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SANADIN BOKO (The Price of Modernity / Because of Western Education), written by Maryam Abdullahi K/Mashi.
THE PRICE OF MODERNITY
BY MARYAM ABDULLAHI K/MASHI
"I can see their endless high energy is already wearing down your physical stamina, correct?"
The exact microsecond I lifted my gaze, my vision locked onto the facial features of Nasir. A sharp shock of adrenaline surged through my consciousness, making me gasp out loud, "Nasir!"
It was explicitly evident that only at that precise intersection of time did his own intellect process my identity. His features widened in sudden recognition. "Ah! Good heavens! Her Royal Highness, Doctor Hindu! Boko—the alpha and omega, the ultimate matrix of your existence! Tell me, how did that infinite academic curriculum finally pan out for your soul?"
An intense wave of internal bitterness washed over me; his words carried a subtle, sharp resonance of historical mockery and unresolved score-settling. I forced a calm exterior, replying, "All praise is due to the Almighty. We have successfully finalized the entire academic track, and I have officially initiated my clinical career as a medical practitioner."
He let out a dry, knowing smirk. "Incredible. It appears your ultimate, burning life blueprint has been achieved on the canvas of reality."
I looked down at the beautiful children clutching my hands, shifting the narrative. "Are these biological extensions of your lineage?"
"Indeed they are," he responded, a proud warmth saturating his tone. "This is Fadil and his twin sister, Fadila. And tucked right behind them is their junior sister, Yasmeen."
I tilted my head, my maternal instincts briefly overtaking my grief, and offered a soft prayer: "May the Almighty permanently preserve their lives, guide their growth, and bless your lineage."
"Amen," he replied smoothly.
I cleared my throat, forcing a casual tone. "What exact geographical coordinates are you currently operating from?"
"Our family estate is permanently anchored within the federal capital of Abuja," he explained. "We merely migrated back to this sector to execute a brief family holiday. What about your trajectory?"
Before the first syllable could clear my lips to formulate a response, an exceptionally stunning, elegant woman advanced into our perimeter. Judging by her physical maturity, my calculations indicated I held a slight seniority over her age. She was arrayed in a high-end, hyper-luxury abaya dress that radiated elite status.
She glided to his side, her voice dropping into a soft, affectionate register. "Baby, did you finally locate their coordinates?"
"They are safely right here beside me, my Sweetheart," Nasir answered smoothly.
The elegant woman turned her head, fixing her eyes onto my frame. Her lips instantly curled into a sharp, dismissive expression of elite disgust as she aggressively sized me up. "And who exactly is this female specimen?"
To my absolute internal horror and profound humiliation, Nasir offered a casual, mocking smirk. "Oh, you are looking at Hindu—the ancient, long-lost girlfriend from my primitive youth. This is her exact identity."
The exact microsecond that sentence left his lips, his wife unleashed an intensely venomous, scorching glare directly into my eyes. Without wasting a single logistical second, she aggressively grabbed her children by their arms, spinning around with rapid speed.
"The modern husband of a singular, exclusive wife—move your feet immediately, let us vacate this establishment!" she barked authoritatively over her shoulder.
Nasir let out a soft, amused chuckle. He casually lifted his right hand, flashing a distinct two-finger peace sign (2\text{ fingers}) directly at my face, and muttered a detached, "Bye."
My psychological framework completely collapsed; I lacked the internal stamina to remain within the commercial boutique or finalize a single transaction. I bolted out of the shopping complex, tracking a direct, frantic line back to my private residence. The moment my feet crossed the threshold of my home, I bypassed every living soul, marched directly into my private bedroom, collapsed face-down onto my mattress, and dissolved into an uncontrollable, agonizing storm of hot tears.
I continuously interrogated my own consciousness: Is the ancient European philosophical proverb actually an unassailable reality—that the ultimate, golden romantic opportunity of a lifetime presents itself to a human being strictly once across their entire mortal existence? If that iron law held true, then I had single-handedly executed an act of profound self-sabotage. I had deliberately permitted my absolute best romantic destiny to slide past my fingers for the sake of an illusion.
It was on that exact, devastating day that my soul initiated an intense, burning hatred for the extreme ideology of Boko—the modern doctrine that prioritizes secular education over the divine institutions of family. From that precise turning point, I aggressively turned my heart back to the Creator. Every single time my forehead touched the prayer rug across my five daily prayers, my solitary, desperate spiritual invocation became: "Oh Almighty Lord, I beg of You, grant my life a legitimate husband."
Every single peer, childhood friend, and contemporary who shared my youth had long since legally entered matrimony; they were fully settled within their matrimonial domains, surrounded by their biological children. Furthermore, I had achieved absolutely zero actual societal or intellectual superiority over their lives through my extensive medical degrees—because while I was actively clocking hours at the clinical wards, they were equally driving successful careers and generating income. Yet, they had systematically outpaced my existence by an infinite margin, because they possessed the structural security of a marriage covenant and the divine blessing of children.
Doctor Hindu paused, turning her tear-stained face to pin her gaze directly onto my eyes.
"Look at me, Hafsatu. I stand before your identity today having actively practiced clinical medicine as a senior medical doctor for twelve consecutive calendar years (12\text{ years})—yet my life remains completely devoid of a husband. The level of desperation that seized my soul drove my footsteps to seek out various spiritualists and Islamic clerics, exclusively pursuing a structural solution to break this marital gridlock."
She let out a bitter, exhausted sigh. "The paradigm was a absolute circus of deception. One cleric would confidently diagnose that a powerful spirit king—a Jinn—had legally wedded my spiritual form in the unseen realm. The next spiritualist would aggressively claim that an elite wave of black magic—Asiri—had been systematically deployed by envious rivals to permanently freeze my marital destiny. They continuously liquidated my hard-earned financial resources, feeding my ears with structured fabrications and lies. The exact moment my intellect processed that zero actual progress was manifesting on the canvas of reality, I aggressively discarded their operations and threw them out of my life."
