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Asma’u’s hand tightened on Rumah’s shoulder. The room grew suffocatingly quiet as the other maids stopped what they were doing to stare. In the palace hierarchy, being summoned by the Queen Mother, Hajiya Tushi, on your very first day was rarely a sign of good fortune. Hajiya Tushi was known to be uncompromising and fierce, especially toward anyone who drew the Emir's personal attention.
"Should I come with her?" Asma’u asked the young maid, her voice trembling with protective worry.
The messenger shook her head quickly. "No. The Jakadiya specifically said only Rumasa'u. And please hurry, you don't keep the Queen Mother waiting."
Rumah stood up weakly. She adjusted her orphanage uniform wrapper and pulled her hijab tightly around her chest, trying to hide the slight stain of blood on her hand. She gave Asma’u a reassuring look, though her own knees felt like water, and stepped out into the corridor.
The Jakadiya was waiting for her at the threshold of the junior servants' courtyard. Her expression had shifted from mere disdain to intense scrutiny. "Follow me," she hissed, turning sharply. "And don't you dare touch anything or look up when we enter the main chambers."
They walked through a maze of increasingly lavish corridors. The rough clay walls faded away, replaced by polished, gleaming white walls, heavy Persian rugs that muffled their footsteps, and the rich, expensive scent of burning Arabian incense (turaren wuta). Rumah felt completely out of place, like a speck of dust in a gold-plated world.
Finally, they stopped before a massive, beautifully carved mahogany door guarded by two massive palace guards. The Jakadiya knocked softly, received a muffled response from within, and pushed the door open, gesturing for Rumah to step inside.
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Rumah stepped onto a plush, cream-colored carpet and immediately lowered her gaze to the floor. The room was grand, filled with gold-trimmed furniture, massive velvet cushions, and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Sitting majestically on a raised divan at the far end of the room was Hajiya Tushi. She was a woman of immense presence, draped in expensive, glittering lace and heavy gold jewelry that clinked with her every movement. Beside her sat the Jakadiya, who had quickly taken her place on the floor, adopting a submissive posture.
"So, this is the girl?" Hajiya Tushi’s voice rang out, sharp and dripping with absolute authority.
"Yes, Your Highness," the Jakadiya replied humbly. "This is the foundling from the orphanage. The one who caused the commotion at the gates."
Hajiya Tushi leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning Rumah like a hawk analyzing its prey. "Lift your head," she commanded.
Rumah swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, she raised her head just enough to meet the Queen Mother's gaze, but kept her posture respectful.
The moment Hajiya Tushi looked closely at Rumah’s face, her breath hitched. Her eyes widened slightly, and her fingers gripped the gold embroidery of her cushions. A sudden, heavy silence fell over the room. For a fleeting second, a flash of recognition—or perhaps fear—crossed the Queen Mother's regal features before she quickly masked it with a cold, harsh frown.
She leaned back, her voice losing a bit of its steady calm. "You have a dangerous audacity for a common servant, girl. I hear you interfered with royal discipline today. In this palace, arrogance from a slave is rewarded with banishment—or worse. What is your name?"
"Rumasa'u, Your Highness," she whispered, her voice steady despite the terror inside her.
Hajiya Tushi’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "And your parents? Who brought you to that home?"
"I do not know them, Your Highness. I am a child of the home," Rumah replied, keeping her gaze focused just below the Queen Mother's face.
Hajiya Tushi stared at her for a long, agonizing moment before turning to the Jakadiya. "Take her away. Assign her to the heaviest duties in the kitchen and the outer courtyards. She is not to be brought near the Emir's private chambers under any circumstance. Do you hear me?"
"Perfectly, Your Highness," the Jakadiya bowed.
As Rumah turned to leave, she didn't see Hajiya Tushi pressing her hand against her chest, her breathing shallow as she stared at the closed door, deeply rattled by the ghost of a resemblance she thought she had buried nearly two decades ago.
