Waye Mijina Book 1 Compelet by Autar Alheri

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WAYE MIJINA BOOK 1 COMPELET BY AUTAR ALHERI 

A Heated Debate in Public Transit

The woman sitting next to me remarked, "Honestly, I completely disagree, because this servant of God is far better than any politician. The way he helps the public proves that he is a just and compassionate man. Indeed, if he were to run for office, I believe he would win effortlessly. If people truly know what is good for them, he is the one they will cast their votes for. As for me, even if he declared his candidacy today, he is the one I would vote for."
She concluded her speech with immense vibrance and confidence. The absolute certainty with which she testified on his behalf clearly indicated that he must have done something life-changing for her or for someone closely related to her.
My train of thought was interrupted when I heard our driver chiming in as well. "Honestly, he has my vote too," he said. "Two of my older brothers work in his companies, and through that, they have built houses, gotten married, and are successfully providing for their families. Even if he were to lay you off today, he would give you enough money to serve as capital to start another business. By Allah, he is a genuinely good and honorable man."
I responded, "I don't mean to cut you off, but people of his kind only associate with someone when they see an benefit to gain. There is no way you can claim he is absolutely flawless; you will find that every human being makes mistakes. As for me, by Allah, no matter what happens, I will never vouch for him. My late husband worked in his plastics factory before his passing, and he served him diligently to the best of his ability. Yet, all of a sudden, he laid him off without considering his excuses or his difficult circumstances. And he didn't give him a single thing as compensation."
The woman next to me looked at me and said, "Is that really so? Honestly, I find that hard to believe. That man is just. If anything happened, perhaps your husband was a victim of office politics within the factory, but outwardly, he takes care of his workers to the best of his ability."
I replied, "Well, even the prophets of Allah made mistakes, let alone an ordinary human being. I am not saying you must agree with me, just as I don't necessarily believe your assumptions about him. When my husband was given his termination letter, we plunged into severe distress. That is why whenever I hear his name, my heart literally skips a beat, by Allah."
The driver burst out laughing and asked, "Wow, Hajiya, so even if he runs for office, you wouldn't vote for him?"
Directly and bluntly, I answered, "Most likely not, honestly."

An Unexpected Compliment

We continued our debate through the gridlock, them expressing their opinions about the man while I voiced mine. The driver did nothing but laugh, seeing how the argument between me and the woman next to me had escalated to the point of nearly boiling over, until she finally grew tired and fell silent.
The driver then said, "Hajiya, you would make an excellent journalist. I've noticed you can never be defeated in a verbal argument. Or are you perhaps a politician yourself?"
I replied, "No, I have never had an interest in politics. In fact, I am a school teacher."
He exclaimed, "Ah! No wonder! Now it makes sense why all your words come out with such reason and wisdom. Well, may the Almighty Allah make the best choice for us."
Together, we all responded, "Ameen."

The Hustle at Sabon Gari Market

I navigated my way into the depths of Sabon Gari market, where I usually buy sewing materials easily and at affordable prices. That is why I always cover my face with a niqab—to avoid crossing eyes with people I know. Some people have no business offering you a helping hand, but they are always ready to gossip about you. I finalized all the purchases related to my business. Then, I went to the edge of the market, bought fresh ingredients for soup, proceeded to the fish section to buy fresh fish, and gathered the rest of my daily necessities.
I hailed a private commercial tricycle (daidaita sahu), and we bargained a price of eight hundred naira to take me right to the doorstep of our house at Kofar Kabuga. He kindly helped me load my items onto the tricycle. I climbed in and sat down without any further argument, knowing he had treated me very fairly. With how expensive fuel currently is, another driver could easily have demanded one thousand five hundred naira.