She wiped a stray tear, anchoring her voice in deep resilience. "As it stands today, I have completely embraced the absolute weight of the divine destiny—Kaddara—that my own historical choices brought upon my head. My biological father returned his soul to the Creator exactly four years ago (4\text{ years ago}). The primary structural variable that triggered my absolute departure from our family estate in Katsina—driving me to liquidate my assets, migrate to this sector, and independently construct this private hospital and residential villa—was the toxic domestic warfare within our polygamous home. The younger biological children of my father’s junior amorous co-wife had completely deleted every ounce of respect for my seniority and medical status. Furthermore, the diplomatic relationship between my biological mother and my identity was heavily fractured."
She continued, "Consequently, the exact microsecond the family inheritance was legally distributed among the heirs, I seized my financial portion, navigated my transit directly to these coordinates, and constructed this clinical facility paired with my residential quarters. I strictly restrict my visits to the Katsina estate to periodic intervals, purely to audit the welfare of my mother and ensure her preservation."
As she carefully dried her tears, I found my own eyes completely overflowing with a wave of deep, empathetic tears. She managed a soft, heavy smile, her eyes searching mine. "Hafsat, tell me... what exact truth has your intellect processed from my vulnerability? What definitive life lesson has your consciousness extracted from the narrative of my life?"
I took a deep breath, speaking with absolute clarity. "First and foremost, the canvas of life holds absolutely zero tolerance for arrogance or the malicious humiliation of others. Secondly, we must permanently cease the toxic habit of elevating the vocabulary of Western education—Boko—to a status that sits superior to the divine institution of marriage, a catastrophic miscalculation that my own life was on the verge of replicating."
"Precisely, Hafsa," Doctor Hindu nodded profoundly, her voice laced with validation. "But your current domestic crisis is infinitely more salvageable than the wreckage of my history. In your scenario, your heart successfully locked onto a specific male suitor; the structural tragedy is simply that the specific male specimen you anchored your soul to chose to execute an act of profound betrayal and biological abuse against your vulnerability. But in my scenario? The choices I executed were a direct, systemic sacrifice of my womanhood on the altar of Boko!"
She shook her head with deep, historical sorrow. "I have not even unveiled a fraction of the absolute trauma wrapped within my narrative. The current psychological and existential quicksand I am sinking through is the ultimate manifestation of what I explicitly classify as the SANADIN BOKO (The Price of Modernity).
I looked at her, attempting to inject a wave of hope into the room. "But Aunty, your timeline has surely not crossed the terminal boundary for holy matrimony? You are still deeply attractive and vital."
"Even if the biological timeline remains active, Hafsat... where exactly is the husband?" she countered flatly, her voice dropping into a bleak, realistic register. "My physical form has completely ceased to command a single ounce of romantic attraction or desire from mature, serious-minded men. Absolutely zero established men look at my frame with an intent for marriage. The solitary demographic that attempts to navigate into my perimeter are microscopic, younger boys—immature young men who, had I legally entered matrimony within the optimized timeline of my youth, would literally be the exact age of my own biological offspring! I swear an iron oath to your soul, Hafsa: if I had prioritized marriage, I would currently be harboring a mature, beautiful daughter of your exact dimensions, or perhaps someone infinitely superior to your standard."
She leaned in, her eyes locking onto mine with intense, protective maternal authority. "Consequently, my absolute, unyielding advice to your vulnerability is this: summon an extra layer of structural endurance, protect the life of the biological child currently developing inside your womb, and deliver that baby to the earth! Your mortal intellect possesses zero data regarding the divine calendar; you have absolutely zero knowledge if this specific pregnancy is the solitary, ultimate biological legacy the Creator has decreed for your existence on this earth. Furthermore, you must aggressively enter holy matrimony while the vital essence of your youth remains active. A legal marriage covenant is absolutely incapable of blocking your academic track, precisely as your biological father historically tried to articulate to your hearing."
She held up a finger, signaling an iron rule. "Let me inject a singular, absolute mandate into your consciousness, and I command you to never permit your memory to delete it: Never, under any circumstances or structural conditions, permit a male suitor to finance or assist your life with a single unit of financial capital regarding your education or personal survival. An unprincipled man will invariably deploy that financial leverage as a weapon of absolute destruction to violate your dignity and abuse your vulnerability—though I fully concede that a rare, microscopic demographic of men execute financial philanthropy strictly for the sake of the Almighty."
Asabe, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with her chin securely propped in her palms, completely absorbed by the gravity of the dialogue, finally intervened. "I swear by the Almighty, Aunty, my intellect had historically formulated an entirely different calculation regarding your life! Every single time my eyes analyzed your luxury cars and medical status, I had an absolute certainty that your husband and beautiful children were simply residing overseas in Western countries!"
Her sudden, childlike innocence injected a brief, much-needed wave of lighthearted laughter into the tense room.
The brief humor eventually subsided, and the doctor rose, returning to her private quarters to rest. Yet, my consciousness remained completely besieged by an intense wonder regarding her narrative. Despite her transcendent physical beauty, her immense liquid wealth, and her towering echelons of Western education, she was profoundly incapable of locking down the basic security of a husband. It was an absolute, unbending fact: Boko had extracted a catastrophic tax from her destiny.
Yet, a counter-voice whispered deep within my psychological matrix: Perhaps it was not Western education that engineered her downfall; perhaps it was her own historical pattern of arrogance and the ruthless degradation of her suitors that triggered this karmic isolation. But regardless of the underlying variable, I had officially arrived at an unassailable realization: The divine covenant of marriage stands infinitely superior to any secular achievement on this earth.
The following morning, I finalized my preparations to execute a rapid transit back to my family home in Kaduna. The structural crisis was that my pockets possessed absolutely zero liquid capital to finance my commercial transport fare, yet a fierce sense of dignity prevented my lips from disclosing this financial vulnerability to the doctor. Consequently, I maintained an absolute, tense silence. Sensing my departure, she handed me a five-hundred-naira note (500\text{ NGN}), whispering softly, "Utilize this fluid cash to secure drinking water along the highway transit."
I immediately directed my footsteps back to my campus hostel, swiftly stripped out of my traveling attire, and changed into a fresh outfit. I reached into my school trunk, retrieved the empty luxury packaging box of my smartphone, and marched directly toward the commercial mobile black markets. Trapped in a wave of profound internal chaos and psychological instability, I bypassed every standard protocol of market negotiation.
