Katsina State

It was a neighborhood composed of both large and small houses. However, one look at the state of the buildings would reveal that it wasn't an old neighborhood. The houses were not weathered at all; some were brand new, while others, though not entirely new, could not be classified as old either. There were large, beautiful mansions that clearly indicated their owners were wealthy, while others belonged to comfortable, middle-class families. The street was generally quiet, with only a few people passing by here and there. A single glance at the lane was enough to understand that it harbored a blend of the affluent and the moderately well-off.
A navy blue Corolla S drove into the street at a moderate speed. Screeech! The car braked abruptly because two young girls, barely 13 or 14 years old, dashed into the road from an alleyway on the right. One of them carried a medium-sized white bucket containing something, showing she was hawking goods, while the other girl chasing her carried nothing. They ran into an alley directly opposite the one they had emerged from. Right there, the second girl managed to grab the hijab of the hawker girl carrying the bucket. She shoved her against the wall, trying to tip over and ruin her goods, while the hawker held onto the bucket firmly.
The man inside the car sat still, visible irritation on his face due to how suddenly the girls had jumped in front of him. If God hadn't willed that he was driving slowly, a horrible accident would have occurred; he would have hit both of them, perhaps even crushing them. He let out a sharp hiss, "Mtsww." He slowly turned his head to look into the alley the girls had entered. He could see them aggressively wrestling back and forth. The aggressive girl wore a matching atampa (African print) top and skirt, her head wrapped in a scarf that bulged significantly at the back, indicating she had a lot of hair. Her shawl (gyale) was tied around her waist as she strained with all her might to knock over the bucket from the other girl, who was pinned against the wall.
Seeing how determined she was to ruin the other girl's goods, he slowly rolled down his car window. "Hey, you! Hey!" he tried to address the girl, but she didn’t even glance his way. Thinking she hadn't heard him, he raised his voice slightly, though he disliked doing so: "Hey! Let her go!" She heard him but completely ignored him. The hawker girl pleaded, "Hey, Fatuu, didn't you hear that man in the car telling you to leave me alone?" She gripped her bucket tighter. Fatuu, realizing she couldn't easily knock the bucket away, began hitting the girl, knowing that violence would force her to let go.
Seeing this, the man stepped out of his car. Wow! Masha Allah. He was a remarkably handsome man, quite tall—not excessively so, but one look would confirm he was tall. His complexion was exceptionally fair and flawless, not the kind that looked reddish or yellowish in patches; his skin was perfectly smooth. He possessed a striking face that would captivate anyone who looked at him. His hair was somewhat long and curly, styled with more volume in the middle than on the sides. He didn’t keep a full beard, but light stubble framed his face down to his well-proportioned lips, which were a dark peach color. He wore a navy blue suit over a black shirt. A navy blue necktie rested beneath his sharp black collar. The lower half of the tie was tucked into his neatly buttoned jacket, which featured exquisite black buttons. On his wrist was a dark silver luxury watch that looked incredibly expensive, and on his feet were polished black leather dress shoes. He looked immensely sharp and sophisticated; with his fair complexion, he almost didn't look local. The suit fit his well-built, broad-shouldered frame perfectly. Judging by his attire and his car, he was the definition of "perfectly put-together."
He closed the car door with one hand and began to walk majestically toward them. From his stride, one would assume he was a man highly conscious of his own status and authority. He stopped beside them, his face completely stern, and spoke to the aggressive girl in a raised voice: "Let her go!" She ignored him, even turning her back to him defiantly. Furious, he raised his voice further: "Am I not talking to you, idiot?" he snapped. Hearing him call her an idiot, she turned around furiously to snap back, "I am not an idio..." but the words died in her throat the moment she locked eyes with the stern-faced man standing before her. His sheer aura and charisma completely overwhelmed her.
"Get your hands off her," he commanded with a hard face. She slowly released the hawker girl, evidently understanding his English. Stepping back slightly, she muttered under her breath, "Just because you're handsome doesn't mean you should scowl at people. I don't care about your good looks, whatever." He remained still, staring at her, having heard every word she muttered. This girl is incredibly insolent, he thought to himself. "Get out of here before I slap your face," he said, pointing down the path with his hand. She slowly began walking down the alley, pouting and looking back at them. He turned to the hawker girl, "Go on, leave," pointing toward the path they had originally come from. "Okay," she replied, adjusting her rumpled yellow hijab, and began to walk away. He turned back toward his car.
