“I don’t blame anyone; it’s all Datti’s fault—he has completely spoiled her,” the old woman said.
She puckered her lips as if she was about to cry. Seeing this, Datti moved forward and squatted in front of his grandmother, soothing her. But in truth, his actions only encouraged Nana more.
“Shhh… shhh… calm down, my baby angel. Leave Grandma alone, she’s just talking,” he whispered. At that moment, by God’s grace, the tears that were about to fall were held back.
“Enough, I’m leaving. I can’t deal with your childishness,” the old woman said as she headed toward her husband’s room.
Seeing this, Baba Karami and Baba Babba also stood up. “Since you’ve upset our mother, we’re leaving too.”
After they left, everyone dispersed into the house. Nana ran to her mother’s room, calling her loudly, while Aina went to her mother-in-law’s room. She found her in the parlour and knelt down to greet her. Her mother-in-law responded warmly, asking after everyone’s health. Aina replied that everyone was fine. She thanked God, then gave Aina heartfelt advice. Aina could only respond with gratitude.
Shortly after, Datti entered and sat beside his mother’s chair, sighing loudly.
“Ummma, I’m tired.”
She shot him a playful glare. “I don’t like nonsense. What work did you even do?”
They began chatting, and soon Fu’ad came out of his room, phone in hand. He hadn’t known they had arrived. He was happy to see them—he was sociable, though he disliked disrespect, unlike Murja, who was shy and reserved with people she didn’t know well.
“Oh! Aunty, so you’ve come?”
“Yes, Fu’ad, just now.”
He found a seat and sat down, still focused on his phone.
“Where’s the little one? I haven’t heard her voice,” he asked, referring to Nana.
Datti shot him a warning glance. “What do you want with her?”
“What do you mean, what do I want with her? What do I even have to give her?”
“Ummma, did you hear my brother?” he said playfully to his mother, who had been smiling all along.
She laughed. “You’re all troublemakers. But I know your brother very well. The day Nana leaves this house to get married, you’ll probably follow her to her husband’s house.”
Everyone laughed—except Datti. His heart tightened. He didn’t know why, but his chest felt heavy. It was her words. No matter how much he loved Nana, one day she would marry and belong to another man. Why did that thought hurt him so much? He questioned himself.
Meanwhile, Nana was with her mother, clinging to her and chatting endlessly. Fu’ad entered, greeted them, and Nana immediately frowned as if she didn’t know him. He noticed but ignored it—he didn’t particularly like her and couldn’t understand why his brother adored her so much.
He lay down on a three-seater and said, “Ummi, I’m hungry. Is there leftover food?”
She smiled. “Of course. And if there isn’t, I’ll ask Nana to cook for you.”
He jumped up in surprise. “What? Nana? This one?”
“Yes, the one in front of you.”
“What can she cook besides nonsense?”
They laughed, knowing he was joking. Nana suddenly clicked her tongue loudly. In her heart she muttered, May God never allow me to cook for you. Even if hunger kills you, I won’t cook—better you die.
Ummi quickly smacked her mouth. “You wicked child! You wish death on your own brother?”
Fu’ad was shocked by her rudeness—such a small child speaking so boldly. Anger surged through him; his eyes darkened. “Leave her, Ummi. I’ll deal with her insolence.” He stormed out.
Ummi scolded Nana harshly. Nana burst into tears and ran to Grandma. From afar, Datti heard her crying and felt his chest sink. When she saw him, she cried louder, rolling on the floor and claiming she was hated.
He rushed to her. “Ya Salam! What happened? Who touched you? Tell me.”
He pulled her into his arms, soothing her. Her crying only intensified. His chest felt unbearably heavy—nothing disturbed him like Nana’s tears. Unable to bear it, he released her, clenched his fist, and punched the air in rage. Ummi watched in shock—not just at Nana’s crying, but at how completely Datti lost control over her. She began to suspect there was something more between them—if Nana weren’t his sister, she would have suspected romantic love.
He placed one hand on Nana’s shoulder, the other on her lips, whispering softly, “Shhh… Your crying makes me feel like crying too. Do you want me to cry?”
She shook her head through sobs.
“Then tell me—who made you cry?”
She finally explained. His anger flared even more. He marched to Ummi’s side; everyone followed anxiously.
They found them chatting calmly. Fu’ad was already eating, joking about whose cooking was better. Suddenly, Datti grabbed Fu’ad and slapped him hard—tass!—pointing at him with blazing eyes.
“How dare you! Who gave you the right to make my baby angel cry?”
Everyone panicked. Fu’ad clutched his cheek, furious. He instantly hated Nana with intense hatred—because of her, his brother had slapped him.
“Brother, you slapped me because of Nana? What did you say I did to her?”
“Shut up, hypocrite!”
Fu’ad glared hatefully at Nana and stormed out.
