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The Wilderness
The Wild is God's Sanctuary! It was late afternoon, a time when the sunlight began to dim, casting its fading rays toward the west as it prepared to set. The darkness of twilight was already creeping in, eager to swallow the remaining glow left behind by the sun before it completely disappeared below the horizon.
A dense cluster of trees—tall and medium alike—intertwined with various kinds of wild shrubs, completely surrounded the forest. To a tourist who knew nothing of what lay within, it might have seemed like a beautiful, picturesque sight. But to anyone who knew the truth of what it harbored, it was a place of absolute terror, dread, and horror.
A young woman was running for her life, caught in a desperate race between life and death. She clutched a bundle of cloth tightly against her chest. From a distance, it was impossible to tell what she was holding so fiercely as she ran with such frantic speed.
Her feet were bare, and she wore no veil over her body. Although the weather was not hot, her lips were as dry and parched as a rock that had not seen a drop of rain in years. She seemed completely blind to where she was placing her feet. Yet, despite the agonizing ordeal she was enduring, she prioritized the bundle in her arms above everything else.
In her blind panic, she violently collided with something she couldn't even identify. The sheer force and weight of the impact sent her crashing heavily to the ground. Instantly, a pathetic cry escaped her lips as blood began to stream from the back of her head.
Only then did the bundle in her arms let out a sharp, piercing cry, terrified by the sudden fall.
It was a newborn baby. Its umbilical cord had not even detached yet. Its tiny body was still covered in the dried fluids of childbirth. It appeared the child was a couple of days old, yet it hadn't seen a single drop of water, let alone been washed clean.
Part 2: Kano City – The Errand
Deep within the city of Kano, in the neighborhood of Dorayi Tinga, at around four o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, stood a modest house. It was nestled within a cluster of tightly packed homes along a narrow alleyway. One look at these houses was enough to tell you they belonged to low-income earners, evident from the poorly constructed gutters and the chaotic layout of the compound structures. There was no proper drainage system or well-defined streets; every house faced whatever direction the builder pleased. Similarly, everyone directed their household wastewater wherever they saw fit—some maintained their gutters, while others didn't care at all. The houses were so cramped it looked as if one was about to climb on top of another.
"Aren't you going to come out and run this errand for me before the charcoal burns out completely?" called out a middle-aged woman. She was sitting in front of a clay stove, a hand-fan in her grip as she fanned the embers. Beside her sat a silver tray holding corn flour meant for making tuwo.
A young girl emerged from a room behind the woman. One of her hands was busy putting on her hijab, while the other wiped away non-stop tears.
The woman looked up at her and asked, “What on earth are you crying for?”
As if she had just been waiting for a trigger, the girl replied in a thoroughly spoiled tone, “Isn't it Huzaifa? He...”
“Shut up! You two always fight as if you want to rip each other's guts out. If I tell you to stay away from him, you won't listen anyway. Hurry up, take this money and go to Laure's house. Get me sixty Naira worth of kuka (baobab powder), forty Naira worth of daddawa (locust bean cake), and one hundred Naira worth of palm oil. Bring back my change quickly so I can whip up this soup before sunset.”
The girl contorted her face in disgust and complained, “So it's kuka soup again today? Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un (To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return).”
The mother stared at her, mouth agape in sheer disbelief. In a fit of anger, she snapped, “If I cook the kuka, don't dare drink it! Are you going to take this money and get out, or do I need to smash your head right here?”
The girl quickly knelt, snatched the money, pulled her hijab over her head, and headed for the exit. In her mind, she felt it would be better to go completely hungry today than to eat this tuwo that felt like penance.
Sternly, her mother called out a final warning: “If you like, go and loiter! Don't dare hurry back and see what I will do to you. And don't you dare join the other children to fool around on the street!”
Without looking back, the girl walked away, her eyes wandering all over the neighborhood.
The Playground Distraction
She first stopped by the house of her friend, Habiba. She found Habiba’s mother in the courtyard getting her hair braided. She knelt to greet her and then mentioned she was looking for Habiba.
Habiba stepped out of their room with a smile. Walking over to where her friend stood, she asked, “Ruma, where are you off to?”
In a hushed whisper, Ruma pleaded, “Please, Habiba, lend me Sani’s toy tire. Mama sent me on an errand, and I want to get there and back as fast as possible.”
Habiba gasped, “No way, Ruma! You know Sani values that tire more than anything. If I give it to you and you lose it, both of us are dead meat.”