Jakadiya threw a disdainful look at them and pointed toward a narrow corridor. “Follow that path. You will find a small courtyard at the back where the junior maids sleep. Go and report to Baba Magajiya; she will assign you your blankets and utensils.”
Asma'u gently pulled Rumah’s hand, and they began walking down the dimly lit corridor. The walls were made of thick, old mud-brick covered in plaster, and the air smelled heavily of firewood smoke and damp earth. Rumah kept her gaze glued to the floor tiles, her heart still racing from the encounter with the Emir.
"Rumah," Asma'u whispered, making sure their footsteps drowned out her voice. “Did you see the way the King looked at you? It wasn't the way a master looks at a new servant. There was confusion in his eyes.”
Rumah shook her head quickly. “Please, Asma'u, do not start. My back is still burning from that oversight with the whip, and all I want right now is a corner to lie down. If Baba Lami’s house was a prison, this palace feels like an entirely different world where one wrong step could cost us our lives.”
Before Asma'u could reply, they emerged into an open yard where several women were sitting around large aluminum pots, peeling onions and sorting beans. An elderly woman with a stern face but kind eyes stood up from a wooden stool. This was Baba Magajiya.
"Are you the two girls from the orphanage?" Baba Magajiya asked, wiping her hands on her wrapper.
"Yes, Ma," Asma'u replied politely, bowing slightly. Rumah followed suit, her voice barely audible.
Baba Magajiya looked at Rumah’s hand, which was still lightly stained with dried blood from where she had grabbed the guard's whip. The old woman sighed softly. “Word travels fast in this palace, children. You haven't even spent an hour here, and the entire servants' quarters is already talking about the girl who dared to touch a royal guard’s whip. Come with me before the gossip mongers fill your heads with fear.”
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She led them into a long, rectangular room filled with several neatly rolled-up mats and thin mattresses stacked against the wall. The room was clean, though simple.
"This will be your space," Baba Magajiya said, pointing to a corner near a small window. “In this palace, obedience is your shield, and silence is your armor. Do your work, keep your eyes on the ground, and never speak unless a superior asks you a direct question. Do you understand?”
"We understand, Baba," Asma'u said gratefully.
After Baba Magajiya left them to settle in, Rumah finally collapsed onto one of the mats. The physical pain in her back and the emotional exhaustion of being uprooted from the only home she knew finally broke her defenses. She buried her face in her arms and wept silently, trying hard not to let her sobs alert the other maids who were beginning to wander into the room.
Asma'u sat beside her, gently rubbing her shoulder. “It's a new chapter, Rumah. Maybe Allah brought us here to finally uncover the mystery of your name. Remember what Baba Lami said? The name 'RUMAH' was carved onto your arm, and there were royal visitors involved when you were a baby. Look around us—we are in the heart of the kingdom now.”
Before Rumah could ponder Asma'u’s words, a young maid burst into the room, panting heavily. She looked directly at Rumah with wide, startled eyes.
"Which one of you is Rumasa'u?" the girl gasped out.
Rumah sat up slowly, wiping her tears, a sudden dread gripping her stomach. “I am.”
The maid swallowed hard and stepped back toward the door. “The Jakadiya just returned from the inner chambers. You have been summoned to the quarters of Hajiya Tushi, the Queen Mother. And you must come immediately.”
"Rumasa'u! So your ears are completely deaf to correction and you don't have the sense to understand what is right, huh? Drop that broom right now, go grab a bucket, fetch some water, and wash the clothes of those younger ones. You long-legged giant, struggling with your height like spaghetti!"
Matron Lami barked the words, stepping forward to deliver a sharp blow to her head. Rumasa'u quickly dodged, snatched the bucket, and hurried toward the tap with quick, unsteady steps. Tears streamed down her face. As she passed a group of young girls who were around her age, she heard them burst into mocking laughter. One of them jeered, "Look at her, a total nobody acting superior, like a common foundling doesn't know her place."
