The moment I heard Tokar talking about his return home, I completely lost my peace of mind. I knew right then that any semblance of joy and freedom in my life was gone until the day he departed again. I do not know why we harbor such intense hatred for one another. I utterly despise him, even though we are bound by blood. The animosity between us is like that of a prophet and an infidel; we cannot stand each other, and whenever our paths cross, a violent clash is inevitable, like soldiers at war. He insults me, strips me of my dignity, and has even raised his hand to beat me. Although our physical strength is by no means equal, I always fight back fiercely. Refusing to take his abuse silently, I claw, scratch, and bite to defend myself, weeping all the while as I hurl insults back at him. He has drawn blood from my mouth more than once—in fact, he knocked out two of my teeth, though by God's grace, they were from the sides. This is the exact reason I nurse an unyielding, burning resentment toward him. To this day, I stand by my vow: I will permanently damage a part of his body, just as he made me lose two of my teeth. I sat alone, lost in an endless cycle of anxious thoughts. Just then, she came crawling out into the courtyard, muttering to herself as usual. Her mouth was never still; she was either talking to herself or constantly chewing on nothing, even when her mouth was completely empty. I looked at her and scowled. I was acutely aware of the overwhelming affection she showered on him, and I knew she was about to approach me with her biased, selfish favoritism. I was in no mood to tolerate it. She reached up and stroked her withered hair, which was completely overrun with gray and tangled like raw cotton. She only had hair left at the very crown of her head; the sides and the nape of her neck were completely bald and smooth, as though hair had never grown there. Yet, out of sheer spite and stubbornness, she forced me every single week to untangle, wash, and re-braid it for her. Looking at me, she spoke in a sweet, clear voice that defied her advanced age. "Your enemy is returning, and is that why you've come out to sit in the courtyard looking so miserable? Tell me, Jamila, when on earth will you stop showing such bitter hatred toward your own brother...?" I cut her off abruptly, raising my hand to silence her. "Look, Tokar, for God's sake, leave me out of any discussion regarding that thug! What do I care about his return? All I know is that if he dares cross into my business, I will humiliate him without mercy. Wallahi, I am completely done holding back." She let out a sharp hiss of disgust, using a small splinter of wood to pick at the gaps and hollow caverns of her missing teeth. That was her perpetual habit—picking her teeth. "Well, you are both here now," she sneered. "Since you believe you can match his strength, by all means, go ahead." My heart burned with rage, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Tokar, I don't understand why you always favor Bahago over me, especially since you are the paternal grandmother to both of us! He knocked out two of my teeth right in front of your eyes, yet none of you took any action. Even his mother has never said a word to this day. Is it because my father is quiet, patient, and keeps his peace that you choose to treat us with such blatant discrimination? Tokar, I realized a long time ago that you don't care for me, simply because you despise my mother—despite all the immense care and love my father shows you." As I spoke, hot tears streamed down my face. I pressed on, "Whenever I speak up or try to defend my rights, I am labeled as disrespectful and undisciplined! How exactly do you want me to live my life? Tokar, let me warn you again, wallahi, you had better warn him to keep his distance from me. I won't interfere with him, so he must not interfere with me. If he acts like a brute, I will show him what I am made of! I am fully capable of matching his violence, even if it means a fight to the death between us!" She remained completely unbothered, staring at me coolly while continuing to pick at her gums with the splinter, even though she had no more than five teeth left in her entire mouth. She picked at them constantly until they were stained bright red from her perpetual betel nut chewing. Seeing her eyes fixed intently on me, I bolted upright to leave the area, my heart feeling as though it would split open from sheer rage. Before I could step into the room, Kawu Sammani entered the house, just returning from the market with a patterned plastic shopping bag. The moment he appeared, Tokar suddenly burst into theatrical tears, wailing, "Jamila, I am utterly exhausted by your wickedness! You just stand over me, unleashing a torrent of abuse! You want to kill me, don't you? Well, it is in God's hands, not yours! I won't die until my appointed time is up!" She finalized her dramatic speech by wiping her running nose with her bare hand. I paid no attention to her theatrics. I knew she was entirely capable of doing worse, and she only put on this performance because her son had just walked in. This was precisely why the house was always in a state of chaos; she herself orchestrated the conflicts. She had given birth to three children—our parents—but she openly segregated them, favoring certain corporate lines and treating their children, especially Bahago, like precious gems she wished she could carry on her back forever. Kawu Sammani knew his mother’s true nature all too well. He simply shook his head and looked at me as I stood pressed against the wall, bracing myself for whatever judgment he would pass. In a gentle, peaceful tone, he asked, "What did you do to her?" In a subdued voice, I replied, "I didn't do anything to her." Tokar shrieked, "For your father's sake, are you calling me a liar?!" I remained silent, determined not to let the argument escalate further. He looked at his mother as she continued to foam at the mouth and throw a tantrum, all on behalf of Bahago. He said, "Tokar, that's enough. Please have patience and let the matter drop. In sha Allah, when he returns, I will sit them down and reconcile them properly." She spat back, "Even if you sit them