A Strained Household and Troubling News

When I arrived, our house felt dry and quiet, an indication that our father had not sent money for daily groceries yet. Often, he would simply head out, and whatever he managed to earn, he would send back for them to manage. Each wife was confined to her room, and the children were out. I unlocked my room, went inside, and set my purchases aside. Removing my niqab and hijab, I sat down to catch my breath.
Yusi came running into the room, throwing himself into my arms while laughing.
"Mama, what did you buy for me?" he asked.
I said, "Where is Kamalu? Tell him to come take this laundry to Halima. I told her since yesterday that I would bring her laundry over."
He replied, "As soon as we closed from school, he and Saminu took a sack."
"They took a sack and went where?" I asked, my heart sinking.
He said, "They are scavenging at the dumpsite to take items to Jadda's uncompleted building so he can give them money."
I was thoroughly upset! I asked, "Yusi, do not lie to me. Tell me the truth. Since when did they start scavenging at the dumpsite?"
He replied, "I have seen them about three times. I even asked to tag along, but Saminu chased me back home."
Suddenly, I felt my eyes fill with tears. Despite all the effort I was putting into raising my children properly, Saminu was completely ruining it for me. I despised the way they roamed around dark alleys. It had escalated to the point of them carrying sacks onto waste dumps to scavenge, even though, despite all hardships, they were always provided with food. I stood up and headed straight to Saminu’s mother to find out if she was aware of what was happening.

Co-Wife Confrontations

I found her lying down in the middle of the shaded porch, holding a hand fan. She sat up and said, "By Allah, I am aware of it. But what do you expect me to do, Amina? It’s a trade. As long as they aren't stealing someone else's property, just leave them alone. Nowadays, life requires a combined effort—parents and children working together to help one another. The cost of laundry soap alone is a heavy burden on a person, let alone everything else. People are just hustling for what to eat."
I replied, "I don't completely disagree with your point, Umma, but look closely at the path these children are embarking on. I am not saying scavenging isn't a hustle, but by Allah, right now I prefer these children to focus on their education. Since we provide for them to the best of our ability and they lack nothing essential, what should possess them to roam around with sacks, climbing onto dumpsites? From there—and I pray against it—if they happen to see something valuable belonging to someone else, they might just pick it up and sell it, and you know how that ends."
She countered, "Well, there is nothing I can do, Amina. That boy, Saminu, actually helps me whenever he makes his small earnings. You know better than anyone the reality of this household—some days you are given something, other days you are told nothing was made. And even when you are given money, it’s never enough to fully sustain you. I don't have the capital to start a business of my own for you to complain. But any day Saminu goes out to find scrap metal, it eases our burden. Look, it’s already 12:30 PM, and your father still hasn't sent anything. The children don't understand what scarcity means; once lunchtime hits, they will start crying."
Her words completely drained the energy out of me. Dragging my weak feet, I left the doorway of her room.
I spent a long time contemplating how to pull Kamalu away from his association with Saminu, but my mind was completely blocked. There was no way to separate them entirely since they slept in the same house. Saminu was three years older than Kamalu. Yet, they mingled and struggled together because most of Kamalu's friends were older than him—both at the Islamic school and within the neighborhood. Any move I made now to sever the tie between them would be misinterpreted by the household.
Furthermore, I had specific reasons for detesting their companionship. Though I had never witnessed it with my own eyes and he had never stolen from me, there were widespread whispers in the neighborhood that Saminu was prone to petty theft. If you were careless with your belongings around him, he would steal them. At times, his actions drove his mother to lock him in a room and beat him severely.
I feared that over time, their constant interaction would corrupt my boy. Kamalu was remarkably honest; I could leave any amount of money right in front of him, and he would never touch it. If he opened my bag to take money while I was asleep, he would return and leave the exact change for me. When I checked my money, I always found it completely intact. These reasons were precisely why I dreaded their friendship.

Domestic Realities and Financial Sufficiency

Because I usually bought food items in bulk whenever I received my monthly salary—measuring out five measures of rice, buying a small sack of pasta, and measuring out flour for swallow, along with vegetable oil, palm oil, and bouillon cubes—I used to buy a whole sack of charcoal on credit too. However, over time, I had to stop because whenever I left for work and returned, I would find my charcoal depleted. I couldn't even ask about it without them accusing me of calling them thieves. So, I stopped buying sacks entirely and resorted to sending someone to Mairo’s house to buy small quantities for me instead.
When I finished cooking, I served a portion to Ashiru, since he was the youngest child in their room. As for Hadiza’s mother, she didn't have young children anymore; they were all grown up since she was the senior wife. Nonetheless, I still served a portion for her as well.
It wasn't until around 2:30 PM that our father finally sent money for their food, and each wife began the frantic rush to cook her own meal. Up until that time, Kamalu and Saminu had not returned. I was thoroughly upset because Islamic school hours were fast approaching. In my life, I absolutely loathed playing around with education, viewing it as the greatest legacy you can provide for a child. Besides, my own education was what was currently sustaining me, alongside my tailoring business.

