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KARAYAR ARZIKI BOOK COMPELET BY BIILYN ABDULL
Suddenly, the door was violently kicked open with such force that it seemed as though it would be ripped off its hinges.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, organizing some documents. The aggressive barging did not shake him, nor did he even look up, for he knew all too well that only his wife, Lubna, was capable of such a crude action.
She flared her nostrils, placed both hands on her hips, and threw a massive, glaring look at him—one he didn't even notice.
"Umar Faruq!!" she called his name, her voice dripping with pure malice.
He didn't answer, nor did he look up, completely focused on the task in front of him. Lubna, standing there and shaking with rage, became even more infuriated. She proceeded to speak with absolute insolence:
"Honestly, I am completely exhausted! You better figure out what to do with me, I swear by Allah. The day before yesterday, you yanked the children out of their private school and I didn't say a single word to you. Today, you have the nerve to bring people here to inspect and tour the house? What exactly is your plan? Are you planning to sell this house too? Well, I swear by Allah, if that is what you're thinking, you better change your mind. I will not live a life hanging in limbo, caught between a rock and a hard place.
But of course, I knew the moment they married that village girl to you, we were bound to enter a state of calamity. Look at it now—before we've even gone anywhere, everything is depleted. A white-footed witch has stepped into our lives, and now our very souls are being stalked to be devoured next..."
He let out a short click of his tongue, keeping his eyes on the papers he was packing into a small briefcase. Only after he had completely finished did he raise his clear eyes to look at her. He pointed a stern finger at her. "Lubna, watch yourself. You know very well I despise foolishness, don't you? As for this house, I am absolutely going to sell it, and if it belongs to you, you are welcome to try and stop me. Furthermore, let me give you the good news so you can start packing—in two days, we are vacating this house for the new owners..."
"By the grand scheme of things! I swear by Allah, Umar, you don't have that kind of power over me. I have a legal right to this house too, since my children have an inheritance here."
He shook his head, slinging the briefcase over his shoulder. He retorted, "Madwoman. You'll have to wait until I die before it becomes an inheritance for them. Nonsense."
"Umar! Are you calling me a madwoman?!"
He didn't spare her another word. Stepping forward calmly, he made his way toward the exit.
She quickly blocked his path, panting with rage. "I swear by Allah, you are not going anywhere until you tell me exactly who the madwoman is!"
He scanned her from head to toe. Without uttering a single word, he clicked his tongue, sidestepped her, and tried to pass. She swiftly blocked his path once again.
Furious, he snapped, "I swear by Allah, either you get out of my way right now, or I will ruin your face with a slap!"
"Oh, go ahead and slap me then! Let's see. I also have hands that Allah gave me to retaliate."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes! Or do you want to test it?"
A cold, arrogant smile broke across his lips. He sidestepped her from the other side and walked out, biting his lip. She watched his retreating back, her body trembling with a mixture of burning rage and helplessness, before she finally burst into a fit of pitiful tears.
I looked at Zarah, Zarah looked at Xoxo, and we all stood there looking guilty like hypocrites. Xoxo said, "My friend, where do we even begin?" I replied, "Umm, my friend, ask Zarah if she has any ideas because I don't have the face for this."
Zarah adjusted her stance, holding her pen and a small reporting notepad. She said, "Bily, I'm completely blank too because I see everyone's house is in total chaos. I don't even know who to approach to give us the story. Xoxo, why don't you go over to Lubna?"
"Good grief! No way am I going over there just to keep her company. You both literally just heard her husband call her a madwoman, and now you want me to go so she can rip my hair out?"
Zarah and I suppressed our laughter at Xoxo's outburst. Zarah then asked, "What about Bily?"
I said, "Um, um, how about you try instead? Am I the one supposed to handle this discussion?"
Zarah went silent, because she also had no desire to deal with Lubna...
