“Ummi, don’t do this to me. What is this, Ummi? You’re closing your eyes,” she cried, shaking Ummi desperately. Tears completely overwhelmed her; her voice could barely come out. Seeing that Ummi seemed to be fainting, Aunty Murja ran into the courtyard, fetched water, and rushed back to splash it on Ummi. Sa’adah clutched Ummi tightly, as if someone might snatch her away, sobbing uncontrollably. In the struggle, Sa’adah’s small headscarf slipped off her head.
Despite her own anxiety, Aunty Murja silently recited praises to God as she noticed Sa’adah’s hair flowing down her back—jet black, Fulani hair that hardly tangles, smooth and beautiful. She studied Sa’adah closely and realized that God had truly created her beautifully, but poverty had hidden their beauty from the world—especially Sa’adah, who was soft and well-built. Despite hunger, her body still looked healthy; she had a moderate, attractive fullness, neither too tall nor short. Ummi, on the other hand, was quite tall and slim. Both were beautiful, but Sa’adah, with her almost Arab-like features, stood out even more.
Ummi drew a deep breath, and her crying subsided. The sisters embraced each other. Aunty Murja’s eyes filled with tears, and she gently began to speak.
“Truly, anyone who doesn’t know what you’re going through could throw anything at you. But today my eyes have seen everything. God willing, I’ll help you as much as I can. Be patient, keep caring for your mother, and also protect yourselves from deceitful young men—because with beauty like yours, someone may enter your lives only to harm you.”
Ummi rested her head on Sa’adah’s shoulder, breathing deeply. Anyone watching could see the deep bond of love and closeness between them.
When Sa’adah finally calmed down and saw that Ummi had stopped crying, she too exhaled deeply.
“Thank you, Aunty Murja, but please go before Baffa comes and finds you here—he’ll drag you into trouble with your husband.”
Aunty Murja smiled. “Don’t worry. My husband isn’t ignorant; he understands things. For now, let me go—I’ll send my almajiri to bring you some food.”
Sa’adah shook her head quickly. “We already have food for today. Because Ummi wasn’t well, no one has eaten.”
Aunty Murja smiled again. “That’s not true, Sa’adah. I’ll still bring you food.”
Sa’adah smiled, settled Ummi, and walked with Aunty Murja to the veranda to see her off, thanking her repeatedly. There, Aunty Murja paused and looked at Sa’adah again.
“Please forgive me, Sa’adah. I used to look at you the same way the women in this neighborhood do.”
Sa’adah looked surprised. “What kind of look, Aunty Murja?”
Aunty Murja adjusted her stance. “Seeing you leave early and return only in the afternoon—or sometimes evening—made people think you were up to no good. Seeing your sisters going in and out in fine wrappers, they assumed rich men were sponsoring you, and that you were ungrateful to God.”
Sa’adah’s heart sank. Her eyes filled with tears as she held Aunty Murja’s hand and stepped away from the veranda—afraid of being overheard, as was the custom in that house.
Once outside, Sa’adah loosened her scarf and wrapped it around herself. She looked at Aunty Murja and said, “I swear, Aunty Murja, it’s been so long since I saw even a coin from any of my brothers that I’ve forgotten. They do nothing for us. Our mother has been bedridden for three years now, and they don’t even give us money for her medicine. So we go into people’s houses to wash clothes and braid hair. I can do those things, and they give us money. I even know how to make cosmetics and flour—but the problem is getting the materials. God knows what we’re going through. Hajiyata has been falling sick for three years—since the year I made candy. Ummi didn’t even make candy that year because we had nothing; she just endured.”
Aunty Murja held Sa’adah’s hand with deep compassion. “Today I’m convinced about the man of that house—that’s why I understand why God is punishing him. God willing, when my husband returns, I’ll talk to him. The community committee should look into your situation. Young girls wandering just to find food—especially in these troubled times.”
Sa’adah listened quietly, knowing how unlikely it was that help would come. Anyone who tried to assist them usually backed out before doing anything. Even when they went to people, they were often chased away. Before all this, they used to do home-based work, but business collapsed and no one bought anything. Even the young man Aunty Murja mentioned had once followed Ummi, but Umma confronted him somehow and he never returned. As for Sa’adah, no one had ever told her they loved her up to that moment.
“Stop worrying, Sa’adah, so you don’t fall ill. Keep praying for protection from enemies,” Aunty Murja advised.
