the dressing accentuated his innate dignity, intellect, and profound aura. Femi was compelled to speak up, saying: "Wow, it is absolutely true what they say: whoever leaves home leaves behind his true comfort. I truly believe it now—no place like home!" Yassar turned slightly away from his phone, casting a steady, measured glance at his colleague in the back seat, subtly signaling that he hadn't fully grasped the direction of the comment. Femi clarified his point further: "I mean, seriously, Boss, you own such stunning, decent traditional Agbada outfits, yet you choose to spend your days suffocating your neck with neckties and squeezing into tight trousers like a bat?" Yassar chose to say absolutely nothing to Femi, as he was entirely accustomed to his playful antics. He simply turned back and refocused his eyes on his phone screen. Ngozi, who rarely interjected in conversations, especially when Boss Yassar was involved, felt compelled to chime in today, saying: "He’s right, Sir, you are looking completely different today!" Given his smooth, light-brown complexion and perfectly groomed hair—which looked so immaculate you felt you needed to wash your hands before touching it—the Shadda fabric sat beautifully against his skin. On his head, he wore a black 'Tonak' cap highly popular among stylish young men. His left wrist was adorned with a black Movado men's luxury watch. Yassar Jalloh was a tall, exceptionally handsome young man possessing the striking, classic physique of a true African—a presence whose immediate dignity and completeness of character could effortlessly win anyone over. He had a straight, slender nose and deep, bedroom-like hooded eyes that naturally appeared calm and sleepy. Most of the time, his gaze acted like a magnet, effortlessly stirring the heart of anyone looking at him. If a woman made the mistake or reckless decision to look directly into the center of his eyes, her thoughts would instantly unravel into an entirely different, ungrounded realm. The natural expression embedded within his eyes was his greatest asset for generating affection and love in the heart of anyone who happened to lock eyes with him. Yassar stood in a league of his own when it came to fashionable men. He possessed an exemplary, flawless sense of cleanliness, knowing exactly how to select garments that perfectly suited his environment and the occasion. You would always find him looking sharp and immaculate; his dressing shifted seamlessly to match both the prevailing climate and the cultural tradition of wherever he found himself. To put it simply, if you crossed paths with Yassar Jalloh, you would instantly describe him as a highly sophisticated, western-educated Fulani gentleman who had been rigorously trained in various modern disciplines from his early childhood. As established earlier, his mother, Hajiya Tarha, hailed from a major town in Sokoto State called Dogon Daji, where she was married to Abbih when they were both young. From her youth, Tarha was a spectacularly beautiful Fulani woman, possessing features so refined she closely resembled an Arab. This beauty persisted even into her older years; you could never accurately guess her age because Abbih took extraordinary care of her. If there was anyone destined to spend Abbih's wealth in this world, it was undoubtedly Ammih and her beloved son, Ibny. Until they finally crossed into the town of Anka, Femi and Ngozi spent the entire drive conversing between themselves, discussing how they would structure their daily commute from Gusau to Anka, balancing their work schedules with their leisure time. A straight, continuous two-hour drive from Gusau brought them directly into the town of Anka, where their field operations were located. Sitting in the front seat, Yassar spent the duration of the trip answering calls across his two mobile phones. A flurry of inquiries came in checking on his safe arrival—some from home, some from headquarters, and some from Sokoto. Even his uncle, the Quantity Surveyor Baba Sultan (Attahiru, the youngest brother of Abbih), called to confirm he had settled into Gusau safely. As for Ammih, it took a significant effort on his part to finally wind down their phone conversation as the vehicle approached the gates of the IDP camp. The moment Ammih got on the line, she began unrolling a long string of updates, detailing absolutely everything that had occurred at home since his departure. The bond between Ammih and her son was truly extraordinary; she went as far as sharing the news that her pet cat named Saghirah had given birth to a litter of twelve kittens the previous day. She described how the kittens were huddled around Saghirah nursing beautifully, adding, "They are all missing you desperately. I hope you will fill my house with many children just like this for me too!" Yassar could only smile, which eventually gave way to outright laughter at the thought of cats missing his presence. Laughing heartily, he replied: "Oh, Ammih! Ammih, the queen of stories..." At that exact moment, the vehicle arrived at the entrance gate of the IDP Camp, forcing him to bid her farewell. He promised that once he returned to the hotel later that night, he would call her back to hear the conclusion of the story regarding the cat Saghirah and her new kittens.
