Mijin Tace Book 1 Complete By Hasat Sodangi

Description

Book Title: MIJIN-TA-CE (Her Henpecked Husband)
Volume: 1
Author: Haj. Hafsat C. Sodangi (Mrs. Yunus Abdullahi Dabai)
Copyright: © Haj. Hafsat Sodangi

Gratitude

My gratitude goes to Allah, the Subhanahu wa ta'ala (Glorified and Exalted be He), the Owner of everyone and everything, the Skilled and Wise, who created all things in pairs, and created humans and Jinn to worship Him.
May peace and blessings be upon the Seal of the Prophets, the leader of Messengers, the Messenger of salvation and mercy, the final Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W), his household, his companions, and those who follow his path of truth until the Day of Judgment.

Dedications & Contributions

• To my Readers: This book is dedicated to my readers, both near and far. I thank you dearly for your attention. May the Almighty reward you with goodness, Amen summan Amen.
• Special Token (Tukuici): This book is a token for my Kabir: Kabir Chindo Sodangi (A.T.B.U Bauchi).
• Gift (Goro): This is your gift, my Aunty, Hajiya Rakiya Baba Sani in Bukuru.

• Computer Typesetting: Nafi'u Salisu (Phone numbers omitted, Email: nafiusalisu47@yahoo.com)

  Other Books by the Author

Uwar miji, Naga ta kaina, Wayyo duniya, Rabon kwaxo, Cikar alqawari, Tabbataccen al'amari, Yi wa wani, Abu naka, Nufin Allah, Gani gare ka, Kifi na ganinka, Me zamu ce da maza?, Garin banza, Biyan buqatar rai, Hattara!, Da kamar wuya, Daga qin gaskiya, Mata masu duniya, Shamaki, Mai uwa, Duk xaya, Mata da kicin xinsu, Wacece Ni?, Ayi dai mu gani, Kyautata.

Chapter 1: The Narrative Begins

"Humaira! Humaira!! Humaira!!! Can't she hear this call, or what?" I heard these words coming from inside our house.
This voice was the exact reason I stopped running inside; I pulled back and stood there, listening to the person speaking. In absolute frustration and anger—because for her, it was completely unacceptable to call anyone else to do an errand or give them a break, everything had to be a call to Humaira—I let out a bitter, heavy sigh from deep within my heart.
Growing irritated, I stared blankly at the metal bowl in my hand. Out of sheer spite, I muttered to myself, "It's as if she wasn't the one who sent me in the first place!" Before I could even deliver what she had sent me to get, she had already forgotten and was yelling for me again, as if I were the only living soul inside this household.
Instead of hurrying inside to deliver her errand—especially since I could hear her screaming my name without a pause—I chose to linger in the entranceway (zaure). I leaned tight against the clay wall, listening, while letting my mind reflect bitterly on the heavy circumstances weighting my heart down.
When will I ever get a chance to rest? When will I be able to just move around freely like the other kids in this house? When will I possess the basic freedom of life that I see my siblings enjoying?
Whenever my heart found a quiet moment to ask questions, it never asked anything else besides these: When will I rest? When will I have the freedom of life that my siblings have?
When I was a little girl, I used to think that this constant restriction, hardship, and lack of rest were simply because I was the youngest among the children old enough to be sent on errands. Because of that, I used to eagerly wish and hope that the younger ones coming up behind me would soon grow up and take over the burden. But later, I realized it wasn't like that at all. After all, I had younger siblings who were only ten months apart from me—like Suwaiba and her circle. Yet, they were never subjected to the endless, exhausting errands I was given: "Buy me dried baobab leaves," "Buy me locust bean cake," "Buy me potash."
Everything fell on me. But what infuriated me the most was that even if the household items needed were from the very same shop, they would never aggregate the errand for me. They would wait for me to bring back one thing, and then instantly send me right back out for the next. It was entirely designed to ensure I was never caught sitting down or relaxing. When I was a little child, this endless back-and-forth used to drain my spirit; how much worse now that I have grown to understand my own pain? Meanwhile, many of my younger siblings who grew up after me are completely exempt from this treatment; they possess so much freedom that they can be asked to do an errand and flatly say, "No, I won't go."