They said goodbye. Sa’adah returned home and entered the room just as electricity came on. Umma’s voice rose in the courtyard: “No shameless, hypocritical woman will ever enter this house again to gossip about us!”
Baffa’s greeting as he returned from the market—where he sold soup ingredients near the hospital—interrupted her. Instead of welcoming him, Umma immediately began to complain.
“I was waiting for you, Inusa. Come and separate me from those wretched children. I want nothing to do with them or their affairs. We’re not the same breed. Warn them early, as their father’s younger brother.”
Baffa lowered his voice, afraid of Umma’s temper. “Talatu, why are you shouting about those girls? Calm down. They’ll soon leave our house anyway. Be patient—I’ll warn them.”
She snatched the bag from his hand, opened it, and scoffed. “I told you to bring tripe, not offal!” Before she could say more, Zubaidah, her eldest daughter, rushed out, grabbed the bag, and ran back inside laughing, already eating the meat. Zubaidah—spoiled and arrogant—was Umma’s favorite. She ate, drank, and went out as she pleased. The neighborhood youths nicknamed her “Queen of the Poor Man’s Father” because of her pride.
Surprisingly, Umma said nothing and went into her room, leaving Baffa outside. He headed toward Sa’adah’s room to lay down his ultimatum.
He lifted the curtain without greeting and stared at Ummi, who was leaning weakly. He cleared his throat loudly, making Ummi look up.
“Where is your sister? Both of you come to the courtyard—I want to talk.”
Despite the pain in her arm from Abbati’s beating, Ummi replied, “Alright, Baffa.”
He turned and left. Ummi went into the inner room where Sa’adah was changing into a worn, long nightgown. She told her Baffa was calling them. Sa’adah’s heart dropped; fear flooded her. She had always been afraid—so much that she prayed for God to lessen it.
She hurriedly dressed, put on her hijab, and followed Ummi outside. Baffa stood there, hands on his hips. They squatted before him.
“We’re here, Baffa,” Sa’adah said.
He didn’t look at them. “I see you, you useless girls. I’m tired of Talatu’s anger. If you don’t behave yourselves, I’ll pack you and your crippled mother out of my house.”
Sa’adah’s lips trembled. “For God’s sake, Baffa, please be patient. We won’t do it again. If you chase us away, where will we go? We have no one but you.”
He laughed mockingly. “What are you to me? Let me be clear—if you act like shameless girls, I’ll disown you. I hear what neighbors say about your outings. I don’t care.”
Grief overwhelmed Ummi. Though she was in pain, she tried to speak—but Sa’adah squeezed her hand and signaled her to stop. The courtyard was brightly lit; Ummi struggled to suppress her anger.
“Please, Baffa. We’ll be careful,” Sa’adah said.
Just then, Aunty Murja’s almajiri greeted them, carrying a large food container. Sa’adah’s heart sank. Ummi spoke up, “We’re here.”
As she reached for it, Baffa intercepted. “Boy, where are you coming from?”
“From Aunty Murja’s house—the one facing yours.”
Umma rushed out. “You see, Inusa? It’s Murja who incites them. She comes here to gossip about us. Warn her and go meet her husband—no more of her, no more of them.”
Ummi stared at Umma in disbelief at her wickedness. Baffa said to the boy, “Let’s go. I’ll speak to her husband about Talatu, then I’ll take this to court if necessary.” As he moved to leave with the food, Umma snatched it and ran inside. Sa’adah could barely move from the spot, her heart aching with humiliation and hardship.
The almajiri greeted Aunty Murja’s husband, who was in the courtyard performing ablution. Hearing the greeting, Aunty Murja’s heart sank—she knew her husband’s temperament. He was stern but reasonable if spoken to properly.
Anxious that she hadn’t told him about Sa’adah’s situation, she feared Baffa might complain first. She returned to the sitting room, praying that Baffa would not succeed against her husband.
Baffa approached her husband. They exchanged greetings politely.
“I came to complain about your wife,” Baffa said.
Her husband was shocked. His wife wasn’t one to meddle, and no one had ever complained about her. They had lived peacefully for nearly five years—only childlessness tested them.
“I’m listening. What did she do to you? God give you patience—but I’m surprised you’re complaining about my wife.”
Baffa replied, “Your wife goes to my house to see those girls there. They’re not my children—just shameless girls. They’ve disgraced me. Even at the Friday mosque, no one supports them with charity. Now your wife even brings them food. They’re a nuisance to my life.”
Though anger rose in Aunty Murja’s husband, he controlled it. “God willing, I’ll talk to her. Please be patient. She won’t go there again. Other than Murja, no one wants trouble with shameless people.”