IDP CAMP, ANKA
According to their daily operational framework, they were required to spend their entire day at the camp to guarantee that the project progressed exactly in accordance with the timelines mapped out in their work plan. Their target was to provide quality education to the displaced children within their residential area by constructing schools on-site, alongside delivering essential medical aid through the construction of local clinics to enhance the health and well-being of the young children, as detailed previously. On his very first day being escorted around the Anka IDP camp for a site inspection, Mr. Yassar ended up rushing to the office restroom to vomit repeatedly. The sheer level of filth and squalor in which the people lived was beyond words; it was an unspeakable state of degradation. At one point during the walk, he had even tripped over dried human feces. The intense psychological shock of the environment sent him fleeing into the latrine, retching violently as if he would turn his stomach completely inside out. After emerging from the restroom and washing his face and hands at the office basin, his eyes were bloodshot and completely crimson from the violent strain of vomiting, leaving him visibly drained and shaken. As he lifted his head, his eyes met one of the local camp workers named Haladu, who was laughing heartily at his reaction. Haladu viewed Mr. Yassar as a sheltered, privileged elite (ajebo). To the local staff, such squalor was a mundane reality; they routinely witnessed far worse filth, including women giving birth right in the open before cleaning crews were called in. Haladu began summarizing the bleak reality of life inside the IDP camp, stating: "You haven't seen anything yet, Boss Yassar. This is merely the introductory phase—just the tip of the iceberg. The condition these people are subjected to is deeply pitiful. If you exclude UNICEF and other international non-governmental organizations like the UNDP, absolutely no one cares about them or bothers to understand their plight to offer real support." "We who live here alongside them are the only ones who truly understand the sub-human existence inside this camp. Are you aware that banditry is the primary calamity ravaging Zamfara, and it is the sole reason why the majority of these people fled here helter-skelter to seek refuge? That is how our people became displaced, losing their homes and having nowhere safe to live—hence, internally displaced." "They live here packed together like animals. Originally, this camp was a public school building that was converted into a displacement center. If you look closely, you will see that classrooms have been turned into makeshift tents. Within these single classrooms, entire families cook, sleep, and live. You can find up to five families sharing a single space—each consisting of a husband, multiple wives, and five or six children. They all sleep there, and intimacy occurs right there in the presence of the children; if one child is asleep, another might easily wake up and witness it. Consequently, all sense of moral upbringing is entirely shattered here because parents have no privacy and no values left to pass down. The one who is supposed to correct the behavior is compromised themselves." "You only see extreme oppression, systemic corruption, and cruelty from the camp leaders—both male and female—the moment international NGOs bring in relief materials. As for us local staff, we only keep working here because we get a little financial benefit to survive, not because our salaries are remotely adequate..." Haladu thoroughly laid bare the grim underbelly of IDP life for Yassar. He detailed the rampant promiscuity, the sexual exploitation of young girls, and how many of the children had become disturbingly accustomed to men. They would willingly offer themselves, and in many tragic instances, a desperate mother would personally send her own young daughter to the men just to secure a basic livelihood or small sums of money for survival. Mr. Yassar’s heart broke completely; it shattered and sank heavily within his chest. The conversation was deeply agonizing for him to process. He kept biting his lip and contorting his face in profound distress, fighting back tears as the grim reality pierced through his soul. His innate sense of humanity and deep empathy began to churn violently inside his chest. If it were within his power—if he were the president of the nation or the governor of the state—he would ensure that from this very day forward, not a single displacement camp would exist. He would restore their dignity, reunite them with their extended families, or, in the absence of relatives, step in as their universal mother and father in his capacity as a leader. If it were possible, he would miraculously bring back the parents and siblings who had been brutally slaughtered for no fault of their own. He felt an urge to beg Haladu to stop talking and spare him from these agonizing stories of the IDP camp that scorched the conscience of any believer. He had reached his absolute limit; he couldn't bear to hear another word. Nothing disturbed Yassar’s peace of mind more than hearing about the sexual exploitation and systemic abuse of young children. Any form of child abuse deeply unnerved him, and his heart was incredibly fragile when it came to witnessing injustice or a lack of mercy toward the vulnerable, especially young girls. The complete lack of shelter and protection had effectively reduced these people to a degrading existence reminiscent of the ancient slave-trade era or the historical periods of pre-Islamic ignorance (Jahiliyyah). Consumed by the thoughts of these suffering people, Mr. Yassar went to sleep with a heavy heart that night, even enduring vivid nightmares about the displaced refugees. Eventually, he managed to find a brief period of restful sleep. With the very first call to dawn prayer (Assalatu), he awoke, performed voluntary prayers (Nafila), and begged the Almighty for absolute success over the humanitarian mission that brought him there. He equally prayed for every single displaced person in Nigeria, asking God to grant them a dignified way out, liberate them from the humiliating life of the IDP camps, and restore their security and heritage. The following morning, which happened to be a Saturday, Yassar was not scheduled to work at the camp. Consequently, he took the office’s white Hilux truck and set out completely alone on the highway connecting Zamfara back to Sokoto. His first stop was in the town of Tambuwal to visit his grandfather's brother, Baba Ado. You should have seen the sheer, uncontainable joy on Baba Ado's face; his smile was so wide it looked as though his lips would split open with happiness at the unexpected sight of his grandson. They spent the entire afternoon together, catching up on lost time with the deep, mutual affection unique to a grandfather and a grandson who share an implicit understanding of one another. Baba Ado bought him high-quality grilled meat (balangu) and fresh, chilled local yoghurt (fura da nono) packed with pure curdled milk. Yassar ate and drank to his heart's content. Before departing, Yassar discreetly left a substantial amount of money for him—enough to ensure the old scholar wouldn't need to purchase basic food provisions for a very long time, maintaining the generous tradition he practiced during every single visit. This time, Yassar went a step further and gifted Baba Ado a high-end mobile phone so that he could regularly check in on his health and well-being regardless of where his travels took him. Very early the next morning, Sunday, he completed the drive into the heart of Sokoto city. He immediately visited the grand estate of his uncle, Alhaji Abdulqadir. There, his younger cousins and the Alhaji’s three wives gave him an exceptionally warm, rapturous welcome. The children swarmed all over him, chanting joyfully, "Welcome back! Welcome back, our brother from Mexico!" Yassar possessed an incredibly magnetic, likeable personality, not just within his immediate family circle but throughout society, owing to his many exceptional gifts and charisma. He went on to visit his father's brothers one after the other at their respective homes, greeting both the men and women of the households, distributing generous gifts as was his custom, and faithfully delivering the warm regards sent by his parents, Abbih and Ammih. He chose not to spend the night; by evening, he mobilized himself and successfully made the drive back to Gusau.