Family Background: Malam Surajo

My father, Malam Surajo, is a resident of the Jahun quarters in Bauchi State. Jahun is located just a little ahead of Nasarawa if you come through the Nasarawa gate. Around our neighborhood and the surrounding communities, almost everyone knows him, and they know our household. This is because in years past, he was among the highly successful merchants who commanded the market. Even nowadays, when people say business has slowed down for him, he is still comfortably well-off and self-sufficient.
When I first gained awareness as a young girl in our house, I opened my eyes to find my father with two legally wedded wives. First was his senior wife, Hajiya Majadan, whom the entire household and even the neighborhood folk called "Mama." Then there was my mother (Innata). I once tried to hide or avoid using her real name, but I received a severe beating with a whip for acting "too sophisticated" and full of silly mannerisms. So, I conceded, joined the ranks, and began calling her by the name everyone used for her: "Gambo."
Mama was the first wife in our house. She and my father had a traditional "first-time marriage" (auren saurayi da budurwa—a marriage between a young bachelor and a virgin). She drew an immense amount of pride, arrogance, and leverage from this status, constantly boasting about her position as the senior wife. I could even say that in Mama's eyes, any woman whose marriage to her husband wasn't a first-time bachelor-and-maid match wasn't in a real or legitimate marriage. In her view, if such a woman bore children, those children were just floating along in life, lacking true nobility or freedom.
Perhaps this mentality was the reason why, when her own daughters grew up and reached marriageable age, Mama dug her heels in. She absolutely refused to accept any suitors my father brought forward. Her reason? Those suitors already had other wives. She swore her daughters would never go and be underlings to other women's children; they would only marry pristine, unmarried bachelors (samari gal a leda). Consequently, my father had no choice but to let the hen pull the rooster—he bowed to her wishes. He married off my elder sisters, Anti Sha'awa and Anti Kaltume, to the bachelors their mother selected.
Mama's slogan was always: "It is better for them to come find you than for you to go find them. No matter how bad things get, if a man meets you in your own house with your children and your husband, no trouble can be brought to your door. Everyone must follow the system they met you in because it's your husband and your home. What drama can anyone possibly bring you?"
Mama was a dominant, deeply arrogant woman who loved exercising power. It was rare for a day to break and pass without her chanting her own praises. Almost every single day she would declare:

"Alhaji is my husband. We married as bachelor and maid. Ours is a marriage of true love; there is nothing of his that I do not know, and there is nothing of mine hidden from him. I married him when he didn't have a single penny, back when he had no more than two pairs of trousers to his name. Therefore, no woman is going to walk into my house just because she and her parents sighted wealth and comfort, and think she can bring her dramatic antics to me. It will not happen; I will not allow it! Even the master of the house won't give her any breathing room. Yes! Whichever woman eyes my husband and wishes to come in and enjoy the wealth she is staring at will have to come and learn the lesson of forced patience. If she can't take it, she can hit the road, just like the many others did when they realized they couldn't survive here."

Though Mama uttered these heavy words with a deceptive casualness, as if playing or joking, she meant them with absolute, ruthless sincerity. And indeed, that was exactly how life played out in our house—no one dared question or dispute her claims. My father could never argue with Mama. He never contested her; in his eyes, she was always right. He was deeply afraid of upsetting her or making her angry. To maintain peace, he would gladly discard his own opinions and adopt hers.
A small example of this was how he abandoned his own choices for his daughters' marriages. Despite his brothers and best friends explicitly advising him against it, he surrendered his authority to Mama's demands.