After a moment, Xoxo took a deep breath, her eyes locked on Zarah. She said, "Zarah, I don't understand what my friend is playing at. She asked us to accompany her to gather a report, but now she's trying to dump all the work on us?"
I glared at Xoxo. "But my friend, if you both help me publish this story, it's not like you're losing anything, right?"
"True, but honestly, I cannot handle that woman's extreme toxicity. Besides, I actually like the husband—the guy is incredibly handsome."
Zarah and I burst into hysterical laughter. Zarah joked, "Come on, sister, just admit your jealousy won't let you. But seriously, Bily, I'm not going to do the reporting for you. I only came to accompany you. Let's just go back home, and I will help you brainstorm ideas on how to gather this report."
"Alright then, thank you, Zarah, let's go. As for you, my friend, I was planning to set you up so you could marry him, but now I've completely changed my mind."
"Oh come on, my friend, can't we just get along?"
"Well, we'll see about that today... liy."Dear readers, we have quite a challenge ahead because I don't know how you're going to get the full story when all the reporters are complete cowards! From Miss Xoxo to Zarah Bukar, and even myself, Bilyn Abdul, we are all just bark and no bite. 🐺 But I, Bilyn Abdul, promise to bring you the full scoop since the others got cold feet. 😏 Stay tuned to see how it all unfolds! 😻😘
By Bilyn Abdul
Love you all, (((S))).......2017
Chapter 2: The Downsize
Right from the entrance of the house, I immediately encountered three massive commercial moving trucks (Akorikura), all fully loaded with household property. I squeezed past them and entered the compound. So, the relocation is finally happening, I muttered to myself, scanning every corner of the house.
I saw Asma'u emerge, dragging two suitcases by their handles. Umar, who was leaning against his car browsing on his phone, looked up at her. He curled his lip in a slight sneer and looked away. Internalizing his thoughts, he muttered, Is this girl completely spineless? Everything about her is just so incredibly sluggish and passive...
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Yaya, here they are."
Without saying a word, he set his phone down on the car roof, opened the trunk for her so she could load the suitcases, slammed it shut, picked his phone back up, unlocked the car, and climbed inside.
Asma'u stood there for a moment, continuously staring at the house. Her heart felt intensely heavy. She knew that Yaya Umar was simply putting up a brave front because of his resilient, enduring, and stoic nature. No matter how deep the heartbreak or anger Umar experienced, it was rare to ever see it register on his face; he was a man who excelled at concealing the secrets of his heart.
Seeing that she hadn't gotten in yet, he honked the horn.
She quickly opened the car door but didn't climb in immediately. Leaning in slightly, she asked, "Ya Faruk, what about Anty Lubna?"
He let out a sharp click of his tongue. "She left ages ago. You are wasting my time."
With a heavy heart, she climbed into the car. He shifted into gear and drove out of the compound, his heart burning with silent agony, though his lips continuously muttered, Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un (To Allah we belong, and to Him we shall return).
He drove slowly, almost reluctantly. Neither of them could find the words to speak. From time to time, she would wipe away falling tears, while he observed her quietly from the corner of his eye.
He eventually parked in front of a modest, medium-sized house. Even without being told, it was obvious this was their new home, as we found the very same moving trucks already parked there, busy unloading the furniture and carrying it inside.
He cast a brief glance at her. "Go on inside. Hasiya, Rafi'a, and Fatee are already there; they will help you arrange your things. I need to head out somewhere."
"Alright. May Allah protect you until you return."
"Ameen," he muttered under his breath.
She opened the door and stepped out. After walking a short distance, she paused and turned back. "Ya Faruk, what about the remaining luggage?"
He didn't reply until he started the engine. "Go on inside. When I return, I'll bring them in. I'm in a hurry right now." He spoke without looking in her direction.
She nodded to herself, turned around, and walked into the compound. At the modest black gate, she brushed past the young men who had just finished moving the furniture inside. She offered them a quick word of thanks before heading further in.
