…Since morning, when Mom noticed that Samraah hadn’t done any chores in the house, her anger intensified. Today, she was determined to deal with that girl properly until she showed her who truly had authority in the house. Furious, she headed straight to their bedroom, knowing it was the weekend and Samraah wouldn’t be going to work. But surprisingly, Samraah wasn’t there—only Auta and Bibaa were asleep.
At first, Mom thought Samraah might be taking a bath. She returned to the living room and sat angrily, waiting. After about ten minutes, Bibaa came out stretching, clearly just waking up.
“Go and call that girl Samraah,” Mom ordered.
Bibaa replied in surprise, “She’s not in the room, Mom.”
“Don’t be foolish—go and check the toilet. Where else would she be?”
“Mom, she’s not in the toilet. I just came out of the bathroom. Maybe she’s in the kitchen working?”
Annoyed, Mom snapped, “So I’m the fool here, right? Get out! I know she’s in that useless fellow’s room—the second hypocrite. Go and call both of them.”
Bibaa obeyed, but soon returned saying the room was locked. Just then, Abba came out of his room. He asked what was going on since he’d been hearing Mom’s shouting. She angrily told him everything.
Abba paused as if unsure what to say, then pulled out his phone and called Yaya Musaddiq. After two rings, he answered and greeted Abba respectfully. Abba responded curtly and asked, “Where are you?”
“Abba, I’m at the garage. Someone is coming to pick up their car, that’s why I came early,” Musaddiq replied.
“So Samraah is with you?” Abba asked.
“Samraah? Why would I bring her here? She’s at home—I left her since she’s not going to work today.”
Irritated, Abba said, “Well, she’s not here.”
Musaddiq’s heart jolted. His voice trembled as he said, “Abba, she can’t just disappear. Where would Samraah go this early when she has no office today?”
“Ask her yourself since you follow her everywhere,” Abba snapped and hung up.
Musaddiq became deeply worried. Samraah always informed him wherever she went. He left the garage immediately, hoping to find she had returned. He tried calling her, but the phone rang unanswered. Later, it was switched off entirely—completely unlike her.
Within a short time, he arrived home to find Mom still raging. What started as a small issue grew serious. By noon, there was still no sign of Samraah. By afternoon prayers, still nothing. Calls were made to relatives—no one had seen her. Her friends too, though Musaddiq knew she rarely visited them. Even Mansoor’s house was checked.
Around 5 p.m., one of her phones was found. The man who picked it up confirmed he had found it and agreed to return it after recognizing Samraah’s photo. Mansoor and Musaddiq rushed to meet him. Mom, however, insisted nothing had happened—claiming Samraah had simply gone wandering as usual. They dismissed the situation. Abba appeared thoughtful at times but withdrew whenever Mom distracted him.
The man handed over the phone, Samraah’s face mask, and her eyeglasses. Witnesses confirmed he truly found them. They said they had seen a tricycle (napep) and a blue car stop nearby, but didn’t know what happened. When the man noticed the phone, the vehicles were gone.
Panic intensified. Mansoor and Musaddiq reported the case at the nearest police station. Tracing began immediately since Samraah had two phones—one for work and one personal. The work phone was taken; the other was missing. By nightfall, there was no solid information. Gwaggo Gudidi arrived crying, accusing Mom of knowing where Samraah was hidden, citing Mom’s earlier statements. Neighbors agreed it sounded suspicious. Tension escalated into conflict.
Before Maghrib, Musaddiq arrived with the police. Mom tried hard to hide her fear. The police questioned everyone, including Auta. Mom answered confusedly, raising suspicion. The officer said they’d return in the morning or summon them to the station.
---
Slowly, I forced my heavy eyes open. I found myself in a dimly lit room—it was evening. I heard the call to Maghrib prayer. My heart pounded violently. I whispered Allah’s name and reopened my eyes. It was clear—I had been kidnapped.