Baffa left. His words had already poisoned the neighborhood against Sa’adah and her sisters—only those who knew their reality pitied them.
When he entered the house, Aunty Murja looked at her husband once and felt her blood run cold.
After they settled in the living room, he spoke. “What do you have to do with those girls? Their uncle complains bitterly. Why are you giving them food without my knowledge? I live quietly—I won’t be dragged into neighborhood gossip.”
Aunty Murja smiled and met his eyes calmly. “God hasn’t told you the truth. I used to see them the same way too—until today, when the eldest ran out crying for help because her brother was beating her sister. I couldn’t ignore it. Their life is pitiful; I cried a lot. I was waiting for you so we could decide what to do.”
She explained everything she had seen. Knowing his wife’s character, he didn’t doubt her. “So how do you think we can help them? A wicked person is dangerous. It seems people slander the girls.”
She nodded. “That’s the problem. But let’s think of a way to support them properly. I fear that neglect could push them into wrongdoing. The girls themselves are decent.”
He said he would consider it and let her know his decision. They moved on to another discussion.
Meanwhile, Hajiyata’s condition worsened—she began muttering strangely, drooling. The medicine had finished, and her illness sometimes appeared like possession. The doctor had explained it was part of her condition. She couldn’t even point to where it hurt. Night passed into morning. Early, Sa’adah went to Kamalu’s shop—their eldest brother—to inform him of Hajiyata’s state so he could help take her to the hospital. Shockingly, he tossed her a thousand naira and said she should handle transport—he had no money.
Sa’adah bent to pick it up and didn’t return home. She hailed a tricycle. Together with Ummi, they supported Hajiyata into it and went straight to Murtala Hospital. The driver refused payment, telling them to keep the money. Grateful, they carried Hajiyata inside and waited to register and see the doctor. When it was their turn, the doctor scolded them severely for negligence—her blood pressure was dangerously high. Sa’adah kept apologizing. The doctor wrote a prescription and warned them to get the drugs immediately—anything could happen.
Sa’adah’s body trembled as they left. She hurried to the pharmacy, clutching the single thousand naira, fearing that if she couldn’t buy the medicine, Hajiyata might die…
“Ummi, don’t do this to me. What is this, Ummi? You’re closing your eyes,” she cried, shaking Ummi desperately. Tears completely overwhelmed her; her voice could barely come out. Seeing that Ummi seemed to be fainting, Aunty Murja ran into the courtyard, fetched water, and rushed back to splash it on Ummi. Sa’adah clutched Ummi tightly, as if someone might snatch her away, sobbing uncontrollably. In the struggle, Sa’adah’s small headscarf slipped off her head.
Despite her own anxiety, Aunty Murja silently recited praises to God as she noticed Sa’adah’s hair flowing down her back—jet black, Fulani hair that hardly tangles, smooth and beautiful. She studied Sa’adah closely and realized that God had truly created her beautifully, but poverty had hidden their beauty from the world—especially Sa’adah, who was soft and well-built. Despite hunger, her body still looked healthy; she had a moderate, attractive fullness, neither too tall nor short. Ummi, on the other hand, was quite tall and slim. Both were beautiful, but Sa’adah, with her almost Arab-like features, stood out even more.
Ummi drew a deep breath, and her crying subsided. The sisters embraced each other. Aunty Murja’s eyes filled with tears, and she gently began to speak.
“Truly, anyone who doesn’t know what you’re going through could throw anything at you. But today my eyes have seen everything. God willing, I’ll help you as much as I can. Be patient, keep caring for your mother, and also protect yourselves from deceitful young men—because with beauty like yours, someone may enter your lives only to harm you.”
Ummi rested her head on Sa’adah’s shoulder, breathing deeply. Anyone watching could see the deep bond of love and closeness between them.
When Sa’adah finally calmed down and saw that Ummi had stopped crying, she too exhaled deeply.
“Thank you, Aunty Murja, but please go before Baffa comes and finds you here—he’ll drag you into trouble with your husband.”
Aunty Murja smiled. “Don’t worry. My husband isn’t ignorant; he understands things. For now, let me go—I’ll send my almajiri to bring you some food.”
Sa’adah shook her head quickly. “We already have food for today. Because Ummi wasn’t well, no one has eaten.”
Aunty Murja smiled again. “That’s not true, Sa’adah. I’ll still bring you food.”