THE BEGINNING…..
Monday arrived—the paramount day of work for any professional, applicable not only to civil servants but equally to those in the non-governmental sector. Whichever worker you observed on a Monday morning had stepped out early, brimming with determination and energy, fully focused on achieving their institutional objectives. At approximately ten o'clock in the morning, Yassar and his team were settled inside the field office allocated to them within the IDP Camp. The workspace had been meticulously arranged with three matching desks and office chairs, alongside a functional solar-inverter-powered air conditioning unit. Every tool required to keep a premium international worker comfortable and productive had been provided seamlessly. They were all deeply focused, systematically inputting their operational work plans and strategies into the laptops resting before them. His desk faced Femi's directly. Placed between them was a chilled bottle of Aquafina water, completely beaded with condensation from the refrigerator. Because the day broke with the intense heat typical of the approaching rainy season, they had thrown all the office windows wide open despite running the cooling unit. Yassar and Femi worked while occasionally exchanging casual professional banter, while Ngozi sat at her own designated desk off to the side, completely absorbed in her duties. Right around this time, the heavy, vibrating rumble of large, commercial delivery trucks (Akori-kura) echoed through the grounds—the exact type of heavy vehicles used to transport massive consignments of emergency relief goods. Judging by the external markings, it was evident these trucks were dispatched by political government officials rather than international NGOs; the vehicles bore the official crest and insignia of a specific Northern Nigerian state government. From their office window, they had a clear, unobstructed view of the central camp square where the entire commotion was unfolding. They watched as the displaced refugees began running over one another in a chaotic frenzy, desperate to secure a spot on the queuing lines to get registered and receive a share of the incoming relief materials. The male and female camp leaders immediately began projecting absolute authority and treating the crowd with visible disdain, knowing fully well that the entire inventory would be handed over directly to them once registration concluded. True to the typical corruption of camp administrators, whenever relief distribution occurred, they strictly favored their loyal sycophants or inner circle, ensuring only those individuals received the items. Perhaps it was this systemic unfairness that drove a particular young girl and her mother to pull themselves completely away from the crowd. They took refuge in a secluded corner of the square, quietly observing the unfolding scene with heavy hearts, their eyes locked onto the supply trucks. Experience had taught them that they rarely received anything during these distributions due to their lack of aggression and the absence of a strong male relative to physically fight through the crowds on their behalf. Furthermore, above all else, they routinely faced deep social alienation and discrimination within the camp due to their skin complexion, which was starkly different from the rest of the displaced refugees. One look at them revealed they were not native Hausa people, and they completely lacked the physical energy or confidence to interact with the hostile crowd around them. Consequently, they were constantly isolated, their hollow faces revealing a deep, lingering hunger. They lacked the vitality seen in the other IDPs; starvation had taken firm root within the bones of their long, slender necks and fragile frames. Their sunken eyes carried a profound, exhausted hollowness born of severe deprivation, as they rarely had the good fortune of securing even the single daily meal distributed globally inside the IDP camp. Mr. Yassar and Femi paused their data entry, shifting their attention to watch the desperate struggle for survival outside. This marked their absolute first time witnessing how local relief distribution played out on the ground; the refugees resembled a desperate mass of street beggars (almajirai) swarming over charity. Each person was meant to receive a pre-packaged bundle of basic necessities, such as bathing and laundry soaps, which the organization classified as "hygiene kits." Success entirely favored the physically strong or those who had influential connections among the staff. Eventually, Yassar and Femi abandoned their office tasks entirely, stepping out onto the compound grounds to observe the distribution process firsthand. They watched closely with the professional concern characteristic of dedicated humanitarian workers who understood the moral weight of their assignment. They discussed how to fundamentally overhaul this cruel system of oppression perpetrated by the camp leaders during the distribution of hygiene kits. Seeing how blatantly the leaders prioritized their favorites, Yassar and Femi resolved to draft an urgent report to their headquarters to expose the systemic injustice and put an end to the exploitation. “...When destiny calls...!” That phrase perfectly encapsulated what occurred at that precise microsecond, as Mr. Yassar accidentally turned his gaze toward the space directly behind where they stood. He spotted two female figures crouched low, huddled tightly against one another in a defensive posture. They both possessed an exceptionally fair, clear complexion—an older woman and a young girl, sitting with their heads bowed low, clinging to each other like a mother and daughter, or perhaps two sisters. The primary thing that struck him with profound surprise was the fact that they hadn't joined the chaotic scramble for registration, nor had they made any attempt to secure a hygiene kit. Instead of returning to their sleeping quarters, they remained frozen in that isolated corner. The mother kept her eyes fixed on the physical struggle unfolding between the men and women at the distribution point, while the young girl was weeping uncontrollably, thick tears streaming down her face in heavy, rapid drops. She was completely oblivious to the men passing by, and entirely unaware of Yassar and Femi standing nearby, watching them intently. Yassar and Femi shifted their full attention toward the pair. They could hear the strained, raspy voice of the mother as she attempted to soothe her child. The mother's voice was hoarse from the exhausting effort of comforting her, yet the young girl seemed entirely deaf to her mother's consoling words, refusing to stop crying. She ignored her mother's pleas completely, refusing to look at her, as her weeping transitioned into deep, heavy gasps and breathy sobs. The wind carried the young girl's muffled, weeping words directly into Mr. Yassar's ears. He had always been acutely aware of his exceptionally sharp sense of hearing. Perhaps that was how he managed to clearly capture what the girl was saying to her mother through her heavy sobs: "Ummami, we are leaving this place today, right? Ummami, we aren't waiting until tomorrow, right?" The mother sighed heavily, "Oh, mercy on me... I thought we completely settled this discussion a long time ago, Keltouma?" "Please, Ummami, just agree to let us go out onto the streets, even if it means we have to beg..."
