FreeFreeDescription
While Ummukulsoom and her peers were on the verge of wrapping up their final school examinations, the bride price and marriage proposal funds were formally delivered from Basiru’s family house to hers. Crucially, this traditional rite was completed without Basiru's knowledge. Malam Buhari was filled with profound joy and immense happiness at this development. Conversely, his wives' hearts burned with such intense jealousy and malice that they felt as though they would explode; they never harbored even a fleeting wish for Basiru to marry Ummukulsoom, their ultimate dark desire being to see her return home disgraced and pregnant.
When Malam Buhari clearly detected the naked envy written across his wives' faces, he said nothing to them. Instead, he simply shook his head and silently prayed for their guidance. He could not fathom what wrong Ummukulsoom had committed against them in that house, for they consistently despised her progress as though she were their personal rival or a co-wife.
To be clear, an exact wedding date with Basiru was not fixed on that day. The groom’s family merely brought the traditional greeting funds (*kuɗin gaisuwa*) to formally reaffirm that their intentions remained steadfast. They resolved to let the matter rest until Ummukulsoom returned home and Basiru completed his remaining five months of studies, after which the official wedding date would be set directly.
As for Basiru himself, he was completely oblivious to the domestic arrangements being made on his behalf. Two days later, he gathered his belongings and returned to his institution to commence his own examinations.
Life forged ahead smoothly and peacefully. While Ummukulsoom sat for her examinations, her heart remained deeply anchored in her profound love for her Basiru. Out of a desperate desire to make him proud, she applied herself relentlessly to excel academically.
Similarly, Basiru was deeply occupied with his exams, even as his love affair with Suhailat grew stronger by the day. Gradually, his name and photographs became common fixtures in Suhailat’s family home. However, Suhailat intentionally hid a vital truth from her family: she concealed the fact that Basiru came from an ordinary, low-born background.
When Suhailat’s elder sister saw Basiru’s photograph, she was completely mesmerized by his striking looks. Swept away by admiration, she pestered Suhailat, demanding to know which prominent, elite family in the country he belonged to.
Suhailat merely laughed, teasingly replying, “Madam, just look at the photo and admire it. It is none of your business whose son he is. Or are you planning to secretly snatch him from behind my back?”
Amrah burst into laughter, playfully slapping Suhailat’s shoulder as she replied, “You useless girl! Do you honestly take me for a boyfriend thief now?”
They dissolved into shared laughter, while their mother, sitting nearby, listened to their banter with amusement.
Suhailat added, “Well, in today's world, one must guard her territory fiercely.”
Everything with a beginning must inevitably find its end. Today marked the day Ummukulsoom and her classmates concluded their final examinations. Every student was caught in a bittersweet whirlwind—rejoicing over completing their studies while mourning their impending separation. They busily exchanged phone numbers and home addresses.
Ummukulsoom unreservedly distributed her father’s phone number and proudly gave out her actual village address. In her eyes, there was absolutely nothing to hide or be ashamed of; her humble roots were her ultimate pride, even if her family home stood alone in the middle of a dense, isolated forest. For this reason, she always felt a sense of profound bewilderment toward classmates who sat around spinning extravagant lies about living in wealthy estates. She often wondered: on the day Allah decrees that a classmate unexpectedly visits and sees the harsh reality, wouldn't one be buried in crippling shame?
The students continued exchanging emotional farewells until her father arrived to pick her up. After bidding a final goodbye to those who had not yet departed, they embarked on the journey home, with Ummukulsoom weeping bitterly over the separation while her father gently consoled her.
Upon arriving at the village, she received a decent welcome from the household solely out of respect for her father's presence. By now, the hostile machinations of her stepmothers did not bother her in the slightest; she believed they simply deserved pity and forbearance.
As soon as she ate and freshened up, she left the main house to visit her grandparents. Gwaggo Hinde was overjoyed to see her, continuously offering praises and gratitude to Allah. “O Allah, I thank You that this Western education (*boko*) of Ummukulsoom has finally come to an end! Now you can settle down, get married, and save us from the endless gossip of this town's people. Look around; Azima and her peers already have two children each, while Ramatu and Atine are already pregnant with their third!”