A Shocking Confrontation and Family Interference

Just before 3:00 PM, they rushed into the house, looking disheveled, their hands and feet caked in filth. Saminu headed straight to their room with cash tightly clutched in his hand. Kamalu stopped when he saw me by the well drawing water. I looked him up and down before asking, "Where are you coming from?"
He remained silent, offering no response.
Saminu stepped out of their room, shouting, "Hey Kamalu, take your money!"
Kamalu took it quickly, asking, "Wait, why are you giving me three hundred and fifty naira when the total amount the items were bought for was one thousand seven hundred naira?"
"Yeah, our mother asked us to lend her some of the money. I will make up the balance for you tomorrow since she promised to return it then."
Filled with frustration, I asked, "Saminu, so you both are roaming around scavenging on waste dumps, right?"
"Yes," Saminu replied with a completely calm demeanor. "I've been doing it for quite a while now, so Kamalu asked to start tagging along with me. Whenever we find scrap metal, we take it to Adahama's uncompleted building, and he buys it from us."
I shook my head and said nothing further. I picked up my buckets filled with water and walked away, leaving them there while Kamalu protested that he wouldn't accept the three hundred and fifty naira.
I couldn't endure it anymore. Whenever I am deeply upset, I rarely resort to physical beatings. I had often been told that constant beating does not discipline a child; rather, a child is corrected through cleverness, strategy, and drawing them close. That was why I had reduced beating him, preferring to offer words of counsel, using real-life examples and Hadiths. But today, I was so deeply grieved that I couldn't hold back my anger. I waited until he lowered his guard, then locked my room and beat him severely.
At that exact moment, Baba Sule walked into the house. He is our father’s younger brother. He stood right outside my doorway and barked, "Amina, haven't you been told to stop beating him, but you refuse to listen? Just because the women of this house didn't give birth to you, none of them can speak to you and have you listen! I have been hearing rumors about your behavior for a long time—how you go around telling the world that no one supports you and your orphans. Well, let me tell you clearly: you must return these children to their grandmother since she is still alive. They will not ruin their lives under our roof only for us to face the blame later. This boy, Kamalu, is a renegade. Who knows what he will become in the future, since no one ever predicts any good regarding him."

The Climax and an Unwanted Marriage Proposal

I opened the door and stepped out, weeping bitterly. "Oh, Baba Sule, what kind of cruel talk is this?" I cried. "If you won't help me look after these children, you shouldn't be uttering such terrible words about them. By Allah, if you had heard what they did, you would punish them yourself. Frankly, the words you are using against this boy, Kamalu, are far too harsh."
He flared up in rage, shouting, "Are you being disrespectful to me, your elder? Are you trying to dictate to me, implying I don't know what I'm doing? It has been said, and I will say it again: Kamalu is a renegade and he is undisciplined! Are you going to deny it? A boy who is constantly bringing gossip home to you. In our entire extended family, there is no one as troublesome; he must have inherited this wretched character from his father's side of the family. Instead of him wandering around and picking up people's lost property, it is far better for him to take a sack and go scavenge scrap metal. It is a legitimate trade; how many children do it? Or are you trying to tell me your child is superior to everyone else's? Is that why you exerted all your strength beating him? Murja explained everything to me. By Allah, if you aren't careful, I will personally take them and return them to their grandmother to go live out their lives there!"
In deep, agonizing tears, I said, "So, Baba Sule, what brought about all these accusations? Who is actually bearing the burden of raising them besides me? These children do nothing but sleep and wake up in this house; I handle their entire upkeep. I thought a person only complains about a burden when they are actually the ones suffering from it. I am standing firm for them, and honestly, I will not allow them to engage in this scavenging business. That is my final word. Allah would hold me accountable, since He has provided me with the means to..."
Before I could finish my sentence, he suddenly slapped me across the face in a fit of rage, barking, "So you want to prove to me that I didn't raise you, since I can speak to you and you talk right back to me? Your father be damned, am I not your father’s younger brother? I believe I was the very one who gave your hand in marriage to the children’s father. So, your mouth can never be silenced, right?"
Saminu’s mother chimed in, "Sule, the whole thing surprises me. It turns out that despite all our time living together in this house, Amina views us as fools who don't know how to raise children. I see your point now—you want to withdraw your son because you believe we want to corrupt him, right?"
I said, "That is not what I mean. I simply said I do not approve of my son scavenging on dumpsites; I want him to focus on his education."
Baba Sule retorted, "Well, as for you, you ought to leave this house and get married! No one said that because their father died, you should throw away your youth. Go find a suitor quickly and get married." I didn't say another word to him. I left the scene, my heart heavily weighed down by thoughts and dread of the terrible challenges looming ahead of me.
Two days passed after that incident without any further trouble. Kamalu took the scolding and the beating I gave him to heart. He curbed many of his habits, especially after witnessing Baba Sule slap me; he had wept bitterly at the time, comforting me and promising never to repeat his actions.