Part 2: Summary
This portion of the narrative deepens the characterization of the protagonist, details his transition from his comfortable life abroad to the grim reality of a crisis zone, and introduces the central conflict of the story.
1. Yassar's Relationship with His Mother
The text highlights the extraordinary, almost overprotective bond between Yassar and his mother, Ammih Tarha. Despite Yassar being a 33-year-old accomplished professional, his mother still views and treats him like an infant, especially when he falls ill. Her life revolves around him, a devotion made possible by the immense wealth of his father (Abbih), which ensures she lacks nothing.
2. Arrival in Nigeria and the Contrast of Baba Ado
Yassar arrives in Kano via a connecting flight through stormy weather and proceeds to Sokoto, then to Gusau, Zamfara. The narrative introduces a sharp contrast within the Jalloh family through Baba Ado (the Grand Khadi's brother). While the rest of the Jalloh family is extraordinarily wealthy and modern, Baba Ado chooses a life of religious asceticism, subsistence farming, and sharing his meager earnings with his Islamic students, though Yassar ensures he is financially well-supported and connected via a new phone.
3. The Deployment to Anka and Yassar's Character
Yassar, Femi, and Ngozi travel to the Anka IDP Camp in a UNICEF vehicle. Yassar is depicted as a exceptionally handsome, tall, light-skinned Fulani man who commands immense respect and attraction, particularly due to his magnetic, piercing eyes. For the field deployment, he wears an elegant, high-quality traditional Northern Caftan (Shadda), drawing immense praise from his colleagues for his cultural dignity and impeccable cleanliness.
4. The Horrors of the IDP Camp
Upon arrival, Yassar faces an intense psychological and physical shock. The severe squalor, open sewage, and human waste cause him to physically vomit. A local worker, Haladu, exposes the grim, systemic horrors of the camp:
The Sufferings of Displacement: Families are crammed together into former school classrooms with zero privacy, destroying moral boundaries for children.
Corruption: Camp leaders systematically hoard and manipulate relief supplies brought by international NGOs, giving them only to favorites.
Severe Exploitation: Due to extreme starvation and a lack of governance, severe child abuse and transactional sexual exploitation of young girls run rampant, often driven by desperate parents seeking food. This deeply triggers Yassar's profound sense of humanity and structural empathy.
5. The Inciting Incident: Meeting Keltouma
On Monday, during a chaotic government relief distribution of hygiene kits, Yassar and Femi witness the visual manifestation of camp inequality. They notice two fair-skinned, non-native figures—a mother (Ummami) and her daughter (Keltouma)—who are visibly starved, alienated, and excluded due to racial discrimination and a lack of a male protector. Overhearing Keltouma begging her mother to let them flee the camp to become street beggars rather than endure the camp's hidden terrors sets the stage for the core plot.
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Even at this stage in his life, Ammih always kept a close eye on him, standing by to care for him and coax him before he would do anything. For instance, regarding taking medicine when he was unwell, Ammih would administer it to him herself, with her own hands, ensuring he ate his meals strictly on schedule. You would never see Ammih Tarha more panicked or frantic than when Yassar was sick.
Ammih never looked at him as someone who had grown up. To her, he was always her little baby (Ibny), no different from the thirty-three-year-old man he was now, whom she used to carry on her back tied with a traditional cloth wrapper every single day, keeping him close to her body.
Fortunately, within their entire extended family—the lineage of Judge Jalloh Ahmadu—no one depended on Abbih or waited for him to give them handouts. More often than not, whether he contributed financially or not, they didn't even notice. Allah had blessed them all and expanded their wealth, with the sole exception of Baba Ado, whose income was modest.
Yet, if one looked closely at Baba Ado's solitary life, he was living quite comfortably within the bounds of Allah’s sufficiency where he resided. He lacked nothing in terms of food, drink, or clothing. The only difference was that his lifestyle stood in stark contrast to that of his late brother, the Chief Judge of Tambuwal Jalloh. Baba Ado’s entire existence was centered around asceticism and the rejection of worldly vanities; he harbored no desire for modern luxuries or accumulating wealth. Whatever he produced or acquired, he shared and ate alongside his advanced Islamic students (almajirai). Having no interest in worldly pleasures, he focused his heart entirely on his Islamic scholarship and his farming.
Their aircraft continued its gradual descent through the clouds of the heavens, fully entering African airspace. It carried Mr. Yassar Muhammad Jalloh, who until that moment remained with his eyes closed, reflecting deeply on his life, his parents, and his grandfather's brother, Baba Ado. Immersed in these thoughts, they finally landed in the city of Kano. Losing no time, they immediately boarded their connecting flight to the city of Sokoto.
