Yar Zaman Wanka Part 2 Compeleted

Description

Chapter 1

She piled all her clothes from her wardrobe onto the bed, stacking them into a large leather travelling bag as if she were relocating. After taking as many as she desired, she returned the rest. She brought out an old-fashioned metal trunk—the kind belonging to the older generation—filled with her brand-new clothes meant for going out, mostly new Ankara fabrics. She kept stuffing the clothes inside while smiling broadly, feeling a deep wave of excitement in her heart.

"Today is the day for the city," Inna Azumi muttered as she struggled to zip up her travelling bag. Catching sight of her prayer mat, she paused and pulled it out, saying:

"Let me not get there and start begging for a prayer mat, because I don't like praying on anything other than my own mat. Besides, borrowing things from young people always makes me feel ashamed; if you have your own, you should just bring it."

She shoved the prayer mat inside, pressing it down forcefully until it finally fit because the bag was already overflowing.

She dashed into the bathroom to take a quick bath and hurried out. Glancing at her co-wife’s room, she curled her lip and whispered to herself:

"Humph! I won't tell you that my granddaughter is in labor. Let's see your face when you find out I’ve gone to the city, just so jealousy can kill you since you have no relatives there."

She even made a childish, mocking grimace. Entering her room, she thoroughly applied lotion and kohl, checking herself out in a small handheld mirror while twisting her face into expressions meant to look like a young maiden. Fully dressed, she pulled out a neatly folded batik Ankara fabric from the bed—one she had intentionally set aside specifically for the trip.

She put it on, fetched her old-fashioned slippery headscarf, and tied it tightly with a prominent loop protruding right above her forehead. Kneeling down by the bed, she retrieved her Madina sandals—the ones reserved exclusively for weddings and grand occasions—and placed them right outside the doorway. She picked up her old, worn-out, and battered slippers instead, brought them into the room, and tucked them under the bed. She sprayed her liquid perfume, slipping the bottle into the small side pocket of her travelling bag while muttering:

"This one is strictly for the naming ceremony day. Why on earth would I smell bad on a naming day and have people look down on me just because I'm coming from the village?" She curled her lips in disdain.

She picked up the rest of her kola nuts, broke them open to eat a piece, and tied the remaining ones into a small purse given to her by her granddaughter, Sadiya.

"Alright, I'm done with everything. Let me go ask Malam so he doesn't hear about it later, because this trip is definitely happening with or without obstacles," she said as she stepped out and headed towards her husband's quarters near the entrance porch.

She walked straight into Malam’s room without hesitation, announcing: "Grant us permission." "May Allah grant us His forgiveness," Malam replied, looking at her with astonishment on his face as he noticed her dressed and ready to go out. He knew she only wore her special metal-trunk Ankara fabrics for events involving very close acquaintances. Realizing this meant she was planning to go somewhere, and she hadn't even informed him beforehand, he wondered silently.

As for Inna Azumi, upon entering the room, she noticed Tasalla sitting there and only then remembered that it was Tasalla's cooking turn.

Giving Tasalla a sideways look, she remarked under her breath, "Umm, talk of the toothache person," before finding a place to sit. Malam continued to stare at her in bewildered silence until she settled down and said:

"How are you, Malam?" He looked at her with a tightened, unsmiling face and asked: "Alright, where to? I know this stealthy movement has a purpose since I see you dressed up to go out." "Come on, Malam, I just want us to have a little chat," she said, glancing over at Tasalla because she wanted Malam to tell Tasalla to leave. She didn't want Tasalla knowing about her trip; she preferred pulling out her travelling bag as a complete surprise. "State your business," Malam said, staring at her with an expression entirely devoid of warmth.

Showing her teeth—still stained with bits of the kola nut she had been chewing—she replied: "Actually, it's about Halima, that girl from—" "Zaman wanka (postnatal care)? When did Halima give birth for you to suddenly plan a trip for postnatal care, or did you not even tell me until you were fully dressed? And what on earth are you going to do there at your age and status?" Malam interrupted angrily. He was genuinely shocked, assuming all along she was just going to a wedding within the town or a neighboring village.

