MASIFAFFIYAR KAUNA DISASTROUS LOVE BY M SHAKUR

Description

 Disastrous Love (Masifaffiyar Kauna)" by M Shakur.

 The Burden, and Family Dynamics

She stood inside the computer café, right in front of the counter. She wore a long, heavily faded maroon hijab that dragged on the floor. Her eyes were fixed on the café operator—a tall young man seated on a chair in front of a computer, typing away. It was clear he was working on something for her, given how intently she stared at the screen, as if trying to decipher what was on it. She opened her large, oily eyes wide, her heart pounding with the terrifying fear that she might have failed her WAEC exams, knowing how difficult it had been for her father (Baba) to scrape together the money for her registration fees. She couldn't bear the thought of anything blocking her from higher education, even if it meant attending just the Federal College of Education (FCE).
Lost in her deep thoughts, she saw the young man stand up and walk toward the printer to fetch a paper that had just slid out. Her heart beat even faster, her eyes widening like glowing lightbulbs. He picked up the paper, walked back to his desk, took her WAEC scratch card, and extended the printout toward her with a warm smile.
"Congratulations, Fatima Zarah! You cleared your WAEC. You have six credits. I am really happy for you. May Allah bless your certificate," he said, handing over the document.
She snatched the paper hurriedly and scanned it; she had scored a 'C' in Mathematics, English, and all the core subjects required for a science student. A beautiful, charming smile broke across her face, deeply revealing her dimples and exposing her bright white teeth. Without hesitation, she collapsed to the floor and performed a prostration of gratitude (Sujjud) to Allah.
The café owner laughed, turning back to his chair. "Look at our little religious girl, Faty!" he teased.
Rising with a smile, she unzipped her small handbag—its faux leather peeling off from prolonged wear and tear—carefully placed the certificate and scratch card inside, and zipped it back up. She looked at him and said, "Thank you, Yaya Habu." He turned and stared intently at her, but completely oblivious to his gaze, she turned and rushed out of the shop.
She walked home, unable to wipe the massive smile off her face, overflowing with immense joy. She passed through her neighborhood, where children filled the street, shouting and playing. She entered a large compound through a long entrance corridor (zaure). It was a rented tenement house (Gidan Hayan) consisting of five apartments, each featuring a living room and two inner bedrooms. The house shared four general toilets (two for bathing, two for latrines), a communal washing area, and a large shared kitchen where every tenant family cooked. The entire compound was neatly floored with smooth concrete, so clean it looked slippery.
(Author's Note promotional break for Mom Afreeen Pre-Order Group)
The courtyard was empty. Spotting her father’s motorcycle (the model nicknamed "Wayyo Kudina" / Oh My Money!) parked in front of their door, she knew he was home. She quickly greeted a few women stepping out of the kitchen, who responded indifferently, and entered her family's apartment.
The living room was moderately decent, laid with linoleum floor mats, nice cushions, a small wall-mounted TV, nice curtains, and a wall clock. The walls were painted a smooth milk color. Four children were playing inside. The oldest was twelve-year-old Habib, followed by Ishak, then Bashir, and the fourth was a baby girl named Abida, who was still being breastfed. They were all light-skinned and exceptionally beautiful children.
She looked at Habib, who was dressed in mechanic's overalls, and asked, "Is Baba back, Habib?"
He nodded, standing up. "Yes, he's in the room with our mother."
She nodded back. Knowing that whenever Baba and Mama were in the bedroom, the children were forbidden from entering, she walked into the opposite room facing her parents'. A massive, thick mattress sat on the floor, occupying almost the entire room, leaving only a tiny space where a small, torn mattress was shoved against the wardrobe. She sat down on the mattress, pulled out her WAEC slip again, and smiled. Finally, she too would go to the University just like Hafiza. Once Baba stepped out, she would ask for his phone to call Mami and break the news.
(Author's Note promotional break)
As she sat there, she heard her mother's voice emerging from the room, comforting a crying Abida. Her mother called out, "Where is Zakiyya, Habib?"
Before Habib could answer, her father’s voice echoed from inside: "For Allah's sake, Habee (Rukayya), I have repeatedly told you to stop calling that girl Zakiyya! Call her Fatima. Why change her name when she bears such a beautiful name, named after the daughter of the Prophet?"
Her mother snapped back aggressively, "By Allah, Father of Habib, your complaints never end! You're cooped up in the room yet your ears are wide open listening to everything outside. What on earth is wrong with the name Zakiyya that you're making such a fuss about today?" She scoffed and sat down to nurse Abida.