Ummukulsoom, who was happily munching on the roasted groundnuts Gwaggo Hinde sold for a living, smiled gently before replying, “Oh, Gwaggo! Why such urgent excitement? Even when I marry, I know Basiru will allow me to continue my Western education, because, by Allah's grace, I fully intend to become a lawyer.”
Gwaggo Hinde’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock, so much so that her wrapper nearly unraveled. She hastily retied it, set down the calabash bowl she was using to mix millet dough (*fura*) for Ummukulsoom, and barked, “You, Ummukulsoom, are truly a wayward girl! Aside from sheer madness, what on earth is so glamorous about Western education? What is wrong with the level you have already achieved? In this entire village, only you and the village head’s daughters have gone this far in Western schooling. For Allah's sake, redirect your mind to your real future; they have already cleared the ground to build your matrimonial home!”
“Oh, Gwaggo, listen to yourself! Who told you that education ever truly ends? Knowledge is a vast, boundless ocean. Haven't you heard that those who thirst for wealth and those who thirst for knowledge are never truly satisfied? Does getting married mean I must stop seeking both Islamic and contemporary knowledge? Are we to remain stagnant in this village forever without any progress? I am certain Basiru will be thrilled with my ambitions, as he values progress too.”
Gwaggo Hinde scoffed and contorted her face. “If you think you and Basiru can pull that off, go ahead. Even now, the town is rife with gossip about him; they say he has suddenly struck it rich and has begun looking down on ordinary people. In fact, the last time he visited this village, he arrived driving a sleek, expensive car!”
"A car, Gwaggo?" Ummu asked, utterly bewildered. “But he is a full-time student, where on earth would he get a car?”
“How should I know? Some faithless, anxious people in this village are already whispering that he has ventured into ritual killings (*yankan kai*) for money!”
Ummukulsoom instantly burst into uncontrollable, ringing laughter. She laughed so hard and so relentlessly that Gwaggo eventually picked up a small object and playfully struck her with it to force her to stop. Gasping for air, Ummu managed to say, “Oh, Gwaggo! By Allah, it is because of such backward thinking that people call us ignorant villagers. Is it really true that the moment a person achieves financial success, the default assumption is that he does ritual killings? Who even told you people that ritual murder for wealth actually exists?”
"Well, Ummu, do not blame us," Gwaggo replied defensively. “What do we know about the workings of the modern world? Everything modern times bring, a villager must travel to the city to even witness. When it is time to elect leaders, politicians rely heavily on the votes of village dwellers. Yet, the moment they scale the heights of power, you see that they completely forget that living, breathing human beings exist in these rural bushes. Look around you: electricity has completely eluded this village. Those who own mobile phones must journey all the way to Kudan town daily just to charge their batteries. It was only recently that Balarabe, Tasalla’s grandson, bought a power generator and started a commercial charging business here. And imagine, he charges a whopping twenty Naira (*Murtala guda*) just to charge a single phone! If you do not have a steady business, where will you find twenty Naira everyday just to hand over for a phone charge?”
In a soft, sorrowful tone laced with bitter frustration, Ummu replied, "Gwaggo, it is precisely because of these systemic failures that we look at our reality and insist on acquiring higher education. Given the sheer size of this village, it is a crying shame that we lack basic development. We have no electricity and no decent roads. If you ride a motorcycle to enter or leave this town, you feel as though your intestines are about to spill out due to the horrific potholes. Extreme poverty tears at us, and they have failed to build a single secondary school for us. Every single day, our children must commute all the way into Kudan. By Allah, if a secondary school were built right here in this village, many parents would find the peace of mind to let their daughters study. We live as though we are not even part of this country, and the vast majority of rural villages across Nigeria face these exact same crises.
This is why, sometimes, I do not entirely blame our leaders. Some of them emerged from these very villages; they grew up with absolutely no one to support them. Consequently, the moment they secure the levers of power, they begin to act maliciously and hoard wealth, embodying the old Hausa proverb: *'The camel's tail is far removed from the ground.'* Gwaggo, we the masses have utterly failed to fix our past; how can we expect leaders to magically fix our present? Young children like us who are growing up need to benefit today so that tomorrow becomes better for our younger siblings. Yet, every new person who ascends to power seeks only to perpetrate destruction grander than his predecessor's."