Sa’adah smiled, settled Ummi, and walked with Aunty Murja to the veranda to see her off, thanking her repeatedly. There, Aunty Murja paused and looked at Sa’adah again.
“Please forgive me, Sa’adah. I used to look at you the same way the women in this neighborhood do.”
Sa’adah looked surprised. “What kind of look, Aunty Murja?”
Aunty Murja adjusted her stance. “Seeing you leave early and return only in the afternoon—or sometimes evening—made people think you were up to no good. Seeing your sisters going in and out in fine wrappers, they assumed rich men were sponsoring you, and that you were ungrateful to God.”
Sa’adah’s heart sank. Her eyes filled with tears as she held Aunty Murja’s hand and stepped away from the veranda—afraid of being overheard, as was the custom in that house.
Once outside, Sa’adah loosened her scarf and wrapped it around herself. She looked at Aunty Murja and said, “I swear, Aunty Murja, it’s been so long since I saw even a coin from any of my brothers that I’ve forgotten. They do nothing for us. Our mother has been bedridden for three years now, and they don’t even give us money for her medicine. So we go into people’s houses to wash clothes and braid hair. I can do those things, and they give us money. I even know how to make cosmetics and flour—but the problem is getting the materials. God knows what we’re going through. Hajiyata has been falling sick for three years—since the year I made candy. Ummi didn’t even make candy that year because we had nothing; she just endured.”
Aunty Murja held Sa’adah’s hand with deep compassion. “Today I’m convinced about the man of that house—that’s why I understand why God is punishing him. God willing, when my husband returns, I’ll talk to him. The community committee should look into your situation. Young girls wandering just to find food—especially in these troubled times.”
Sa’adah listened quietly, knowing how unlikely it was that help would come. Anyone who tried to assist them usually backed out before doing anything. Even when they went to people, they were often chased away. Before all this, they used to do home-based work, but business collapsed and no one bought anything. Even the young man Aunty Murja mentioned had once followed Ummi, but Umma confronted him somehow and he never returned. As for Sa’adah, no one had ever told her they loved her up to that moment.
“Stop worrying, Sa’adah, so you don’t fall ill. Keep praying for protection from enemies,” Aunty Murja advised.
They said goodbye. Sa’adah returned home and entered the room just as electricity came on. Umma’s voice rose in the courtyard: “No shameless, hypocritical woman will ever enter this house again to gossip about us!”
Baffa’s greeting as he returned from the market—where he sold soup ingredients near the hospital—interrupted her. Instead of welcoming him, Umma immediately began to complain.
“I was waiting for you, Inusa. Come and separate me from those wretched children. I want nothing to do with them or their affairs. We’re not the same breed. Warn them early, as their father’s younger brother.”
Baffa lowered his voice, afraid of Umma’s temper. “Talatu, why are you shouting about those girls? Calm down. They’ll soon leave our house anyway. Be patient—I’ll warn them.”
She snatched the bag from his hand, opened it, and scoffed. “I told you to bring tripe, not offal!” Before she could say more, Zubaidah, her eldest daughter, rushed out, grabbed the bag, and ran back inside laughing, already eating the meat. Zubaidah—spoiled and arrogant—was Umma’s favorite. She ate, drank, and went out as she pleased. The neighborhood youths nicknamed her “Queen of the Poor Man’s Father” because of her pride.
Surprisingly, Umma said nothing and went into her room, leaving Baffa outside. He headed toward Sa’adah’s room to lay down his ultimatum.
He lifted the curtain without greeting and stared at Ummi, who was leaning weakly. He cleared his throat loudly, making Ummi look up.
“Where is your sister? Both of you come to the courtyard—I want to talk.”
Despite the pain in her arm from Abbati’s beating, Ummi replied, “Alright, Baffa.”
He turned and left. Ummi went into the inner room where Sa’adah was changing into a worn, long nightgown. She told her Baffa was calling them. Sa’adah’s heart dropped; fear flooded her. She had always been afraid—so much that she prayed for God to lessen it.
She hurriedly dressed, put on her hijab, and followed Ummi outside. Baffa stood there, hands on his hips. They squatted before him.
“We’re here, Baffa,” Sa’adah said.
He didn’t look at them. “I see you, you useless girls. I’m tired of Talatu’s anger. If you don’t behave yourselves, I’ll pack you and your crippled mother out of my house.”
Sa’adah’s lips trembled. “For God’s sake, Baffa, please be patient. We won’t do it again. If you chase us away, where will we go? We have no one but you.”