By the outdoor tap, she spotted Afrah and Amrah—Anty Lubna's children—happily playing with water. She deliberately chose not to speak to them to avoid creating unnecessary drama, knowing very well that Anty Lubna fiercely protected her children and would weaponize the slightest interaction.
Pushing open the living room door, she walked inside. Rafi'a, Fatee, and Hasiya immediately ran over and enveloped her in a warm embrace, and she held them tightly, everyone overjoyed to see each other.
Hasiya exclaimed, "Wow, Anty Asma'u! Look at you! I swear by Allah, you look incredibly beautiful. Life in Ya Faruk's house really suits you."
Asma'u gave Hasiya a playful glare. "Hasiya, you haven't changed a bit, have you?"
They all burst into laughter. Asma'u surveyed the living room; it was quite spacious, with multiple doors leading off from every corner.
Noticing how she was analyzing the layout, Rafi'a chimed in, "Honestly, Anty, the layout of this house is very well designed. See, this area is the central family living room. That door over there leads to your private wing—it has your personal living area, bedroom, and bathroom. That other door belongs to Anty Lubna, and its layout is identical to yours. The door in the center belongs to Ya Umar."
Asma'u smiled gently. "May Allah make it a place of peace and blessings then."
"Ameen," they all chanted in unison.
Fatee took her hand, pulling her along. "Come along and see! We've already started setting up your bedroom."
They headed into the room designated for her and immediately plunged into the hard work. By 2:00 PM, they had completely finished arranging everything, including setting up the cushioned chairs in the main family living room—furniture salvaged from the guest wing of their former mansion. They then moved into Ya Umar's room, cleaning and organizing it thoroughly until every corner was spotless.
Throughout all this hectic activity, there was absolutely no sign of Lubna. It was only now, as they all collapsed onto the carpet in the family living room to catch their breath, that Hajiya Lubna walked in, accompanied by her younger sister, Suhaima.
Suhaima scanned the living room with a deeply disgusted expression. "Anty Lubna, are you telling me this is where Ya Umar expects you to live? Honestly, even the housemaids in our family home are too elite to reside in a crumbling shack like this!"
Lubna curled her lip in contempt. "Just drop it, Suhaima. I'm only tag-teaming along to see exactly how far his financial downfall will take him. But I swear by Allah, I will never permanently live in this scorched house like some impoverished beggar. He knows very well that poverty is not in our bloodline!"
"Exactly! You need to take a firm stand. A house like this is only fit for certain people who were born and raised in absolute poverty; for her, stepping into a house like this is actually a step up in life."
Rafi'a bolted upright, fully intending to fire back a sharp retaliation, knowing absolutely well that the insult was targeted directly at Asma'u.
Asma'u quickly grabbed her hand, shaking her head firmly to signal her to stay silent and not utter a word.
Lubna glared aggressively at Rafi'a. "Well, look at you, standing up so boldly. Were you planning to physically attack us?"
Rafi'a maintained a tight-lipped silence, solely respecting Asma'u's plea to drop the matter.
Suhaima burst into a mocking laugh. "Come on, Anty Lubna, let's go. Honestly, I am far too elite to stand around staring at a garbage dump."
Fatee parted her lips to unleash a fierce comeback, but Asma'u cut her off with a sharp warning glare. Ultimately, Asma'u ushered them away, and they moved into her private wing.
Lubna and Suhaima were visibly disappointed by the reaction; they had deeply hoped to provoke Hasiya and the others into a loud confrontation, as they were actively looking for any excuse to create a toxic feud with Umar's extended family.
The moment they entered the room, Asma'u gave them a thorough scolding, emphasizing that she absolutely despised domestic drama. Therefore, no matter what insults were thrown her way, they were never to engage or retaliate again. They all listened in sullen silence, pouting deeply, as Asma'u's endless tolerance and patience deeply frustrated them.
It wasn't until around sunset (Magriba) that Ya Umar returned home. The girls were sitting together after completing their prayers when he stepped into the living room. They all bowed respectfully to greet him, and he returned their greetings politely but neutrally.
