Amatu sat at their doorstep, flipping through a prayer book. Jamila sat beside her, preparing ingredients for the soup they would sell later. Aisha walked in, her entire body drenched in sweat, clearly exhausted from work. She sighed heavily as she reached where they were sitting.
Jamila, with pity in her voice, greeted her, *"Welcome, Aisha. May God protect our secrets and bring positive change to our lives."*
Aisha forced a smile and replied, *"Amen, Amatullah. What are you reading?"*
Amatu didn’t return the smile—she wasn’t the type to pretend or hide her feelings. *"Welcome, Aisha. Look at how exhausted you are. For God’s sake, if the work is too much for you, reduce it. This fatigue you’re piling on yourself will haunt you in old age."*
Aisha’s face filled with worry. *"Well, Amatu, it’s necessity. You know our father assigned this to me. It won’t be forever."*
Amatu sighed, shaking her head. *"That may be, but please, reduce the workload. It’s too much."*
Aisha chuckled. *"That’s how it is, big aunty. We must take care of Grandma, who’s like a mother to us—Hajiya Hauwa, the modern one."*
They both laughed, but Amatu’s laughter was playful. *"What’s with this nickname? No additions?"*
Aisha’s face brightened. *"Our grandma remembers everything, even if we don’t. God is the King. Hajiya Hauwa just heard about the death of that old woman’s daughter."*
Amatu turned her attention back to the book. *"Well, we’ll do what’s necessary. Whoever loves her should take care of her with all affection. We’ll try our best—after all, it’s His will that prevails over everyone."*
Aisha sighed and noticed Saude stepping out of the room, looking at her in surprise. *"Since when did you arrive?"* she asked, stretching as she spoke.
Meanwhile, Jamila also stood up, carrying the soup ingredients to the grinding area.
Silently, Amatu observed everything in the large house—its structure, the repairs, and the absence of her father. Though they had relatives, they all seemed to blame him for idleness, saying he lacked ambition and had gathered families without purpose.
Her thoughts deepened when she remembered how her father had gone to his brother to borrow money for her exam fees but was refused. The words her uncle Ilyah had spoken to her father still echoed in her ears since the day she asked about the exam money.
Suddenly, Malam Habu entered in shock, seeing Amatu sitting and crying. He rushed to her, wiping her tears gently. *"Mamana, why are you crying? Didn’t I escort you to school? Why are you back?"*
Amatu sobbed. *"Daddy, the teacher said I didn’t pay the fees this year, so I won’t be allowed to take the exams. I had to wait until the class was dismissed."*
Malam Habu sighed, looking at her. *"Be patient, Mamana. Come, let’s go to your uncle’s house. Maybe today, seeing how desperate we are, he’ll take pity and lend me the money to pay for you."*
Holding her hand, they left the house and entered another one—his brother’s home. After greetings, he found his brother’s wives plucking chickens while children nearby struggled with a stubborn shoe.
Something bitter rose in his throat, but he held it back. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked, *"How are you, brother?"*
The response was delayed, and when Ilyah’s senior wife finally spoke, it was dismissive. *"Hmm, as if you don’t know. Finish what you came for."*
*"Finish what I came for?"* Malam Habu asked in confusion, turning to look at her sharply.
She retorted, *"Yes, that’s what I said. Or do you think we’re idle? There are people who can cause trouble for you after you leave."*
Malam Habu’s face darkened. *"Bara’atu, what are you saying?"*
She gave him a knowing look. *"I know what I’m saying. I live comfortably—eating, drinking, without any problems except when shadows like you come to disrupt our peace. Ever since poverty struck you, you’ve been wandering around people’s houses like a beggar, as if the whole village is richer than you..."*
*"BARA’ATU!!!