He laughed mockingly. “What are you to me? Let me be clear—if you act like shameless girls, I’ll disown you. I hear what neighbors say about your outings. I don’t care.”
Grief overwhelmed Ummi. Though she was in pain, she tried to speak—but Sa’adah squeezed her hand and signaled her to stop. The courtyard was brightly lit; Ummi struggled to suppress her anger.
“Please, Baffa. We’ll be careful,” Sa’adah said.
Just then, Aunty Murja’s almajiri greeted them, carrying a large food container. Sa’adah’s heart sank. Ummi spoke up, “We’re here.”
As she reached for it, Baffa intercepted. “Boy, where are you coming from?”
“From Aunty Murja’s house—the one facing yours.”
Umma rushed out. “You see, Inusa? It’s Murja who incites them. She comes here to gossip about us. Warn her and go meet her husband—no more of her, no more of them.”
Ummi stared at Umma in disbelief at her wickedness. Baffa said to the boy, “Let’s go. I’ll speak to her husband about Talatu, then I’ll take this to court if necessary.” As he moved to leave with the food, Umma snatched it and ran inside. Sa’adah could barely move from the spot, her heart aching with humiliation and hardship.
The almajiri greeted Aunty Murja’s husband, who was in the courtyard performing ablution. Hearing the greeting, Aunty Murja’s heart sank—she knew her husband’s temperament. He was stern but reasonable if spoken to properly.
Anxious that she hadn’t told him about Sa’adah’s situation, she feared Baffa might complain first. She returned to the sitting room, praying that Baffa would not succeed against her husband.
Baffa approached her husband. They exchanged greetings politely.
“I came to complain about your wife,” Baffa said.
Her husband was shocked. His wife wasn’t one to meddle, and no one had ever complained about her. They had lived peacefully for nearly five years—only childlessness tested them.
“I’m listening. What did she do to you? God give you patience—but I’m surprised you’re complaining about my wife.”
Baffa replied, “Your wife goes to my house to see those girls there. They’re not my children—just shameless girls. They’ve disgraced me. Even at the Friday mosque, no one supports them with charity. Now your wife even brings them food. They’re a nuisance to my life.”
Though anger rose in Aunty Murja’s husband, he controlled it. “God willing, I’ll talk to her. Please be patient. She won’t go there again. Other than Murja, no one wants trouble with shameless people.”
Baffa left. His words had already poisoned the neighborhood against Sa’adah and her sisters—only those who knew their reality pitied them.
When he entered the house, Aunty Murja looked at her husband once and felt her blood run cold.
After they settled in the living room, he spoke. “What do you have to do with those girls? Their uncle complains bitterly. Why are you giving them food without my knowledge? I live quietly—I won’t be dragged into neighborhood gossip.”
Aunty Murja smiled and met his eyes calmly. “God hasn’t told you the truth. I used to see them the same way too—until today, when the eldest ran out crying for help because her brother was beating her sister. I couldn’t ignore it. Their life is pitiful; I cried a lot. I was waiting for you so we could decide what to do.”
She explained everything she had seen. Knowing his wife’s character, he didn’t doubt her. “So how do you think we can help them? A wicked person is dangerous. It seems people slander the girls.”
She nodded. “That’s the problem. But let’s think of a way to support them properly. I fear that neglect could push them into wrongdoing. The girls themselves are decent.”
He said he would consider it and let her know his decision. They moved on to another discussion.
Meanwhile, Hajiyata’s condition worsened—she began muttering strangely, drooling. The medicine had finished, and her illness sometimes appeared like possession. The doctor had explained it was part of her condition. She couldn’t even point to where it hurt. Night passed into morning. Early, Sa’adah went to Kamalu’s shop—their eldest brother—to inform him of Hajiyata’s state so he could help take her to the hospital. Shockingly, he tossed her a thousand naira and said she should handle transport—he had no money.
Sa’adah bent to pick it up and didn’t return home. She hailed a tricycle. Together with Ummi, they supported Hajiyata into it and went straight to Murtala Hospital. The driver refused payment, telling them to keep the money. Grateful, they carried Hajiyata inside and waited to register and see the doctor. When it was their turn, the doctor scolded them severely for negligence—her blood pressure was dangerously high. Sa’adah kept apologizing. The doctor wrote a prescription and warned them to get the drugs immediately—anything could happen.
Sa’adah’s body trembled as they left. She hurried to the pharmacy, clutching the single thousand naira, fearing that if she couldn’t buy the medicine, Hajiyata might die…