"I am offering six thousand naira (6,000\text{ NGN}) for this device," the commercial vendor stated flatly, analyzing my desperation.
"Dispense the liquid cash into my hands immediately," I snapped back rapidly, completely unconcerned with the massive financial loss. My solitary, burning obsession was to immediately lock down the financial capital required to locate Munnir and force a structural solution to our biological crisis.
I bypassed my family neighborhood entirely, directing my footsteps straight toward the elite coordinates of his family estate. The exact microsecond I approached the iron gates, the uniform security guard notified my intellect that Munnir and his biological mother had executed an afternoon exit from the perimeter. I quietly navigated my frame to a secluded concrete ledge flanking the exterior walls of the villa, seating myself in absolute, iron resolution.
Even if their excursion spans a calendar year, their return will meet my frame anchored right at these coordinates, I vowed bitterly within my soul.
Approximately three grueling hours (3\text{ hours}) drifted past before the distinct, luxury purr of their vehicle echoed down the street. The car arrived at the gates, blaring its horn authoritatively. The elderly security guard swiftly unbolted the massive iron barriers. Without wasting a single logistical microsecond, I rose to my feet and aggressively tracked a direct line right behind the vehicle's shadow, slipping past the gates before they could close.
From my hidden vantage point near the driveway, my eyes analyzed his younger biological sisters; they were casually arrayed in hyper-short denim shorts, completely devoid of traditional headwraps (Dan Kwali), loudly chattering as they hauled luxury shopping bags from the trunk into the main villa.
Suddenly, one of the sisters pivoted her gaze, her eyes locking onto my stationed frame. "Mom, look over there," she chimed loudly, gesturing toward my vector. "There is a strange female specimen standing near the courtyard. Is she a new domestic maid seeking employment?"
The matriarch turned around slowly. Her facial features were an absolute, genetic mirror of Munnir's profile, a structural trait shared by his sisters. She marched directly toward my coordinate, her voice laced with an elite, cold authority. "Identify your mission. What is the status of your purpose here?"
"I am a courier," I lied smoothly, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "Yayan Munnir—his elder associate—has dispatched my presence to formally deliver an intensely critical message into Munnir's hands. He and Munnir have already finalized the details via a digital call."
"Understood," she responded flatly. She turned back toward the main entrance, her voice echoing across the foyer as she barked his name: "Munnir! Step outside this instant!"
The moment his frame descended the stairs, his lips echoed a casual, "Yes, Mom... what's the status?"
The exact microsecond his eyes locked onto my physical presence, his entire body went completely rigid; he experienced an absolute, paralyzed shock.
His mother gestured toward my frame, "There is a female specimen stationed over there claiming her elder brother dispatched her presence to deliver a specific message to your intellect."
"Oh! Yes, of course," he recovered rapidly, his voice straining to maintain a casual register. "I completely recognize the transaction. I will swiftly take possession of the package from her hands."
He advanced toward my coordinate, his facial features twisting into a profound, terrifying expression of intense rage. "Have your mental faculties completely lost their sanity, Hafsatu?! What on earth possesses your soul to aggressively stalk my identity directly to my family estate?!"
I looked him dead in the eye, my voice an icy whisper. "The biological reality remains entirely unchanged, Munnir. The pregnancy has flatly refused to abort; it did not vacate my womb."
He instantly slammed his right index finger violently against his lips, his eyes wild with terror as he hissed, "Shhh! Silence your mouth!" He aggressively grabbed my arm, steering my frame toward a secluded, shaded alleyway flanking the guest quarters. "Move your feet over here, now!"
The moment we cleared the visibility of the main villa, he pinned my frame against the wall, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Are you standing before my authority declaring that the chemical abortion completely failed? The pregnancy remains active?!"
"I swear by the Almighty, it is an unassailable fact," I countered flatly.
He let out a sharp, frustrated hiss. "Fine! Return to your neighborhood coordinates immediately. I will personally mobilize my vehicle later tonight under the cover of darkness, intercept your location, and transport your frame to an alternative clinical facility to systematically extract that tissue. That incompetent female doctor you consulted clearly possesses zero professional capacity to execute an abortion."
"I am delivering an absolute, iron refusal," I responded, my voice unyielding. "I will never permit another soul to butcher my anatomy or risk my life. The doctor exhausted every single high-potency clinical option in her inventory to force a miscarriage, yet the biological structure of this fetus completely defied the assault. Furthermore, she explicitly delivered a direct medical warning into my ears: if I attempt to execute another invasive extraction procedure, I will inevitably lose my mortal life on the operating table! If my soul returns to the Creator under those conditions, what exact vocabulary do I deploy to answer for my self-murder before the Judgment Seat?!"
He let out a loud, aggressive click of his tongue, his face contorting into a sneer. "Then what exact game plan does your pathetic intellect think it is driving here?!"
"The reality is simple: I have transitioned to your coordinates so we can collectively map out a legitimate path forward," I stated, a desperate hope flickering in my chest.
Almighty God, let his heart yield to logic, I prayed silently.
I took a deep breath and laid out my strategic compromise. "My proposition is this: I will simply return to Doctor Hindu's private residence and remain safely hidden within her quarters throughout the duration of the gestation. I will completely conceal the reality from Innarmu and Baba. The exact microsecond I deliver the child to the earth, you and I will legally execute our holy matrimony."
To my absolute internal bewilderment, his features suddenly relaxed into a loud, mocking burst of laughter. For a fleeting microsecond, my naive consciousness calculated that my strategic proposition had delighted his soul and mapped perfectly onto his internal desires.
But he violently shattered my delusion, his voice dripping with absolute scorn. "I swear to God, Hafsa, I have never processed the sheer magnitude of your absolute stupidity until this exact hour! Do you honestly calculate within your primitive brain that even if I were to legally marry your identity this very second, I would willingly wait a massive ten-year timeline (10\text{ years}) before generating a legitimate family lineage? No!"
He shook his head with vicious finality. "I will absolutely never permit my name to be legally tied to a bastard child! Consequently, it is an absolute structural mandate: that pregnancy must be violently extracted from your body. If your stubborn soul insists on protecting its preservation, then pack your bags, vacate my space, and go track down whatever random street dog engineered the fatherhood of your bastard!"
