FreeFreeDescription
The Climax of Confrontation
...was walking away, and it was Aunt Nabeelah’s name. He raised his hand and slapped her across the face, then slapped her again.
“Is Nabeelah your peer? She is my elder sister from the exact same mother and father!”
He narrowed his eyes, giving her a look she had never seen before in his pupils.
“Are you delivering this message to my own mother, Lubabatu? The mother who brought me into this world, whom I became so preoccupied with serving you that I forgot about her, yet she never once complained about you. But as for me, just because I entered into a marriage that none of them forced me into? Well, I want you to know that I married Asma’u because I love her, not because any of them shoved her down my throat. As for you, I married you back then to protect myself from fornication, but from the very beginning, it was Asma’u I loved, though she wasn't of marriageable age at the time I was ready. Hope this information is enough and clear, so you can decide whether you can continue staying with me or not?”
Lubabatu gave him a vacant, foolish look. “Where would I go? Our marriage is like a chicken's shoe [meaningless to discard]. If that’s what everyone wants—for me to leave so I can stop being a thorn in their flesh—well, I am going nowhere. I am staying right here, locked in. This is a war for self-liberation; if anyone is strong enough, let them try to snatch Maccido away from me. Don’t think it’s love that will keep me here. I will stay strictly to deny you peace of mind and to make your lives miserable, just as you have made mine miserable…”
He flashed a smile typical of men who thoroughly know themselves.
“Useless, empty threats. You said the love is over, right?” he said, stepping deliberately toward where she stood. She immediately recognized what he was intending to do, an act that would instantly shatter her false bravado. Swiftly, she ducked right under his arm and bolted from the room, crying. Attahir smiled to himself and raised his voice so she could hear him.
“I really wanted you to stand your ground so we could sort the wheat from the chaff, so we could pinpoint exactly where the death of this love began. You only survived today out of respect for the two children you bore me. By Allah, today I would have swollen that jaw of yours that treats my elder sister with such disrespect.”
From that day onward, the house completely imploded, turning into a miniature war zone. Lubabatu denied him peace of mind for even a single second. She destroyed his personal belongings, smashed the television screens, broke the window panes, and acted entirely like a newly unhinged madwoman. She completely abandoned her own children; everything regarding them fell entirely into the hands of their nanny. If he wanted to eat, he had to buy food outside and eat it there if he wanted it to properly digest.
A mountain of responsibilities piled up and overwhelmed Attahir: managing his mall, overseeing the Maccido Plaza project, taking care of his children upon returning home, and facing an immense workload at the office. To make matters more overwhelming, it was during this exact period that Julius Berger Nigeria promoted him to construction manager. He realized that if he continued living with Lubabatu under these conditions, stress would one day collapse him. Consequently, he explained the entire situation to her elder brother, Usman, who wasted no time in passing the matter directly to their father.
Lubabatu had just concluded her latest act of malice for the day—having fetched buckets of water and poured them directly onto Attahir’s bed. As she stepped out to return to her room, she caught the sound of her father and her brother Usman greeting the house.
The moment she saw them, her heart dropped into her stomach, because she knew her father never visited his children's homes. Her instincts accurately whispered that Attahir had reached his breaking point and had reported her. Sure enough, Usman pulled a thick, heavy cane out of a plastic bag and handed it to their father. She tried to bolt, but Usman pinned her down. Her father gave her a merciless, brutal beating, lashing her thoroughly across her body until her skin was covered in raised welts. He then barked a stern warning at her: if she pushed Attahir to the wall and he divorced her, she must never dare set foot near his house again.
From that moment on, Maccido gained a temporary reprieve from Lubabatu. However, she completely withdrew from his life, treating him like a non-entity within the house. She went as far as severing her maternal connection with her children, leaving them entirely to the nanny.
Because of this, the house felt like a prison to him. He prayed daily for a window of relief to escape to Sokoto. On my end, he wasn't receiving much communication or attention via phone either, because I was trapped there dealing with my own intense struggles—imagine a very difficult, grueling morning sickness. Muhsin’s joke was right: his elder brother is a sharp shooter. Ultimately, I moved into Adda’s bedroom permanently, especially since Aunt Nabeelah had long since returned to Lebanon.
Before Nabeelah left, she recounted to us the highly insulting phone call Lubabatu had made to her. Even though Maccido apologized profusely on her behalf, Adda advised Nabeelah to ignore her, noting that blind, toxic jealousy was consuming her, causing her to vent her frustrations on innocent bystanders.