Ruma replied confidently, “I swear I won't lose it! Just lend it to me. I just want to run this errand quickly and return.”
Habiba pulled Ruma into the entrance parlor (soro) of their house. She checked the top of a chicken coop tucked inside the cramped entranceway, grabbed Sani’s tire, and handed it over. “For God's sake, Ruma, be careful. Don't let anything happen to this tire. Drive it fast, go and come back quickly.”
Ruma smiled widely. “Don't worry, I'll fly there and back in a flash. I've always loved this tire of Sani's anyway; he should just leave it for me. It handles so smoothly! You’ll see, I'll be back before you know it.”
Habiba smiled. “Alright then, hurry up before he gets home.”
Ruma pressed her hand onto the tire, rolled it forward, and began sprinting through the alleys like a boy, completely devoid of any girlish grace. She didn't stop rolling the tire until she reached Laure's house.
She purchased everything she was sent to buy. Stepping out, she began rolling the tire again to head home. Along the way, she spotted some of her Islamic school classmates gathered at the doorstep of Hanne’s house—where the grinding machine was. They were playing 'yanta (a traditional children's game). Completely forgetting Mama's stern warning, she tossed the groceries, the change, and the borrowed tire to the side and dove straight into the game.
Since she was an expert at street games and highly skilled at cheating (rinto), the game quickly grew intense. Seeing how she was utterly defeating them by bending the rules, the game devolved into an argument. From arguments, it turned into a full-blown fistfight. Right there, Ruma—who possessed the raw strength of a horse—tackled one of the girls into her own freshly ground grains, ruining them. It took a passing man to finally break up the brawl. Ruma had thoroughly thrashed the other children before the man threatened to report her to her older brothers, which finally made her back down.
Seeing that their ground grains were ruined and that they had been beaten up to boot, the girl she fought and her younger siblings retaliated. They smashed the palm oil Ruma had bought for Mama, stole the change from the errand, tore the grocery bag open, and fled. Ruma could barely salvage a few pieces of the daddawa, and the bag of kuka powder had burst, scattering completely into the dirt.
Facing the Consequences
Gathering the meager ruins of her errand, she walked back home. As she walked, her mind raced, concocting whatever lie she could tell Mama to escape her wrath. If there was one thing she dreaded in this world, it was Mama’s scolding. At the same time, she was plotting the severe beating she would give Safiya when they met at the Islamic school for what they had done to her.
By the time Ruma arrived home, the evening call to prayer (Maghrib) had already begun; some mosques had even started the congregational prayer. It was only then that reality fully set in, and a cold dread washed over her.
She lurked in the entrance parlor, peeking into the house. She spotted Mama by the drainage corner performing her ablutions. Mama raised her eyes, gave her a single, piercing look, and then looked away to finish her ablutions.
Slinking in stealthily, Ruma kept a watchful eye on Mama, waiting to hear what she would say. But Mama said absolutely nothing. Ruma slipped past, dropped the pathetic remains of the groceries, and dashed into the bathroom to perform her own ablutions.
She crept into the living room, positioned herself right behind Mama, and quickly joined her in prayer.
When Mama finished, she stood up and went out to the courtyard to inspect what Ruma had brought back. There, she saw the disaster Ruma had made of the errand.
Mama returned to the living room, waiting for Ruma to finish her prayer so she could pounce on her. But Ruma deliberately refused to finish. She immediately launched into voluntary prayers (nafila) for absolutely no reason. This was a girl who usually had to be dragged with beatings just to perform her obligatory prayers, yet today, she was suddenly pious enough to perform extra voluntary ones.
Eventually, realizing that Ruma's prayer marathon was an endless ruse, Mama marched up behind her, grabbed her firmly by the back of her neck, and forced her onto the floor.
Staring her down with a fierce expression, Mama demanded, “Whose house did you go to when I sent you?”
Terrified, Ruma shook her head. “Nowhere, Mama.”
“You lie! You will tell me the truth or I will wring your neck. I sent you since late afternoon and you only sneak in at dusk? Whose house did you go to?!”
Eyes darting wildly, Ruma kept shaking her head, offering desperate, dishonest oaths. “I swear by Allah, Mama, I didn't go anywhere!”
In a fit of pure rage, Mama shouted, “You're not going to tell me?!”
“Mama, I swear I'm telling the truth!”
"Assalamu alaikum," a voice called out from the courtyard.