At first, Tasalla felt a spike of annoyance hearing that her co-wife was heading to the city, because even in their old age, petty rivalry remained alive and well between them. However, seeing how furious Malam was, she secretly made a mocking gesture (gwalo) behind his back at Inna Azumi.

A knot of pure frustration tightened in Inna Azumi's chest as she caught Tasalla mocking her and barely containing her laughter.

“If you know one trick, you don't know them all; I swear I will use my charm to make him let me go. You bitter wretch with no relatives in the city, hoping to one day eat fresh vegetable soup!” she thought furiously.

"She hasn't given birth yet, fa—" "What do you mean she hasn't given birth? So people go for postnatal care even before the baby is born?" Malam interrupted her with a question, stark astonishment written across his face. "She's giving birth today!" "SubhanAllah! So human beings now know the exact day someone will give birth? I thought that was divine knowledge! Even the white people who invented pregnancy scans to determine the months and estimated due dates—even when they give a date, births rarely happen precisely on it. Women either deliver early or go past the date. But you? You’ve practically scheduled the exact day she will give birth! Azumi, stay out of my sight; I don't want any trouble," Malam said, pointing a finger at her.

Tasalla thoroughly enjoyed the scene, covering her mouth to hide her laughter while casting sideways glances at Azumi. This only fueled Azumi’s fury further, making her feel as though she might burst into tears.

"Please, Malam, just let me die first before you bury me," Azumi retorted slightly defensively. "Oh, go ahead, tell me off or even beat me up since you're the head of this household! Besides, if you knew you were the head of the house, you wouldn't even be here asking for permission; you'd just pack up and leave," Malam replied, adjusting his sitting posture and tucking his legs beneath him.

Only then did Azumi realize the slip of the tongue she had just made. Quickly softening her tone and lowering her head, she crooned: "Haba, the Scholar of Scholars! The Malam of Malams whom the whole village and surrounding regions respect and boast about! Who am I to challenge a Malam universally honored for his profound knowledge and the status Allah has blessed him with?"

True to form, Azumi hit the right chord. Malam instantly flashed his reddish teeth in a wide grin and said with visible satisfaction: "Well, you are Azumi, so you always act as though you're above me, but you should have just explained yourself properly from the beginning!"

A wave of intense frustration washed over Tasalla. She hadn't wanted Malam to back down so easily; she had hoped for a full-blown argument—one where Malam would flat out forbid the trip to the city, even though she knew deep down no birth had been announced yet. She knew Azumi’s craving for city food was the sole driving force behind this sudden travel urge.

Inna Azumi shot Tasalla a glare mixed with triumph, turned back to Malam with a sweet smile, and said:

"I swear, Malam, it was just earlier today that I called Halima's mother to check on them. That's when I heard her sobbing uncontrollably, saying, 'Inna, please come if you can. We are at the hospital; Sa'adiyya has been brought in and is in labor. Please seek permission from Malam so you can come and take care of her postnatal care. You know she has no other grandmother to do this for her except you in this entire world.' "

Inna Azumi delivered these words while wiping away fake tears she had cleverly squeezed out of her eyes.

"So she actually hasn't given birth yet?" "Haba, Malam! Why do you keep turning back the hands of the clock? I told you she is currently in labor, but you refused to believe me and kept firing questions at me like an investigator. Is it because you feel the girl isn't your biological grandchild? You've truly become ungrateful! When my late son was alive, he used to bring loads of provisions just to greet you, even though you didn't father him. But now that his daughter is about to give birth and I want to go provide postnatal care, you're showing discrimination?"

She continued, "You know he was the only son I brought into this world, and he left behind only two girls—her and her younger sister. This is the first time my granddaughter is giving birth, yet you humiliate me right in front of my co-wife so she can mock me later!"