Knowing her mother would call her again, Fatima quickly stood up, walked into the living room, and knelt respectfully before her. "Here I am, Mama," she said softly.
Her mother glared at her intensely. "So you were inside, heard me, and kept quiet until your father intervened before you crawled out? Hypocrite! Always roaming about in a giant hijab like a witch doctor's wife. Get up, strap Abida to your back, and go to the kitchen. I set some water on the stove; mix it and take it to your father so he can bathe, then start cooking lunch."
Fatima nodded and took Abida along with the baby wrapper. As she went to tie the baby over her hijab, her mother screamed at her, "Are you seriously not going to take off that hijab before carrying the child? Do you want to make her cry again? Are you trying to suffocate my baby with heat?"
Fatima said nothing. She quietly took off her hijab, set it aside, and turned her back to her mother out of modesty to strap the baby. Her mother watched her with a heavy glare, privately irritated by Fatima's rapidly developing, full chest, which she felt the girl was deliberately hiding by constantly enveloping herself in a giant hijab.
Once the baby was secured, Fatima headed to the kitchen. Mama turned back to the room, picked up a bag of bread, and flung it at Habib. "Eat this! It’s not even twelve o'clock yet you've run away from work as if you weren't fed this morning. Glutton! Were you sent to this world just to consume food? Share it with your brothers, drink some water, and head back to work. Lunch won't be ready anytime soon. Take Ishak and the others and drop them off at Mallam Idi's Islamic school." Habib pouted and muttered complaints under his breath as his mother walked away without acknowledging them.
Inside the bedroom, Fatima's father, a middle-aged man between 45 and 50 years old, lay on the bed covered in a sheet. His hands were clasped behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling fan, visibly buried in deep thought. Rukayya adjusted her wrapper, climbed onto the bed, pulled back his sheet, and provocatively initiated physical intimacy to arouse him.
Annoyed, he pushed her away. "For Allah's sake, Rukayya! I am in the middle of a catastrophic crisis and you don't have a single care in the world! You plunged me into this mess, yet you are completely unbothered. You called me home from my job search just to pull this stunt, as if I have nothing else to do!" He spoke with intense bitterness.
"Just because you know I love you, you take advantage of me, Ruka? Three million Naira! Where am I supposed to find three million Naira in exactly one week when the creditors come? If I don't pay, do you know what they will do to me? You forced me to take this loan, and you didn't let me invest it into anything productive! Instead, you made me rent this expensive tenement apartment that is far beyond my financial means. You made me buy you fancy furniture, a wall-mounted TV, a fridge, expensive mattresses for us and the kids, and this massive luxury bed fit for newlyweds! If I had used that money for business, I would at least have a means of paying it back. But I have nothing, and you don't even care! All you want is for me to stay glued to you from morning till night, as if intimacy will pay off our debts!"
Furious, Rukayya fired back, "How dare you say I don't care about your debts? And stop claiming I wasted your money. You also bought yourself that flashy 'Wayyo Kudina' motorcycle and cruise around Gandujiyya street like a superstar! Don't you enjoy how the other tenants worship us? We are looked at as the elite of this compound! We eat pasta today, pepper soup tomorrow. Every evening, I deliberately throw away the skewers of the suya meat you buy me in the middle of the courtyard just so they can see it! We have a fridge and a TV just like rich people. Don't you see how they beg me for favors? Everything is 'Mother of Habib this, Mother of Habib that.' Doesn't that flatter your ego? Don't worry, money will come and we will pay it within the week. There is still time."
He yelled back, "Do you take me for a child, Ruka? Am I going to perform magic to conjure three million Naira in seven days? Where is the money from the savings contribution (Adashi) you've been collecting? You told me you collected a two hundred thousand Naira payout—at least give me that so I can give them a down payment!"
Pouting, she replied, "I spent that a long time ago on household needs and starting a bridal/trousseau collection (Tari) for Abida's future marriage."
He stared at her in disbelief. "For Abida or for Fatima?"
She avoided his gaze. "You heard me clearly. I said Abida. I've already started hoarding furniture and kitchenware for her. Look under this bed and you’ll see the items I bought."
He sighed heavily. "Abida isn't even two years old and hasn't even been fully weaned, yet you are gathering a wedding trouseau for her? Why don't you think about a marriage for Fatima if a good suitor comes along?"
Rukayya scoffed loudly. "That one has no luck with men. Up until now, not a single man has ever shown interest in her or checked up on her. Abida is a better investment; even now, the neighbors are already booking her for their sons!"
(Author's Note promotional break)