"Oh my goodness! She spilled my Awara...!" the girl wailed. Hearing her sudden outburst, the man turned back instantly. He looked at the scene with a stunned expression. It turned out Fatuu hadn't actually left; the moment she saw him head for his car, she had darted back, reached out, and flipped the bucket over. Seeing the terrifying look he gave her, Fatuu grew scared and bolted deep into the alley. The Awara seller’s voice echoed as she screamed in rage, "Wallahi I won’t let this go! You must pay for this! I’m coming to your house, you wicked, oppressive girl!" She picked up the bucket, which was now cracked, and burst into a fresh wave of tears.
He slowly walked back to where she was kneeling, sobbing as she tried to salvage the pieces of Awara that hadn't hit the dirt. He stood over her. She looked up through her tears and said, "Look at what she did! She spilled all my Awara. Wallahi, my mother took the ingredients on credit, and I was supposed to sell this to pay it back. Now even the bucket is broken. Wallahi, I am going to their house; they must pay us back!" She broke down into intense sobbing.
"It’s okay, just leave the rest," he said. She looked up, clearly not understanding his English words. "Stand up and leave the rest, can't you see it's dirty?" he said gently. She stood up, sniffing and crying. He asked softly, "What happened between you two?"
"Wallahi, I didn't do anything to her. The other day, she stopped my younger sister demanding she give her some snacks, but my sister refused. So Fatuu beat her up and stole her Awara. When our mother found out, she went to their house to settle it because this wasn't the first time she had ambushed us demanding things. Fatuu's guardians disciplined her for it. So today, when she saw me, she said since our mother got her beaten, she would make us suffer a financial loss, even if it meant getting herself killed. There's no ju..."
"It’s okay," he interrupted her, clearly tired of listening to the long explanation. "Where do you live?" he asked briefly.
"We live on the back street, at Alhaji Sani Karofi’s house. Our father is the security guard there, we live in the compound at the back," she said, wiping her tears.
"How much is your merchandise worth?" he inquired. "The Awara is worth one thousand five hundred Naira. She spilled almost all of it; the part that didn't touch the dirt isn't even worth two hundred Naira. Wallahi, I'm going to their house so they can reimburse us," she cried again, deeply hurt by the loss. He sighed before saying calmly, "You know what, just leave her alone. Since she doesn't listen to reprimands, if you report her again, she will only ruin your things next time." He reached into his suit trouser pocket, pulled out an exquisite black wallet, and opened it. He counted out crisp, brand-new currency notes that looked freshly minted. He handed them to the girl, who stood frozen, staring at him. She quickly collected the money, placed the broken bucket down, and counted it. It was three thousand Naira. In utter shock, she looked up, but he had already turned around. She quickly called out, "Sir, this money is too much!" Without turning around, he raised his hand slightly and said, "Buy a new bucket with the balance," and kept walking to his car.
The hawker stood there, staring at the money in disbelief. This stranger had given her three thousand Naira. She quickly ran after him, calling, "Sir! Sir!" Just as he gripped his car door handle to open it, he turned around, somewhat impatient, "What again?"
"Umm, well... if..." she stammered, intimidated by his direct gaze. Noting her confusion, his expression softened slightly. "Yes? I'm listening. If what?"
"I wanted to ask... if my mother asks who gave me this money, what should I tell her?" she asked, dropping her gaze to the floor. "Just tell her wh... just tell her exactly what happened," he replied, turning to get into the car. She quickly added, "But she might think I'm lying and that I made it up! She always warns us never to accept money from strangers or people we don't know, lest they take advantage of us." She finished, her head still bowed.
A small smile played on the corner of his mouth, revealing a deep dimple. He appreciated her words; at least it showed that poverty drove them to hawk, not greed or bad parenting. He turned, entered his car, and closed the door. She watched his every move, completely mesmerized. He started the ignition, opened the glove box, pulled out another two thousand Naira, rolled down his window, and handed it to her with a smile. "Add this to it and give it to your mother." He restarted the car as she watched in absolute amazement. As the power window slowly rolled up, he looked at the girl one last time as she stood tracking him with her eyes. "Tell your mother that the son of HAJIYAR SENATOR gave it to you." With that, he accelerated away swiftly—vrooom!
"Hajiyar Senator!" the girl repeated in awe, holding her chin with one hand. Then, she burst into a joyful laugh. She quickly rushed back to the spilled Awara, saying, "Let me salvage the pieces that didn't get too dirty; we can wash the sand off or just eat it ourselves." She placed the salvageable pieces on the bucket lid, picked it up, and ran back into the alley they had initially emerged from.