Innata (Gambo) and Her Royal Roots

My mother, Innata, who lived alongside Mama and her husband, endured. She exercised patience—and not just a small amount. If she hadn't come from a highly principled, protective, and influential family, she never would have survived that house.
Innata was the heavily pampered, beloved last-born child of her family. She had many older brothers and sisters (Yayu), and all of them doted on her. She was the absolute favorite of their father, Malam Mai-Babban-Allo (the Islamic scholar of the grand slate). To her own biological mother, she was the only female child. She was extraordinarily beautiful. During her youth, her beauty was legendary, especially in her native neighborhood of Kofar Dumi—the very neighborhood where my father and Mama lived when they first married and where he built his very first house before eventually moving to this current house in Jahun.
Many people who knew Innata, her background, and the bitter reality of her marriage often said that it was only the bond of her children that kept her rooted in our house.
Malam Mai-Babban-Allo was a revered Islamic teacher who taught both children and adults. He had two wives. Hajiya 'Yar-Dubu was the senior wife, and she was the mother of the older children of the house, such as Alhaji Maikudi, Alhaji Malam, Alhaji Kawu, Inna Aisha, and Inna Hajara. They were all vastly older than my mother; in fact, their own children were her age mates, and some were even older than her.
My mother's biological mother, Hajiya Turai, was given to the scholar in marriage during his later years after his second wife passed away. Hajiya Turai had only three children: Kawu Hassan, Husaini, and her, their Gambo (a name traditionally given to a child born after twins). The scholar's wives lived with immense maturity and mutual respect. Hajiya 'Yar-Dubu maintained her dignity as the elder, and Hajiya Turai respected her deeply, keeping herself humble. The scholar did his absolute best to ensure peace reigned in his home. Thus, everything moved smoothly, and all the children deeply respected their parents.
Because Innata grew up in a household where she was extremely pampered due to her family's wealth, her oldest brother, Alhaji Maikudi, stepped in to prevent her from becoming spoiled. He took her from her parents' house and brought her into his own home to be raised under the watch of his wife, Kubra, who at the time had three young sons: Abdullahi (called Abba), Auwal, and Ahmad. Hajiya Kubra raised my mother with genuine love and trust, giving her an exceptional, disciplined upbringing alongside her own children. Innata grew up in Alhaji Maikudi’s house looking like his eldest daughter. She called him "Father," as if he had sired her himself. It was only much later that many of his younger children and outsiders realized she was actually his younger sister, not his daughter.
When she became a young woman, her grace was indescribable. Alhaji Maikudi showered her with immense care. Suitors flocked to her, but he refused to let anyone near her because he firmly insisted she must pursue her education.
However, the patriarch, Malam Mai-Babban-Allo, did not support the idea of extended education. Instead, he ordered that she be married to my father. This happened because my father had heavily petitioned the scholar through his student, Alhaji Yahaya, who happened to be my father's closest childhood friend.
Out of pure obedience to the patriarch's command, Alhaji Maikudi married off Innata at the tender age of fifteen. This was despite the fact that everyone knew Mama's reputation for driving women out of our house, and the widespread rumors that she held total, absolute control over my father. People predicted that a young girl like Innata would only be driven into an early divorce, but that didn't stop Alhaji Maikudi from spending an absolute fortune on her wedding.
In our house, Innata lived in her own section, which consisted of three bedrooms and a very large living room with an attached bathroom. Hajiya Kubra had firmly dug her heels in before the wedding, insisting that this specific wing be built and assigned to her before the ceremony could take place. Since the house was brand new at the time, and my father was desperately infatuated with the idea of marrying her—and had plenty of cash flowing—he gave them exactly what they demanded, despite the intense psychological warfare and rage he faced from Mama. Hajiya Kubra and her husband spared no expense; they packed Innata's quarters with luxury goods and magnificent, premium beds.
Alhaji Maikudi loved me intensely purely because of his profound love for Innata. He played with me like a grandfather plays with a grandchild, because he maintained that Innata was his daughter. For the longest time, I didn't realize he wasn't her biological father until a specific, dark incident occurred.

The Midnight Beating

One night, I woke up in the bedroom where we, Innata's children, slept. I suddenly heard my father's voice speaking with an aggressive, harsh tone, signaling immense anger. As I listened closely, I realized he was interrogating Innata. He was demanding to know why Mama had given her a chore or an errand, and she had refused to do it.
I couldn't hear Innata's responses clearly because she spoke softly in her characteristic calm, gentle voice. But as the argument grew heated, I heard her say clearly: "Since you claim she never lies, why is it that whenever she tells you something, you never investigate? You just jump to conclusions and come straight here to interrogate me?"
My father snapped back, "Oh, so that's how you're going to talk to me?"
She replied, "Yes, because once she tells you her version, even if I deny it, you never believe me."
He said, "Then don't you dare say you are being oppressed!"
She answered, "Hmph. Oppression is the very air I breathe in this house. But I know that soon, the One who avenges will avenge me, because I will never forgive this."
The moment Innata said this, I heard the heavy sound of my father beating her body. He screamed that she had dared to invoke God's judgment (Allah ya isa) against him and Mama.
Instantly, my body began shaking violently. I trembled on the bed, completely helpless, not knowing how to save my mother. After that first strike, many more heavy blows followed in rapid succession. I wanted to stand up and walk into the living room so he would hear my movement and perhaps stop, but then I remembered a venomous comment Mama often made to him: she claimed that my staying in that room was just a trick to spy on them, and that I listened to everything he and Innata did. To please Mama and weaken the bond between me and my mother—whom Mama recognized as my sole source of happiness—he had previously banned me from sleeping there and forced me out into the courtyard.
Remembering this, I stayed quiet. I shrank back, burying myself deeper into our bed, tears streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks.
For reasons I couldn't understand, Innata refused to cry out. Had she screamed, perhaps the beating wouldn't have been so severe. My father likely wanted her to scream so Mama could hear it in her quarters and know that he was executing justice based on the complaint she had brought him. Even after my father stopped beating her, I didn't hear her make a single sound. I stayed awake the entire night weeping.
The moment I heard his footsteps as he opened the door and left, I scrambled off the bed and rushed into Innata’s room to check on her. Shaking and with a cracking voice from crying, I said, "Sannu (sorry), Gambo."
She didn't answer me directly. She looked at me with an eerie, calm composure and said, "Take Aliya and Sa'adatu, help them use the restroom, and wash their mouths."
I quickly replied, "Okay," and did exactly as she instructed. After I finished performing my morning prayers, I came back to greet her. She hadn't moved an inch from the position I left her in. I hadn't been standing there long when Hajiya Kubra walked into the room, wrapped in a massive, sweeping hijab.
By all indications, she had rushed out the moment she finished her dawn prayer. It was obvious that Innata had used her mobile phone to call her.
"I hope all is well, Fatima?" Hajiya Kubra asked, using my mother's real name.
Innata replied calmly, "Yes, all is well, Umma."
I knelt down, greeted her, and turned to leave, especially since I noticed that Hajiya Kubra did not look happy or cheerful like she usually did. I went back to our room and sat down, sinking into deep, heavy thoughts.