Episode 2 (Continued)

Seeing him staring blankly at her like a TV screen, she continued, "If you saw the high-quality items I bought, you wouldn't be complaining, Father of Habib! I joined the Mom Afreen Pre-order collection. I paid a very small amount of money, and she ordered top-tier goods directly from overseas. Wallahi, I have never seen such beautiful pot and flask designs in my life. The things I ordered for Abida can only be found in the mansions of the ultra-rich. I pray Allah blesses Mom Afreen; her prices are incredibly cheap, it feels like getting the goods for free. I'm just waiting for more money to come in so we can order more overseas goods through her and open a big retail shop."
Throughout her speech, he just stared at her with deep resentment. This woman had ruined his life, yet she was completely oblivious, rattling on with useless chatter. What infuriated him most was his own inability to strictly put his foot down with her—it felt as though his mouth was spiritually tied whenever it came to her. Seeing his unblinking eyes pooling with tears, her demeanor softened. She rested her head on his chest, caressing him gently.
"I'm sorry, Father of Habib. Everything is a matter of time; this phase will pass. Money will come, In sha Allah, and we will pay off this debt. You aren't the first person to owe money. Just promise me you won't resort to doing manual hard labor (Dako) because the people in this house will find out, and they will mock me. Don't worry, I will figure something out for us."
He simply nodded, gently pushed her aside, sat up, and reached for his jallabiya robe next to the bed. He was tall and fair-skinned—it was obvious all the children in the living room took after his looks, while their mother was dark-skinned. She watched him leave, frustrated that he hadn't fulfilled her physical desires, but shook it off. "Let me walk you out to the restroom, then I'll check on that girl's cooking."
He said nothing. She wrapped a hijab over the wrapper tied across her chest and followed him out. The other co-tenants were out in the courtyard. Rukayya raised her head high, completely ignoring them as she strutted past to follow her husband. The father kept his head low, completely avoiding eye contact with the women in the yard as he walked toward the restroom, while Rukayya turned into the shared kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, she found Abida asleep. Fatima was busy fanning a smoky firewood stove; the water was already boiling. Fatima hadn't even noticed her mother enter because she was struggling with the fire, her eyes bloodshot and tearing heavily from the thick smoke.
Mama glared at her thoroughly. "When you're done fanning that fire, take the baby and lay her down in the room." Fatima simply nodded, eager to avoid saying anything that would trigger another round of insults. As Mama turned to leave, she clicked her tongue in annoyance, stepped behind Fatima, and said, "Give me my daughter." She reached over Fatima's chest to untie the wrapper.
Fatima abruptly squeezed her eyes shut in sheer panic and terror. Mama froze, looking at her with absolute disgust. "For goodness' sake, untie my child! Why are you closing your eyes tightly like you're performing a ritual?"
Fatima let out a shaky sigh of relief. "Uhn, okay," she muttered, untying the knot. Mama took the baby and walked out, leaving Fatima to continue cooking in peace.
(Author's Note promotional break)
Around 3:00 PM, Fatima finished cooking. She placed the pot on a tray and brought it to their living room. She found her father sitting on a cushion holding a remote control, with Mama beside him—both clearly waiting for lunch. The moment Fatima saw her father, a genuine, heartfelt smile lit up her face.
Mama glared at her. "Miss, drop the pot and go fetch the plates so I can serve your father."
Baba quickly shot his wife a harsh look. "Can't you just let the girl rest?" He looked over at Habib, who had just walked in looking grumpy from hunger. "Go fetch the plates and serve the food."
Mama snapped, "Are you seriously undermining my authority right in front of the children?"
Baba lowered his voice calmly. "She is exhausted and needs to rest. She has younger siblings; if she does the cooking, the younger ones should handle the chores, shouldn't they?"
Before Mama could argue further, Baba looked at Fatima, who was standing quietly with her head bowed, drenched in sweat from the kitchen. "Zahra’u, my dear, did you check your exam results?"
She raised her head quickly, nodding with a bright smile. Her absolute adoration for her father was completely transparent. He smiled back warmly, filled with love for her. "Bring the paper, let me see."
Fatima hurried to the inner room to fetch it. Mama watched her go with a bitter glare. Habib brought the plates, and Mama served the food, dishing out a tiny portion for Fatima and setting it aside. Baba wanted to object to the small portion but chose to remain silent. He picked up his spoon and began eating, smiling to himself. He was incredibly proud of Fatima's culinary skills; even Rukayya couldn't match the flavor this young girl produced.