Rumasa'u hated being called a tsintacciya (foundling/pick-up child). The word deeply pierced her soul. It often made her think that if her biological mother knew she couldn't raise her, she should have just killed her at birth to save her from this misery. She would wonder to herself: Am I an illegitimate child? Do I have no family, no lineage, no one I can truly look up to and call a father?
Before she even reached the water tap, she stopped by a nearby tree, sat down, buried her head between her knees, and began to weep bitterly. She was still crying when the call to prayer began to ring out. Remembering her chores, she wiped her face, stood up quickly, fetched the water, and headed back to Baba Lami's quarters.
The moment Baba Lami saw her, she snapped, "Oh, so you've finished throwing your tantrums and finally decided to bring the water?"
Lowering her head, Rumasa'u dropped the bucket, went inside the room, put on her hijab, and grabbed her copy of the Holy Qur'an (the full sixty sections). She walked right past Baba Lami, who was standing there muttering threats under her breath. Rumasa'u headed straight toward the orphanage mosque. Because it was Friday, the orphanage usually received visitors from the outside, which meant the officials forced all the children to wear uniforms out of fear that some might try to escape.
She went into the changing room, swapped her clothes for the uniform, and proceeded to the gathering area where the students were assigned their portions for the recitation.
When she arrived, the distribution had already begun. From a distance, she spotted Mallam Ahmad coordinating the session. She could never understand why they never got along, unlike Mallam Amin, who was always warm toward her and went out of his way to make sure she understood her lessons.
As expected, Mallam Ahmad complained about her lateness before handing her the opening prayer text for today’s formal gathering. Not thinking much of it, she took the paper and walked away. She found a spot near the main wall of the grand hall—where VIP guests were hosted—and sat down to review the prayer. She let out a soft sigh of relief upon realizing she had already memorized it during a lesson Mallam Amin gave her last weekend.
Seeing everyone heading inside the hall to secure a seat, she stood up and walked inside. She chose a spot far away from the main crowd. She sat a short distance apart from the girls her age, while the boys occupied their own section. As the boys walked past, almost all of them waved or signaled a greeting to her, but the girls either averted their eyes or hissed in annoyance.
Only Asma'u came over to sit beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rumasa'u startled back to reality, and both girls exhaled a long sigh. Asma'u said, "I don't know when you will stop isolating yourself from your peers, Rumah. Every servant of Allah has their own written destiny. You are the Amirah (leader) of our mosque; you are one of the very people who counsel us on how to live properly. Personally, I feel this self-isolation is the reason the others distance themselves from you—they haven't had the chance to close close to you to know who you truly are."
Nodding slowly, Rumasa'u looked up at Asma'u and said, "I know that, Asma'u, but I just can't help it. Whenever I see everyone in this home laughing and playing, I ask myself: what is the joy in this world without parents by your side? What could possibly gladden my heart enough to make me overlook the emptiness of my existence and laugh like those who don't have a care in the world? Asma'u, I opened my eyes to this reality, and I don't know if the pain will ever fade."
Asma'u offered a sad smile, tears welling in her eyes, and said, "Does that mean the rest of us simply have more fortitude to bear our destinies? We force ourselves to bury these lingering thoughts deep within our hearts. Rumah, is your faith not deeply rooted enough to accept the decree of your Lord...?"
Rumasa'u quickly raised her hand to cut her off. "It's not like that, Asma'u. Let's just drop the subject. Look, the VIP guests are already arriving and taking their seats."
The master of ceremonies opened the event with the Islamic greeting before calling upon Rumasa'u, who had been tasked with delivering the opening prayer for the past year. She stood up, walked to the designated podium, and began reciting prayers for national peace in fluent Arabic. She proceeded through her presentation until she reached prayers specifically for Kano State, before concluding with an emotional message of gratitude:
"Indeed, we express our profound gratitude to Allah (Subhanahu wa ta'ala) who has blessed the world with compassionate souls who look after the less fortunate. Being an orphan is a painful reality that consumes the heart. Even though it is a trait shared by some of the most righteous individuals in history, no one wishes to open their eyes to find themselves in this condition. Yet, when it is decreed, it must be accepted, for no one can challenge the ultimate will of the Almighty.