A Weekend Visit and a Sudden Ultimatum

On Friday, they bathed early and dressed up neatly in identical outfits, matching caps, and identical shoes. Yusi looked at me softly and said, "Mama, why aren't you coming with us? Please get ready so we can go together."
I replied, "Yusi, I am not feeling well. I will wait until next week; if we are alive, we will go together. When you arrive, make sure to greet Gwaggwo warmly for me." I glanced at Kamalu, who was leaning against the wall with a sullen expression. I said, "As for you, I know why you look upset whenever it’s time to go to Gwaggwo’s house—it's because she always scolds you, right?"
He remained quiet and said nothing to me. I shook my head and added, "Bring that nylon bag over; there is half a measure of rice and three packs of pasta inside for you to take to her. And here, take this two thousand naira and give it to her." He took the money and tucked it into his pocket. He turned to leave, calling out, "Come on, teacher, let’s go!"
I quickly warned him, "By Allah, if you bully him on the way, you will have me to reckon with. If you lay a finger on my boy, you know what will happen between us." He pouted his lips and walked out.
I looked at Yusi, whose face was radiant with joy; any day they were visiting their grandmother, he was always filled with happiness and excitement. Tears welled up in my eyes. His gentle demeanor and calm nature were the exact mirror image of his late father—a cheerful, mild-mannered man whose anger you would never see. Yusi looked exactly like his father, Yaya Aminu—a striking resemblance. Some people claimed Kamalu resembled me instead.
I pulled a fifty-naira note from my bag and slipped it into his pocket, saying, "If you see something nice on the way, buy it. You look very handsome, my little gentleman."
He burst into laughter and said, "Mama, you didn't buy glasses for me, and you didn't spray perfume on me."
I quickly opened my small wardrobe and retrieved a bottle of perfume, saying, "Ah, we fried the meat but forgot the onions! My boy is a fashionista after all."
I sprayed the perfume all over his clothes. "Greet her warmly for me," I reminded him.
Putting on his shoes, he said, "Okay, Mama, I will tell her you'll come next week." He quickly headed out the door.
I turned my eyes away, weakly sliding onto the floor to lie down. Warm tears began to stream down my cheeks. I made no effort to wipe them away since I was completely alone in the room. I needed to cry to ease the heavy burden choking my heart. Two things had converged upon me: whenever my menstrual period was approaching, I always felt deeply distressed and irritable, and then there were the constant domestic crises I was facing. Kamalu’s situation worried me the most at the moment, and I had no one in the house to support me. Everyone who spoke only had negative things to say about him, labeling him troublesome. I knew the destructive power of malicious words, as people say they can be worse than witchcraft. My ultimate desire was to take the children far away from this house and this neighborhood entirely to start a new life, but achieving that was a massive challenge in itself.
I curled up inside my body wrapper and cried my heart out. In my mind, I repeatedly recited the prayer: "Rabbi inni lima anzalta ilayya min khairin faqir" (My Lord, I am truly in desperate need of whatever good You may send down to me), and I kept invoking "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un" until Allah eased the constriction in my chest. I then stood up and poured the bathwater I had set to heat.
I took a quick bath and tidied myself up. By then, I felt a slight relief from the severe menstrual cramps that had been agonizing me, as the flow had finally started. I got dressed and stepped out; everyone else was inside their rooms. I locked my door. Then, I stood briefly outside each of their doorways to bid them goodbye.
Just as I reached the main exit, Hadiza’s mother called out to me.
I went into her room and found her packaging the ground spices she sells—a mix of locust beans and chili powder. She said, "I’ve been meaning to speak with you, and now I see you are all dressed up to go out. Where are you heading? I know the schools are on break; are you going to buy sewing materials?"
I replied, "No, I am not going to the market. I am heading to Sahura's house."
She then said, "Oh, I see. Well, your father asked me to inform you that you will be receiving a guest today. Alhaji Mutari has stated that he wishes to marry you."
With a racing heart and intense distress, I exclaimed, "Who on earth is Alhaji Mutari, Umma? And who decided that I must get married? Am I the only widow around?"
She stared at me for a full two minutes before saying, "That is your problem, Amina—you never weigh your words. Am I your mate that you should respond to me so sharply?"
I softened my expression and said, "Umma, by Allah, the news hit me like a bolt of thunder. Please, for Allah's sake, forgive me."
She said, "Alhaji Mutari is your Baba Sule’s boss. Sule showed him your photograph, and the man expressed an earnest interest in you."
I responded, "Well, that is impossible. Umma, I am not looking to get married right now. The proper upbringing of my children is my sole priority at the moment. Even if I were to marry, I would be the one to look for a suitable husband who deserves it. I don't care about wealth; I am looking for righteousness, just like Yaya Aminu. Insha Allah, I will find it."
She said, "Well, I have delivered my message, Amina. But consider the matter deeply before you make a final decision."
I turned to leave, saying, "Alright, I will. Insha Allah, Umma, see you when I return."
She added, "Extend my greetings to Sahura and her children." I walked out without saying another word, utterly consumed by the distress of the situation.