“By Allah, that is the absolute truth, Ummu! This is exactly why you impress me sometimes; you speak with profound wisdom when you choose to.”
Ummu laughed merrily, stretching her limbs out on Gwaggo Hinde’s bed. “Well, let me stretch out on your fancy bed, Gwaggo. Do not wake me up until nighttime, because I intend to sleep over here tonight.”
"Rest well then," Gwaggo Hinde replied, knowing full well that Ummu was currently on her menstrual cycle and thus excused from prayers.
After Ummu woke up from her long nap, Gwaggo thoroughly explained the details regarding the traditional wedding greeting funds brought by Basiru’s family. She reminded her that the family had agreed to wait until they both graduated to formalize the arrangements, and now that Allah had brought that time to fruition, she knew the wedding discussions would be revived immediately. Ummukulsoom was flooded with intense joy, but she fiercely suppressed her emotions in front of Gwaggo, choosing instead to cover her face in intense shyness.
Only when she saw Gwaggo step out into the courtyard did she allow herself to fully revel in her happiness, overflowing with gratitude to Allah that she was finally on the verge of claiming her true love and fulfilling her ultimate dream of having him as a husband.
Ever since Ummukulsoom returned to the village, she did not spend a single full day resting in her father's large family compound. She spent her days walking around the village, visiting extended relatives, respected family friends, married older sisters, and her maternal kin residing in the town.
Today, she visited Murja’s house. She found Murja and her mother-in-law sitting in the courtyard shelling groundnuts when she voiced her greeting.
Murja’s eyes widened in profound shock. She leapt to her feet with intense excitement, exclaiming, “Ah! Welcome, welcome to the grand lady, the remedy to all petty matters! Welcome, a thousand welcomes!”
Ummukulsoom offered a polite smile, though a pang of sorrow hit her heart. Murja had changed drastically; she was already aging prematurely under the harsh weight of rural life, despite being married for a mere three years. Yet, by village standards, Murja considered herself highly fortunate because her husband traveled all the way to Lagos to hustle for money and did his absolute best to provide for her. He had very few burdens; his father was deceased, leaving only his mother in the house alongside Murja, her two children, and two younger sisters who were already married off.
Ummukulsoom walked up to Lamunde, Murja’s mother-in-law, kneeling all the way to the ground to greet her respectfully. Lamunde accepted the greeting with a warm smile, congratulating her on successfully finishing her studies.
"Alhamdulillah," Ummu replied, rising to her feet.
Lamunde watched Ummu’s retreating figure, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull in envy. As soon as she saw them disappear into Murja’s fenced-off, private quarters, she placed her hand on her chin and muttered maliciously, “Oh, look at me, Lami! A young girl has grown into a fully mature woman in her father's house without a husband. When you have a massive burden like this right in front of you, you shouldn't even be able to enjoy a peaceful night's sleep.”
Unaware of the mother-in-law’s bitter gossip, Ummu and Murja exploded into lively conversation inside the room. Murja fetched a cup of ice-cold water from an earthen clay pot for Ummu, alongside a large plate of crunchy kuli-kuli (*ƙalli ƙaƙau*) that she made for commercial sale, urging Ummu to eat to her heart's content.
Ummu laughed, setting down the silver cup. “So, you still haven't changed your old habits when it comes to me, huh? If I dare eat this heavy snack today, I will spend the entire night running to the restroom! By the way, where are my children?”
“This boy (referring to her firstborn son, whose name she traditionally avoided pronouncing) is over at Auntie Karime’s house. When her children visited earlier, he followed them back. As for Amadu, he just went out to play with Lance's crew near our family house.”
“Oh, right, I actually ran into them on my way here. I saw Rayya carrying a baby on her back, but because she wore a large hijab, I mistakenly thought it was Hadiza’s child.”
“No, that was Amadu. They just brought back the money from selling the kuli-kuli for me. Now, what would you like me to cook for you? I know you city-educated girls are high maintenance and don't eat just anything.”
Ummu glared at her playfully. “We are witches, not city snobs! You know very well that I will gladly devour whatever food you give me, by Allah.”
“Alright then, let me send someone to buy you some fried tofu (*awara*) from Tinenen Haruna's place; her tofu is exceptionally delicious. Actually, we originally planned to make a simple local porridge (*fate*) out of broken corn grist today because we were craving it, but since you are here, let me boil some rice instead.”