Refuge in Sokoto
One Friday, he finally found a clearing in his heavy work schedule. He instructed the nanny, Maria, to pack all the children’s belongings into their large travel trolley. While Lubabatu was locked away in her room plotting malice over the phone with her friends, he packed the children and drove them straight to Sokoto without her knowledge.
She didn’t realize they were missing until late in the evening. Realizing how quiet the house had become—since even if she chose to ignore them, the children would usually burst into her room—she yelled out for Maria to come.
“Where are the children? I haven't heard a sound from them.”
Maria replied, “Oga packed them into the car and left with them since morning. They haven't returned, and he cleared out all their belongings.”
Lubabatu went completely feral on Maria. She slapped Maria left and right, screaming at her for failing to inform her immediately, letting her own biological children be stolen away and delivered straight to her enemies. She terminated Maria's employment on the spot.
A token of appreciation to Takori's Lounge and Takorites
Sumayyah Abdulqadir Takori
SOKOTO
Ihsan led the way, followed closely by Ahsan, with their father bringing up the rear. They voiced their greetings at the entrance of Adda’s room. I was sitting right in the center of Adda’s bed, spread out comfortably and eating toasted corn grains (gugguru). Simultaneously, Adda and I looked toward the door to see who was entering.
I caught one glance of Yaya Maccido and found myself completely unable to avert my eyes. He had lost an immense amount of weight and looked completely darkened by exhaustion—a man who, just three months prior, looked so radiant that if you pinched his skin, blood would seemingly burst out.
I opened my arms to Ihsan, calling her name, while Adda reached out to carry Ahsan. Adda's joy was impossible to hide. It reaffirmed her deep conviction that Allah is indeed Sami’ud-Du’a (The Hearer of Prayers), having restored her biological Maccido to her, who for a long time had not looked like himself.
The children initially buried themselves against their father's body, indicating that they weren't familiar with us. Using a bit of cleverness, chocolates, and popcorn, I managed to coax Ihsan to come close to me. I pulled her tightly against my body, my heart feeling as fragile as paper. Today, I felt I had nothing left with which to repay Yaya Maccido for his love. As for Ahsan, when Adda pressed forward to lift him, he burst into tears, wailing for his mother.
Yaya looked down and said, “Ahsan, my mum? Won't you go to my mother?”
Adda got up and immediately began attending to them. She first brewed them a rich, thick tea before filling the space before them with a healthy, delicious meal. I had personally cooked this meal for Yaya because he had called ahead to say he was on his way, though he deliberately hid the fact that he was traveling with the kids. He said he wanted to give everyone a surprise.
Hawwa had been sent by Adda to thoroughly clean and arrange our matrimonial section of the house long before Yaya arrived, as Adda refused to let me do any strenuous domestic work. As for the cooking, because it was specifically for Yaya Maccido, she allowed me to handle it myself.
Yaya Maccido and Adda sat conversing happily and cheerfully. I took Ihsan by the hand and carried Ahsan, who was finally beginning to warm up to the environment. I said, “Adda, we are going to take a bath. Please have Hawwa bring their clothing bag to my room.”
Adda replied, “Make sure you bring them right back to me after the bath! Tonight, my shoulders will serve as their pillows; they are sleeping right here with me. Go and attend to your husband who traveled all this way to see you. Are you claiming you want to play nanny tonight? Who, then, will cater to his own care?”
Blushing intensely, I quickly exited the room with the children.
In the living room, we crossed paths with Muhsin, who joked, “Wow, today there will surely be a storm of rain and hail! Are those actually Abuja children in our house?”
I replied, “Well, here they are, take a good look at them. Go out and buy diapers for them.”
I gave them a warm bath while Ihsan chatted away happily. Ahsan couldn't speak very fluently yet. Hawwa brought me their clothes, and I dressed them and neatly brushed Ihsan's hair until they looked pristine and incredibly beautiful. As I sat conversing with Ihsan, sleep completely overtook them both while they were resting against my body.
A Matrimonial Safe Haven
It was in this peaceful state that Yaya Maccido found us. He stood right at the doorway, anchoring his gaze upon me with an incredibly soft, tender look. He signaled me with his hand, gesturing for me to come to him. I gestured back toward the sleeping children pinned to my body. He walked over, gently lifting both of them onto his shoulders, speaking in a hushed, low voice so as not to wake them:
“This is cheating!”
I whispered, “Please, Yaya, let them spend the night sleeping with us.”
The sharp glare he shot my way made it abundantly clear that I was simply wasting my breath.
He delivered them safely to Adda and returned. Before he could even finish what he was doing in the living room, I prepared his bath, infusing the warm water with his favorite cologne, Desire by Dunhill.