When Fatima returned, Baba paused his eating, stretched out his hand, and took the certificate. He pointed to a spot near his feet and said, "Sit down here, and fetch your food so you can eat." She looked at her small portion and then at her siblings' plates but said nothing; she was just grateful she wasn't ravenously hungry. She grabbed her plate and sat right beside her father.
As he scanned the paper, a proud smile broke across his face. He nodded repeatedly. "Masha Allah! Whoever doesn't have a Fatima lacks..."
Fatima smiled bashfully, answering in a whisper, "Good luck." She kept her voice low to avoid drawing her mother's wrath.
Her father chuckled and looked at Mama. "Our daughter cleared her WAEC completely!" He then looked at Habib, who was staring at the certificate while stuffing his mouth. "Look at this, Habib. This is the kind of excellence I want from you. You are the male child of this house—our little father—but you are always at the bottom of your class. The only thing you excel at is eating!" Habib scowled and said nothing.
Baba patted Fatima’s head gently as she ate. "Next stop is college, right, my little lawyer? May Allah bless you and bless this certificate. Now, as soon as a worthy suitor shows up, we'll get you married!"
Overcome with intense shyness, Fatima quickly stood up with her plate and ran back into the inner room. Baba burst out laughing, and Habib joined him.
Mama scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Your daughter doesn't have a single suitor. You should stop dreaming about her marriage because not even a beggar has asked for her hand, let alone a man of substance."
The comment deeply wounded Baba. He replied firmly, "Marriage is all about divine timing, Rukayya. When the time comes, it happens, even if you are in a coma! Besides, how old is she? She isn't even twenty yet. Rest assured, my Zahra’s husband is on his way, right, Habib?"
Habib nodded eagerly. "Yes, Baba! Wallahi, I can't wait for us to host a wedding caravan like Mansur’s family did when their older sister got married. I want Ya Faty to get married too!"
Baba smiled, finishing his food while listening to Habib talk about his friend's sister's wedding. When he was fully done, he stood up and looked at Mama, who was nursing Abida. "I'm heading out to look for livelihoods. I'll be back later." He touched baby Abida’s foot. "My little princess won't even look at her father today because she has Mama's milk." The baby kicked his hand away, focused entirely on nursing. He laughed. "Ah, so you want to fight? We'll see who brings you cheesy treats later!" He looked at Mama. "I'm leaving."
With a bitter expression, Mama muttered, "Safe journey."
Baba walked out holding the certificate and pushing his motorcycle. He called out, "Zara’u!"
From the room, she answered, "Yes, Baba!"
He rolled the motorcycle into the entrance corridor (zaure). She walked out wearing her hijab, her head bowed respectfully. He handed her back the WAEC slip and said, "May Allah bless you and grant you a righteous husband. Someone who will love you and care for you even more than I do. No matter what is done to you in this house, continue to be patient. I know you are a patient, modest, and enduring girl. One day, all of this will just be a memory."
She nodded softly. He asked quietly, "Did you get enough to eat from what she served you?"
She quickly replied, "Yes Baba, I am completely full, Wallahi."
He stared at her silently, looking deeply sorrowful. Seeing his expression, she worriedly added, "By Allah, Baba, I am full. You know I never lie to you."
His eyes reddened with tears. "I know, Zahra. You never lie to me; I can vouch for you anywhere, my daughter." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his very last 1,000 Naira note. Handing it to her, he said, "Take this. Hide it and spend it carefully on whatever you need. Right now, I don't have airtime on my phone. When I return, I will load some credit and give you the phone so you can call Mami and tell her your WAEC results."
Taking the money, she bowed slightly. "Thank you, Baba. May Allah reward you abundantly and open up your doors of wealth."
His eyes filled with tears. "Go back inside. It’s almost four o'clock; gather your siblings and head to the Islamic school (Islamiyya). Focus heavily on your studies—education is a woman's true ornament."
She nodded. "Okay, Baba."
He gently patted her head and pulled her into a brief side-hug. "Pray for your father. Allah will give me money, and I will buy you a mobile phone, since you are now a young woman like everyone else. I will buy you new wrappers, shoes, and cosmetics."
She smiled shyly and said, "Baba, don't worry about it. Everything is a matter of time. May Allah grant you halal wealth. Go along so you won't be late." She turned around quickly, not wanting him to see her emotions...