down, this girl with the giant build of the ancient Samud people won't listen to a word you say, because she possesses a dark, unforgiving heart like an infidel! If it isn't pure wickedness, how can she hold a grudge against the very provider who braves the wind and rain to bring home what she eats? She even has the audacity to call him a thug! Those words cut me deeply." She finished by once again wiping the mucus streaming down her nose. She had been suffering from a severe cold for over two weeks but adamantly refused to take any medicine, nor would she stop sleeping outside under the open moonlight. Her children constantly struggled with her because she was deeply erratic and difficult, yet they all pampered her just to maintain a fragile peace. Kawu Sammani said nothing more. He set down the bag of juice and bananas he had bought for her and headed to his own section of the house, privately marvelling at his mother’s chaotic nature. This was their daily struggle with her; their only wish was to live out their days with her without a major fallout. I watched her scratch at her nose. She then dug out a thick glob of mucus and smeared it directly onto the wall. Afterward, she pulled the bag of juice toward herself, extracted one pack along with a banana, and extended them to me. I shook my head, my face contorted in deep disgust. Muttering under my breath, I murmured, "Tokar, I washed my hands of eating anything from your fingers a long time ago. In fact, if I see you trying to give a gift to anyone while I'm around, I'll stop them from accepting it." The woman constantly had her fingers shoved up her nose. Furthermore, whenever she used the toilet, she insisted on washing herself, but due to her lack of capability, her hands would end up heavily stained. Whenever I offered to help clean her, she would violently reject it, claiming that God protects her modesty and I had no right to see her nakedness. Her daughters-in-law faced a nightmare dealing with her; she barely allowed them to bathe her, often going two to three weeks without a wash. Despite all this, she was remarkably diligent about her prayers; the moment it was time, she would drag her body to perform ablution. However, she could not differentiate directions—she would face any random corner to pray. If anyone corrected her, she would simply snap, "God is everywhere!" She glanced at me and asked, "What did you say?" I quickly shook my head. "Nothing. Enjoy your treats, thank you." She pressed her lips together and muttered, "You've only cheated yourself, you miserable, dark-hearted creature." Without offering another word, I picked up a plastic kettle (buta) and headed into the restroom to attend to my needs. When I emerged, I found that Baba Iyami had brought us our dinner in a large covered dish. She routinely provided our night meals, while Baba Hama, Kawu Sammani’s wife, provided our lunches. In the mornings, my father would give us money for porridge and bean cakes (kunu da kosai), or if he went out early to his business, he would send back tea, bread, and even fried egg cakes, since that was his trade. "Iyami, what kind of wickedness is this, serving us dry grain couscous (dambu) at night? And look at this, there isn't even a decent amount of moringa leaves or groundnut oil! You were given ample housekeeping money; did you skimp on the market expenses?!" Tokar yelled, turning the dambu over aggressively as if she were about to dump it on the floor. Baba Iyami’s heart burned with anger, but she suppressed it. Choosing to say nothing, she turned to head back to her quarters. Tokar raised her voice further, shouting after her, "Danjuma is making good money now, and he's going to marry a new wife! Because you are clearly not a supportive wife who protects a man's dignity!" Hearing those words, even I felt a flash of deep anger. I paused my ablutions and stood staring at Tokar, thoroughly incensed. Iyami spun around and countered, "Tokar, so what if Danjuma gets married? For God's sake, marry a thousand wives off to him for all I care! I only remain in this house because of my children. If I didn't have anyone to anchor me here, wallahi, I would have packed my bags and left a long time ago. Who needs a marriage like this anyway?" When a mouth knows what to spew, it rarely anticipates the sharp retort it will receive. Tokar was deeply stung by Iyami's fierce clapback. She burst into hysterical tears, throwing a massive tantrum and accusing Iyami of utterly humiliating and insulting her entire lineage. I stepped in and said, "Baba Iyami, for God's sake, please just drop it and go back to your room. You know exactly what she is like; you two could exchange words all night and it wouldn't bother her at all, even as she tears her own family apart without realizing it." With a trembling voice, Iyami replied, "Jamila, I am just completely sick and tired of the constant humiliation, wallahi! Is Danjuma the only man on earth? I can easily dust off my children and walk right back to my family home; I didn't just fall from the sky." I urged her, "Please just have patience and don't utter another word to her." She didn't speak further and retreated to her section. I picked up the kettle to complete my ablutions as intended, only to hear Tokar turn her wrath on me. "Jamila, so you stood right there, listening to Iyami insult me and drag my entire lineage, and your only response was to calm her down?! You two are clearly in collusion to humiliate me, aren't you? I've harbored doubts about your bloodline for a very long time anyway. That mother of yours hawked goods on the streets until she was thoroughly exhausted before Danlami finally married her. If it weren't for pure misfortune and an evil destiny, why would a Fulani man mix his pure bloodline with a completely different tribe like a Yoruba woman (Bayerabe)? Since you've taken her side, it proves beyond a doubt that you don't carry a single drop of my blood!" I offered absolutely no response, letting her exhaust her vitriol until she finally fell silent. I walked right past her into the room, grabbed my prayer mat and hijab, and came back out. Spreading the mat calmly in a quiet corner, I raised my hands and commenced my prayers.