With great difficulty, I stood; my body was weak, dizzy, and I urgently needed to urinate. I felt my way around and found a flashlight. The room was large. There was a small mattress on the floor with bedding, my handbag nearby, two food bags, and bottled water.
I dragged myself to the door—it was firmly locked. I checked the curtains—there was a window, but it was barred tightly. Panic gripped me. I checked another window—same thing. A corridor led only to the bathroom.
I collapsed, crying uncontrollably. After a while, I entered the bathroom. It was spotless and fully stocked—soap, detergent, toothbrush, toothpaste, towels—everything. I performed ablution; the water helped me calm down slightly.
I prayed Zuhr, Asr, and Maghrib on the mat. Then I cried again, overwhelmed. I searched my bag frantically for my phone—nothing. Only cosmetics and a face mask. I broke down completely.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook me. Before dawn, I slept briefly. I woke around 7:15, prayed, and recited Qur’an despite hunger and weakness. After about an hour, I heard the door open. A man entered—dressed in black with a mask and dark glasses. He placed food down without speaking and left, locking the door again.
I asked who he was and why I was there, but he ignored me. Tears streamed down my face. I prayed intensely for Allah’s protection—for myself, my family, and Mansoor.
Later, he returned with clothes and supplies. I bathed, feeling slightly stronger. I lay down again, lost in thought.
---
By morning, the news had spread across the city and social media. Samraah was well-known—recent interviews and her radio program had made her popular. Police questioned the MD, Mom, Baby, and Mansoor. Hafizzullah skipped school and rushed to Kano.
Mansoor’s father intervened, elevating the investigation. The DCO personally handled the case. A shop owner confirmed seeing Samraah board a napep. The napep was traced; the driver was arrested. He claimed innocence, saying he lent the napep to a friend that day.
The search continued. Media speculation exploded—blaming Maash, the MD, Baby, Mom, kidnappers—everyone. Opinions varied wildly.
The disappearance of Samraah had turned from a small matter into a major crisis…
…Since morning, when Mom noticed that Samraah hadn’t done any chores in the house, her anger intensified. Today, she was determined to deal with that girl properly until she showed her who truly had authority in the house. Furious, she headed straight to their bedroom, knowing it was the weekend and Samraah wouldn’t be going to work. But surprisingly, Samraah wasn’t there—only Auta and Bibaa were asleep.
At first, Mom thought Samraah might be taking a bath. She returned to the living room and sat angrily, waiting. After about ten minutes, Bibaa came out stretching, clearly just waking up.
“Go and call that girl Samraah,” Mom ordered.
Bibaa replied in surprise, “She’s not in the room, Mom.”
“Don’t be foolish—go and check the toilet. Where else would she be?”
“Mom, she’s not in the toilet. I just came out of the bathroom. Maybe she’s in the kitchen working?”
Annoyed, Mom snapped, “So I’m the fool here, right? Get out! I know she’s in that useless fellow’s room—the second hypocrite. Go and call both of them.”
Bibaa obeyed, but soon returned saying the room was locked. Just then, Abba came out of his room. He asked what was going on since he’d been hearing Mom’s shouting. She angrily told him everything.
Abba paused as if unsure what to say, then pulled out his phone and called Yaya Musaddiq. After two rings, he answered and greeted Abba respectfully. Abba responded curtly and asked, “Where are you?”
“Abba, I’m at the garage. Someone is coming to pick up their car, that’s why I came early,” Musaddiq replied.
“So Samraah is with you?” Abba asked.
“Samraah? Why would I bring her here? She’s at home—I left her since she’s not going to work today.”
Irritated, Abba said, “Well, she’s not here.”
Musaddiq’s heart jolted. His voice trembled as he said, “Abba, she can’t just disappear. Where would Samraah go this early when she has no office today?”
“Ask her yourself since you follow her everywhere,” Abba snapped and hung up.