I stared at him, my vision blurring as a profound, icy shock paralyzed my nervous system. "Munnir... do your ears comprehend the exact vocabulary cascading past your lips right now?"
"Perfectly!" he snarled arrogantly. "I harbor an intense, absolute skepticism regarding the genetic lineage of that fetus! Are you trying to convince my intellect that a singular, uncoordinated sexual encounter—executed under immense psychological stress—possesses the biological capacity to seamlessly lock down a successful pregnancy?! Do not insult my intelligence!"
An overwhelming wave of deep, suffocating grief completely blocked my capacity to form words. My eyes simply pinned his profile in an absolute, unblinking stare of profound betrayal. He stared back, his eyes flashing with a venomous glare as his face hardened into an iron mask of hostility.
"The Almighty God stands as an unassailable witness to my soul," I choked out, my voice cracking under the weight of the heartbreak. "I have absolutely never been a loose woman or a fornicator... You are the solitary human specimen who aggressively engineered the violent destruction of my moral purity! You single-handedly stripped my womanhood of its virginity—and now you follow up that systemic destruction by labeling my character with a malicious, fabricated lie?! May the absolute vengeance of the Almighty God stand as the ultimate arbiter between my destiny and your soul!"
He aggressively closed the physical distance, his fist clenching as he leveled his face right against mine. "I swear by the heavens, I will violently slap your jaw if your mouth dares to utter another insult against my status, you pathetic, ungrateful parasite! Look at the infinite mountain of financial philanthropy and academic sponsorship I have single-handedly showered upon your worthless life over consecutive calendar years—yet your pathetic soul lacks the basic capacity to manifest gratitude! You absolute fool! Did your naive mind truly calculate that I was liquidating my private financial resources over all these years entirely for amusement?! Let me inject a basic reality into your thick skull: whenever you observe a predatory dog aggressively sniffing a shoe, rest assured its ultimate, calculated intention is to tear it apart and consume it. I belong to an elite social echelon that sits infinitely superior to your pathetic peasant baseline—you are absolutely not my class!"
A violent, racking sob completely tore through my chest. "May the unyielding judgment of God destroy your destiny, Munnir! So your entire historical performance—your endless vows that you were destined to legally marry my identity—was a calculated, systematic landscape of psychological deception?!"
He let out a cold, sinister laugh. "The only individual you successfully deceived was your own pathetic self, Hafsa! If we are auditing accounts before the Almighty, I am the singular entity who will demand divine vengeance against your identity! For three to four consecutive calendar years (3 \text{ to } 4\text{ years}), I subjected my elite status to absolute, humiliating servitude, financing your peasant existence! What exact return on investment did your pathetic hands ever deliver to my life?!"
In that exact microsecond, an absolute, blinding surge of animalistic fury completely bypassed my rational filters. I launched my frame forward like a wounded beast, my fingers wrapping violently around his throat in a death grip, weeping hysterically as my voice screamed: "May the vengeance of God destroy you! May the judgment of God crush your life!"
He was utterly paralyzed by the raw, terrifying adrenaline fueling my grip; despite his masculine strength, his physical capacity completely failed to break my stranglehold or wrench his neck free from my fingers.
"What on earth is transpiring here?!"
The authoritative, sharp resonance of his mother's voice violently broke into our space. "You wild creature! Release his throat this absolute instant! What exact madness has seized your soul?!"
I was completely incapable of articulating a rational response; my lungs could only execute deep, ragged gasps amidst a chaotic torrent of tears as I screamed hysterically, "He has destroyed my life! He has systemically ruined my existence!"
The matriarch pivoted her stern gaze onto Munnir's flushed face. "Deliver the facts to my hearing immediately, Munnir. What exact transaction did you execute with this girl?"
"I swear by the Almighty, Mom, I possess absolutely zero knowledge regarding her crisis!" he lied smoothly, massaging his bruised throat while adjusting his structured shirt. "The exact microsecond I approached her coordinate to receive the message from my associate, she violently launched her frame onto my anatomy, strangling my neck, and loudly screaming a fabricated claim that I am responsible for a pregnancy inside her womb!"
His biological mother unleased an intensely venomous, scorching glare that pinned my kneeling frame to the floorboards. She slowly extended her right index finger, pointing it directly at my face, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp register. "Listen to me, you worthless street rat: adjust your operational boundaries this absolute microsecond! Vacate these elite grounds immediately and go hunt down whatever low-life scoundrel actually engineered your pregnancy!"
Amidst the violent storm of my tears, I screamed back the absolute truth: "I swear by the unassailable name of the Living God, your son executed an act of rape against my vulnerability! He is the solitary entity who forced this crisis upon my life, and he personally escorted my frame to the clinical facility where the medical practitioner officially certified the active status of this pregnancy!"
"Silence your mouth!" she thundered, her voice booming across the courtyard like a physical blow. "Eject your pathetic presence from my estate this instant!"
"I am delivering an absolute refusal!" I countered hysterically, completely unmoored from fear. "I am absolutely not vacating these coordinates until he systematically takes responsibility for the wreckage he engineered across my life!"
The exact microsecond those words left my lips, a blinding, high-velocity slap violently crashed across my cheek, sending my frame sprawling onto the concrete.
"Vacate this perimeter immediately," she hissed over my dazed form, "before I personally call the police forces to haul your pathetic identity to a prison cell!"
She spun on her heel, marching rapidly toward the security post while calling out authoritatively for the elderly gatekeeper: "Baba Megadi! Advance to my coordinate this instant!"
The elderly guard sprinted across the lawn, arriving at her side. She pointed a trembling, furious finger at my physical frame. "Baba, handle this garbage immediately. Drag her physical presence out of this neighborhood! I deliver an iron mandate to your position: I must absolutely never hear a single whisper or intelligence report indicating that her presence has been spotted along this entire street sector again! If that variable manifests on reality, I will unleash an absolute, devastating professional punishment upon your own life alongside hers!"
The elderly guard turned his gaze toward my form, his eyes laced with a quiet compassion. "Come with me, my child," he urged softly.