Mr. Yassar Muhammad Ahmad Jalloh—as it was officially written inside his passport—landed in his ancestral country during a night heavily blanketed by dark storm clouds. Not long after they touched down at the Sokoto airport, the heavens opened up, and the rain began to pour down in absolute torrents.
Truth be told, Zamfara State was one of the northern Nigerian states he held dearest to his heart, primarily because it bordered his parents' home state. They also shared almost the exact same linguistic dialect. Consequently, he loved the city of Zamfara deeply, matching the affection he felt for Sokoto State. Therefore, with a profound Bismillah on his lips and a silent prayer for the success of the mission that brought him here, he officially entered Zamfara.
Upon their arrival, the chauffeur who had been waiting for them picked them up in a sleek, brand-new white UNICEF Hilux truck bearing the organization's official logo. He drove them straight into the capital city of Zamfara: Gusau.
Once in Gusau, he dropped them off at their accommodation—a well-appointed suite arranged for them at the famous Nahuche Hotel, situated right in the heart of central Gusau.
It wasn't until the following morning, after they had thoroughly slept off their exhaustion, showered, and descended to the ground floor for breakfast in the hotel dining room, that they began their active field deployment. Without returning to their rooms, the chauffeur assigned to handle their daily transportation throughout Zamfara—the same driver from the night before, named Kamilu—drove them to the town of Anka. Alongside Femi and Mrs. Sylvanus, Yassar claimed the front passenger seat next to the driver, while Femi and Ngozi sat comfortably in the back of the Hilux.
Today, Mr. Yassar was dressed in a modern, high-quality "sea green" Sheraton Shadda fabric, tailored into an elegant Caftan style favored by affluent Northern men at leisure. It had been so long since he last wore traditional attire that he had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing a polished Shadda Caftan and a matching cap. The outfit suited him phenomenally well, bringing out his authentic African heritage. Femi couldn't hold his peace upon witnessing how exceptionally handsome and commanding his boss looked, and how the dressing accentuated his innate dignity, intellect, and profound aura. Femi was compelled to speak up, saying:
"Wow, it is absolutely true what they say: whoever leaves home leaves behind his true comfort. I truly believe it now—no place like home!"
Yassar turned slightly away from his phone, casting a steady, measured glance at his colleague in the back seat, subtly signaling that he hadn't fully grasped the direction of the comment. Femi clarified his point further:
"I mean, seriously, Boss, you own such stunning, decent traditional Agbada outfits, yet you choose to spend your days suffocating your neck with neckties and squeezing into tight trousers like a bat?"
Yassar chose to say absolutely nothing to Femi, as he was entirely accustomed to his playful antics. He simply turned back and refocused his eyes on his phone screen. Ngozi, who rarely interjected in conversations, especially when Boss Yassar was involved, felt compelled to chime in today, saying:
"He’s right, Sir, you are looking completely different today!"
Given his smooth, light-brown complexion and perfectly groomed hair—which looked so immaculate you felt you needed to wash your hands before touching it—the Shadda fabric sat beautifully against his skin. On his head, he wore a black 'Tonak' cap highly popular among stylish young men. His left wrist was adorned with a black Movado men's luxury watch.
Yassar Jalloh was a tall, exceptionally handsome young man possessing the striking, classic physique of a true African—a presence whose immediate dignity and completeness of character could effortlessly win anyone over. He had a straight, slender nose and deep, bedroom-like hooded eyes that naturally appeared calm and sleepy. Most of the time, his gaze acted like a magnet, effortlessly stirring the heart of anyone looking at him. If a woman made the mistake or reckless decision to look directly into the center of his eyes, her thoughts would instantly unravel into an entirely different, ungrounded realm. The natural expression embedded within his eyes was his greatest asset for generating affection and love in the heart of anyone who happened to lock eyes with him.
Yassar stood in a league of his own when it came to fashionable men. He possessed an exemplary, flawless sense of cleanliness, knowing exactly how to select garments that perfectly suited his environment and the occasion. You would always find him looking sharp and immaculate; his dressing shifted seamlessly to match both the prevailing climate and the cultural tradition of wherever he found himself. To put it simply, if you crossed paths with Yassar Jalloh, you would instantly describe him as a highly sophisticated, western-educated Fulani gentleman who had been rigorously trained in various modern disciplines from his early childhood.
As established earlier, his mother, Hajiya Tarha, hailed from a major town in Sokoto State called Dogon Daji, where she was married to Abbih when they were both young. From her youth, Tarha was a spectacularly beautiful Fulani woman, possessing features so refined she closely resembled an Arab. This beauty persisted even into her older years; you could never accurately guess her age because Abbih took extraordinary care of her. If there was anyone destined to spend Abbih's wealth in this world, it was undoubtedly Ammih and her beloved son, Ibny.
Until they finally crossed into the town of Anka, Femi and Ngozi spent the entire drive conversing between themselves, discussing how they would structure their daily commute from Gusau to Anka, balancing their work schedules with their leisure time. A straight, continuous two-hour drive from Gusau brought them directly into the town of Anka, where their field operations were located.
Sitting in the front seat, Yassar spent the duration of the trip answering calls across his two mobile phones. A flurry of inquiries came in checking on his safe arrival—some from home, some from headquarters, and some from Sokoto. Even his uncle, the Quantity Surveyor Baba Sultan (Attahiru, the youngest brother of Abbih), called to confirm he had settled into Gusau safely.