Later, as we lay intricately wrapped up in each other's arms after our marital matters had completely settled into harmony, I reached my hand into Attahir’s thick hair, gently running my fingers through it. In a voice heavy with underlying concern, I said:
“Yaya, you have lost so much weight, and at the same time, you've grown dark.”
With his eyes blissfully closed, he replied, “You should be glad they didn't deliver my corpse to you instead. Lubabatu did everything short of actually killing me. If this is what women's jealousy looks like, may Allah curse it. This is insane. To think that on the day I would bring home a co-wife for you, you too might have stopped loving me?”
He guided my hand toward the raised ridge of a surgical stitching at the base of his head.
Deeply alarmed, I asked, “What on earth is this?”
He replied, “This is part of the physical punishment I received for daring to take a second wife.”
Filled with intense pity, I said, “Yaya, women's jealousy manifests in various ways. I could never hurt you like this just because you took another wife. I might get upset with you for the time being and refuse to speak to you, but I can never ever hurt or insult you…”
Yaya Maccido pulled me deeply into his frame, wrapping his arms tightly around me.
“Moreover, Asma’u, I wouldn't even have done it. If I had been blessed with you first, I would never have married a second wife. You are more than enough to every husband. I only endured and continued staying with Lubabatu out of respect for those children, trapped in a toxic, nightmarish environment. I wouldn't wish a wife like her upon even my worst enemy.”
Deep pity for Yaya washed over me; I knew that by his very nature, he deeply detested chaos. I began kissing him lightly, doing everything in my power to make him forget the bitter anguish in his heart. From that moment on, we forgot about the world, focusing entirely on how to please one another. Every time he came to me, it felt as fresh and intense as though we had never been intimate before. Our love felt as though it was being constantly watered, sprouting new roots and expanding its branches.
Gradually, my heart became entirely helpless under the weight of my love for my husband, Attahir—a love whose boundaries I could not fathom. Yaya left Ihsan and Ahsan behind in our care, and I took meticulous care of the children. Within two days, they adapted completely and relaxed around us. Muhsin would take them out, and upon returning, he would buy them ice cream; consequently, they attached themselves to him instantly. They began calling me "Aunty" and calling Adda "Granny," exactly as Muhsin had taught them.
Al-Qaseem arrived to inform Adda that he had found a woman to marry, and that they would soon go to formally seek her hand—she was a native of Zamfara State. Adda stated that once the date for the visit was finalized, he must let her know, as she intended to go, by Allah's grace.
The Return to Abuja
Exhausted, Attahir arrived back at his Abuja residence. Carrying his suit vest in one hand and his MacBook bag in the other, he stepped out of his car, locked it, and walked inside.
Since returning the previous night, he had not crossed paths with his senior wife. She was completely unaware of when he had arrived, and early this morning, before she could even emerge from her quarters, he had already left for the office. The moment he walked in now, he was instantly confronted with her face as she sat squarely in the center of the three-seater couch.
He cast a single glance at her and looked away, completely marveled at how this once-elegant, high-maintenance woman—the "wash-your-hands-before-touching-her" Lubabatu—had transformed into someone who looked like she had just been released from an iron stock. She had darkened intensely and emaciated drastically, looking like a ghost of her former self. He recognized the clothes she was wearing as the exact same outfit she had on the day he left for Sokoto. For the very first time, a flicker of raw pity stirred in his chest. He bypassed her, walking straight toward his bedroom without uttering a word.
Entering the room, he stood by the bed and began loosening his necktie. Suddenly, the bedroom door was violently kicked open, and she burst in as though she had been hurled by a catapult. Startled, he turned around, and their eyes locked. In a harsh, grating voice, she demanded:
“Attahir, where did you take my children?”
He turned fully, staring into her eyes for a moment, before turning his back to continue what he was doing. This cold indifference infuriated her further—the fact that he acted as though she wasn't even speaking. She marched up to him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and shook him violently in a state of utter hysteria.
“By Allah, you will either give me back my children or the law will tear us apart!”
Trying hard to control his temper, he barked, “Release me, Lubabatu, while we still respect each other. I do not want a tragic impulse to make me lay my hands on you again. If it isn't an honorable purpose that brought you here, don't you dare ever step foot into my bedroom again.”
Lubabatu released her grip upon seeing the look in his eyes, realizing he fully meant every word. She sank to the floor right in front of him, bursting into a hysterical, earth-shattering wail, screaming:
“Is this what it has come down to between me and you today, Tahir? All because you married a girl from your own family? Have you forgotten all the love I showered upon you? Is this my reward for the agony of pregnancy and childbirth that I endured for you? What on earth did you find in that girl's body that exceeds what I possess? Did my love for you from back when you had absolutely nothing deserve this betrayal? What did I ever do to you in life except love and cherish you to warrant this cruel repayment?”