I remained completely stationary, my body paralyzed by grief. His tone sharpened slightly to maintain compliance under the matriarch's gaze. "Move your feet, young lady! I am actively delivering an instruction, yet your eyes are simply tracking my face. Let us vacate the perimeter."
I slowly lifted my bloodshot, tear-soaked eyes, fixing a final look onto Munnir's profile. He was standing on the villa steps, his lips curled into a cold, intensely sinister smirk of absolute victory.
"The Almighty God remains active on His throne," I whispered directly to his soul.
I turned and walked out of the gates, with the elderly guard closely tracking my shadow until we completely cleared the outer street sector. The moment we stepped onto the main commercial highway, he slowed his pace and looked at me profoundly.
"My dear child... you have executed a monumental, tragic error in strategy," he noted, his voice dropping into a low, fatherly register. "Even though my intellect lacks the full technical data regarding the exact crisis that transpired between your souls, I possess a calculated certainty that this tragedy seamlessly links to a recurring, sinister matrix that has historically devoured multiple young women within the walls of that estate."
I stopped in my tracks, wiping my face as my intellect locked onto his words. "Baba... what exact history are you referring to? What has transpired with other young women inside that compound?"
The elderly guard sighed deeply, scanning the street to ensure absolute operational secrecy before leaning in closer. "The young masters of that elite estate, alongside their high-society associates, possess a permanent, systemic pattern of operations. They continuously hunt down vulnerable young women from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, masterfully deploying their immense liquid wealth and high-end luxury assets as psychological bait to lure them into traps—solely to violently exploit their bodies and destroy their moral purity."
I looked at him blankly as we stood under the fading afternoon sun, my voice dropping into a hollow whisper. "Baba... the strategic framework of the deception they deployed against my identity carried an entirely different, highly sophisticated architecture than the baseline traps of the others..."
THE KUBJE VILLAGE PARADIGM: RECOVERY PROTOCOLS
At that exact junction, the narrative matrix shifts focus to document the legal and bureaucratic resolutions surrounding Asabe’s independent crisis. An extensive suite of legal documentation and binding state affidavits were methodically drafted by the human rights authorities, with every single stakeholder formally appending their legal signatures to the codex. The moment the legal execution was finalized, the regulatory directors officially closed the active field file.
Doctor Hindu turned her gaze toward the institutional head of the agency, her voice laced with clinical and moral caution. "Even though Asabe has legally consented to surrender the biological custody of the infant to their custody upon delivery, the state must strictly mandate a follow-up evaluation and a secondary administrative sitting before the final handover is executed. We must absolutely guarantee that their household does not systematically neglect or destroy the child's life; contemporary society is heavily saturated with individuals who possess zero internal faith or moral conscience."
The regulatory director nodded in absolute alignment. "That is an unassailable administrative protocol. For the current logistical phase, you are authorized to take possession of the young lady, return her frame to your private residence, and anchor her security. Tomorrow morning, our official agency vehicles will mobilize to interface directly with her biological parents."
"By the grace of the Almighty, it shall be executed smoothly," Doctor Hindu affirmed.
The following morning, the clinical transit vehicle navigated a direct course to the remote rural geography of Kurje Village. Asabe’s biological parents initially erupted into a wave of profound, overwhelming joy upon witnessing the unexpected return of their daughter. However, the exact microsecond their intellects processed the structural medical reality behind the visit—the un-Islamic pregnancy—their joy violently transformed into a devastating storm of weeping, paired with a loud, crushing invocation of divine vengeance (Allah ya isa) against Asabe’s choices.
Asabe collapsed into a corner, dissolving into an agony of tears. Doctor Hindu systematically deployed her advanced interpersonal diplomacy, spending consecutive hours soothing the raw trauma of the patriarch and matriarch, begging their hearts to find the spiritual capacity to forgive Asabe's vulnerability.
Through an immense domain of strategic endurance, they successfully de-escalated the parental fury. The authorities then proceeded to deliver a transparent, step-by-step breakdown of the official legal covenants they had structurally engineered with the perpetrator, Yasir.
The biological mother wiped her eyes, her face hardening with rural conservative finality. "I deliver an absolute decree: her physical presence is strictly barred from remaining anchored within this village community! If she resides here, the local gossip networks will systematically transform our family name into a public laughingstock; the entire village will spend their days mocking my dignity, proclaiming that my own biological daughter returned from the city harboring an illicit pregnancy!" She dissolved back into a heavy wave of weeping.
Doctor Hinda stepped forward, offering a comprehensive security solution. "Rest your mind, Mama. I will personally transport her frame back to my residential villa. She will remain securely anchored under my private care and absolute financial sponsorship until the full duration of the gestation hits its terminal point and she safely delivers the child. The exact microsecond the weaning timeline is completed and the father's family takes possession of their biological child, she will be perfectly positioned to secure a honorable, legitimate suitor and permanently enter holy matrimony—even if we have to facilitate that union within our own sector."
Asabe’s mother unleashed an immense, deeply moving wave of maternal gratitude and blessings upon the doctor. Conversely, the biological patriarch had stormed out of the compound the moment the crisis was unveiled; his footsteps remained completely missing from the estate until the team finalized their departure protocols. The team initiated their return transit to the city, having first blessed the hands of Asabe's mother with a highly generous, substantial financial contribution (19\text{ pieces of currency}) to secure her economic preservation.
THE GESTATION GRIDLOCK: RIGASA QUARTERS
Exactly three consecutive calendar weeks (3\text{ weeks}) slid past across the canvas of reality, yet absolutely zero biological indicators manifested to suggest that the pregnancy developing within my anatomy was going to abort. This structural gridlock persisted despite the absolute fact that on a near-daily basis, my feet actively tracked a direct line to the doctor’s clinical facility.
Every single time I stood before her desk, she systematically deployed an immense domain of psychological counseling to stabilize my volatile mental health, commanding my consciousness to maintain absolute patience until the full three-week clinical window had officially run its course. She flatly refused to administer any secondary high-potency chemical compounds, delivering a strict clinical explanation: Since the structural work of the primary high-dosage intervention had not fully terminated its chemical cycle, introducing secondary agents would trigger catastrophic internal interactions.