Chapter 3 & 4
During my final prostration, a dam broke, and I burst into deep, uncontrollable tears. From the moment I had commenced the prayer, I had tried desperately to suppress the weeping, but I failed. Realizing I was in direct communion with my Creator, I poured my heart out completely, weeping intensely as I begged Allah to resolve the overwhelming trials I was facing and grant me a beautiful, righteous path forward. Deep down, a profound longing for marriage swelled within me—if only to find an escape and absolute peace in my life. I found absolutely no joy living in this household, entirely due to the savage abuse Bahago subjected me to, compounded heavily by Tokar, who launched vicious assaults on my dignity and my mother's honor whenever the mood struck her. My mother had long since fled the household, abandoning it entirely due to the sheer terror and lack of peace. I lay down on the prayer mat, deeply analyzing my life. From my childhood up to my current status as a full-grown young woman, not a single man had ever uttered a word of love to me. I firmly believed there was only one reason men avoided me: a total lack of beauty. To be completely honest, I knew I did not possess a beautiful face. I was dark-skinned, though my teeth were perfectly white and beautifully aligned, which was quite striking. I also possessed medium-sized, bright eyes. I, Jamila, was physically massive—exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and heavily built. Every part of my body was intensely filled out, particularly my chest and my hips. People mistakenly viewed this as a sign of obesity, but that was not the case; it was simply a matter of immensely wide hips, a prominent backside, and a naturally voluptuous frame, which made me look incredibly imposing. Because of this build, I never wore simple shawls when going out; I strictly wore large hijabs. Yet, even through the heavy fabric, the dramatic curves of my body remained entirely obvious. I had inherited absolutely none of my father’s physical traits. His entire lineage consists of pure-blooded Fulani people, which made them exceptionally fair-skinned. Tokar herself was so startlingly fair that it caught the eye, a trait she retained even in her old age. The only thing I inherited from that side of the family was the hair on my head. My head was thick with an abundant, pitch-black mane that was incredibly smooth and glossy. My mother possessed incredibly strong physical genes, which was why I turned out to be her absolute spitting image—as if she had spat me out herself. This was the exact reason Tokar routinely hurled vile insults at me whenever she pleased, claiming she doubted my true paternity. Those words shattered my heart completely. Suddenly, I heard her calling my name. I swiftly wiped the tears from my face, answered her, and lifted the door curtain. She glared at me and snapped, "Aren't you going to lay out my bedding tonight, or are your arrogant streaks flaring up again?" Suppressing my intense irritation, I replied, "You've been suffering from a severe cold and wiping mucus all day. This whole mess was caused by you insisting on sleeping outside under the moonlight. For God's sake, just be reasonable and sleep inside the room tonight, especially since it isn't even hot in town." "Absolutely not! I will not stay inside and suffocate myself in that cramped room! Since you don't feel the heat, you can go inside and sleep there. I am staying out here, do you hear me?!" Realizing it was pointless to argue, I got up, dragged her mattress out, and laid it out in the courtyard exactly as she demanded. She crawled over onto it, continuing her non-stop grumbling, still obsessing over her earlier argument with Iyami. I thought to myself: Whatever Iyami did to you, you brought it entirely upon yourself. Adjusting my hijab, I made my way toward the exit. She barked instantly, "Where do you think you're going at this hour?" Without turning to look at her, I replied, "I'm going to get some tea from Baba." She fell silent and rested her head back on the pillow. When I stepped out onto the street, it was bustling with various groups of youths, each attending to their own business. I welcomed the crowd, moving swiftly down the alley toward the very end of the line where my father's tea-vending stall was located. The moment I approached the stall, a taxi pulled up right in front of me, discharging its passenger. My heart skipped a violent beat. "Innalillahi wa'ina ilaihi raji'un!" I frantically prayed under my breath. Once I regained a modicum of composure, I kept repeating the prayer. I deliberately avoided casting a single glance in his direction, but I could clearly see the young men of the neighborhood swarming around him, enthusiastically shouting words of welcome. He possessed an extraordinary charm that made him incredibly popular among both men and women. My father was beaming from ear to ear, overwhelmed with pure joy. Bahago was his absolute favorite person; my father listened to him far more than he ever listened to his own biological children. I stepped up quickly and said, "Baba, please make me some tea and eggs." He looked at me and scolded, "Why didn't you send a child to fetch it, Jamila? Aren't you ashamed of roaming around outside at night?" I replied, "They've all fallen asleep." He fell silent, his entire attention instantly snapping back to Bahago, who was making his way through the crowd of youths to approach him. I turned my head away, a wave of bitter resentment washing over me. "Ali, aren't you afraid of traveling through the dead of night?" my father asked with a wide smile, completely abandoning his work. His entire countenance radiated pure adoration; one look at his eyes was enough to confirm the immense love he harbored for the boy. With a warm smile, Ali stepped forward and embraced him. "Baba, I hope I find you all in good health?" My father replied, "In perfect health, Aliyu. I pray you've returned safely with abundant blessings." He answered, "Praise be to God, Baba." At that moment, our eyes locked. I swiftly averted my gaze, keeping my face rigid and devoid of any warmth. He said absolutely nothing to me—a cold reception I fully expected anyway. He turned back to my father, dismissing the youth around him by telling them to meet him at the house tomorrow. The crowd dispersed, leaving only the three of us, along with an elderly man sitting quietly with a cup of tea, sipping it slowly. My father glared at me and barked, "Aren't you two going to greet each other? You're standing there as rigid as a statue!" This was the exact scenario I had been dreading; I knew my father would openly chastise me in front of him, as he never tolerated any slight against his favorite. I steeled my heart, looked in Ali's direction, and muttered a cold, "Welcome." That