She continued weeping bitterly, her actions demonstrating that everything was beginning to dry up—her strategies, her pride, her aggression, and her chaotic energy were entirely spent. Looking at the man standing before her, she recognized that this was a completely new Attahir, not the compliant husband she had dominated, subdued, and controlled for five years.
It is said that the hidden realities between a husband and wife are known only to Allah. He unexpectedly found his heart softening with pity for her. He knew that Lubabatu genuinely loved him, and it was this erratic love that drove her manic behavior—convinced in her madness that this chaos would claw back the husband she had lost. He did love Lubabatu, for it was love that drove him to marry her initially; but whenever he recalled how she systematically severed his ties with every single member of his family from the moment they wed, she became utterly repulsive in his eyes.
He took her by the hand, lifted her up, and guided her to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. A sour, stale, unwashed odor emanating from her body forcefully hit his nostrils. Swallowing hard with difficulty, he said, “Lubabatu, is this really you? When was the last time you took a bath? Now, I will not have any discussion with you until you go take a bath, spray some perfume, and then return so we can talk. But anchor this firmly in your mind: Asma’u has already become an inseparable part of me. You must accept this reality if you want us to have a meaningful, understanding conversation.”
His words only served to infuriate Lubabatu further. To think that today, Attahir was telling her she smelled bad—all because he married a primitive girl from his village! What could that unexposed village girl possibly teach her? However, deep down, she knew she was indeed unwashed; she couldn't even remember the last time she took a shower.
With a heavy, sluggish body, she stood up and obeyed his command. The moment she exited, he whipped his phone out of his trousers pocket. On the very first ring, I answered, and he said:
“Asma’u, shouldn't you have checked on me to see if I arrived home safely?”
Lowering my voice gently, I replied, “Oh, my dear Yaya. Ahsan dropped my phone directly into a bucket of water, claiming he wanted to wash it for me. Muhsin barely managed to get it repaired just now. But you know you are always on my mind, right? My prayer during every single mandatory salah is for Allah to protect you wherever you are.”
Attahir closed his eyes, my voice instantly melting away his tension. He said, “Thank you for this prayer, my Asma’u. Hope my soldier is kicking very well, and I hope Ahsan and Ihsan aren't stressing him out? I’m missing you terribly… when I say I miss you, I mean it in every single sense of the word…”
Blushing, I replied, “Thank you, my Yaya. You know that when I say I LOVE YOU, it isn't even enough to express the depth of my feelings…”
Maccido tilted his head up, only to find Lubabatu standing directly over him, panting heavily with rage like a python. Before he could even react, she snatched the phone violently from his hand and smashed it fiercely against the floor. By Allah, his genuine intention was to forge a peaceful truce with her tonight to cool her heart down, but this explosive act of destruction completely pushed him over the edge. He raised his hand to land a violent slap on her face, but quickly caught himself. He physically pinned his right hand down with his left, walking away to sit on the far edge of the bed.
“Get out of my room before I have you thrown out in a wheelbarrow this instant. We didn't pool our money together to build this bedroom.”
She let out a long, loud hiss of contempt, turning on her heel as she spat: “Useless nonsense! What a complete disgrace, by Allah. A village sister whom everyone mocked and looked down upon for years, and today you are lowering your dignity and acting like a randy goat screaming I love you to her. A girl who doesn't even possess a proper physical shape, a cheap parasite living off charity. By Allah, Attahir, you have completely fallen, and you carry no weight anymore.”
Seeing him spring to his feet to charge at her, she bolted from the room at full speed, slamming her bedroom door tightly behind her.
This was the reality of the life between Yaya and his Lubabatu. Whenever matters appeared to be on the verge of stabilizing, he would accidentally trigger something that sent her spiraling back into madness. Everything he did regarding Asma’u wasn't intentionally done to mock or provoke Lubabatu; rather, he genuinely couldn't control how he turned into an absolute Romeo whenever he was on the phone with Asma’u. Lubabatu, on her part, was addicted to eavesdropping—she couldn't tolerate hearing his tender words, yet she couldn't stop herself from pressing her ear against the door for every single call he made, even when he wasn't calling Asma’u.
He was frequently left in utter amazement, often muttering to himself: “Lubabatu, is this who you truly are? So you were an absolute demon disguised all along? Was a co-wife ever a anomaly in this world? You can go ahead and kill yourself if you wish, but Asma’u is entering this house. Your tantrums, your dramas, your malice, and your insanity will change absolutely nothing, and will prevent absolutely nothing.”