Throughout that grueling timeframe, my consciousness possessed absolutely zero data regarding the exact status or state of Asabe’s internal struggle, because my own private psychological matrix was trapped in an absolute, suffocating storm of existential terror that completely consumed my cognitive bandwidth. In absolute structural terms, my crisis was infinitely more terrifying than Asabe's path.
My physiological systems completely rejected food; the baseline sensation of physical hunger was entirely erased from my nervous system. My academic consciousness underwent total amnesia; I completely forgot that the fundamental purpose of my geographic presence in Kano was to pursue a university degree. Even on the rare occasions my feet mechanically walked into the university lecture halls, my intellect was profoundly incapable of processing or understanding a single syllable of the curriculum. My daily existence was an absolute nightmare dominated by hyper-severe morning sickness and constant biological volatility.
Munnir had completely erased his physical presence from my vector. Across those three agonizing weeks, his digital line only initiated a sparse two phone calls (2\text{ digital calls}) to my device.
On the exact calendar day that the three-week medical waiting period hit its terminal hour, my financial accounts reached absolute zero; I possessed not a single copper coin to finance a commercial motorcycle transport. Driven by sheer desperate adrenaline, I navigated the entire geographical distance to the doctor's hospital entirely on foot.
Upon stepping into the residential wing of the facility, I bypassed the main entrance and encountered Asabe collaborating with an elderly domestic maid affectionately addressed across the estate as Gyatuma Yalwa. Asabe looked up, her voice soft. "The Doctor is currently locked down within the internal clinical wards. Secure a seat right here in the parlor and await her exit." I complied, dropping my exhausted frame onto a sofa to begin the tense vigil.
At precisely half-past three in the afternoon (3:50\text{ PM}), just as the local mosques were concluding the late afternoon Asir prayers, Doctor Hindu stepped across the threshold of the parlor. The moment her eyes locked onto my frame, her face radiated a warm, optimistic brilliance. "Well! I have a calculated certainty that our shared objective has been successfully executed on the canvas of reality, given that your presence has been completely missing from my private office slots!"
As had become the permanent, tragic reflex of my nervous system, a fresh torrent of hot tears instantly flooded my eyes. "I swear by the Almighty, Doctor... the biological structure has flatly defied the intervention! It completely refused to vacate my womb! I beg of your clinical authority, you must perform an invasive manual surgical scraping—A kwakule min shi—extract this tissue from my body by any means necessary!"
Analyzing the extreme state of absolute psychological collapse and desperation that had seized my entire frame, she stepped closer, deploying a deeply comforting maternal tone to de-escalate my panic. "Calm your heart, Hafsat. Summon an extra layer of patience. Permit my frame to execute a brief moment of physical rest, and we shall systematically audit the next phase."
I retreated back to the seating area, weeping silently—a behavior pattern that had officially transformed into my absolute daily default state. Ever since Asabe's lips had unveiled the terrifying narrative architecture of how her own domestic crisis had violently unfolded, my internal anxiety levels had skyrocketed past safe parameters. My solitary, burning prayer was for the Almighty to prevent this doctor from declaring that my pregnancy must equally be carried to term—because my consciousness was profoundly incapable of enduring a scenario where Innarmu discovered the stain of an illicit pregnancy, let alone the absolute, terrifying explosion that would transpire if Baba processed the reality.
At exactly ten minutes to six in the evening (5:50\text{ PM}), the doctor emerged from her private chambers. The moment my eyes locked onto her frame, I launched into a fresh, hysterical wave of weeping.
This time, however, she confronted my vulnerability with a stern, unyielding wave of verbal discipline. "Stand up this instant, Hafsatu! Cease this absolute display of emotional weakness! Do you honestly calculate that these endless torrents of tears possess a single ounce of therapeutic or clinical capacity to alter your biological reality? Wipe your face immediately!"
I swiftly dried my eyes, murmuring a rapid, submissive apology for my emotional outburst.
She took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto mine with absolute seriousness. "Hafsatu, I command you to lend me the absolute fullness of your logical intellect. Listen to the absolute finality of my clinical speech."
"I am listening, Doctor," I whispered, trembling.
She delivered the definitive medical verdict: "The pregnancy currently developing within your womb is absolutely incapable of being aborted through chemical interventions. I have systematically administered every single high-potency, maximum-strength pharmaceutical compound available in modern medicine—yet the biological matrix of this fetus has rendered them entirely useless. If your stubborn soul insists on executing an invasive manual surgical scraping of your uterine walls, I state to you with absolute clinical certainty: you will face a highly probable risk of losing your mortal life on the operating table."
"Then let death take my existence!" I shouted hysterically, my voice cracking. "I would infinitely prefer for my cold, lifeless corpse to be transported back to my biological parents for burial, rather than facing their living eyes while harboring an illicit, shameful pregnancy inside my body!"
"I hear your words," the doctor responded, her tone dropping into a profound, theological weight. "But tell me, Hafsa... has your intellect prepared the exact vocabulary you will deploy to answer before your Creator when your soul stands before the Judgment Seat? Will you confidently declare that you surrendered your mortal life in the active commission of a double sin—executing a murder against an innocent unborn life while simultaneously executing a self-murder against your own soul?! Do you truly calculate within your mind that the fleeting temporal shame of this earth is infinitely more terrifying than the absolute, eternal humiliation of the Hereafter?!"
She continued, "Need I remind your memory of your own testimony? Did your lips not explicitly declare that a male suitor executed an act of violation and rape against your physical vulnerability?"
"Yes!" I wept bitterly, nodding my head.
"Then you must aggressively reframe your consciousness to analyze this crisis through the lens of absolute divine destiny—Kaddara," she commanded profoundly. "Never permit your intellect to delete the grand spiritual matrix: the Sovereign Lord of the Worlds routinely subjects his chosen servants to intense fires of tribulation strictly to test, refine, and manifest the depth of their internal faith. What exact variable prevents your soul from submissively embracing this destiny? The Almighty never, under any circumstances, subjects a human soul to a psychological or existential burden that sits superior to their inherent structural capacity to endure."