was all I could force out before turning my head away. He didn't bother to reply. Turning to my father, he said, "Baba, I'm heading inside the house to take a shower. Come inside when you're done." My father quickly replied, "No problem, Ali. May God bless you." Ali muttered an amen and walked right past me, brushing close as he exited. I let out a heavy sigh of relief once he was gone and said, "Baba, please assemble the tea. I am incredibly hungry." He remained dead silent, and when I looked at his face, I saw a deep cloud of worry. I thought to myself: And so, the friction between us begins once more. As he prepared the tea, he repeatedly hammered home the lecture that Bahago was my brother, and that if I wanted to see peace and happiness in the family, I had to honor our kinship and avoid anything that would shatter it. I merely offered hollow agreements until he finalized the order. I grabbed the package and headed back home, deeply contemplating how on earth I was supposed to accord him special elder respect when he was older than me by a mere ten hours. He was born in the morning around eight-thirty, while I was delivered at six o'clock that very evening. That minuscule age gap was the core reason we fought constantly. He possessed a savage demand for absolute authority and seniority over me, while I firmly maintained that he had no such right. Since we arrived on this earth on the exact same day, I saw absolutely no reason why I should bow down and let him trample over me. When I entered the courtyard, I found him lounging comfortably sprawled out right on top of my mattress in front of Tokar. A massive paper wrapping filled with skewered meat (tsire) sat between them, along with juice and water nearby. They were deep in conversation, laughing uproariously together. My blood boiled at the sight of him violating my bedding. Saying nothing, I walked into the room, grabbed a plate and a cup, and stepped back out. Noticing the mocking, loaded looks they were exchanging at my expense, my defenses immediately went up. I glared at him and demanded, "Get off my mattress right now." He fixed his eyes on me, his expression completely flat and unbothered. I raised my voice, "Did you not hear me?!" He let out a sharp hiss of disgust and sneered to Tokar, "No wonder a foul stench suddenly filled my nostrils! Let me get up before I catch lice from this bitter creature." I snapped back, "You useless, wretched thug! You filthy animal!" Tokar instantly jumped in, her face twisted in rage. "What is the meaning of these insults, Jamila?! I have warned you repeatedly to stop calling him a thug!" I shot back, "Whatever happens between him and me is entirely your fault! Why on earth did you let him sit on my bedding when you know he is my absolute worst enemy? He stands there hurling vile insults at me, and wallahi, I will match him blow for blow!" She opened her mouth to launch into a tirade, but he raised his hand to stop her. She went silent, watching me intently while chewing aggressively on the meat in her mouth. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You have called me that name one too many times. I swear to you, if you don't watch your step, I will completely ruin your life! I will turn you into a discarded, worthless object in this town. You ugly bastard! You will rot away just like this, because no man will ever dare take you off the market." I countered fiercely, "Say what you want, but I am no harlot, I don't abuse drugs, and I am certainly not a gang member like you!" He bolted to his feet instantly. I jumped back swiftly, knowing all too well that he was fully capable of launching a violent physical assault to harm me. Despite my desperate attempts to dodge him, he was too fast; he lunged forward, cornered me against the wall, and violently clamped his hand around my throat, choking me. With his other hand, he began frantically unbuckling the heavy leather belt wrapped around his waist to whip me. Seeing the impending danger, I gathered every ounce of my strength and drove my knee violently directly into his groin! The blow landed perfectly. Gasping for air, he instantly released his grip on my throat, stepping back as a look of absolute, shocked agony washed over his face. Panting heavily for breath, I glared at him and hissed, "Wallahi, before you ever manage to permanently scar me, I will destroy you first! I am your living doom!" Tokar immediately unleashed a piercing, dramatic scream of terror, wailing at the top of her lungs, "Jamila is his living doom! Are you trying to murder him right in front of me?!" She raised her voice to a deafening pitch, instantly piercing the quiet of the night and drawing the attention of the entire household, who came rushing out of their rooms to discover the cause of the violence.
Story Summary
The Conflict: The narrative centers on Jamila, a young woman living in Dukku, Gombe State, who is locked in a toxic, physically violent blood feud with her male relative, Bahago (Ali/Aliyu). The two were born on the exact same day, merely ten hours apart. Bahago aggressively demands absolute submission and respect based on his minor seniority, while Jamila fiercely rejects his authority. A past altercation resulted in Bahago knocking out two of Jamila's teeth, prompting her to vow physical revenge.
Family Dynamics: The household is heavily fractured due to the blatant favoritism of the paternal grandmother, Tokar. Tokar deeply despises Jamila's mother (a Yoruba woman who previously worked as a street vendor and eventually fled the toxic household) and consequently takes out her resentment on Jamila. Conversely, Tokar and Jamila's father (Danjuma/Danlami) openly worship Bahago, validating his abusive tendencies.
Climax of the Excerpt: After returning from a trip, Bahago is coddled by the neighborhood and his father. Upon returning to the house, he deliberately provokes Jamila by lounging on her personal mattress with Tokar. A explosive verbal argument quickly turns physical when Bahago corners Jamila and chokes her against a wall while attempting to unbuckle his belt to beat her. Jamila defends herself effectively by kneeing him hard in the groin, sending him into shock and causing Tokar to scream to the neighbors that Jamila is trying to commit murder.
Character Descriptions
Jamila: The protagonist and narrator. She is a tall, exceptionally broad-shouldered, and voluptuous young woman ("gabjejiya") who wears large hijabs to mask her striking curves. She is dark-skinned with beautifully aligned white teeth and bright eyes, inheriting her thick, glossy black hair and strong physical features entirely from her mother's side. She is resilient, possesses an iron will, refuses to back down from physical intimidation, and longs for marriage as a means of escaping her toxic family home.