Mama answered the greeting, still breathing heavily with rage. A young man walked into the room, announcing, “Mama, I'm back.”
Mama replied, “Welcome home.”
"Thank you," he answered, looking at Mama standing over Ruma, whose eyes were darting around as guilty as a criminal caught red-handed.
"Mama, what happened?" he asked, wanting to understand the situation.
Bitterly, Mama vented, “Because of this girl's sheer wickedness! Laure's house is just a stone's throw away. I sent her to buy soup ingredients since late afternoon, and she just walked into this house now. The groceries are ruined, the errand is a failure, and my change is gone! I have begged and demanded that she tell me where she loitered, but she refuses to speak and just keeps swearing false oaths.”
He looked at Ruma and said, “You won't say where you stayed? And where is the change? Or did you go and squander her money on snacks like you always do?”
With pure insolence and a lack of respect, Ruma snapped back, “I don't know! And who even asked you anyway? You nosy busybody, 'Zakin zakafere mai gida feraye kabewa' (a mocking Hausa insult). This doesn't even concern you...”
Before she could finish her insult, Mama shut her up with a sharp slap across the face that made Ruma think her mouth had split open.
Ruma recoiled quickly, clutching her mouth and shaking her hand in pain, feeling the intense sting of the blow.
The young man shook his head and said, “Mama, leave her alone. Since she has no manners, don't stress yourself. Just wait until Mai Sunan Baba (Umar Faruk) or Haidar get home. Let them interrogate her for you.”
Hearing those names sent a jolt of pure panic through Ruma. She leaped forward frantically, pleading, “I swear, Mama, I'm telling you the truth! For God's sake, don't tell them! The change fell out on the road, and I tripped and the palm oil smashed! Please, for Allah's sake, don't tell them!”
"I swear, Mama, she’s lying," Huzaifa chimed in. “You know her lies never stop. Don't believe her. Just wait until Mai Sunan Baba returns; he will deal with her thoroughly.”
Thoroughly satisfied with the plan, Mama said, “Exactly. That's exactly what will happen since she lacks all respect.”
Catching a moment when Mama wasn't looking, Huzaifa taunted Ruma by making a mocking face at her.
"Mama, look at him! He's mocking me! Please, Mama, have mercy," Ruma cried.
Mama completely ignored her and handed Huzaifa some money to go out and buy another set of groceries.
Rumaisa retreated to a corner, resting her chin in her hands, her heart filled with dread over the doom awaiting her if Mai Sunan Baba or Haidar found out what she had done. She knew that even if she were out of her mind, she could never tell Mama the actual truth of what happened now. She could only recite prayers under her breath, begging Allah to cover her tracks and keep Mama from telling them. In the depths of her heart, she cursed Huzaifa for suggesting that Mama involve Haidar and Umar.
Lost in her anxieties, she could hear Mama and Huzaifa chatting amiably in the courtyard, acting as though Mama hadn't just been furious moments ago. As they talked, Mama finished cooking her soup.
Another greeting echoed from the courtyard. Ruma panicked instantly because all her brothers' voices sounded remarkably similar. She calmed down slightly when she realized this voice wasn't as deep and harsh as Haidar's; this brother was naturally gentle.
She heard Mama call out, “Fodiyo, you're back?”
“Yes, Mama. How is the house?”
“Alhamdulillah. Welcome. Go rinse off before I finish the soup.”
Usman, whom Mama affectionately called Fodiyo, replied, "Alright, Mama. Here, take this," he said, placing a plastic bag down for her.
Ruma stood up and peeked through the window, trying to discern what was inside the bag Fodiyo had brought. In her mind, she prayed, “O Allah, let it be fish. If it's fish, they better give me my share, because if they put it inside that black kuka soup, I won't touch it.”
Before she could figure out the contents of the bag, her eyes locked onto her ultimate boogeyman, who had just entered the house without even uttering a greeting. It felt to her as though he threw a terrifying glare right in her direction—though it could have just been her own consuming fear playing tricks on her.
This was Mama's Mai Sunan Baba (the one named after her father), Umar Faruk. With his characteristic arrogant, commanding stride, he walked into the center of the courtyard and finally offered his greeting: “Assalamu alaikum.”
Ruma slapped her hands over her head, whispering in a trembling voice, “I am ruined. Today, my bones are as good as dust if he finds out what I did.”