“No, by Allah! Make your local porridge! I actually prefer it immensely. Wait, don't tell me you are craving it because child number three is on the way?”
Murja glared at Ummu, instinctively rubbing her stomach. “What third child, Ummu? How old is Amadu anyway? May Allah protect me, I am absolutely not pregnant. It was a mere craving. Yesterday, I went to Safare's child-naming ceremony and people completely wiped out the porridge before we could get a taste. I couldn't get it out of my mind, so I resolved to make it today. Mother-in-law said she wanted some too.”
“Aww, bless her. By the way, which number childbirth was that for Safare?”
“That was her fourth. You know her second child passed away, so she has three surviving children now.”
“Oh dear, may Allah bless and preserve the surviving ones.”
“Amen. Let me quickly pop next door to see if Ade is around to help buy the fried tofu.”
Ummu spent the entire day at Murja’s house, enjoying deep, sisterly bonding and the delicious local porridge Murja prepared. It was only after the night prayer (*Isha'i*) that Ummu finally departed for home.
The moment she stepped through the door, she was met with a barrage of furious screams from Baba Yalwa (her stepmother). Baba Yalwa fiercely berated her for wandering around the village instead of staying back to help stir the heavy tuwo flour, especially since she knew Baba Yalwa woke up feeling incredibly ill that day. Ummu simply offered her meek apologies and quietly retreated to her bedroom. Her father sat nearby, tightly weaving a straw mat; he did not utter a single syllable or intervene in the drama.
Ummukulsoom settled into a routine of waiting for Basiru’s return. However, the relentless village gossip regarding her advanced age and unmarried status began to deeply frustrate and anger her. To counter this, Gwaggo Hinde constantly looked for traditional herbs to protect her from malicious tongues. Her father was equally distressed by the community's toxic chatter. Consequently, he approached Basiru’s father directly, urging that they formally set a wedding date to silence the village gossips once and for all.
Basiru’s father readily agreed. They delivered the final traditional wedding settlement funds and officially scheduled the wedding for eight months out. They further resolved that if all preparations were completed ahead of schedule, the wedding would be held even sooner to get it over with. Now, everyone was simply waiting for Basiru's arrival.
With the official wedding date secured, Ummukulsoom and everyone who loved her felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Her father capitalized on this peace of mind to prepare for his return to Kaduna, where his commercial business was based. Ummu firmly insisted on accompanying him to Kaduna so she could visit and greet Aunt Harira, her father's younger sister who lived there with her husband.
Her father did not object; he agreed it would give her a much-needed break from the toxic village gossip. This sudden travel plan ignited intense jealousy and bitter resentment in Baba Yalwa and her co-wife. Unable to contain themselves, they began spreading malicious rumors. Her father completely ignored their petty jealousy, picked up his daughter, and set off for Kaduna.
Because they did not leave the village early, dusk was already enveloping the sky by the time they arrived in the heart of Kaduna. The commercial vehicle dropped them off at Kawo bus stop, where they quickly boarded a tricycle (Napep) headed to Tudun Wada, the neighborhood where Aunt Harira resided. Ummu spent the entire ride staring out the window at the bustling streets; this was only her third time visiting the city since reaching adulthood.
They pulled up outside a modest house with an iron gate. Her father pushed the door open, stepped into the entrance hall (*soro*), and instructed Ummu to walk into the main courtyard ahead of him.
Uttering a polite Islamic greeting (*sallama*), Ummu stepped inside. A young woman in the courtyard, who was busy gathering dried laundry from the clothesline, returned the greeting. Because the darkness of twilight had fallen and there was a power outage, she could not immediately discern Ummu's identity through the shadows.
She asked, “Who is it, please?”
Ummu smiled, instantly recognizing the voice as belonging to Azizah, Aunt Harira’s daughter, even though they hadn't seen each other since Azima’s wedding. Wanting to tease her, Ummu replied, “I am a ritual killer's daughter!”
Azizah burst into laughter. She abandoned the laundry on the line and marched over to where Ummu stood in the doorway. She let out a wild, ecstatic shriek of joy, shouting, "Oh my goodness, Ummukulsoom! By