Unlike those who lost their parents naturally, our reality was created through human negligence and selfishness. Different circumstances shaped our individual destinies, leading us to find ourselves in this home, which possesses little dignity in the eyes of society. Despite this, we remain grateful to Allah for making us grow up among His servants who are undergoing a clear test of faith..."
She continued her speech with a calm and deeply moving eloquence that resonated through everyone seated in the hall. The moment she finished, she stepped down from the podium and slipped out of the hall—a habit she had formed over time, as she could never bring herself to stay until the end of events. She walked to the grassy area behind the building, sat down, and began reading an old book to pass the time.
She sat there for a long time, lost in her thoughts, when she suddenly sensed someone standing over her. She jumped up in fear. She had always been plagued by an intense fear, particularly around unfamiliar men. Seeing a strange face, she stepped back rapidly, preparing to speak, when she spotted Mallam Amin walking toward them. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention to him.
Mallam Amin approached and said, "Forgive me, Chief. The Head of the House sent him to fetch you. Knowing how incredibly fearful you can be, I decided to follow them so you wouldn't panic and run into the bush."
Exhaling deeply, she played with her fingers and said, "Oh, Sheikh, you always say I am fearful, but fear can also be a sign of faith." He smiled and replied, "That is true. Follow me."
Without any argument, she followed them toward the administrator's office. When they arrived, she was instructed to step inside. She entered, her mind filled with bewilderment. In her seventeen years of living in the orphanage, she had never once stepped into the main office. Why am I being summoned to this prestigious office today? Have I committed a grave offense? Her heart hammered against her ribs. I am in deep trouble. If I have offended the Chief, I am completely ruined, she thought.
Throwing the door open, she gave a hurried, trembling greeting and collapsed onto the tiled floor in absolute terror. She pleaded, "I beg for your mercy and forgiveness! If I have done anything wrong, I swear it wasn't intentional. It must have been out of ignorance..."
The Chief cut her off with a wave of his hand, signaling her to calm down. She went quiet, lowering her gaze. He cleared his throat and said, "I am not the one looking for you, Rumasa'u. This gentleman here is the one who requested to see you."
She looked up quickly, and her eyes met those of the stranger. She instantly looked down again. Even though he wore white-rimmed glasses, his presence radiated an intense, commanding aura.
The stranger's dignified composure and noble demeanor filled her heart with a deep sense of reverence and a strange new fear. He stared at her intently, his face almost completely concealed within an expertly wrapped royal turban that left only his eyes visible, a style that clearly indicated he held a high traditional office or royal title.
Without uttering a single word, the man stood up and walked toward the exit. Mallam Nasir showered him with endless expressions of gratitude as they escorted him out. The Chief then turned to her and said, "Rumasa'u, you may leave now."
Though the strange summoning and abrupt departure left her deeply confused, she didn't say a word. She simply stood up and left the office as instructed, heading back toward her residential quarters. Her heart pounded furiously, knowing she would face Baba Lami's wrath for being away.
Sure enough, the moment she arrived, Baba Lami grabbed her and began beating her, screaming that Rumasa'u was disrespecting her. She accused her of running off to sit idly just to avoid washing the clothes of the newly admitted children.
Enduring the blows, Rumasa'u took the laundry while tears streamed down her face. She washed the clothes, hung them on the line, and then went to sit near Baba Lami, cradling one of the infants to feed it milk. She asked softly, "Baba Lami, when will you tell me who my parents are?"
Baba Lami scoffed and replied, "What exactly do you want me to tell you that you will believe, Rumasa'u? I have no idea where to find your parents. The only thing left with you was the name 'RUMAH' carved onto your arm with a razor, alongside some royal visitors who left nothing behind as proof. You were brought to me when you were just a year and a half old. There was absolutely no information provided that we could document for a day like this."