Bahago (Ali / Aliyu): Jamila's fierce rival and blood relative. Born ten hours before her, he is a highly charismatic, popular young man in the neighborhood who is deeply favored by his father and grandmother. Behind closed doors, he is a volatile, arrogant bully who utilizes physical violence, choking, and weapons (like his belt) to enforce his perceived seniority over Jamila. He routinely weaponizes cruel insults regarding her physical appearance and lineage.
Tokar: The paternal grandmother of the household. She is an elderly, highly erratic, hygienic-challenged, and manipulative woman who is mostly bald except for a patch of coarse gray hair at the crown of her head. She is deeply biased, orchestrates internal family squawks, and utilizes theatrical weeping to frame Jamila as an abuser whenever her sons walk in. She harbors deep tribalistic prejudices against Jamila's maternal Yoruba heritage.
Kawu Sammani: Jamila's paternal uncle. He is a level-headed, peaceful man who recognizes his mother's (Tokar's) chaotic, manipulative antics. He attempts to mediate conflicts within the household neutrally and protects the family structure.
Baba Iyami: Jamila's mother or step-mother (referred to alternatively in connection to Danjuma). She provides meals for the family but faces relentless verbal abuse from Tokar regarding her housekeeping. She openly expresses a desire to abandon the marriage and return to her own family, staying strictly for the sake of her children.
GOMBE STATE
Waziri South Area, Dukku Local Government
MAFARI! (The Beginning!)
Chapters 1 & 2
The moment I heard Tokar talking about his return home, I completely lost my peace of mind. I knew right then that any semblance of joy and freedom in my life was gone until the day he departed again.
I do not know why we harbor such intense hatred for one another. I utterly despise him, even though we are bound by blood. The animosity between us is like that of a prophet and an infidel; we cannot stand each other, and whenever our paths cross, a violent clash is inevitable, like soldiers at war. He insults me, strips me of my dignity, and has even raised his hand to beat me. Although our physical strength is by no means equal, I always fight back fiercely. Refusing to take his abuse silently, I claw, scratch, and bite to defend myself, weeping all the while as I hurl insults back at him. He has drawn blood from my mouth more than once—in fact, he knocked out two of my teeth, though by God's grace, they were from the sides.
This is the exact reason I nurse an unyielding, burning resentment toward him. To this day, I stand by my vow: I will permanently damage a part of his body, just as he made me lose two of my teeth.
I sat alone, lost in an endless cycle of anxious thoughts. Just then, she came crawling out into the courtyard, muttering to herself as usual. Her mouth was never still; she was either talking to herself or constantly chewing on nothing, even when her mouth was completely empty.
I looked at her and scowled. I was acutely aware of the overwhelming affection she showered on him, and I knew she was about to approach me with her biased, selfish favoritism. I was in no mood to tolerate it.
She reached up and stroked her withered hair, which was completely overrun with gray and tangled like raw cotton. She only had hair left at the very crown of her head; the sides and the nape of her neck were completely bald and smooth, as though hair had never grown there. Yet, out of sheer spite and stubbornness, she forced me every single week to untangle, wash, and re-braid it for her.
Looking at me, she spoke in a sweet, clear voice that defied her advanced age. "Your enemy is returning, and is that why you've come out to sit in the courtyard looking so miserable? Tell me, Jamila, when on earth will you stop showing such bitter hatred toward your own brother...?"
I cut her off abruptly, raising my hand to silence her. "Look, Tokar, for God's sake, leave me out of any discussion regarding that thug! What do I care about his return? All I know is that if he dares cross into my business, I will humiliate him without mercy. Wallahi, I am completely done holding back."
She let out a sharp hiss of disgust, using a small splinter of wood to pick at the gaps and hollow caverns of her missing teeth. That was her perpetual habit—picking her teeth. "Well, you are both here now," she sneered. "Since you believe you can match his strength, by all means, go ahead."
My heart burned with rage, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Tokar, I don't understand why you always favor Bahago over me, especially since you are the paternal grandmother to both of us! He knocked out two of my teeth right in front of your eyes, yet none of you took any action. Even his mother has never said a word to this day. Is it because my father is quiet, patient, and keeps his peace that you choose to treat us with such blatant discrimination? Tokar, I realized a long time ago that you don't care for me, simply because you despise my mother—despite all the immense care and love my father shows you."
As I spoke, hot tears streamed down my face. I pressed on, "Whenever I speak up or try to defend my rights, I am labeled as disrespectful and undisciplined! How exactly do you want me to live my life? Tokar, let me warn you again, wallahi, you had better warn him to keep his distance from me. I won't interfere with him, so he must not interfere with me. If he acts like a brute, I will show him what I am made of! I am fully capable of matching his violence, even if it means a fight to the death between us!"
She remained completely unbothered, staring at me coolly while continuing to pick at her gums with the splinter, even though she had no more than five teeth left in her entire mouth. She picked at them constantly until they were stained bright red from her perpetual betel nut chewing.
Seeing her eyes fixed intently on me, I bolted upright to leave the area, my heart feeling as though it would split open from sheer rage. Before I could step into the room, Kawu Sammani entered the house, just returning from the market with a patterned plastic shopping bag. The moment he appeared, Tokar suddenly burst into theatrical tears, wailing, "Jamila, I am utterly exhausted by your wickedness! You just stand over me, unleashing a torrent of abuse! You want to kill me, don't you? Well, it is in God's hands, not yours! I won't die until my appointed time is up!" She finalized her dramatic speech by wiping her running nose with her bare hand.