An intense, suffocating wave of cold sweat completely broke across my skin. "Doctor... your intellect is completely unacquainted with the domestic dynamics of my home; you cannot comprehend the terror. The exact microsecond this reality manifests inside our compound, the marriage covenant binding my biological mother and father will instantly shatter into absolute wreckage—and the ultimate catalyst of that domestic destruction will be branded as THE CONSEQUENCE OF MY WESTERN EDUCATION (Sanadin Bokona). The spiritual heavy weight of my father’s historical warnings will completely crush my destiny! I swear to you, if my soul had possessed a premonition that this catastrophic nightmare was waiting for my life on this path, I would have seamlessly capitulated to Baba's authority, entered holy matrimony within the optimized timeline of my youth, and simply driven the continuation of my academic track from within the secure walls of my husband's estate!"
Doctor Hindu sighed, her eyes softening with deep empathy. "The reality has already manifested, Hafsa. Consequently, the ultimate strategic counsel I can lay before your intellect is this: you must immediately locate this young man. Given his historical patterns of affection toward your identity, you must aggressively drive a diplomatic reconciliation between your souls. The exact microsecond you deliver the child to the earth, the families can seamlessly formalize the legal and spiritual marriage covenant. Alternatively, if your soul desires to mobilize the absolute weight of state law and law enforcement agencies to crush his resistance—precisely as we executed on behalf of Asabe's rights—then give me the command. I will personally activate the state apparatus; they will stand as an unyielding shield to aggressively enforce your human rights and exact absolute justice from his lineage, completely regardless of the elite status or immense wealth his biological parents think they possess."
"No!" I countered rapidly, a sudden terror gripping my heart. "I deliver an absolute refusal regarding the involvement of law enforcement or state courts. My solitary, burning priority is to prevent the absolute exposure of my private shame within our local neighborhood networks."
The doctor nodded slowly, a wave of approval crossing her features. "Excellent. That displays a baseline of tactical maturity. If your souls can successfully finalize a private, diplomatic settlement, I will personally assume the responsibility of traveling to your neighborhood to systematically counsel, educate, and manage the psychological expectations of your biological parents."
I buried my face in my hands, my soul crying out in absolute agony: Education! Western Education!! I locked my entire existence into a rigid, rebellious warfare against my own father, swearing that I must acquire this modern degree—and now, before my feet have even crossed the foundational threshold of the university, I have developed an intense, visceral hatred for the very concept of Western education!
Doctor Hindu reached across the table, her tone laced with universal truth. "Hafsa... every single human specimen who elevates the vocabulary of Western education to a status that sits superior to the divine institution of marriage is structurally guaranteed to harvest an absolute harvest of deep, weeping regret at the terminal end of their track. Because of the extreme volatility of the psychological crisis currently destabilizing your mind, I strictly mandate your identity to sleep within this residential villa tonight. Later this evening, I will formally unveil the absolute fullness of my private autobiography to your ears—solely to guarantee your consciousness fully processes the reality that your current choices have executed a monumental error in judgment."
At precisely a few minutes past nine o'clock that evening (9:05\text{ PM}), the doctor stepped across the threshold of our guest room. She was arrayed in thick, high-end winter nightwear consisting of matching long-sleeve trousers and a top. She balanced a small, pristine serving tray in her hands, heavily stocked with an assortment of fresh fruits—sliced pineapples, ripe bananas, and sweet oranges.
I was seated in absolute, frozen silence upon the traditional prayer rug, while Asabe was casually reclining across the polished floorboards in the center of the room.
The doctor pinned her gaze onto Asabe, her voice barking an immediate command: "Stand up this instant! Get off the floorboards! Have your cognitive faculties already forgotten the basic rules of health? Why on earth are your physiological systems exposing themselves to the damp, freezing currents of the bare ground this early in your gestation? I must absolutely never catch sight of your frame in this posture again!"
Asabe scrambled to her feet rapidly. The doctor adjusted her stance, adding, "If your physical systems are undergoing a wave of exhaustion, climb onto the mattress and rest properly!"
She seated herself gracefully upon the edge of the wide bed, gently sliding the tray of fresh fruits toward our coordinates. She extracted a singular slice of pineapple, beginning to consume it. For consecutive days, my palate had been completely ruined by early pregnancy; my oral cavity was trapped in a constant, bitter state that forced me to continuously run to the bathroom grid to expectorate excess saliva. Seeking some systemic relief, I reached out, took possession of an orange slice, and began to lightly savor its juices, while Asabe equally selected a portion.
The doctor turned her head, her deep eyes anchoring directly onto my face. "From the very hour my ears processed the raw narrative of your domestic crisis, an intense internal directive commanded my soul to unveil the absolute reality of my own autobiography to your consciousness. However, before my lips unleash the chronicle of my history, I demand that your tongue explicitly declare a singular truth to my hearing: from the absolute first day your eyes analyzed my presence to this exact hour, what specific attribute or variable across my identity commands the highest echelon of admiration within your mind?"
I adjusted my posture upon the prayer rug, framing my thoughts with absolute respect. "First and foremost, your transcendent domain of intellectual knowledge—your advanced medical command. Secondly, the absolute beauty and excellence of your moral character. Furthermore, your visual aesthetic is flawless, and your existence appears entirely insulated from structural crises; you possess massive liquid wealth and absolute professional autonomy."
A brief, highly cynical smile played on her lips. She pivoted her head to look at Asabe. "Tell me, Asabe... does my everyday existence present to your vision as the profile of a woman trapped in severe, suffocating existential crises?"
Asabe managed a soft smile, shaking her head. "Absolutely not, Aunty! Your lifestyle has zero intersecting pathways with sorrow, let alone structural crises. From where we stand, your soul has harvested the absolute pinnacle of human comfort and joy on this earth."
The doctor fell into a heavy, somber silence that stretched across the quiet room for consecutive moments. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the weight of an unassailable history.
"My legal name is Hindu," she initiated profoundly. "My biological mother was a purebred, aristocratic nomadic Fulani woman (Bafullatana). My biological father was an exceptionally powerful man who possessed immense, near-infinite reservoirs of liquid wealth and political capital; at the exact intersection of time when my life was delivered to the earth, he was actively serving the nation at the elite echelon of a Grand Secretary to the Government."