As for Ammih, it took a significant effort on his part to finally wind down their phone conversation as the vehicle approached the gates of the IDP camp. The moment Ammih got on the line, she began unrolling a long string of updates, detailing absolutely everything that had occurred at home since his departure. The bond between Ammih and her son was truly extraordinary; she went as far as sharing the news that her pet cat named Saghirah had given birth to a litter of twelve kittens the previous day. She described how the kittens were huddled around Saghirah nursing beautifully, adding, "They are all missing you desperately. I hope you will fill my house with many children just like this for me too!"
Yassar could only smile, which eventually gave way to outright laughter at the thought of cats missing his presence. Laughing heartily, he replied:
"Oh, Ammih! Ammih, the queen of stories..."
At that exact moment, the vehicle arrived at the entrance gate of the IDP Camp, forcing him to bid her farewell. He promised that once he returned to the hotel later that night, he would call her back to hear the conclusion of the story regarding the cat Saghirah and her new kittens.
IDP CAMP, ANKA
According to their daily operational framework, they were required to spend their entire day at the camp to guarantee that the project progressed exactly in accordance with the timelines mapped out in their work plan. Their target was to provide quality education to the displaced children within their residential area by constructing schools on-site, alongside delivering essential medical aid through the construction of local clinics to enhance the health and well-being of the young children, as detailed previously.
On his very first day being escorted around the Anka IDP camp for a site inspection, Mr. Yassar ended up rushing to the office restroom to vomit repeatedly. The sheer level of filth and squalor in which the people lived was beyond words; it was an unspeakable state of degradation. At one point during the walk, he had even tripped over dried human feces. The intense psychological shock of the environment sent him fleeing into the latrine, retching violently as if he would turn his stomach completely inside out.
After emerging from the restroom and washing his face and hands at the office basin, his eyes were bloodshot and completely crimson from the violent strain of vomiting, leaving him visibly drained and shaken. As he lifted his head, his eyes met one of the local camp workers named Haladu, who was laughing heartily at his reaction. Haladu viewed Mr. Yassar as a sheltered, privileged elite (ajebo). To the local staff, such squalor was a mundane reality; they routinely witnessed far worse filth, including women giving birth right in the open before cleaning crews were called in. Haladu began summarizing the bleak reality of life inside the IDP camp, stating:
"You haven't seen anything yet, Boss Yassar. This is merely the introductory phase—just the tip of the iceberg. The condition these people are subjected to is deeply pitiful. If you exclude UNICEF and other international non-governmental organizations like the UNDP, absolutely no one cares about them or bothers to understand their plight to offer real support."
"We who live here alongside them are the only ones who truly understand the sub-human existence inside this camp. Are you aware that banditry is the primary calamity ravaging Zamfara, and it is the sole reason why the majority of these people fled here helter-skelter to seek refuge? That is how our people became displaced, losing their homes and having nowhere safe to live—hence, internally displaced."
"They live here packed together like animals. Originally, this camp was a public school building that was converted into a displacement center. If you look closely, you will see that classrooms have been turned into makeshift tents. Within these single classrooms, entire families cook, sleep, and live. You can find up to five families sharing a single space—each consisting of a husband, multiple wives, and five or six children. They all sleep there, and intimacy occurs right there in the presence of the children; if one child is asleep, another might easily wake up and witness it. Consequently, all sense of moral upbringing is entirely shattered here because parents have no privacy and no values left to pass down. The one who is supposed to correct the behavior is compromised themselves."
"You only see extreme oppression, systemic corruption, and cruelty from the camp leaders—both male and female—the moment international NGOs bring in relief materials. As for us local staff, we only keep working here because we get a little financial benefit to survive, not because our salaries are remotely adequate..."
Haladu thoroughly laid bare the grim underbelly of IDP life for Yassar. He detailed the rampant promiscuity, the sexual exploitation of young girls, and how many of the children had become disturbingly accustomed to men. They would willingly offer themselves, and in many tragic instances, a desperate mother would personally send her own young daughter to the men just to secure a basic livelihood or small sums of money for survival.
Mr. Yassar’s heart broke completely; it shattered and sank heavily within his chest. The conversation was deeply agonizing for him to process. He kept biting his lip and contorting his face in profound distress, fighting back tears as the grim reality pierced through his soul. His innate sense of humanity and deep empathy began to churn violently inside his chest.
If it were within his power—if he were the president of the nation or the governor of the state—he would ensure that from this very day forward, not a single displacement camp would exist. He would restore their dignity, reunite them with their extended families, or, in the absence of relatives, step in as their universal mother and father in his capacity as a leader. If it were possible, he would miraculously bring back the parents and siblings who had been brutally slaughtered for no fault of their own.
He felt an urge to beg Haladu to stop talking and spare him from these agonizing stories of the IDP camp that scorched the conscience of any believer. He had reached his absolute limit; he couldn't bear to hear another word. Nothing disturbed Yassar’s peace of mind more than hearing about the sexual exploitation and systemic abuse of young children. Any form of child abuse deeply unnerved him, and his heart was incredibly fragile when it came to witnessing injustice or a lack of mercy toward the vulnerable, especially young girls. The complete lack of shelter and protection had effectively reduced these people to a degrading existence reminiscent of the ancient slave-trade era or the historical periods of pre-Islamic ignorance (Jahiliyyah).