He said, "Get ready, let me drive you all back home."
"Alright," they replied, standing up to gather their veils. Once everyone was fully packed, they bid Asma'u goodbye. Tears welled up in Asma'u's eyes as she pleaded with them, "For Allah's sake, please make sure you visit me frequently."
Comforting her, they promised they would visit as often as possible, explaining that their intense school schedules were the only barrier.
Ya Umar overheard their lingering goodbyes. Growing impatient with their delay, he barked a stern command, "Hey! I will not tolerate any insubordination from you girls..."
Without even letting him finish his sentence, they bolted out the door in a panicked rush.
Asma'u buried her face between her knees, weeping silently from an immediate wave of loneliness for her family. If nothing else, seeing them today had brought immense joy to her heart, and their conversation had given her a brief moment of happiness.
She did not see Ya Umar for the rest of the night until dawn. Naturally, he never spent the night in her room, and she, out of profound self-respect, never ventured into his room either. Despite her deep patience, she possessed immense personal pride; though she knew he didn't love her and had only married her out of charitable duty, she believed he shouldn't treat her with such cold neglect, if only out of respect for their familial ties.
Wiping away her tears, she stood up and headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
She could only prepare basic tea using Lipton and local spices, as the house pantry was completely bare of any real food items. She brought the cups and the tea flask into the center of the living room, knowing full well that Ya Umar never ate at a dining table.
While she was tidying up the space, he emerged from his room dressed in a pristine white Jallabiya. She bowed respectfully to greet him; he offered a single-word response and walked out of the house.
A few minutes later, he returned holding a black plastic bag. Asma'u was sitting in the main living room, waiting for his return to ask how they would manage the day's meals. He handed her the plastic bag, and she accepted it with both hands, offering a polite word of welcome.
He took a seat on a sofa a short distance away from her. She opened the bag to find a loaf of bread, three small sachets of milk, a small portion of sugar, and a packet of butter...
Chapter 3: Bitter Revelations
Seeing the meager breakfast items, she meticulously prepared the tea, poured it into cups, and set them down. Barely had she finished when Amrah and Afrah came running out of their room.
They threw themselves into their father's arms, crying out, "Daddy!"
He smiled gently. "Yes, my beautiful twins. Did you sleep well?"
"We slept well, Daddy. When are we moving back to our real house? This house is horrible, it's so hot and there's no AC."
He simply offered them a sad smile, took their hands, and led them down to the carpet where Asma'u had laid out the tea.
Right at that moment, Lubna emerged from her room, heavily dressed in an expensive pink Shadda fabric, radiating a powerful cloud of designer perfume.
Afrah took a single sip of the tea, immediately spat it out onto the floor, and violently threw the buttered slice of bread Asma'u had handed her. "I am absolutely not drinking this tea, Mommy! It tastes horrible. I want fried potatoes and eggs!"
Asma'u stared at her in absolute shock. Seeing her sister's rebellion, Amrah similarly flung her bread across the room.
Ya Umar witnessed the entire dramatic display but completely ignored them, calmly sipping his tea and eating his bread with absolute serenity.
Lubna glared at him aggressively. "Well, look at that! Do you honestly expect them to drink this trash tea that looks exactly like dirty hair-washing water? Even I, swear by Allah, will not support forcing them to drink this. They are human beings, not animals!"
He raised his slightly bloodshot eyes to look at her. Without uttering a single word, he lowered his gaze and calmly went back to finishing his breakfast. Asma'u also pulled her cup closer and drank her tea, completely ignoring Lubna and the children.
Witnessing their cold indifference, Lubna unleashed a torrent of absolute fury and toxic insults, aggressively mocking and taunting Ya Umar over his financial ruin.