Nodding her head in profound self-pity and accepting her bitter reality, she whispered, "So that's it... I will never get to see my parents?"
Baba Lami immediately flared up in anger, shouting, "How should I know? Look at this girl trying to cross-examine me! Who even knows if you have real parents? Your reckless mother probably got tired of wandering around with you and chose to dump you here!"
Those words cast a dark shadow over Rumah's heart. Being associated with the stigma of illegitimacy was a thought that constantly tormented her soul.
As night fell, she couldn't bring herself to stay in the room. She walked out to a secluded area far behind the quarters and sat down. Other young boys and girls from the home were laughing and mingling nearby, but she remained completely isolated. She sat with her head resting on her knees, sobbing quietly. This was her greatest burden in life—she simply couldn't find it in her heart to accept this destiny. Day after day, she lived in sorrow, constantly wishing she lived with her parents, even if they were the poorest people on earth.
She desperately wanted to protect her dignity in this life and prayed that her unknown lineage would not ruin her future. She constantly begged Allah to bring relief and peace to her troubled mind. After spending a long time outside, she managed to calm herself down, stood up, and returned to the quarters. She performed her ablutions, observed her Maghrib and Isha prayers, and lay down with a heavy heart.
She barely slept. True to form, the moment the infants began crying, Baba Lami woke her and Asma'u up to comfort them. While Baba Lami slept soundly, the two girls spent the entire night soothing the babies. They only managed to return to their beds shortly before dawn, but the moment they lay down, the call to morning prayer sounded. With heavy, sleep-deprived eyes, they headed to the mosque, and from there, proceeded to the early morning Islamic school.
After returning, they completed their daily chores. Since they had already completed their secondary education, they finally had some free time to lie down, and a deep sleep quickly overtook them.
While they were enjoying their rest, they felt someone shaking them awake. Asma'u woke up first. Upon recognizing the person waking them, terror gripped her heart. She quickly shook Rumah awake. They exchanged worried glances as the messenger announced, "You are being summoned to the Head Matron's office."
Asma'u immediately looked terrified. Rumah, whose tears were always close to the surface, wiped her eyes, stood up, and donned her hijab. Asma'u whispered anxiously, "Rumah, I am terrified that what happened to the others is about to happen to us. It's been days since anyone was taken out of this home. Every time they take people, they claim they are being sent to boarding schools or skills acquisition centers, but I have never seen a single person return. Do you really think that's the truth, Rumah?"
Rumah couldn't find the words to respond; she could only look on like a mute spectator. They walked down to the Head Matron's office. The moment they stepped into the courtyard, they grew even more tense upon seeing several royal guards standing tall, looking as stern and unyielding as angels of judgment.
They walked into the office with absolute compliance. The Head Matron looked at them thoroughly and said, "Rumasa'u and Asma'u, today your names have been called. It is our custom to relocate children like you once they come of age. We usually take the young women to the Orphanage Welfare Board to arrange marriages for them, while the young men are sent to learn trades to become self-reliant. Today, by the grace of Allah, we are sending you forth."
She continued, "Your peers have already been taken to be married off. As for you, Rumah, we had a very prominent visitor yesterday. His Royal Highness, the Emir, expressed his desire to take in additional servants for the palace. He requested three young men and two young women. Specifically, he demanded that the Amirah of the mosque be among them. This is why I found it best to pair you with your sister, Asma'u. Since you share a deep bond, you will feel more comfortable and be able to perform your duties diligently."
"I implore you, just as those before you have made us proud, do your best so that people will bless your upbringing rather than condemn it. Strive to protect the integrity of your orphanhood, and exercise immense patience with the new people you are about to encounter."
Nodding with heavy hearts, they were directed toward the guards waiting to escort them. They stood up. Asma'u walked out first, while Rumah could barely drag her feet. They reached the vehicle and climbed inside. The remaining guards boarded their respective vehicles, and the convoy drove out of the gates.
