The Influence of the City Relatives and Household Rivalry

Whenever Mommy visited from Lagos to see the family back home, we would all gather in her alleyway. My peers and I would just stare at her and her children in absolute awe because everything they did fascinated us.
To us, their lifestyle felt entirely foreign. They cooked delicious, exotic food and shared it with us, although we were only given small portions scooped into our hands, whereas her own children were served full, overflowing plates accompanied by sachet water. This differential treatment didn't bother us in the slightest; we were just grateful to receive any taste of it, no matter how small.
Whenever she was in town, our house was constantly packed with visitors from the city who came to see her. The buzzing atmosphere only quieted down once she returned to Lagos and her friends stopped coming. We always dreaded her departure because, in truth, she was an exceptionally generous woman. Wealth hadn't blinded her; she made sure no visitor left her presence empty-handed, always sending them off with a token of her appreciation.
One afternoon around 12:00 PM, Mama poked her head into our section of the compound. After exchanging pleasantries with my mother, she called out to me, explaining that she wanted to send me on an errand. I followed her back to her section.
She bathed me, dressed me up neatly, and then went back to finish her cooking. The moment I put on the specific dress I had been desperately longing to wear, a massive, joyful smile spread across my face. I finally felt like one of Mama's sophisticated Lagos children, and I couldn't wait to go out and parade around every nook and cranny of our neighborhood so everyone could see me in a unique outfit that no one else in our household owned.
Suddenly, Mama’s voice cut through my daydream. As she was dishing out a freshly prepared Yakuwa vegetable soup heavily enriched with ground peanut cake (kuli-kuli), she instructed:
"Hadiza, take this food to Umma first. When you return, take the other portion to Inna." Inna was Mama’s co-wife, who resided in a separate section of the large family compound.
"Alright, Mama," I replied from the room. I was busy meticulously applying makeup to my face in the exaggerated fashion typical of village girls. Because of this, I didn't hurry out of the room as quickly as she wanted.
Her voice rang out again, sharper this time: "Hurry up and come out before the food gets cold!"
"Yes, Mama, I'm coming!" I answered, quickly rushing out of the room.
By the time I reached the courtyard, Mama had briefly stepped away to the restroom. Without thinking, I picked up the Tuwo intended for Inna and mistakenly delivered it to Umma. Umma wasn't in her room at that moment, so I dropped it off, ran back, picked up the remaining portion (which was actually Umma's), and delivered it to Inna.
Inna was overjoyed. She showered Mama and our entire immediate family with heartfelt prayers and blessings. I stood there beamng with pride, especially after she warmly complimented how beautiful my new dress looked.
However, the moment I returned from the errand, I walked right into a storm of drama in our section of the compound. Umma was furious, aggressively screaming at Mama. She was deeply insulted, demanding to know why Mama had served her food in the exact old, worn-out bowl she typically used for Inna.
I froze, treading lightly as I tried to blend into the background. I listened closely and realized the entire mix-up was completely my fault. Mama had been in the restroom when I took the bowls. Mama defended herself, looking directly at my hiding spot, and said: "It was Hadiza who delivered it while she was getting ready in the room. I had stepped away. Hadiza must have mixed up the bowls, because surely Inna wouldn't intentionally take your bowl."
Hearing this, Umma whirled around, spotted me, and hissed: "You hypocritical, malicious, envious little brat! Is this food entirely yours that you decided to spite me by pulling this wicked stunt?"
I pressed myself harder against the mud wall where I stood, trembling as I listened to them argue. Umma demanded: "You better go back right now and retrieve my proper food, because it is absolutely not her right to eat from my bowl!"
Mama quickly interjected, trying to de-escalate the tension: "For Allah's sake, Umma, please don't be angry. I will simply dish out a fresh portion for you, and we can just leave that bowl for Inna." Mama hurried into her room, pulled out a brand-new Samira insulated food flask from her personal belongings, and packed a fresh, steaming meal for Umma.
Yet, Umma remained standing in the courtyard, relentlessly insulting me and arrogantly claiming that my malicious behavior was an exact trait I had inherited from my own mother's lineage. Just as Mama emerged to hand over the fresh flask, Inna walked into our section of the compound.
Inna walked in holding a small gift, saying: "My dear friend Hadiza! I told you to wait for me, but you ran off so quickly. Here, take this delicious Alwa sweet candy. I intended to give it to you, which is why I followed you back here."
Umma, completely devoid of shame or tact, loudly mocked: "Of course! That's exactly why she stole my superior food and brought it to you—just so she could satisfy her greedy appetite by getting treats from your place! You absolute agent of malice."
Inna froze in shock. She clapped her hands in disbelief and exclaimed: "My goodness, this is just childish foolishness! Please let's have patience. Let me quickly go back and fetch your food flask, Umma. I pray to God I haven't dipped my hands into it yet."
Umma snapped back: "Don't bother! Her mother has already compensated me with a completely fresh meal in a brand-new flask."
Mama quickly stepped in to correct the narrative before Inna's feelings were hurt, saying gently: "Inna, please don't mind her. It was entirely Hadiza's mistake. She knows your usual bowl perfectly well, but she accidentally swapped it with Umma's. Please forgive the child."
"It's alright, let's just have patience," Inna murmured. She took my hand and began pulling me gently toward our inner room. I resisted slightly out of fear, but she pulled me straight to my mother, pleading: "Please, for Allah's sake, do not beat her. This is just a childhood mistake driven by youth."