She screamed that her own father was the sole foundation of Umar's past wealth and success. She declared that she bitterly regretted marrying him, as her marriage had brought her nothing but financial suffering and hardship. Consequently, she demanded that he divorce her immediately, as she refused to stay with a man where she would be subjected to drinking dishwater masquerading as tea.
She continued her aggressive tirade for an extended period, but absolutely no one acknowledged her presence or fired back. The moment Asma'u finished her meal, she quietly gathered the cups and retreated to her bedroom. Umar similarly stood up and walked back into his private room.
Realizing that her screaming was falling on completely deaf ears, Lubna grabbed Afrah and Amrah by their hands and stormed out of the house.
A few minutes later, Umar Faruq emerged from his room fully dressed in sharp, high-end casual wear, looking immaculate and smelling divine.
In my mind, I couldn't help but admire how incredibly well this man grooms himself, swear by Allah.
He stepped into Lubna's room, only to find it completely empty. Without a word, he turned around and walked into Asma'u's wing.
She was lying on a long sofa in her private living room, completely engrossed in chatting on her phone, a radiant smile plastered across her face.
He offered the Islamic greeting (Salam) and sat down on the sofa directly facing her. She adjusted herself into a proper sitting position and said, "Welcome."
He didn't reply verbally but kept his gaze locked on her, causing her to look down in sudden shyness. Noticing her embarrassment, he averted his gaze and spoke calmly: "I am heading out to inspect my business shops. I want to initiate the post-fire renovations to see how Allah will restore things. If the remaining funds are sufficient to complete the repairs, I might put them up for lease. If the money falls short, we will evaluate what alternative steps need to be taken."
Hearing him fall silent, she realized he had finished his statement. In her characteristic soft, gentle tone, she replied, "May Allah instill absolute blessings within this venture, and may He restore to you something far better than everything you have lost."
Her profound, supportive prayer deeply touched his heart. He responded with a soft, "Ameen," as he stood up. "I will be back later," he added, walking out the door.
She whispered, "May Allah protect you," and lay back down onto the sofa.
The Cruel Matriarch
Upon leaving the house, Umar drove straight to his parental home. It was a beautiful, well-constructed estate; in his days of massive affluence, Umar had thoroughly renovated it, equipping it with every modern luxury for his parents' comfort.
He honked, and the security guard swiftly opened the gate. After sharing a brief greeting with the guard, he drove inside and secured a parking space.
He walked into the family living room with a polite greeting. Only Rafi'a responded with genuine warmth and happiness. His mother (Mama), alongside his other siblings, Mufida and Harris, offered a completely cold, indifferent response.
He took a humble seat on the carpet and greeted his mother. She responded with visible reluctance. Choosing to ignore the cold shoulder, he turned to acknowledge Rafi'a's warm welcome before throwing a sharp glare at Harris and Mufida. "Don't you two know how to greet your elder brother properly? Since when did you lose all respect for me?"
Before they could even formulate an excuse, Mama aggressively cut in, "Oh, why shouldn't they lose respect for you? Seeing as you have completely failed to provide solutions to the financial issues affecting them!"
He let out a deep, heavy sigh, his eyes shifting into a darker shade of distress. He pleaded, "Please have patience, Mama. These things take time. You are fully aware of the sudden financial catastrophe I am currently navigating. In the past, I would fulfill their financial requests before they even asked, but I swear by Allah, right now I don't have the..."
"Shut up right there!!!" Mama interrupted him with a booming, furious shout. "Do you have the audacity to look me in the eye and claim you don't have money? Have you lost all shame that you can lie so brazenly? Just two days ago, you sold your massive mansion for millions of naira, yet your mouth can slickly utter that you are broke? Anyone who fails to show gratitude to Allah for his wealth will certainly taste His wrath!"
Swallowing a bitter lump of heartbreak, he maintained his deeply respectful tone toward his mother. "Please understand, Mama, I swear by Allah, the proceeds from that house sale were immediately depleted to purchase the smaller house we just relocated to. The tiny fraction left over is what I am currently using to renovate my burnt shops. I don't even expect those funds to cover the full cost of repairs."