Meanwhile, Fatuu, the girl who had spilled the snack, peeked out from the entrance porch where she had been hiding. She had a round face, a well-shaped, medium-long nose, and chubby cheeks. Her eyes were quite large, complemented by long, thick eyelashes and perfectly arched eyebrows. Her lower lip was slightly full, and her skin was fair. One look at her and you would call her pretty. After looking left and right to ensure the coast was clear, she stepped out. She walked stealthily, looking over her shoulder until she reached the spot where she had overturned the bucket. She stood there, looking at the remnants on the ground. Stamping her foot onto the remaining Awara, she muttered, "Let her go and get me beaten again!" she said aloud, screwing up her face, her deep dimples plunging into her cheeks. Hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle behind her, she quickly spun around, gathering her skirt with both hands, ready to bolt. Realizing it wasn't the man's car from earlier, she let go of her skirt and muttered, "Even if it were him, I'm not afraid of him, even if he were a jinn, whatever!" She walked away, swinging her arms, pouting, and continuously looking back.
After walking a short distance, she arrived in front of an unpainted, plastered house. In front of the house was a large drainage trench that ran past the street's houses, covered with concrete slabs. Next to the entrance door sat a small kiosk perched over the covered drainage. She stepped into the entrance porch (zaure), which had a door and a window, styled like a typical porch room.
She paused at the inner doorway, peeking into the courtyard, which was completely empty. Drawing her head back into the porch, she held her chin, deep in thought. Hasn't anyone come to report me yet? Or did they come and leave already? She nodded to herself and muttered, "Even if they report me, I know what to say. I'll say she provoked me and mocked me, laughing in my face that they got me beaten." She twisted her mouth, her dimples showing.
She stealthily stepped into the medium-sized house, the floor of which was entirely cemented. There were two rooms facing each other. The room on the right was large, while the one on the left was small, attached to a kitchen which was the first structure on the left as you entered. There was a small open space meant for washing dishes, a small tree in the center, and a restroom located in the corner near the entrance.
As she crept in, a voice boomed from behind her: "Where are you coming from?" Fatuu startled and turned around. It was an elderly, fair-skinned woman, somewhat tall and lean, with traditional tribal marks around her mouth. She was holding a plastic kettle (buta), evidently returning from the restroom. "I am speaking to you, Fatuu," she repeated in a Fulani-accented Hausa dialect. Fatuu began to stammer, at a loss for words, terrified that the Awara incident had already been reported. "Are you out there stirring up trouble for me as usual?" the older woman questioned. Fatuu quickly replied, "No, Gwaggo..." her eyes darting around shiftily. "Then tell me where you went, because I looked outside for you myself and you weren't there," Gwaggo said, fixing her eyes on her. "Umm... I went to Hajiyar Senator’s house to greet her," Fatuu lied, guilt written all over her face. "May God grant that you are telling the truth, because I don't see a single day pass from dawn till dusk without you bringing trouble to my doorstep." Realizing her misdeed hadn't been reported yet, Fatuu gained confidence: "Wallahi, Gwaggo, that's exactly where I'm coming from!" Gwaggo countered, "Then what is this sash you’ve tied around your waist with your shawl?"
"It's nothing, the shawl was just annoying me by falling off, so I tied it around my waist," she said, untying the shawl.
Gwaggo continued, "When you are told to wear a hijab, you refuse. You absolutely despise the hijab, preferring a shawl that you don't even know how to drape properly; it's always draped in your hands or tied to your waist. What use is that? When reprimanded, you claim you aren't used to hijabs because of your village upbringing." Gwaggo walked past her into the house.
"But Wallahi, Gwaggo, the hijab suffocates me! I'm just not used to it. Back in the nomadic settlement (ruga), sometimes we didn't even wear shawls," she whined, following Gwaggo.
"Well, you better get used to it, because you've been told this isn't the village. If you wanted to get used to it, you would have by now. How long has it been since you left the village? Almost three years! You just prefer the shawl so you can freely hunt for trouble. You are always bringing drama to my life. I am getting tired of this, Wallahi, and I will deal with you severely if you don't stop, because I see beatings no longer affect you." Gwaggo finished speaking as she reached the door of the right-hand room, lifted the curtain, and entered with her kettle. Fatuu went to the opposite room, lifted the curtain, and went inside. Her room was small, containing a black-painted iron spring bed with a mattress covered in an old bedsheet. Opposite the bed stood a modest, weathered two-door wardrobe with two small drawers at the bottom. On top of it sat some bags, and next to it was a small dressing mirror with broken drawer handles and a cracked mirror face. The room was lined with a badly worn-out linoleum floor mat. She dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh, "Washhh!" as though she had done hard labor rather than cause trouble. She kept plotting: I wonder when they will come report me... She muttered, Let them get me beaten again, Wallahi I know exactly what I'll do to them... Gwaggo’s voice interrupted her thoughts: "Fatuu, come out and sift this flour in the kitchen! It's evening already, let me get dinner started... Fatuu, can you hear me?" In a raised voice, Fatuu replied, "I can hear you, I'm coming out..." She stood up and headed for the door, grumbling and shaking her head in deep annoyance.