It was only then that a loud, sobbing cry escaped Rumah's lips. This was the very first time she was leaving the only home she had ever known—the place she grew up in before she could even comprehend how different it was from normal homes, and where she eventually realized the massive divide that separated her from the rest of the world.
Asma'u placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, shaking her head gently. "Given the life we were born into, Rumasa'u, we shouldn't let everything break our hearts or make us waste our tears like this."
Clasping Asma'u's hand tightly, Rumah wept, "I know, my sister, but I cannot stop my heart from aching or my eyes from crying. Is this how we are destined to end up? Is there no real happiness structured into our lives? We grew up facing constant discrimination and disgust because of our flawed lineage, and now we are going to spend the remainder of our lives in servitude? Oh, Asma'u, is this not enough reason to weep?"
Asma'u leaned her head back. No matter how much she wanted to encourage her sister today, she found herself completely speechless. She couldn't offer any words that would make sense of their plight. They fell into a deep silence. Asma'u stared out at the road while Rumah continued to weep, completely deprived of anyone to truly comfort her. In reality, Asma'u herself was in desperate need of comfort.
Before Rumah realized they had arrived, she felt Asma'u gently pulling her hand. They looked at each other, and Rumah whispered in dismay, "A royal palace? What are we going to do here?"
A sharp, harsh glare from one of the royal guards instantly forced her to check herself. Rumah was frozen in a mix of frustration and misery. They had been told that His Royal Highness visited the orphanage the previous day and requested additional servants, which was why they were chosen. Yet Asma'u was still wondering what they would do there—what else would they do besides the servitude they so dreaded?
A palace official barked an order at them, saying, "Move over there, you will see where you belong!"
Rumah, being naturally fearful, panicked and almost ran in the wrong direction. Asma'u quickly grabbed her hand and steered her onto the path designated by the official. As they walked, the palace workers going about their duties stared at them until they reached an area that looked like a large compound built of clay bricks. They approached a massive entrance. Just as they stepped forward to enter, a towering man roared a command at them.
They scrambled backward in terror, clinging to one another. The man raised a heavy hide whip that had been soaked in oil and lashed out at them. In their panic, the whip struck Rumah squarely across her back as she shielded Asma'u. She let out a piercing shriek from the agonizing sting of the blow. The man raised the whip to strike them a second time, but someone grabbed his hand from behind.
The man turned around to see who had stopped him, and upon recognizing the figure, he instantly collapsed to the ground in sheer terror, losing control of his bladder. He trembled violently, stammering, "I beg for mercy! May Allah protect your life, the fierce protector, the father of men! May the Almighty sustain your..."
One of the guards flanking the noble figure cut the man off with a thunderous shout. The noble stepped forward, dressed in magnificent, luxurious royal attire. The guard raised his own whip, preparing to rain blows upon the kneeling servant.
Seeing this, Rumah, who had just turned around, swiftly lunged forward and grabbed the guard's whip, winding it tightly around her hand. She bit her lip as the rough material cut into her flesh, and tears instantly flooded her eyes from the sharp pain.
The guard violently yanked his whip back and raised it again, determined to punish the insolent servant. Rumah reached out and grabbed it a second time. This display of raw defiance left all the onlookers completely speechless, wondering who this girl was and where she got such audacity.
Infuriated, the guard raised his hand to slap her, but the noble man—who had been standing as still as a statue—firmly caught the guard's wrist. At that moment, the guard sank to his knees, trembling, and cried, "I beg for mercy, protector of orphans!"
"Bring them along," the noble figure commanded in a low, calm voice that only those closest to him could hear.
The palace attendants immediately bowed in reverence, saying, "Your wishes are granted, King of the World! Stand up, you children of commoners, the King of Kings wishes to speak with you..."
Quietly, they followed the attendants, who walked behind the noble leader until they reached a vast, breathtaking courtyard. Rumah and Asma'u stood frozen, completely awestruck by the sheer opulence, beauty, and grandeur of the courtyard. It was a sight beyond words.