Consumed by the thoughts of these suffering people, Mr. Yassar went to sleep with a heavy heart that night, even enduring vivid nightmares about the displaced refugees. Eventually, he managed to find a brief period of restful sleep. With the very first call to dawn prayer (Assalatu), he awoke, performed voluntary prayers (Nafila), and begged the Almighty for absolute success over the humanitarian mission that brought him there. He equally prayed for every single displaced person in Nigeria, asking God to grant them a dignified way out, liberate them from the humiliating life of the IDP camps, and restore their security and heritage.
The following morning, which happened to be a Saturday, Yassar was not scheduled to work at the camp. Consequently, he took the office’s white Hilux truck and set out completely alone on the highway connecting Zamfara back to Sokoto.
His first stop was in the town of Tambuwal to visit his grandfather's brother, Baba Ado. You should have seen the sheer, uncontainable joy on Baba Ado's face; his smile was so wide it looked as though his lips would split open with happiness at the unexpected sight of his grandson. They spent the entire afternoon together, catching up on lost time with the deep, mutual affection unique to a grandfather and a grandson who share an implicit understanding of one another.
Baba Ado bought him high-quality grilled meat (balangu) and fresh, chilled local yoghurt (fura da nono) packed with pure curdled milk. Yassar ate and drank to his heart's content. Before departing, Yassar discreetly left a substantial amount of money for him—enough to ensure the old scholar wouldn't need to purchase basic food provisions for a very long time, maintaining the generous tradition he practiced during every single visit. This time, Yassar went a step further and gifted Baba Ado a high-end mobile phone so that he could regularly check in on his health and well-being regardless of where his travels took him.
Very early the next morning, Sunday, he completed the drive into the heart of Sokoto city. He immediately visited the grand estate of his uncle, Alhaji Abdulqadir. There, his younger cousins and the Alhaji’s three wives gave him an exceptionally warm, rapturous welcome. The children swarmed all over him, chanting joyfully, "Welcome back! Welcome back, our brother from Mexico!"
Yassar possessed an incredibly magnetic, likeable personality, not just within his immediate family circle but throughout society, owing to his many exceptional gifts and charisma. He went on to visit his father's brothers one after the other at their respective homes, greeting both the men and women of the households, distributing generous gifts as was his custom, and faithfully delivering the warm regards sent by his parents, Abbih and Ammih. He chose not to spend the night; by evening, he mobilized himself and successfully made the drive back to Gusau.
THE BEGINNING…..
Monday arrived—the paramount day of work for any professional, applicable not only to civil servants but equally to those in the non-governmental sector. Whichever worker you observed on a Monday morning had stepped out early, brimming with determination and energy, fully focused on achieving their institutional objectives.
At approximately ten o'clock in the morning, Yassar and his team were settled inside the field office allocated to them within the IDP Camp. The workspace had been meticulously arranged with three matching desks and office chairs, alongside a functional solar-inverter-powered air conditioning unit. Every tool required to keep a premium international worker comfortable and productive had been provided seamlessly.
They were all deeply focused, systematically inputting their operational work plans and strategies into the laptops resting before them. His desk faced Femi's directly. Placed between them was a chilled bottle of Aquafina water, completely beaded with condensation from the refrigerator. Because the day broke with the intense heat typical of the approaching rainy season, they had thrown all the office windows wide open despite running the cooling unit. Yassar and Femi worked while occasionally exchanging casual professional banter, while Ngozi sat at her own designated desk off to the side, completely absorbed in her duties.
Right around this time, the heavy, vibrating rumble of large, commercial delivery trucks (Akori-kura) echoed through the grounds—the exact type of heavy vehicles used to transport massive consignments of emergency relief goods. Judging by the external markings, it was evident these trucks were dispatched by political government officials rather than international NGOs; the vehicles bore the official crest and insignia of a specific Northern Nigerian state government.
From their office window, they had a clear, unobstructed view of the central camp square where the entire commotion was unfolding. They watched as the displaced refugees began running over one another in a chaotic frenzy, desperate to secure a spot on the queuing lines to get registered and receive a share of the incoming relief materials.
The male and female camp leaders immediately began projecting absolute authority and treating the crowd with visible disdain, knowing fully well that the entire inventory would be handed over directly to them once registration concluded. True to the typical corruption of camp administrators, whenever relief distribution occurred, they strictly favored their loyal sycophants or inner circle, ensuring only those individuals received the items.
Perhaps it was this systemic unfairness that drove a particular young girl and her mother to pull themselves completely away from the crowd. They took refuge in a secluded corner of the square, quietly observing the unfolding scene with heavy hearts, their eyes locked onto the supply trucks. Experience had taught them that they rarely received anything during these distributions due to their lack of aggression and the absence of a strong male relative to physically fight through the crowds on their behalf.
Furthermore, above all else, they routinely faced deep social alienation and discrimination within the camp due to their skin complexion, which was starkly different from the rest of the displaced refugees. One look at them revealed they were not native Hausa people, and they completely lacked the physical energy or confidence to interact with the hostile crowd around them. Consequently, they were constantly isolated, their hollow faces revealing a deep, lingering hunger. They lacked the vitality seen in the other IDPs; starvation had taken firm root within the bones of their long, slender necks and fragile frames. Their sunken eyes carried a profound, exhausted hollowness born of severe deprivation, as they rarely had the good fortune of securing even the single daily meal distributed globally inside the IDP camp.