With that, she burst into theatrical, manipulative tears, even sniffing dramatically to sell the illusion that she was mourning her late son.

Malam stared at her with his mouth wide open. Seeing that she was fully committed to her weeping performance, he conceded: "You women are all known for weaponizing history against people, bringing up past favors just to guilt-trip someone whenever a disagreement arises. Otherwise, right after speaking, you immediately start listing everything my late stepson did for me simply because I didn't father him. Well, if this trip to the city is that important to you, then go. May Allah protect you and bring her safely through."

"Haba, Malam, that's not what I meant at all! I can see you're genuinely upset now; I might as well cancel the trip rather than leave while you're angry with me," she added, laying on the flattery and cunning thick. "No, no, not at all, I swear! We men sometimes let our own faults lead us to unjustly deny women things they ought to do. You see, it wouldn't be right for me to stop you at all. I give you my blessing, and may Allah protect your journey," he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a two-thousand-naira note, which he handed to her.

She accepted it with both hands, showering him with profuse gratitude: "When should I expect to come back?" "What do you mean when? Aren't you going for postnatal care? I suppose postnatal care lasts for forty days, unless they've changed the tradition?" "Well, it hasn't changed, but since it's a first birth, people sometimes extend it to two sets of forty days (eighty days). Sometimes, if the husband is warm-hearted and doesn't show signs of fatigue, they even stretch it to three sets of forty days!" she said with a light chuckle.

"Goodness gracious! That turns into madness, not postnatal care! At this rate, you'd spend over three months living in people's houses—by then, the baby would already be starting to sit up! Staying as an aging woman camping out at someone else's house for three full blocks of forty days is just shameful!" "I didn't say I'm staying for three periods, I was just telling you what some people do. But as for me, I'll spend fifty days, and pure vegetable soup and chicken will thoroughly nourish me!" she said, licking her lips as her mouth watered. "Well, as you wish. May Allah protect you." "Amen, amen, Malam," she said, glancing triumphantly at Tasalla, who was swelling up with so much boiling jealousy she looked ready to explode.

"So, Tasalla my dear, we are off to the city. May Allah ordain our paths to cross again. Keep up your fried-bean-cake (waina) and peanut-oil business so the market doesn't plummet while people come looking and assume I've quit entirely. When I return, I'll take right over from where you left off. And whoever asks for me, tell them I've gone to Kano of Dabo, city of elephants, because my granddaughter has given birth and I've gone to perform ZAMAN WANKA!" she laughed aloud.

Malam shook his head silently, wondering inwardly when his wives would ever truly mature. Despite their old age, whenever they pulled stunts like this, they acted just like teenagers.

A fresh wave of annoyance hit Tasalla. While her own business was just humble waina and fried snacks, Azumi was heading off to gorge herself on rice, stew, and meat. A tear of sheer frustration welled up in her eyes. Seeing Malam look at her, she forced herself to swallow her anger and muttered flatly: "Have a safe trip." "What about the peanut-oil business?" Azumi teased maliciously. "I'm not doing it," Tasalla replied curtly. "Lucky you," Azumi laughed, noticing just how deeply rattled Tasalla was.

"Well, you know the commercial transport vehicle has already left for the day, so you'll have to take a motorcycle (achaba) to Garki and catch a Kano vehicle from there, right?" Malam intervened, noticing the interaction was dangerously close to sparking a full-scale feud and wanting a peaceful exit. "Oh yes, the regular transport car left long ago because the sun is high and noon is approaching." "Alright, greet them for me." "They'll hear from you," she said, rising from her seat, parting the curtain, and stepping out of Malam's quarters.

She hurried back to her room, retrieved a pack of henna she had packed inside her Ghana-Must-Go bag, and with great difficulty dragged the heavy bag out of the room. She placed it by the doorway, locked her door with a padlock, and slipped the keys into her purse. Heading out to the front gate, she had Malam's young Quranic student, Lawwali, flag down a motorcycle taxi for her.