The noble figure raised his hand, and all the attendants bowed deeply in greeting before vacating the area, leaving only Rumah, Asma'u, and the noble man behind.
He fixed his gaze squarely on Rumah, staring at her so intensely that she grew incredibly uncomfortable. Finally, a voice broke the silence, asking, "He beat you, yet you risked yourself to prevent him from being beaten. Why?"
Rumah let out a shaky breath, realizing she wasn't in trouble for her actions. She replied, "Perhaps I offended him out of ignorance, since I am a complete stranger to this palace. May Allah protect your life, who am I compared to an elder whom the Almighty has blessed with a status and dignity that I was denied? It is not because Allah dislikes me, nor is it because He loves him more than me. If he beat me and then gets beaten in return, what good does that do? Furthermore, the Almighty has commanded His servants to return evil with good. I only wish that when evil is done to me, I should try my best to return it with kindness. Your Highness, if he is to be beaten because of me, I beg you to please forgive him."
She spoke while raising her hands in a gesture of supplication.
The noble man nodded slowly throughout her speech. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and asked, "What is your name?"
With her head lowered, she answered, "Rumasa'u."
"Rumah!" he repeated, turning to look at a trusted advisor who had just stepped up beside him. The girls couldn't hear what he whispered to the advisor, but they were simply told to leave. They turned and walked away, while the noble man kept his eyes locked on their retreating figures. He crossed his arms over his chest, softly repeating the name under his breath: Rumah! Rumah!! Rumah!!!
After repeating it three times, he sat down on a luxurious swinging chair, swaying gently while closing his eyes. His mind began drifting toward a place he desperately tried to avoid.
This man was none other than Emir Ridwan Abbas, the eldest son of the late Emir Abbas and Hajiya Ummah (popularly known as Hajiya Tushi, the favorite wife of Emir Abbas). The royal household was an incredibly chaotic environment, filled with nothing but jealousy, malice, selfishness, and deep-seated hypocrisy.
Emir Ridwan Abbas was forty-two years old and had been on the throne for five years. Within those five years, many significant events had occurred, including his multiple marriages. He currently had three wives, all of whom had been selected and brought to him from various royal houses by his mother, Hajiya Tushi. Her sole obsession was ensuring her only son produced a male heir so that the throne would never leave her lineage. However, there was still no child. His only success had been with Princess Nana, who had suffered a miscarriage nearly six years ago and had not conceived since.
This issue deeply troubled Hajiya Tushi, especially since her other four children were all daughters. The only other male heir in the family was Lukman, the son of the senior wife, Hajiya Asubi (the Fulani of Daura). Hajiya Asubi was a woman who remained entirely unbothered by worldly rivalries, which was precisely why she and Hajiya Tushi could never get along. Hajiya Tushi constantly accused Hajiya Asubi of harboring malice against her because her son was now the Emir. She would claim that Hajiya Asubi had poisoned Ridwan's mind against her, rendering him completely passive to her advice.
Hajiya Asubi simply ignored these outbursts, seeing no reason to engage in petty squabbles at their advanced age. She would often tell Tushi, "For heaven's sake, Fulani of Yola, I am a mother of eight children. Do you really expect to drive me out, or do you think the Kanuri wife will abandon her four children and leave? I believe it is time for all of us to lay down our weapons and cherish our children, since the very man we were competing for has already passed away and left us behind."
Emir Ridwan let out a deep sigh, stood up, and headed toward the door that led directly to his private quarters.
Meanwhile, Rumah and Asma'u were escorted back to the servants' wing. A senior palace matron (Jakadiya) was summoned to receive them. The moment she saw them, she turned to the attendant and asked, "Kawu, are these the new arrivals we were told about?"
Looking at her, he replied, "Precisely, Jakadiya. His Royal Highness commanded that they be placed under your direct supervision, and he wishes to see you immediately afterward."
Scanning them from head to toe, the Jakadiya remarked sneeringly, "So your parents grew so tired of your wretched existence that they abandoned you to a life of servitude? Well, your quarters are over there..."