I paid no attention to her theatrics. I knew she was entirely capable of doing worse, and she only put on this performance because her son had just walked in. This was precisely why the house was always in a state of chaos; she herself orchestrated the conflicts. She had given birth to three children—our parents—but she openly segregated them, favoring certain corporate lines and treating their children, especially Bahago, like precious gems she wished she could carry on her back forever.
Kawu Sammani knew his mother’s true nature all too well. He simply shook his head and looked at me as I stood pressed against the wall, bracing myself for whatever judgment he would pass.
In a gentle, peaceful tone, he asked, "What did you do to her?"
In a subdued voice, I replied, "I didn't do anything to her."
Tokar shrieked, "For your father's sake, are you calling me a liar?!"
I remained silent, determined not to let the argument escalate further.
He looked at his mother as she continued to foam at the mouth and throw a tantrum, all on behalf of Bahago. He said, "Tokar, that's enough. Please have patience and let the matter drop. In sha Allah, when he returns, I will sit them down and reconcile them properly."
She spat back, "Even if you sit them down, this girl with the giant build of the ancient Samud people won't listen to a word you say, because she possesses a dark, unforgiving heart like an infidel! If it isn't pure wickedness, how can she hold a grudge against the very provider who braves the wind and rain to bring home what she eats? She even has the audacity to call him a thug! Those words cut me deeply." She finished by once again wiping the mucus streaming down her nose. She had been suffering from a severe cold for over two weeks but adamantly refused to take any medicine, nor would she stop sleeping outside under the open moonlight. Her children constantly struggled with her because she was deeply erratic and difficult, yet they all pampered her just to maintain a fragile peace.
Kawu Sammani said nothing more. He set down the bag of juice and bananas he had bought for her and headed to his own section of the house, privately marvelling at his mother’s chaotic nature. This was their daily struggle with her; their only wish was to live out their days with her without a major fallout.
I watched her scratch at her nose. She then dug out a thick glob of mucus and smeared it directly onto the wall. Afterward, she pulled the bag of juice toward herself, extracted one pack along with a banana, and extended them to me. I shook my head, my face contorted in deep disgust. Muttering under my breath, I murmured, "Tokar, I washed my hands of eating anything from your fingers a long time ago. In fact, if I see you trying to give a gift to anyone while I'm around, I'll stop them from accepting it."
The woman constantly had her fingers shoved up her nose. Furthermore, whenever she used the toilet, she insisted on washing herself, but due to her lack of capability, her hands would end up heavily stained. Whenever I offered to help clean her, she would violently reject it, claiming that God protects her modesty and I had no right to see her nakedness. Her daughters-in-law faced a nightmare dealing with her; she barely allowed them to bathe her, often going two to three weeks without a wash. Despite all this, she was remarkably diligent about her prayers; the moment it was time, she would drag her body to perform ablution. However, she could not differentiate directions—she would face any random corner to pray. If anyone corrected her, she would simply snap, "God is everywhere!"
She glanced at me and asked, "What did you say?"
I quickly shook my head. "Nothing. Enjoy your treats, thank you."
She pressed her lips together and muttered, "You've only cheated yourself, you miserable, dark-hearted creature." Without offering another word, I picked up a plastic kettle (buta) and headed into the restroom to attend to my needs.
When I emerged, I found that Baba Iyami had brought us our dinner in a large covered dish. She routinely provided our night meals, while Baba Hama, Kawu Sammani’s wife, provided our lunches. In the mornings, my father would give us money for porridge and bean cakes (kunu da kosai), or if he went out early to his business, he would send back tea, bread, and even fried egg cakes, since that was his trade.
"Iyami, what kind of wickedness is this, serving us dry grain couscous (dambu) at night? And look at this, there isn't even a decent amount of moringa leaves or groundnut oil! You were given ample housekeeping money; did you skimp on the market expenses?!" Tokar yelled, turning the dambu over aggressively as if she were about to dump it on the floor.
Baba Iyami’s heart burned with anger, but she suppressed it. Choosing to say nothing, she turned to head back to her quarters. Tokar raised her voice further, shouting after her, "Danjuma is making good money now, and he's going to marry a new wife! Because you are clearly not a supportive wife who protects a man's dignity!"
Hearing those words, even I felt a flash of deep anger. I paused my ablutions and stood staring at Tokar, thoroughly incensed.
Iyami spun around and countered, "Tokar, so what if Danjuma gets married? For God's sake, marry a thousand wives off to him for all I care! I only remain in this house because of my children. If I didn't have anyone to anchor me here, wallahi, I would have packed my bags and left a long time ago. Who needs a marriage like this anyway?"
When a mouth knows what to spew, it rarely anticipates the sharp retort it will receive. Tokar was deeply stung by Iyami's fierce clapback. She burst into hysterical tears, throwing a massive tantrum and accusing Iyami of utterly humiliating and insulting her entire lineage.
I stepped in and said, "Baba Iyami, for God's sake, please just drop it and go back to your room. You know exactly what she is like; you two could exchange words all night and it wouldn't bother her at all, even as she tears her own family apart without realizing it."
With a trembling voice, Iyami replied, "Jamila, I am just completely sick and tired of the constant humiliation, wallahi! Is Danjuma the only man on earth? I can easily dust off my children and walk right back to my family home; I didn't just fall from the sky." I urged her, "Please just have patience and don't utter another word to her."