"Hmph! Save your grand explanations, Mr. Planner. Get out of my sight. Go ahead and use the money to fix the entire world instead of your shops! In this life, anyone who has the means but refuses to assist his own siblings is an absolute failure..."
Umar snapped his head up to look at his mother, his eyes turning blood-red with unshed tears. Rafi'a also began to weep silently, utterly shocked by their mother's toxic behavior. Mama was a woman who possessed absolutely zero gratitude; she completely ignored the fact that Umar had spent his entire life pampering and providing for her every whim. None of her other children possessed Umar's patience or deep devotion to their parents, yet the moment calamity struck him, the entire household turned against him.
Umar's voice cut through Rafi'a's thoughts. Bowing respectfully, he said, "I will take my leave now. May Allah calm your heart." Turning to look at Harris and Mufida, he added, "I will send you some money, by Allah's grace."
Instantly, their faces lit up with greedy smiles, including Mama's. "Well, now you're talking like a good son! May Allah bless you."
"Ameen," he muttered under his breath. Mufida and Harris rained down excessive expressions of gratitude, but he simply turned and walked out.
The moment he stepped into his car and drove out of the compound, the crushing weight of betrayal suffocated him. His heart burned with raw agony. He pulled over to the side of the road, buried his face against the steering wheel, and wept bitterly, reciting every prayer that came to his mind.
He was deeply shattered by his mother's conditional love. When he was a multi-millionaire, she loved and cherished him more than anyone else, constantly showering him with prayers for long life and prosperity. Yet, shockingly, the moment his wealth vanished, her attitude completely flipped. Now, he was the person she despised most in the world, and her mouth only praised his successful siblings—Abubakar, Anty Sa'a, Harris, and Mufida. His siblings had similarly completely turned their backs on him, with the sole exception of Anty Sa'a and Rafi'a, who still loved him genuinely. He pulled out a handkerchief, desperately wiping away the torrent of tears streaming down his cheeks.
He sat there for a long time, trapped in his grief, before finally starting the engine and driving toward the market.
Alhamdulillah, the work at the market was progressing rapidly; workers were actively clearing out the ash and debris left behind by the devastating fire that had consumed his shops. Seeing that the operations were moving smoothly, he got back into his car and drove toward the local hangout spot to meet his friends.
The Fair-Weather Friends
His circle of friends were all gathered together, laughing hysterically and sharing casual gossip, when Umar's car pulled up.
"Ugh, click your tongue, look at that broke loser arriving," Hafiz sneered.
"Who's a broke loser?" Salman asked, shifting his gaze toward Hafiz.
"Umar, of course! Are you completely blind?" Tasi'u interjected.
Al-Kasim curled his lip in deep disgust. "Honestly, I swear by Allah, I don't want him hanging around us anymore. I don't want his contagious aura of poverty rubbing off on us."
"Ah, so you finally see the light, brother! That massive family mansion he used to brag about? He literally just sold it off," Kabir revealed.
"Wait, for real, Kabir? Are you serious?" Hafiz asked, shocked.
"I swear by Allah, Hafiz, it's the absolute truth. Jafar's wife gave me the full scoop yesterday. You know Umar's immense pride would never allow him to confess his financial ruin to us directly."
"Wow! So where is he living now?"
"He bought some tiny, uncompleted shack in a ghetto..." They all burst into a loud, mocking roar of laughter. Al-Kasim sneered, "The high and mighty millionaire has finally tasted real hunger..."
Umar, who was already standing right behind them, overheard every single word of their betrayal. He shook his head in silent disappointment and offered his greeting: "Assalamu Alaikum."
They spun around, staring at him in absolute panic and horror. They were deeply terrified. Did he overhear our entire conversation? They had absolutely no idea he had already walked up to them.
Instantly, everyone began stuttering, desperately trying to cook up awkward excuses to save face as Umar extended his hand...