The Family Standoff

Before anyone could process what was happening, Innata's relatives completely filled our house. Inna Aisha, Inna Balki, Inna Hajara—they were all there in droves. Some were openly weeping, while others were shouting bitter, provocative words across the courtyard, daring anyone to face them and start a fight. At that moment, I fully understood that whatever had happened to my mother was incredibly severe.
Mama immediately retreated from the courtyard, locking herself inside her living room. She kept her mouth shut, refusing to respond to the venomous insults being thrown around because she knew she was completely outnumbered by this specific crowd.
Amidst the chaos, I heard the greeting of Baba Yahaya entering our courtyard. The moment Hajiya Kubra heard his voice, she came out in her hijab, calmly found a spot on the bare ground, sat down respectfully, and greeted him. She then spoke to him with deep deference:
"Alhaji [Maikudi] told me to inform you if anything happened in this house because I am following the orders you gave me. You are the very first person I am telling, not even Alhaji Maikudi himself. I am obeying your instructions, just as I obey Father’s command, who strictly forbade me from removing Fatima from her husband’s house without his explicit permission."
Baba Yahaya nodded, signaling his approval of her conduct, and then asked what exactly had occurred.
She replied, "Well, I don't know the full details, because she never complains about the wrongs done to her. He just hands down whatever brutal punishment he pleases because he sees that she takes everything in silence. If that weren't the case, what could Fatima possibly do to warrant the physical trauma inflicted on her in this house?" She began wiping away heavy tears, adding, "I beg of you, just ask him to give her to me so we can go home. Let me nurse her wounds until she heals, then we will know what to do next."
Baba Yahaya went silent for a short moment before speaking to her: "Hajiya, an elder is known for patience. You know very well that no matter how much backing a married woman has from her family, her ultimate dignity lies in staying inside her matrimonial home."
She replied, "That is true."
He continued, "Then what is the reason for this? Why is it that whenever the slightest issue occurs between Alhaji Surajo and this girl, you people can never let them handle it privately? You must always mobilize a mob and fill his house? Is it that Gambo is completely incapable of doing wrong? Just because she is the darling of her family, and has you and Alhaji Maikudi backing her, does that mean her husband has absolutely no authority over her?"
Hajiya Kubra broke into heavy, agonizing sobs. "If she did wrong, Alhaji, does he have to beat her until her joints are dislocated? And what was her crime? That she refused to do domestic labor for his senior wife? Did we marry her off to be a maid? When we marry other women into our own families, is this how we treat them?"
Inna Hajara peered out from the bedroom door to greet him: "Welcome, Malam."
Baba Yahaya immediately snapped his eyes toward her and said, "Oh, so all of you are hiding inside? Come out, all of you! Go back inside and tell the rest that I said everyone should pack up and leave this house immediately. If I leave here, I am going straight to the Patriarch (Malam Mai-Babban-Allo) to report how you all are actively fueling the fire of crisis in this household!"
Terrified of Baba Yahaya's unmatched influence over the Patriarch—who regarded him entirely as a trusted son and family member—the women quickly filed out of the house one by one. He stood his ground until the last of them had walked past, never breaking from his stern reprimand.
Once they were gone, he looked down at Hajiya Kubra, who was still sitting respectfully on the ground. He spoke gently:
"Have patience, Hajiya. Have patience. And I beg of you, do not go and paint a horrific picture of this situation to Alhaji Maikudi, because he does not possess the temper for patience either. Gambo has four daughters back-to-back. Kubra, if left to you and your husband to do as you please, are you truly being fair to her? You are a mother; I do not need to give you long explanations. Do you think you can take her away to a place where she can just forget these children of hers? You know better than anyone that it is impossible. So, have patience and keep counseling her, even though you refuse to admit your daughter can do wrong. You cannot always blindly take her side. To fix your property, Kubra, you don't just dump it. You don't abandon your own just because the world is harsh."
She replied softly, "Alright, Alhaji. Thank you. May Allah reward you with goodness."
"Amen," he said, and walked out.
Hajiya Kubra went back into Innata's room to clean up and arrange things. Despite the sudden dispersal of her family, leaving her entirely alone, Mama remained completely hidden in her quarters, tightly restraining herself from her usual habit of walking around and throwing passive-aggressive insults.
While things were hanging in this tense silence, Baba Yahaya returned to the house. This time, he was accompanied by an elderly woman named Sidiya—a local traditional bone-setter whom everyone knew for her expertise in fixing dislocations and fractures...