She didn't speak further and retreated to her section. I picked up the kettle to complete my ablutions as intended, only to hear Tokar turn her wrath on me. "Jamila, so you stood right there, listening to Iyami insult me and drag my entire lineage, and your only response was to calm her down?! You two are clearly in collusion to humiliate me, aren't you? I've harbored doubts about your bloodline for a very long time anyway. That mother of yours hawked goods on the streets until she was thoroughly exhausted before Danlami finally married her. If it weren't for pure misfortune and an evil destiny, why would a Fulani man mix his pure bloodline with a completely different tribe like a Yoruba woman (Bayerabe)? Since you've taken her side, it proves beyond a doubt that you don't carry a single drop of my blood!"
I offered absolutely no response, letting her exhaust her vitriol until she finally fell silent. I walked right past her into the room, grabbed my prayer mat and hijab, and came back out. Spreading the mat calmly in a quiet corner, I raised my hands and commenced my prayers.
Chapter 3 & 4
During my final prostration, a dam broke, and I burst into deep, uncontrollable tears. From the moment I had commenced the prayer, I had tried desperately to suppress the weeping, but I failed. Realizing I was in direct communion with my Creator, I poured my heart out completely, weeping intensely as I begged Allah to resolve the overwhelming trials I was facing and grant me a beautiful, righteous path forward. Deep down, a profound longing for marriage swelled within me—if only to find an escape and absolute peace in my life. I found absolutely no joy living in this household, entirely due to the savage abuse Bahago subjected me to, compounded heavily by Tokar, who launched vicious assaults on my dignity and my mother's honor whenever the mood struck her. My mother had long since fled the household, abandoning it entirely due to the sheer terror and lack of peace.
I lay down on the prayer mat, deeply analyzing my life. From my childhood up to my current status as a full-grown young woman, not a single man had ever uttered a word of love to me. I firmly believed there was only one reason men avoided me: a total lack of beauty. To be completely honest, I knew I did not possess a beautiful face. I was dark-skinned, though my teeth were perfectly white and beautifully aligned, which was quite striking. I also possessed medium-sized, bright eyes.
I, Jamila, was physically massive—exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and heavily built. Every part of my body was intensely filled out, particularly my chest and my hips. People mistakenly viewed this as a sign of obesity, but that was not the case; it was simply a matter of immensely wide hips, a prominent backside, and a naturally voluptuous frame, which made me look incredibly imposing.
Because of this build, I never wore simple shawls when going out; I strictly wore large hijabs. Yet, even through the heavy fabric, the dramatic curves of my body remained entirely obvious.
I had inherited absolutely none of my father’s physical traits. His entire lineage consists of pure-blooded Fulani people, which made them exceptionally fair-skinned. Tokar herself was so startlingly fair that it caught the eye, a trait she retained even in her old age. The only thing I inherited from that side of the family was the hair on my head. My head was thick with an abundant, pitch-black mane that was incredibly smooth and glossy. My mother possessed incredibly strong physical genes, which was why I turned out to be her absolute spitting image—as if she had spat me out herself. This was the exact reason Tokar routinely hurled vile insults at me whenever she pleased, claiming she doubted my true paternity. Those words shattered my heart completely.
Suddenly, I heard her calling my name. I swiftly wiped the tears from my face, answered her, and lifted the door curtain. She glared at me and snapped, "Aren't you going to lay out my bedding tonight, or are your arrogant streaks flaring up again?"
Suppressing my intense irritation, I replied, "You've been suffering from a severe cold and wiping mucus all day. This whole mess was caused by you insisting on sleeping outside under the moonlight. For God's sake, just be reasonable and sleep inside the room tonight, especially since it isn't even hot in town."
"Absolutely not! I will not stay inside and suffocate myself in that cramped room! Since you don't feel the heat, you can go inside and sleep there. I am staying out here, do you hear me?!"
Realizing it was pointless to argue, I got up, dragged her mattress out, and laid it out in the courtyard exactly as she demanded. She crawled over onto it, continuing her non-stop grumbling, still obsessing over her earlier argument with Iyami. I thought to myself: Whatever Iyami did to you, you brought it entirely upon yourself.
Adjusting my hijab, I made my way toward the exit. She barked instantly, "Where do you think you're going at this hour?" Without turning to look at her, I replied, "I'm going to get some tea from Baba." She fell silent and rested her head back on the pillow.
When I stepped out onto the street, it was bustling with various groups of youths, each attending to their own business. I welcomed the crowd, moving swiftly down the alley toward the very end of the line where my father's tea-vending stall was located.
The moment I approached the stall, a taxi pulled up right in front of me, discharging its passenger. My heart skipped a violent beat. "Innalillahi wa'ina ilaihi raji'un!" I frantically prayed under my breath. Once I regained a modicum of composure, I kept repeating the prayer. I deliberately avoided casting a single glance in his direction, but I could clearly see the young men of the neighborhood swarming around him, enthusiastically shouting words of welcome. He possessed an extraordinary charm that made him incredibly popular among both men and women.
My father was beaming from ear to ear, overwhelmed with pure joy. Bahago was his absolute favorite person; my father listened to him far more than he ever listened to his own biological children. I stepped up quickly and said, "Baba, please make me some tea and eggs."
He looked at me and scolded, "Why didn't you send a child to fetch it, Jamila? Aren't you ashamed of roaming around outside at night?" I replied, "They've all fallen asleep." He fell silent, his entire attention instantly snapping back to Bahago, who was making his way through the crowd of youths to approach him. I turned my head away, a wave of bitter resentment washing over me.
"Ali, aren't you afraid of traveling through the dead of night?" my father asked with a wide smile, completely abandoning his work. His entire countenance radiated pure adoration; one look at his eyes was enough to confirm the immense love he harbored for the boy.