Unbeknownst to him, Baba Babba had overheard his phone call earlier, where Fu’ad swore to ruin Nana’s life and disgrace Datti. Enraged, Baba Babba thundered, “You will never harm Nana or disgrace her—and if anything happens to her, you will be responsible!” Fu’ad turned pale and left in shock.
Datti dragged Nana out of the house by the hand. Aina hurried after them, scarf in hand—she knew if they left, she’d have to take public transport, which she disliked.
In the car, Datti ranted angrily. Aina stayed silent. Nana, however, felt pleased—especially because Fu’ad had been slapped. She liked that.
A week passed without visiting the family house. Datti enrolled Nana in an expensive school—Abubakar Tafawa Balewa International Secondary School—for her JSCE preparation. He personally took her and arranged extra lessons.
On her first day, Nana was thrilled by the school’s system. He registered her, paid fees, and introduced her to her class—JS2B.
A slim, fair girl her age sat beside her and greeted her, but Nana barely responded. Classes were intense. At closing time, Datti waited nearby. Nana spotted his car and ran to him. He stared at her, struck by her beauty—convinced no girl in the school compared to her.
She cleared her throat loudly. Startled, he snapped out of his trance, wiped sweat, and drove them home.
They found Aina in the parlour eating pepper soup, sipping fresh milk, and watching Labarina on Arewa24. She smiled warmly.
“Welcome, student. You’re back already?”
Nana dropped her bag and rushed to the kitchen for a spoon, joining Aina to eat. Datti only watched—realizing she’d been hungry.
Afterward, Nana asked, “Aunty Aina, I want you to teach me how to cook.”
Aina burst into laughter. “You? Cooking? When you’re older.”
Nana frowned. “It’s because Fu’ad insulted me, saying I can’t do anything. I don’t like being disrespected.”
Aina, surprised, pretended to call Fu’ad. Terrified, Nana begged her to stop. Aina relented, warning her to behave.
They watched a cooking program together, and Nana learned several dishes that day, replaying them in her mind.
Meanwhile, Datti sat with his friends, lost in thought—wondering when he would ever feel desire, love, or sexual attraction like other men. His friends tried to explain desire to him, but none could answer when he would finally feel it himself.
He returned home deeply troubled, sweating, shaking, and overwhelmed. He prayed, slept, woke for prayers again, and later went to check on Aina. She noticed the worry in his eyes and sensed his distress.
“I don’t blame anyone; it’s all Datti’s fault—he has completely spoiled her,” the old woman said.
She puckered her lips as if she was about to cry. Seeing this, Datti moved forward and squatted in front of his grandmother, soothing her. But in truth, his actions only encouraged Nana more.
“Shhh… shhh… calm down, my baby angel. Leave Grandma alone, she’s just talking,” he whispered. At that moment, by God’s grace, the tears that were about to fall were held back.
“Enough, I’m leaving. I can’t deal with your childishness,” the old woman said as she headed toward her husband’s room.
Seeing this, Baba Karami and Baba Babba also stood up. “Since you’ve upset our mother, we’re leaving too.”
After they left, everyone dispersed into the house. Nana ran to her mother’s room, calling her loudly, while Aina went to her mother-in-law’s room. She found her in the parlour and knelt down to greet her. Her mother-in-law responded warmly, asking after everyone’s health. Aina replied that everyone was fine. She thanked God, then gave Aina heartfelt advice. Aina could only respond with gratitude.
Shortly after, Datti entered and sat beside his mother’s chair, sighing loudly.
“Ummma, I’m tired.”
She shot him a playful glare. “I don’t like nonsense. What work did you even do?”
They began chatting, and soon Fu’ad came out of his room, phone in hand. He hadn’t known they had arrived. He was happy to see them—he was sociable, though he disliked disrespect, unlike Murja, who was shy and reserved with people she didn’t know well.
“Oh! Aunty, so you’ve come?”
“Yes, Fu’ad, just now.”
He found a seat and sat down, still focused on his phone.
“Where’s the little one? I haven’t heard her voice,” he asked, referring to Nana.
Datti shot him a warning glance. “What do you want with her?”
“What do you mean, what do I want with her? What do I even have to give her?”
“Ummma, did you hear my brother?” he said playfully to his mother, who had been smiling all along.
She laughed. “You’re all troublemakers. But I know your brother very well. The day Nana leaves this house to get married, you’ll probably follow her to her husband’s house.”
Everyone laughed—except Datti. His heart tightened. He didn’t know why, but his chest felt heavy. It was her words. No matter how much he loved Nana, one day she would marry and belong to another man. Why did that thought hurt him so much? He questioned himself.
Meanwhile, Nana was with her mother, clinging to her and chatting endlessly. Fu’ad entered, greeted them, and Nana immediately frowned as if she didn’t know him. He noticed but ignored it—he didn’t particularly like her and couldn’t understand why his brother adored her so much.