Mr. Yassar and Femi paused their data entry, shifting their attention to watch the desperate struggle for survival outside. This marked their absolute first time witnessing how local relief distribution played out on the ground; the refugees resembled a desperate mass of street beggars (almajirai) swarming over charity. Each person was meant to receive a pre-packaged bundle of basic necessities, such as bathing and laundry soaps, which the organization classified as "hygiene kits." Success entirely favored the physically strong or those who had influential connections among the staff.
Eventually, Yassar and Femi abandoned their office tasks entirely, stepping out onto the compound grounds to observe the distribution process firsthand. They watched closely with the professional concern characteristic of dedicated humanitarian workers who understood the moral weight of their assignment. They discussed how to fundamentally overhaul this cruel system of oppression perpetrated by the camp leaders during the distribution of hygiene kits. Seeing how blatantly the leaders prioritized their favorites, Yassar and Femi resolved to draft an urgent report to their headquarters to expose the systemic injustice and put an end to the exploitation.
“...When destiny calls...!” That phrase perfectly encapsulated what occurred at that precise microsecond, as Mr. Yassar accidentally turned his gaze toward the space directly behind where they stood.
He spotted two female figures crouched low, huddled tightly against one another in a defensive posture. They both possessed an exceptionally fair, clear complexion—an older woman and a young girl, sitting with their heads bowed low, clinging to each other like a mother and daughter, or perhaps two sisters. The primary thing that struck him with profound surprise was the fact that they hadn't joined the chaotic scramble for registration, nor had they made any attempt to secure a hygiene kit.
Instead of returning to their sleeping quarters, they remained frozen in that isolated corner. The mother kept her eyes fixed on the physical struggle unfolding between the men and women at the distribution point, while the young girl was weeping uncontrollably, thick tears streaming down her face in heavy, rapid drops. She was completely oblivious to the men passing by, and entirely unaware of Yassar and Femi standing nearby, watching them intently.
Yassar and Femi shifted their full attention toward the pair. They could hear the strained, raspy voice of the mother as she attempted to soothe her child. The mother's voice was hoarse from the exhausting effort of comforting her, yet the young girl seemed entirely deaf to her mother's consoling words, refusing to stop crying. She ignored her mother's pleas completely, refusing to look at her, as her weeping transitioned into deep, heavy gasps and breathy sobs.
The wind carried the young girl's muffled, weeping words directly into Mr. Yassar's ears. He had always been acutely aware of his exceptionally sharp sense of hearing. Perhaps that was how he managed to clearly capture what the girl was saying to her mother through her heavy sobs:
"Ummami, we are leaving this place today, right? Ummami, we aren't waiting until tomorrow, right?"
The mother sighed heavily, "Oh, mercy on me... I thought we completely settled this discussion a long time ago, Keltouma?"
"Please, Ummami, just agree to let us go out onto the streets, even if it means we have to beg..."
Part 2: Summary
This portion of the narrative deepens the characterization of the protagonist, details his transition from his comfortable life abroad to the grim reality of a crisis zone, and introduces the central conflict of the story.
1. Yassar's Relationship with His Mother
The text highlights the extraordinary, almost overprotective bond between Yassar and his mother, Ammih Tarha. Despite Yassar being a 33-year-old accomplished professional, his mother still views and treats him like an infant, especially when he falls ill. Her life revolves around him, a devotion made possible by the immense wealth of his father (Abbih), which ensures she lacks nothing.
2. Arrival in Nigeria and the Contrast of Baba Ado
Yassar arrives in Kano via a connecting flight through stormy weather and proceeds to Sokoto, then to Gusau, Zamfara. The narrative introduces a sharp contrast within the Jalloh family through Baba Ado (the Grand Khadi's brother). While the rest of the Jalloh family is extraordinarily wealthy and modern, Baba Ado chooses a life of religious asceticism, subsistence farming, and sharing his meager earnings with his Islamic students, though Yassar ensures he is financially well-supported and connected via a new phone.
3. The Deployment to Anka and Yassar's Character
Yassar, Femi, and Ngozi travel to the Anka IDP Camp in a UNICEF vehicle. Yassar is depicted as a exceptionally handsome, tall, light-skinned Fulani man who commands immense respect and attraction, particularly due to his magnetic, piercing eyes. For the field deployment, he wears an elegant, high-quality traditional Northern Caftan (Shadda), drawing immense praise from his colleagues for his cultural dignity and impeccable cleanliness.
4. The Horrors of the IDP Camp
Upon arrival, Yassar faces an intense psychological and physical shock. The severe squalor, open sewage, and human waste cause him to physically vomit. A local worker, Haladu, exposes the grim, systemic horrors of the camp:
Severe Exploitation: Due to extreme starvation and a lack of governance, severe child abuse and transactional sexual exploitation of young girls run rampant, often driven by desperate parents seeking food. This deeply triggers Yassar's profound sense of humanity and structural empathy.
5. The Inciting Incident: Meeting Keltouma
On Monday, during a chaotic government relief distribution of hygiene kits, Yassar and Femi witness the visual manifestation of camp inequality. They notice two fair-skinned, non-native figures—a mother (Ummami) and her daughter (Keltouma)—who are visibly starved, alienated, and excluded due to racial discrimination and a lack of a male protector. Overhearing Keltouma begging her mother to let them flee the camp to become street beggars rather than endure the camp's hidden terrors sets the stage for the core plot.