2. Updated Story Summary
This segment advances the intense domestic warfare within the polygamous household of Yaya Maccido (Attahir), exposing the explosive collapse of his marriage to his senior wife, Lubabatu, following his marriage to his younger cousin, Asma’u (Ma’u).
Lubabatu, who historically dominated and controlled Attahir during their first five years of marriage, spirals into toxic, self-destructive jealousy. After she insults Attahir's family, he slaps her and explicitly states that his second marriage is rooted in genuine love, whereas his marriage to her was merely an act of self-preservation. In revenge, Lubabatu turns their Abuja home into a literal war zone—breaking windows, smashing electronics, abandoning her children (Ihsan and Ahsan), and eventually pouring buckets of water onto Attahir's bed. This erratic behavior forces Attahir's own father and brother to step in, subjecting Lubabatu to a brutal physical beating and warning her against forcing a divorce.
Seeking an escape from this domestic prison, Attahir secretly packs his children's belongings and flees to his family home in Sokoto. There, he finds a safe haven with his mother (Adda Kilishi), his younger brother (Muhsin), and a pregnant, deeply affectionate Asma’u, who is struggling with severe morning sickness. The narrative highlights the stark contrast between his two lives: the pure, restorative romance and mutual respect he shares with Asma’u in Sokoto, versus the toxic chaos in Abuja.
The text concludes with Attahir returning to Abuja to face an unwashed, emaciated, and completely broken Lubabatu. Though he briefly feels a flicker of pity and attempts to negotiate a peaceful truce, her deep-seated insecurity and anger erupt once more. Upon overhearing an intimate phone conversation between Attahir and Asma’u, Lubabatu violently smashes his phone and hurls bitter classist insults at Asma’u's background. Attahir exercises immense self-restraint to avoid hitting her again, leaving their marriage in a state of irreversible, hostile fragmentation while affirming that Asma’u's place in his life is permanent.
3. Literary Analytics & Key Themes
1. The Dynamic of Contemporary Polygamy (Kishi)
The text offers a raw, psychologically complex examination of Kishi (co-wife jealousy) within modern northern Nigerian society. Lubabatu’s descent into near-madness portrays a woman mourning the loss of structural control and exclusive affection.
- The Shattered Power Dynamic: For five years, Lubabatu held the dominant position in the marriage. Attahir’s marriage to Asma’u completely dismantles this hierarchy.
Spite over Survival: Lubabatu explicitly states that she is no longer staying out of love, but out of a desire for mutual destruction (*"Zaman yakin kwatar kai"*—a war of self-liberation to ensure no one enjoys peace).
2. Classism and Urban vs. Rural Constructs
The toxic interactions between Lubabatu and Asma’u reveal a deep social divide between urban elite status and rural traditional identity:
- The "Elite" Standard: Lubabatu is characterized as 'yar kwalisa (a high-maintenance, sophisticated city woman). She views herself as modern, requiring clean hands just to be touched.
The Classist Weaponization of Identity: When attacking Asma’u, Lubabatu uses derogatory terms like bagidajiya (primitive/unexposed village girl) and dismisses her as a 'yar cin arziki (a cheap parasite living off family charity). This emphasizes how urban privilege is weaponized against traditional, rural-born family members in contemporary Hausa settings.
3. Domestic Violence, Patriarchy, and Familial Interventions
A striking cultural element in this segment is how domestic conflict is handled through patriarchal networks:
- The Limits of In-Law Tolerance: Attahir does not initially divorce Lubabatu; instead, he routes the grievance through her elder brother and father.
Traditional Discipline: In this cultural context, the father’s brutal physical beating of Lubabatu is framed as a corrective measure to protect the family’s honor and prevent the ultimate shame of a forced divorce. Her family takes Attahir’s side, indicating that her behavior has crossed recognized boundaries of marital modesty (Kunya).
4. Binary Imagery of Women and Spaces
The author uses sharp binary contrasts to define Attahir’s two worlds:
AspectThe Abuja Household (Lubabatu)The Sokoto Household (Asma’u)Physical SpaceDescribed as a "prison" and a "war zone" filled with broken glass and wet beds.Described as a sanctuary; clean, warm, and comforting.Olfactory ImagerySour, stale, unwashed, and pungent odors (tsami-tsami / bashi-bashi).Infused with warm water and premium cologne (Desire by Dunhill).Emotional StateDriven by frantic screaming, pythonesque panting, and physical violence.Marked by low whispers, light kisses, and gentle care for children.Somatic TransitionLubabatu degrades physically, becoming dark, emaciated, and unkempt.Asma’u blooms despite pregnancy sickness, surrounded by family care.