After his initial greeting, he said nothing more to anyone. He placed the bag he was carrying down for Mama and walked straight into the brothers' room. He wasn't inside long before he stepped back out into the courtyard, picking up a plastic kettle (buta) to perform his ablutions.
Ruma crept out of the room like a hypocrite, bowing slightly as she murmured, “Yaya Faruk, welcome back.”
He raised his eyes, looked at her coldly, offered no reply, and returned to his ablutions.
Her stomach churned with anxiety. She grabbed a broom, dashed into Mama's living room, and began sweeping furiously in the dark. Anyone looking at her could tell this sudden urge to clean was entirely performative.
Huzaifa, keeping an eye out to make sure Mama wasn't watching, followed Rumaisa into the living room, peering at her and bursting into silent, mocking laughter.
If she hadn't been paralyzed by fear, nothing would have stopped her from starting a massive fight with Huzaifa right then and there. But she knew that letting Huzaifa bait her into a fight while Faruk was in the house was a fast track to a completely different level of trouble—one that would undoubtedly end in her tears.
"Aren't you coming out to dish some food and eat?" Mama called out loudly so Ruma could hear her.
From the room, Ruma shouted back, “Mama, I'm full!”
Exasperated, Mama snapped, “And what on earth did you eat to be full? Aren't you coming out to eat this food?!”
Ruma pouted and remained silent.
Usman remarked, “Well, you know you cooked her ultimate enemy, tuwo. Especially with kuka soup. If it were any other soup, she might have eaten.”
Mama countered, “I cooked what I have to give her. Am I supposed to stop cooking just because she won't eat tuwo?”
In his characteristic harsh, gravelly voice, Umar interjected, “Leave her alone. It's her own stomach she's depriving. Let her sleep hungry.”
Mama nodded. “Fine then.”
Just hearing the sound of his voice sent another wave of terror through Ruma. She intensified her silent prayers, begging Allah to protect her secrets and ensure Mama wouldn't report her misdeeds to him.
The young men gathered around Mama in the courtyard, chatting away, each sharing stories with her—except for Mai Sunan Baba, who silently stared at his phone, completely detached from the conversation.
Hearing them chat and realizing Mama hadn't brought up her behavior made Ruma rejoice. She quickly performed her night prayer (Isha), rolled out her mattress, and lay down. She continued to pray silently in her heart.
The Reckoning
"Assalamu alaikum," a voice called out from the courtyard.
They all answered in unison, their eyes falling upon the two children who had just entered—a boy and a girl. Despite the courtyard being illuminated by electric light, it took Mama a moment to recognize them.
They greeted Mama and Umar's group. Mama looked at them and asked, “Habiba, what brings you here?”
Habiba replied, “Is Ruma around?”
Umar cut in instantly, asking sharply, “What happened?”
Because of Umar’s intensely intimidating aura, Habiba fumbled over her words nervously before answering, “Well, earlier today when she was sent on an errand, she came and asked me to lend her a tire, saying she wanted to rush Mama's errand. But it belongs to Sani. She promised she would bring it right back, but we still haven't seen her.”
In shock, Mama asked, “A tire? What tire?”
Habiba nodded in confirmation.
Inside, Ruma had completely forgotten about the borrowed tire until this exact moment. Ever since the street fight broke out, she had abandoned the tire right there and ran home. Placing her hands on her head, she whimpered, “I am dead. Habiba, that's it, you've completely destroyed me.”
Mama shouted, “Where are you? Come out here, you brainless girl! I begged you earlier to tell me where you loitered, and you swore you didn't stop anywhere. So you went around borrowing tires, eh? You always have to prove your nickname, 'KANWAR MAZA' (Sister of Men/Tomboy)! What business does a girl have with rolling tires, if not madness? Are you going to come out and hand over their property or not?!”
Body trembling violently, Ruma stepped out and stood by the doorway of Mama's living room, stealing fearful glances at Umar. To her surprise, he looked completely indifferent, as if he wasn't even paying attention to the drama.
“Ma... Ma... Mama... I swear I only borrowed it because I was in a hurry. And I swear by Allah, I forgot and left it in front of Hanne the grinding machine operator's house.”
Mama just held her chin in utter exasperation, completely at a loss for words.
Huzaifa added, “If you have any hope of ever gaining sanity, may Allah guide you. What business does a female have rolling tires down the street?”
Mama looked at Habiba and her younger brother. "Please forgive her. Ever since she left, I’ve been sitting here waiting for her myself. I didn't send her to take anyone's property.