Seeking Refuge and Counsel

Filled with anxiety and deep in thought, I arrived at Sahura’s house. I found her preparing to go out. Seeing my disheveled and distraught state deeply alarmed her.
I found a place to sit and simply burst into tears!
She was completely panicked! She held me firmly, pleading, "Sis, for the love of God, what is it? Please stop crying before you make yourself sick. You aren't the only one in this position; there are so many mothers of orphans out there. You should thank Allah for giving you a trade through which you can provide for your children. By Allah, there are those whose husbands passed away and left them with orphans with absolutely no means of livelihood—some have to resort to begging just to get food to eat. I myself, even with a husband, am in a constant daily struggle. You know the reality; I don't need to spell it out for you. Yasir's father doesn't have a stable job; he goes to the market to scout for customers and guides them to shops, and that is how he gets what to bring home. Please be patient, thank Allah, and keep praying for your late husband. May Allah forgive him."
I wiped away my flowing tears with my hand. I said, "I know Allah has been gracious to me, Sahura. I will never be ungrateful to Him; He helps me in so many ways. But sis, I am facing immense worry. I cannot marry right now until my children grow stronger. Sis, Baba Sule has been targeting me for the past few days, and Kamalu is slipping out of my control."
"What kind of talk is that, Amina? You carried that child in your womb, and now you claim he is slipping out of your control? What is he doing? And what is Baba Sule doing to you? I thought you completely take care of yourself and your children, and that you didn't have any issues with the people in your household."
Sniffling from the pain of recent events, I began to recount the entire ordeal that had occurred two days prior.
She replied, "Be patient, do not let this distress make you fall ill. As for marriage, you will only do it when you feel ready, since you are no longer a young girl. You are a widow; as long as you maintain your dignity and continue your business to take care of your children, the Almighty will guide you. You..."