He lay down on a three-seater and said, “Ummi, I’m hungry. Is there leftover food?”
She smiled. “Of course. And if there isn’t, I’ll ask Nana to cook for you.”
He jumped up in surprise. “What? Nana? This one?”
“Yes, the one in front of you.”
“What can she cook besides nonsense?”
They laughed, knowing he was joking. Nana suddenly clicked her tongue loudly. In her heart she muttered, May God never allow me to cook for you. Even if hunger kills you, I won’t cook—better you die.
Ummi quickly smacked her mouth. “You wicked child! You wish death on your own brother?”
Fu’ad was shocked by her rudeness—such a small child speaking so boldly. Anger surged through him; his eyes darkened. “Leave her, Ummi. I’ll deal with her insolence.” He stormed out.
Ummi scolded Nana harshly. Nana burst into tears and ran to Grandma. From afar, Datti heard her crying and felt his chest sink. When she saw him, she cried louder, rolling on the floor and claiming she was hated.
He rushed to her. “Ya Salam! What happened? Who touched you? Tell me.”
He pulled her into his arms, soothing her. Her crying only intensified. His chest felt unbearably heavy—nothing disturbed him like Nana’s tears. Unable to bear it, he released her, clenched his fist, and punched the air in rage. Ummi watched in shock—not just at Nana’s crying, but at how completely Datti lost control over her. She began to suspect there was something more between them—if Nana weren’t his sister, she would have suspected romantic love.
He placed one hand on Nana’s shoulder, the other on her lips, whispering softly, “Shhh… Your crying makes me feel like crying too. Do you want me to cry?”
She shook her head through sobs.
“Then tell me—who made you cry?”
She finally explained. His anger flared even more. He marched to Ummi’s side; everyone followed anxiously.
They found them chatting calmly. Fu’ad was already eating, joking about whose cooking was better. Suddenly, Datti grabbed Fu’ad and slapped him hard—tass!—pointing at him with blazing eyes.
“How dare you! Who gave you the right to make my baby angel cry?”
Everyone panicked. Fu’ad clutched his cheek, furious. He instantly hated Nana with intense hatred—because of her, his brother had slapped him.
“Brother, you slapped me because of Nana? What did you say I did to her?”
“Shut up, hypocrite!”
Fu’ad glared hatefully at Nana and stormed out.
Unbeknownst to him, Baba Babba had overheard his phone call earlier, where Fu’ad swore to ruin Nana’s life and disgrace Datti. Enraged, Baba Babba thundered, “You will never harm Nana or disgrace her—and if anything happens to her, you will be responsible!” Fu’ad turned pale and left in shock.
Datti dragged Nana out of the house by the hand. Aina hurried after them, scarf in hand—she knew if they left, she’d have to take public transport, which she disliked.
In the car, Datti ranted angrily. Aina stayed silent. Nana, however, felt pleased—especially because Fu’ad had been slapped. She liked that.
A week passed without visiting the family house. Datti enrolled Nana in an expensive school—Abubakar Tafawa Balewa International Secondary School—for her JSCE preparation. He personally took her and arranged extra lessons.
On her first day, Nana was thrilled by the school’s system. He registered her, paid fees, and introduced her to her class—JS2B.
A slim, fair girl her age sat beside her and greeted her, but Nana barely responded. Classes were intense. At closing time, Datti waited nearby. Nana spotted his car and ran to him. He stared at her, struck by her beauty—convinced no girl in the school compared to her.
She cleared her throat loudly. Startled, he snapped out of his trance, wiped sweat, and drove them home.
They found Aina in the parlour eating pepper soup, sipping fresh milk, and watching Labarina on Arewa24. She smiled warmly.
“Welcome, student. You’re back already?”
Nana dropped her bag and rushed to the kitchen for a spoon, joining Aina to eat. Datti only watched—realizing she’d been hungry.
Afterward, Nana asked, “Aunty Aina, I want you to teach me how to cook.”
Aina burst into laughter. “You? Cooking? When you’re older.”
Nana frowned. “It’s because Fu’ad insulted me, saying I can’t do anything. I don’t like being disrespected.”
Aina, surprised, pretended to call Fu’ad. Terrified, Nana begged her to stop. Aina relented, warning her to behave.
They watched a cooking program together, and Nana learned several dishes that day, replaying them in her mind.
Meanwhile, Datti sat with his friends, lost in thought—wondering when he would ever feel desire, love, or sexual attraction like other men. His friends tried to explain desire to him, but none could answer when he would finally feel it himself.
He returned home deeply troubled, sweating, shaking, and overwhelmed. He prayed, slept, woke for prayers again, and later went to check on Aina. She noticed the worry in his eyes and sensed his distress.