Just as the bag was being loaded onto the bike, Malam stepped out of his room and spotted Lawwali holding the luggage. "Azumi, are you alright?" he asked in surprise. "What do you see, Malam?" she replied, feigning innocence. "This bag—are you really traveling with all this? You've stuffed it with things like someone moving houses permanently!" "It's not just clothes, Malam; I even packed my heavy blanket inside. You know how cold it gets, and I don't want to go around begging for blankets in someone else's house. It's better to travel with my own property," she smiled. "Alright then," he said.

She climbed onto the motorcycle while Malam’s young students waved goodbye. They sped through the center of the village, and everywhere they passed, people waved to wish her safe travels upon seeing the large bag positioned at the front of the motorcycle. Since it was a small village, most people knew she had relatives in the city—it was actually where she had been married first and bore her only child before marrying Malam, with whom she had never conceived. As they glided past, she waved back regally, feeling an immense sense of relief and a light, joyful heart. Nothing brought her more happiness than knowing how thoroughly she had aggravated Tasalla, and seeing the villagers wave her off reinforced just how wonderful going to the city felt.

Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat as she remembered the disposition of Halima’s husband—he was famously unsmiling and notoriously strict. She shuddered slightly, wondering what staying in his house was truly going to be like...

Get ready, folks! Follow along to enjoy this hilarious, rib-tickling story. How will things play out between the household owners and the YAR ZAMAN WANKA (The Postnatal Care Guest)?

Chapter 2

As soon as the motorcycle rider dropped her off at the motor park, she paid his fare right up to where he unloaded her bag, showering him with gratitude as if he had given her a free ride. As soon as the vehicle filled up, they set off toward Kano.

Inna Azumi found herself seated next to an elderly woman with an inexhaustible talent for endless chatter. The two of them began gassing away as though they had known each other for decades. As the journey wore on, Inna Azumi drifted into a light nap, and before long, they arrived at the Yan Kaba motor park. From there, she hailed a tricycle (keke napep) heading toward Unguwa Uku.

Mid-journey, she suddenly remembered that she hadn't actually informed Halima's mother that she was coming—she had lied to Malam earlier, claiming Halima's mother had called to beg her to come. In truth, Inna Azumi had simply called to check on them, and upon hearing that Sadiya had been rushed to the hospital in labor, she had impulsively packed her bags and rushed off without letting them know.

Discovering that her mobile phone’s battery had died, she clicked her tongue in annoyance and thought to herself:

“Well, what else can be done? I'm going to my son's house—even though he passed away, surely no one will chase me out of my grandchildren's home. I must go and make sure. Let me avoid going straight to Halima (Sadiya)’s house only to find it locked because of her confinement. Even if that's the case, I'll just take the baby back to her room and perform her postnatal care there, because most modern husbands hate it when their wives go back to their parents' houses for postnatal care.”

While deep in thought, she realized they were approaching the street where she was supposed to get off. She began directing the tricycle rider through the turns until they finally arrived in front of the house. Her eyes bulged wide open when she was greeted by the sight of a massive padlock hanging on the front door. The tricycle driver, unaware of her shock, heard her gasp:

"I am finished! Azumi is ruined!" "Is everything alright, Baaba?" he asked, looking back at her in confusion as she began throwing her hands up and wailing as if someone had died. "Of course I have to wail, young man! Look at the house I've come to—it's locked up tight!" "Well, Baaba, how can you travel without notifying the people in the house? That's why people always warn against it. Besides, I could tell from the moment you stepped off the bus that you probably weren't even expected." "I swear to you, young man, I wasn't in town; I'm coming from another town altogether! But I know where to find them. Let's go to Tarauni!" "As you wish, Baaba."