2. Summary of the  Story

This segment of "Disastrous Love (Masifaffiyar Kauna)" introduces Fatima Zarah (Faty), a highly pious, modest, and brilliant young girl living in a low-income poly-tenant house (Gidan Hayan) in Northern Nigeria.

1. The Triumph: Fatima checks her WAEC (high school graduation) results at a local cyber café and discovers she passed with six credits, including core sciences, making her eligible for university.
2. The Domestic Struggle & Toxicity: She returns home to a highly dysfunctional family dynamic. Her mother, Rukayya (Mama), is abusive, deeply envious of Fatima's physical development and academic success, and highly materialistic. She favors her infant daughter Abida, going as far as hoarding luxury household goods and setting up a bridal dowry fund (Tari) for the infant while neglecting Fatima and declaring she has "no luck with men."

3. The Financial Crisis: Fatima’s father (Baba) is a deeply loving, proud, and supportive parent who completely adores Fatima. However, he is trapped in a catastrophic financial crisis. He was manipulated by his materialistic wife into taking an enormous 3 million Naira loan to fund an extravagant lifestyle (renting a house beyond his means, buying luxury electronics, and buying fancy furniture to show off to neighbors). He has only seven days to repay the debt and faces imminent ruin, yet his wife remains completely unbothered, focusing instead on physical intimacy and material vanity. The chapter ends with a touching, bittersweet interaction between Baba and Fatima, where he gives her his last 1,000 Naira.

   3. Description

• Genre: Northern Nigerian (Hausa) Domestic Drama / Social Realism / Romance.
• Tone: Emotional, tense, and contrastive—juxtaposing pure parental love with toxic maternal abuse, and superficial vanity with severe poverty.
• Setting: A bustling, low-to-middle class communal compound (Gidan Hayan) in Northern Nigeria (specifically mentioning Gandujiyya street, hinting at Kano).

• Language Style: Modern Kano Market Literature prose. It captures the local vernacular perfectly, blending Hausa cultural expressions with English loanwords related to technology and modern poverty ("system," "printer," "credit," "science student," "pre-order," "joystick," "remote," "paparazzi").

  4. Analytics & Character Breakdown

  Character Analysis

• Fatima Zarah: The archetype of the long-suffering, respectful daughter (Ustaziya). Despite her mother’s continuous emotional abuse, name-calling ("hypocrite," "witch doctor's wife"), and food deprivation, Fatima maintains absolute Sabr (patience). Her deep bond with her father serves as her emotional anchor.
• Baba (Father of Habib): A tragic figure. He represents a morally upright, hardworking, and profoundly affectionate father who is destroyed by his own weakness for his wife. His inability to stand up to Rukayya ("it felt as though his mouth was spiritually tied") has led him to financial ruin. He foresees a grim future, which is why he tells Fatima that her trials will "one day be a memory."

• Rukayya (Mama): The antagonist of the household. She is driven entirely by superficial status and competition with her co-tenants (throwing away suya skewers in the yard just for show). She exhibits classic narcissistic parenting—sabotaging her oldest daughter's self-esteem while projecting her vanity onto her infant child.

  Themes & Social Commentary

• The Trap of Toxic Materialism: The author shines a harsh light on a common societal issue in urban communal housing: living entirely for the gaze of neighbors. Rukayya represents the desperate urge to appear wealthy ("elite of the compound") by consuming luxury goods (TVs, fridges, pre-ordered imported flasks) on high-interest borrowed money, completely blind to the legal or economic destruction facing her husband.
• Gender and Educational Dynamics: The text highlights a generational clash. While Baba holds progressive views on female empowerment—declaring that "education is a woman's true ornament" and dreaming of Fatima becoming a lawyer—Mama holds a highly regressive view, viewing daughters strictly as objects to be "booked" for marriage by neighbors from infancy.
• The Emotional Abuse of Young Women: The text subtly touches upon the policing of young women's bodies. Mama’s deep resentment toward Fatima’s changing body and her anger at Fatima wearing a large hijab reveals how modesty is sometimes weaponized or heavily criticized within dysfunctional families.