With a warm smile, Ali stepped forward and embraced him. "Baba, I hope I find you all in good health?" My father replied, "In perfect health, Aliyu. I pray you've returned safely with abundant blessings." He answered, "Praise be to God, Baba." At that moment, our eyes locked. I swiftly averted my gaze, keeping my face rigid and devoid of any warmth.
He said absolutely nothing to me—a cold reception I fully expected anyway. He turned back to my father, dismissing the youth around him by telling them to meet him at the house tomorrow. The crowd dispersed, leaving only the three of us, along with an elderly man sitting quietly with a cup of tea, sipping it slowly.
My father glared at me and barked, "Aren't you two going to greet each other? You're standing there as rigid as a statue!" This was the exact scenario I had been dreading; I knew my father would openly chastise me in front of him, as he never tolerated any slight against his favorite. I steeled my heart, looked in Ali's direction, and muttered a cold, "Welcome." That was all I could force out before turning my head away. He didn't bother to reply. Turning to my father, he said, "Baba, I'm heading inside the house to take a shower. Come inside when you're done." My father quickly replied, "No problem, Ali. May God bless you." Ali muttered an amen and walked right past me, brushing close as he exited.
I let out a heavy sigh of relief once he was gone and said, "Baba, please assemble the tea. I am incredibly hungry." He remained dead silent, and when I looked at his face, I saw a deep cloud of worry. I thought to myself: And so, the friction between us begins once more.
As he prepared the tea, he repeatedly hammered home the lecture that Bahago was my brother, and that if I wanted to see peace and happiness in the family, I had to honor our kinship and avoid anything that would shatter it. I merely offered hollow agreements until he finalized the order. I grabbed the package and headed back home, deeply contemplating how on earth I was supposed to accord him special elder respect when he was older than me by a mere ten hours. He was born in the morning around eight-thirty, while I was delivered at six o'clock that very evening.
That minuscule age gap was the core reason we fought constantly. He possessed a savage demand for absolute authority and seniority over me, while I firmly maintained that he had no such right. Since we arrived on this earth on the exact same day, I saw absolutely no reason why I should bow down and let him trample over me.
When I entered the courtyard, I found him lounging comfortably sprawled out right on top of my mattress in front of Tokar. A massive paper wrapping filled with skewered meat (tsire) sat between them, along with juice and water nearby. They were deep in conversation, laughing uproariously together.
My blood boiled at the sight of him violating my bedding. Saying nothing, I walked into the room, grabbed a plate and a cup, and stepped back out. Noticing the mocking, loaded looks they were exchanging at my expense, my defenses immediately went up. I glared at him and demanded, "Get off my mattress right now."
He fixed his eyes on me, his expression completely flat and unbothered.
I raised my voice, "Did you not hear me?!"
He let out a sharp hiss of disgust and sneered to Tokar, "No wonder a foul stench suddenly filled my nostrils! Let me get up before I catch lice from this bitter creature."
I snapped back, "You useless, wretched thug! You filthy animal!"
Tokar instantly jumped in, her face twisted in rage. "What is the meaning of these insults, Jamila?! I have warned you repeatedly to stop calling him a thug!"
I shot back, "Whatever happens between him and me is entirely your fault! Why on earth did you let him sit on my bedding when you know he is my absolute worst enemy? He stands there hurling vile insults at me, and wallahi, I will match him blow for blow!"
She opened her mouth to launch into a tirade, but he raised his hand to stop her. She went silent, watching me intently while chewing aggressively on the meat in her mouth.
He looked at me, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You have called me that name one too many times. I swear to you, if you don't watch your step, I will completely ruin your life! I will turn you into a discarded, worthless object in this town. You ugly bastard! You will rot away just like this, because no man will ever dare take you off the market."
I countered fiercely, "Say what you want, but I am no harlot, I don't abuse drugs, and I am certainly not a gang member like you!"
He bolted to his feet instantly. I jumped back swiftly, knowing all too well that he was fully capable of launching a violent physical assault to harm me. Despite my desperate attempts to dodge him, he was too fast; he lunged forward, cornered me against the wall, and violently clamped his hand around my throat, choking me.
With his other hand, he began frantically unbuckling the heavy leather belt wrapped around his waist to whip me. Seeing the impending danger, I gathered every ounce of my strength and drove my knee violently directly into his groin!
The blow landed perfectly. Gasping for air, he instantly released his grip on my throat, stepping back as a look of absolute, shocked agony washed over his face.
Panting heavily for breath, I glared at him and hissed, "Wallahi, before you ever manage to permanently scar me, I will destroy you first! I am your living doom!"
Tokar immediately unleashed a piercing, dramatic scream of terror, wailing at the top of her lungs, "Jamila is his living doom! Are you trying to murder him right in front of me?!" She raised her voice to a deafening pitch, instantly piercing the quiet of the night and drawing the attention of the entire household, who came rushing out of their rooms to discover the cause of the violence.
Story Summary
Climax of the Excerpt: After returning from a trip, Bahago is coddled by the neighborhood and his father. Upon returning to the house, he deliberately provokes Jamila by lounging on her personal mattress with Tokar. A explosive verbal argument quickly turns physical when Bahago corners Jamila and chokes her against a wall while attempting to unbuckle his belt to beat her. Jamila defends herself effectively by kneeing him hard in the groin, sending him into shock and causing Tokar to scream to the neighbors that Jamila is trying to commit murder.
Character Descriptions