He turned the tricycle around, and as they drove, she kept up a continuous stream of chatter until they reached the second house she pointed out to him before they even arrived. “La ilaha illallahu Muhammadur Rasulullah (S.A.W)! Today I have truly seen my mates. What kind of strange coincidence is this? It's as if they all conspired against me!” she muttered, slapping her hands together in dismay.

The tricycle driver looked up and immediately locked eyes with another heavily padlocked front door. "I must say, Baaba, you've really committed a foul here. Finding everywhere completely empty makes it look like they didn't want you visiting at all!" he burst out laughing. "Watch your tongue, young man! Whose business is it anyway? Look, this is my son's house, and that other one is my granddaughter's house. I know they must be at the hospital because my granddaughter was supposed to give birth. I assumed they'd all be back by now." "Why don't you just call them on the phone?" "My phone battery is dead—wait, let me check..." she trailed off as she stepped out of the tricycle. She counted out his money and paid him exactly as he requested. He unloaded her heavy travelling bag onto the street just as she had asked. "Baaba, are you here for a casual visit or did you officially relocate?" he teased with a mischievous grin after lifting the bag and feeling its staggering weight. "Listen to this impudent boy! What business is of yours?" she retorted, turning away to slip into the house right next door to Sadiya’s.

Upon entering, she exchanged greetings with the neighbor and explained that she had arrived to find Sadiya’s house locked. The neighbor informed her that they had been at the hospital since dawn. Recognizing her as Sadiya’s grandmother from a previous visit, the neighbor invited her to sit down and wait for their return, offering to send a Quranic student to help carry her bag inside.

Meanwhile, Imran was riding down the street on his motorcycle. He was a young man—not even twenty-six years old—and quite the fashionista. Even now, as he rode, he kept checking his reflection and periodically dusting off his shirt, not because there was any dirt on it, but purely out of an obsessive love for cleanliness and hygiene.

Imran was not a people person; he loathed physical closeness with strangers and only tolerated those he chose or whose chemistry aligned with his own. He despised anything that threatened his peace of mind, especially when it came to his wife, Sadiya. He loved her deeply, which was why he couldn't stand anything that created distance between them or separated him from his beloved. He preferred spending every free moment at home with his wife. Furthermore, he was a man of high physical desires, meaning he never wanted anything to come between him and Sadiya, nor did he want her ever to be upset with him. If a disagreement ever occurred, he would go to extraordinary lengths to win her over, because he lacked even an ounce of patience when it came to that aspect of life. Fortunately, his wife shared the same desire to please him and hated denying him anything.

As he neared his house, he spotted a massive leather travelling bag sitting right in front of his doorstep. He stared at it in confusion, wondering why on earth luggage was abandoned outside his gate.

He sped up his motorcycle as he approached, nearly wobbling because he abhorred dealing with other people's belongings. Imran kept very strict boundaries; neighborhood interactions with him began and ended with polite greetings. He was not a man for idle chatter or hanging out at street corners. Aside from going to work, he spent all his time at home with his family—or occasionally visiting his mother (Hajiya).

Parking his motorcycle, he narrowed his eyes at the bag. The longer he stared at it, the more a strange sense of dread crept over him, especially as he noticed the thick layer of dust coating it. Whether it was due to an instinctive mistrust of the bag or something else, he lifted his gaze, searching for how such an object could end up on his doorstep.

Just then, a voice rang out from above as if dropping straight from the sky: "Well, thank goodness! I've finally found my Imirana!"

Imran froze, squeezing his eyes shut with all his might as he heard himself addressed by the exact nickname he detested above all else in this world. Everyone knew that only one person on earth called him by that name: Sadiya’s grandmother, Inna Azumi. He recognized her voice instantly; even if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, he would never mistake it.

He couldn't fathom why this woman was so determined to suffocate his peace. He utterly despised her constant overbearing intrusion into his life simply because he was married to her granddaughter. It was her granddaughter he married, not her! Yet she refused to understand boundaries. Despite his usual antisocial reserve, he had previously gone out of his way to explicitly tell her his name was Imran, because whenever she called him Imirana, it felt as though someone had smashed a sledgehammer directly against his skull.