• Genre: Northern Nigerian Fiction / Hausa Islamic Domestic Drama (commonly categorized as Littattafan Na-Yara or contemporary Hausa popular literature).
• Setting: Jahun quarters, Bauchi State, Northern Nigeria (with references to the historical Kofar Dumi area).
• Narrative Perspective: First-person limited ("I"), told through the eyes of Humaira, a young girl trapped in a highly dysfunctional, polygamous household.

• Thematic Core: The chapter exposes the deep-seated psychological and physical vulnerabilities within a toxic polygamous setting. It explores themes of favoritism, domestic violence (the brutal beating of Innata), toxic matriarchal control (Mama's domestic tyranny), family interference, and the intense societal pressure on women to endure abuse to preserve "matrimonial dignity."

  Part 3: Analytical Breakdown

  1. Character Profiles & Dynamics

• Humaira (The Narrator): She is the household scapegoat. Her narrative voice is heavy with resentment, exhaustion, and trauma. She experiences parental alienation; her father intentionally forces her away from her mother to satisfy his senior wife's paranoia.
• Mama (Hajiya Majadan): The archetypal villainous senior wife (Uwargida). She derives absolute power from the fact that she was a "virgin bride" to a young bachelor. She views later wives as gold-diggers and uses her immense psychological hold over her husband to run the house like a tyrant.
• Malam Surajo (The Father): The titular irony of the book starts here. Despite being a wealthy, well-known merchant in Jahun, he is completely spineless under Mama’s influence. He is a textbook Mijin-ta-ce (a henpecked husband). He acts as Mama's executioner, beating his second wife based on unverified gossip just to keep Mama happy.

• Innata (Gambo/Fatima): The tragic protagonist of the backstory. She is a beautiful, highly pampered girl from an elite scholarly background who was forced into an abusive marriage at age 15 due to traditional patriarchal obedience. Her silent endurance of the beating highlights her internal resilience and her despair.

  2. Socio-Cultural Nuances

• The Power of First Marriage (Auren Saurayi da Budurwa): The text highlights a significant cultural phenomenon where a first wife uses her historical status to claim permanent superiority over subsequent wives, asserting that her children are more "legitimate" or "free."
• The Entranceway (Zaure): Humaira hiding in the zaure is highly symbolic. The zaure is the traditional architectural transition zone between the public sphere and the private domestic sphere in Northern Nigerian homes. Humaira lingering there showcases her feeling of displacement—she doesn't belong outside, but her home inside is a place of forced labor and emotional pain.

• The Intermediary Role of Islamic Scholars: The character of Baba Yahaya reflects the heavy reliance on religious networks to settle domestic disputes. Even though Innata's biological brother (Alhaji Maikudi) is rich and powerful, Baba Yahaya uses his status as a trusted disciple of the family patriarch to command absolute authority, dismiss the victim's family, and enforce structural patience (haquri) on the abused wife.

  3. Plot Prognosis

  The chapter sets up a classic domestic powder keg. The introduction of the traditional bone-setter (Sidiya) confirms the physical gravity of the abuse (dislocation/fracture). The title "MIJIN-TA-CE" hints that the overarching plot will revolve around the consequences of Malam Surajo's absolute submissiveness to his tyrannical first wife, and how this dynamic will eventually ruin or reshape the lives of his children, particularly Humaira.