She continued, "Consequently, our entire childhood matrix was executed within an absolute empire of hyper-luxury, elite privilege, and complete material entitlement. Furthermore, the genetic lottery blessed our lineage with breathtaking physical beauty; every single child born of our household possessed features so starkly exquisite it felt as though we had personally directed the design of our own anatomy. My father's estate comprised eight biological children (8\text{ children}): two elder brothers, followed by my identity, and flanked by five junior siblings. From the womb of our biological mother, we were a cohort of five; his junior amorous co-wife was responsible for the remaining three heirs."
"Ever since the foundational dawn of my cognitive development, my soul harbored an intense, hyper-obsessive infatuation with the doctrine of WESTERN EDUCATION (Boko)," Doctor Hindu confessed, her eyes staring blankly into the dark. "My singular, burning life blueprint was to transform into a high-status medical doctor. This specific intellectual ambition made my identity the absolute, uncontested favorite child of my father's heart—because he himself was a deeply entrenched, dogmatic disciple of modern Western intellect. He belonged to that extreme class of modern patriarchs who possess the absolute capacity to starve the physical bellies of their household purely to ensure their financial liquid resources are diverted to purchase Western textbooks; regardless of how astronomical the financial cost of a book or tuition was, the exact microsecond it linked to Boko, his pockets would instantly liquidate the cash to secure it. This specific family dynamic thoroughly brainwashed my consciousness into calculating that my mortal existence was structurally engineered by the cosmos solely to execute Western education."
She adjusted her posture, her voice dropping a register. "By the exact calendar year I finalized my secondary curriculum, my age had hit eighteen (18\text{ years}), and my physical beauty had blossomed into an absolute, blinding aesthetic brilliance. It was at that exact junction that an absolute army of elite male suitors aggressively laid siege to my perimeter—wealthy heirs of multi-millionaires, highly placed corporate tycoons, and direct princes of royal heritages. But as for my arrogant consciousness? I opened an absolute arena of systematic public humiliation and ruthless degradation against every single male suitor who dared to approach my vector. Stepping out to savagely insult a young man or publicly tear down the dignity of an elite heir meant absolutely nothing to my conscience."
"I can never delete the memory of a certain young suitor named Nasir," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly with a sudden, raw emotion. "His biological father was the sovereign Executive Governor of our state at that exact historical timeline. Nasir’s soul was so intensely, fatally infatuated with my identity that he was on the absolute precipice of mental insanity; on a daily basis, his luxury vehicle would track a course to our estate, and he would literally weep bitter tears before my face, begging for my romantic validation. But my arrogant lips flatly rejected his soul, declaring: 'My existence is strictly locked into a trajectory to become a world-class Doctor!' My biological father permanently fortified my rebellion, providing an iron shield that permitted my arrogance to continuously unleash emotional tyranny upon my suitors. My elder biological brothers aggressively attempted to negotiate and enter holy matrimony during those years, but our father flatly vetoed their plans, decreeing that their academic tracks must take absolute precedence over marriage. Yet, paradoxically, within that exact same historical window, our father turned around and secretly liquidated his own resources to legally marry a brand-new, hyper-young amorous bride—a girl whose chronological age did absolutely not cross the baseline of my own contemporary peers!"
She scoffed bitterly. "My consciousness harbored zero moral concern regarding his hypocrisy. However, the emotional stability of our biological mother and my elder brothers was completely shattered by the betrayal. My eldest brother began aggressively bringing an endless parade of random women into the compound, deliberately staging these encounters solely to force our father to confront his reckless lifestyle and validate his own sons' right to marry; but our father simply summoned his presence and unleashed a violent verbal discipline upon his dignity. The memory that continuously shocks my intellect to this day is that our father literally stated to his own son: 'If your masculine body is deeply starved for sexual release, navigate your footsteps to the external red-light districts and purchase your satisfaction elsewhere—but completely cease bringing these baseline women into my residential compound!' I turned to him and said, 'Alhaji, you should deliver a proper moral discipline to command him to cease fornication entirely.' But he simply looked at me and shrugged: 'Leave him be, Hindu. Let him run his course; a calendar day will arrive when his own body will harvest the exhaustion of his sins.'"
"Throughout that entire domestic war, I aggressively pushed forward until I successfully gained admission into Ahmadu Bello University (A.B.U Zaria)," Doctor Hindu continued, her narrative tracking with absolute fluid precision. "Matrimony remained completely frozen across our lives. Navigating the medical curriculum was an absolute, grueling battle that demanded my total cognitive bandwidth; my soul completely deleted leisure, practicing an absolute, iron worship of Boko. It was only during my third calendar year (3\text{rd year}) at the university that my elder brothers finally managed to execute their weddings—and that was achieved only through an immense, exhausting diplomatic intervention, leveraging highly placed statesmen whom our father was structurally incapable of disrespecting."
"Time continued its relentless march across reality, and after seven consecutive calendar years (7\text{ years}), I officially finalized my medical degree. At that exact intersection of time, my chronological age had hit twenty-five (25\text{ years}). Because of my transcendent academic brilliance and high-tier clinical performance, the institutional board granted me a prestigious international fellowship to execute an advanced clinical specialization course deep within Germany for a duration of two continuous years (2\text{ years})."
She paused, closing her eyes. "My biological mother dissolved into a violent storm of weeping, begging my soul to abort the international transit; her solitary maternal dream was to see my identity safely anchored inside a honorable marriage covenant before my youth faded. But I anchored my feet into an absolute, unyielding rebellion, declaring: 'Even if I finalize this international curriculum, my womanhood will absolutely never enter a husband's house until I have actively practiced medicine and secured absolute financial autonomy!' And reality tracked true to my blueprint. The exact microsecond I returned from Germany, I successfully locked down an elite medical placement at our state's apex referral hospital, ascending rapidly to the status of a Chief Medical Officer."
"It was at that exact, critical intersection of time that my chronological age officially breached the thirty-year threshold (30\text{ years old})," Doctor Hindu delivered the words with an absolute, haunting finality. "And it was only at that terrifying terminal hour... that the absolute weight of reality violently crashed through my brainwashed consciousness, forcing my eyes to see the truth. I had successfully conquered Boko. I h