"To think you were right nearby while I was wandering around your neighbors' houses! Look at me, I've just arrived fresh from the village!" she continued, marching straight up to him without waiting for a word in response.

Imran clenched the side of his lip tightly between his teeth, thinking darkly that if it were anyone else in the world instead of an elderly woman tormenting him this way, he would have taken drastic measures.

"Yeah," he muttered under his breath—though she barely caught it, as it sounded more like an angry grumble. "Allahu Akbar, Imirana! You still haven't changed that miserable attitude of yours! What kind of person are you, never warming up to people or holding a proper conversation? After all, I am your grandmother, not your mother-in-law!" she scolded, staring directly into his face, which was twisted into a scowl so severe he looked on the verge of crying. "I'm in a rush," he grunted, barely audible. "Oh Lord, have mercy on me! Now you can't even say, 'Welcome, Inna, did you have a safe trip?' Instead, you just sit there—"

Summary

In Chapter 1, Inna Azumi, an elderly village woman, obsessively packs her bags to travel to the city under the false pretense that her granddaughter, Sadiya, is in labor and needs her for postnatal care (zaman wanka). She manipulates her husband, Malam, into giving her permission and travel money through cunning flattery and fake tears, much to the bitter dismay of her co-wife, Tasalla.

In Chapter 2, Inna Azumi arrives in the city via commercial transport and a tricycle, only to find both Sadiya’s house and her son's house padlocked because the family is at the hospital. While waiting at a neighbor's house, she runs into Sadiya’s young, hyper-clean, and introverted husband, Imran, who immediately despises her overbearing presence and cringes when she addresses him by his much-hated nickname, "Imirana."

Description

The text is an engaging contemporary Hausa domestic fiction (littafin hausa) centered around family dynamics, marital rivalry, generational clashes, and comedic cultural practices in Northern Nigeria. It highlights the humorous friction between rural and urban lifestyles, particularly focusing on the institution of zaman wanka (traditional postnatal care provided to new mothers) and the hilarious chaos caused by meddling, dramatic elderly relatives.

Analytics

• Genre: Hausa Domestic Comedy / Fiction
• Primary Themes: Co-wife rivalry (kishi), generational comedy, manipulation/cunning (kissa), rural-urban cultural dynamics, and boundary issues in extended family relationships.
• Character Archetypes:
  • Inna Azumi: Cunning, dramatic, talkative, manipulative, and fiercely competitive with her co-wife.
  • Malam: Respected village scholar easily swayed by flattery and emotional performance.
  • Tasalla: Petty, envious co-wife who derives malicious joy from Azumi's hurdles, only to be outmaneuvered.
  • Imran: Fastidious, introverted, highly private young urban husband who abhors intrusion.

Comments

The narrative style is lively, humorous, and heavily character-driven, capturing authentic cultural nuances of Northern Nigerian domestic life. The author skillfully uses internal monologues and expressive dialogue to highlight the petty rivalries between older co-wives and the universal dread young urban husbands feel toward intrusive in-laws. The transition from the village setting to the bustling city of Kano adds an entertaining layer of physical and cultural comedy.

Conclusions

The opening chapters of Yar Zaman Wanka successfully establish a lighthearted, comedic tone while setting up major interpersonal conflicts. Inna Azumi’s determination to reach the city—despite lacking factual confirmation of the birth—creates a comedic setup for inevitable household chaos. Her collision with her hyper-private grandson-in-law, Imran, promises further entertainment as the clash between traditional rural entitlement and modern urban boundaries unfolds.

Keywords

• Zaman wanka
• Maman Afrah
• Hausa novel
• Kishi (Co-wife rivalry)
• Kano
• Postnatal care
• Nigerian literature

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