2. Summary of the Original Story

This excerpt introduces a slice-of-life drama set in Katsina State. The plot kicks off when a wealthy, exceptionally handsome young man driving a navy blue Corolla S narrowly avoids hitting two young girls, Fatuu and Jamila, who dash into the street. Fatuu is aggressively chasing Jamila to destroy her merchandise (Awara/fried tofu) out of spite because Jamila’s mother previously reported Fatuu for bullying.
Despite the wealthy driver's intervention, the defiant and hot-tempered Fatuu manages to maliciously flip Jamila's bucket, breaking it and ruining her livelihood. Distressed because her family relies on this income to pay off debts, Jamila breaks down. Moved by her plight, the mysterious wealthy driver—who reveals himself to be the son of Hajiyar Senator—generously compensates Jamila with 5,000 Naira (far exceeding her 1,500 Naira loss).
Fatuu retreats to her home, where she lives with her grandmother/guardian, Gwaggo, an elderly Fulani woman. Gwaggo reprimands Fatuu for her uncultured behavior, her refusal to adapt to urban norms (like wearing a hijab instead of her village style), and her constant knack for causing trouble. Meanwhile, Jamila returns to her impoverished home (a Boy's Quarters behind a mansion) and presents the ruined goods along with the large sum of money to her mother, Saratu. Instead of being relieved, Saratu becomes terrified and aggressive, demanding to know the truth behind how her young daughter acquired such a large sum of money from a strange man.

3. Character & Setting Description

Setting

• The Neighborhood: Located in Katsina State. A modern, transitioning suburban area housing a mix of upper-class elite mansions and middle-class/underprivileged residents.
• Fatuu's Home: A modest, unpainted house with an un-gated compound and an outdoor kiosk. The interior is simple, cramped, and shows signs of wear (worn linoleum, broken mirror/wardrobe handles).

• Jamila's Home: A dilapidated Boy's Quarters (BQ) situated behind a large mansion compound. It features cracked ceilings, peeling paint, and an open-air firewood cooking area near a water tank, symbolizing absolute economic struggle.

  Characters

• The Son of Hajiyar Senator: An elite, staggeringly handsome young man with an authoritative presence. He drives a Corolla S, dresses in luxury corporate attire (navy blue suit, silver watch, polished shoes), is fluent in English, and exhibits both a stern demeanor and a generous, soft-hearted nature.
• Fatuu (Fatima): A 13-to-14-year-old girl originally from a rural/nomadic Fulani settlement (ruga). Physically attractive with a round face, deep dimples, and long eyelashes, but behaviorally aggressive, rebellious, vindictive, and highly insolent. She rejects urban Islamic conventions like the hijab.
• Jamila: A young, vulnerable 13-to-14-year-old street hawker trying to support her family. Resilient but easily intimidated, she bears the brunt of Fatuu's bullying.
• Gwaggo: Fatuu’s elderly, lean Fulani guardian. Strict, traditional, and exasperated by Fatuu’s stubborn refusal to abandon her wild, rural habits and assimilate into civilized town life.

• Saratu (Inna): Jamila’s mother. A hardworking, impoverished woman living under deep financial stress. She is protective, highly suspicious of sudden wealth, and fiercely protective of her daughter’s moral integrity.

  4. Literary & Cultural Analytics

  Cultural Nuances & Socio-Economic Dynamics

  The text beautifully juxtaposes two stark realities in Northern Nigeria: Extreme wealth vs. Acute poverty. The interactions between the characters highlight distinct social stratifications:

1. The Elite vs. Urban Poor: The "Son of Hajiyar Senator" represents political/aristocratic affluence. His ability to casually dispense 5,000 Naira (which throws the poor characters into an existential panic) showcases the economic disparity.
2. Rural-Urban Migration (The Ruga vs. The Town): Fatuu’s character represents the friction of assimilation. Having left a nomadic Fulani settlement (ruga) three years prior, she struggles with urban expectations—specifically modesty laws (wearing a hijab versus a gyale/wrapper). Her wild, untamed aggression is explicitly tied by Gwaggo to her rural upbringing.

3. Street Hawking (Talla): The narrative highlights the harsh reality of young girls engaging in street hawking to offset family debts, as well as the parenting anxieties surrounding it (Saratu's immediate fear that her daughter has been groomed or taken advantage of for money).

   Narrative Style and Critique

• Visual Writing: The author, Oummu Imam, excels at descriptive prose. The detailed breakdown of the male protagonist’s outfit and Fatuu's facial structure reads almost like a screenplay, creating distinct imagery.
• Dialogue and Pacing: The transition between Hausa and English phrases ("idiot", "Get your hands off her", "too match") accurately mirrors modern Northern Nigerian urban colloquialisms. The pacing is fast, utilizing action blocks (the car braking, the physical scuffle, the sudden flying kick/overturning of the bucket) to keep readers hooked.
• Themes: Conflict of classes, the burdens of childhood poverty, revenge, structural discipline, and parental protection.