Musaddiq became deeply worried. Samraah always informed him wherever she went. He left the garage immediately, hoping to find she had returned. He tried calling her, but the phone rang unanswered. Later, it was switched off entirely—completely unlike her.
Within a short time, he arrived home to find Mom still raging. What started as a small issue grew serious. By noon, there was still no sign of Samraah. By afternoon prayers, still nothing. Calls were made to relatives—no one had seen her. Her friends too, though Musaddiq knew she rarely visited them. Even Mansoor’s house was checked.
Around 5 p.m., one of her phones was found. The man who picked it up confirmed he had found it and agreed to return it after recognizing Samraah’s photo. Mansoor and Musaddiq rushed to meet him. Mom, however, insisted nothing had happened—claiming Samraah had simply gone wandering as usual. They dismissed the situation. Abba appeared thoughtful at times but withdrew whenever Mom distracted him.
The man handed over the phone, Samraah’s face mask, and her eyeglasses. Witnesses confirmed he truly found them. They said they had seen a tricycle (napep) and a blue car stop nearby, but didn’t know what happened. When the man noticed the phone, the vehicles were gone.
Panic intensified. Mansoor and Musaddiq reported the case at the nearest police station. Tracing began immediately since Samraah had two phones—one for work and one personal. The work phone was taken; the other was missing. By nightfall, there was no solid information. Gwaggo Gudidi arrived crying, accusing Mom of knowing where Samraah was hidden, citing Mom’s earlier statements. Neighbors agreed it sounded suspicious. Tension escalated into conflict.
Before Maghrib, Musaddiq arrived with the police. Mom tried hard to hide her fear. The police questioned everyone, including Auta. Mom answered confusedly, raising suspicion. The officer said they’d return in the morning or summon them to the station.
---
Slowly, I forced my heavy eyes open. I found myself in a dimly lit room—it was evening. I heard the call to Maghrib prayer. My heart pounded violently. I whispered Allah’s name and reopened my eyes. It was clear—I had been kidnapped.
With great difficulty, I stood; my body was weak, dizzy, and I urgently needed to urinate. I felt my way around and found a flashlight. The room was large. There was a small mattress on the floor with bedding, my handbag nearby, two food bags, and bottled water.
I dragged myself to the door—it was firmly locked. I checked the curtains—there was a window, but it was barred tightly. Panic gripped me. I checked another window—same thing. A corridor led only to the bathroom.
I collapsed, crying uncontrollably. After a while, I entered the bathroom. It was spotless and fully stocked—soap, detergent, toothbrush, toothpaste, towels—everything. I performed ablution; the water helped me calm down slightly.
I prayed Zuhr, Asr, and Maghrib on the mat. Then I cried again, overwhelmed. I searched my bag frantically for my phone—nothing. Only cosmetics and a face mask. I broke down completely.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook me. Before dawn, I slept briefly. I woke around 7:15, prayed, and recited Qur’an despite hunger and weakness. After about an hour, I heard the door open. A man entered—dressed in black with a mask and dark glasses. He placed food down without speaking and left, locking the door again.
I asked who he was and why I was there, but he ignored me. Tears streamed down my face. I prayed intensely for Allah’s protection—for myself, my family, and Mansoor.
Later, he returned with clothes and supplies. I bathed, feeling slightly stronger. I lay down again, lost in thought.
---
By morning, the news had spread across the city and social media. Samraah was well-known—recent interviews and her radio program had made her popular. Police questioned the MD, Mom, Baby, and Mansoor. Hafizzullah skipped school and rushed to Kano.
Mansoor’s father intervened, elevating the investigation. The DCO personally handled the case. A shop owner confirmed seeing Samraah board a napep. The napep was traced; the driver was arrested. He claimed innocence, saying he lent the napep to a friend that day.
The search continued. Media speculation exploded—blaming Maash, the MD, Baby, Mom, kidnappers—everyone. Opinions varied wildly.
The disappearance of Samraah had turned from a small matter into a major crisis…