Part 2: Family Politics and the Departure to the City

Just then, Baba Kabiru walked into the compound holding a large, black Bacco shopping bag. He walked straight toward Mama and announced: "Here is a package for you. It just arrived from your husband in the city."
Umma, who had been watching his every move with a venomous glare from the moment he walked in with the bag, barked: "Oh, how grand! So now, whenever my son sends a package from the city, it must be hand-delivered directly into her hands, is that it?"
Baba Kabiru sighed and responded firmly: "Umma, this package doesn't belong to you. These are her personal household provisions that her husband sent. I see no reason why you would need this anyway, considering it's filled with laundry detergent and soap, and we just bought those exact items for you two days ago."
Umma shot back defensively: "Let me ask you, Kabiru! Did you give birth to him, or did I give birth to him?!"
To avoid a full-blown crisis, Mama quickly stepped forward, took the heavy bag from Baba Kabiru, and carried it straight into Umma's room, placing it there for her to take first pick.
Ignoring Umma’s tantrums, Baba Kabiru walked away to his own family's quarters. Left to her own devices, Umma ranted until she grew tired. She then dragged the package out, tore it open, and aggressively dumped all the contents onto her woven mat. She crinkled her nose in disgust as she inspected the items, greedily sorting out everything she personally wanted. Once she was satisfied, she loudly called for Mama, who was sitting on her prayer mat having just completed her prayers. Mama stood up quickly and hurried over.
Umma shoved the remaining pile toward her and muttered: "Take the rest of it. Go ahead and distribute it to the entire neighborhood just to build a grand reputation for yourself, so you can turn around and claim you are overwhelmed by visitors later."
Mama simply smiled politely, knelt down, and picked up the bag, replying softly: "Thank you, Umma. We are grateful." Umma merely scoffed and repeated her bitter remarks.
When Mama brought the bag into our room and emptied the remaining items, I stared at them closely. Mama shook her head sadly and looked away. Although I was young, I could see her eyes welling up with tears. I didn't fully understand the underlying malice at the time, but it deeply pained me to see our mother crying in secret over something that should have brought her joy.
Later, once we confirmed that Umma had gone out to attend a neighborhood social gathering, Mama handed me bar soaps one by one. She instructed me to distribute them to every single section of our large extended family compound. By the time I finished sharing, we were left with only a meager fraction of the original care package—Umma had greedily kept a stash that was vastly larger than what she left for the actual recipient.
Some relatives accepted the soap happily, while others hesitated out of fear of Umma. Before accepting, they anxiously asked me: "Is Umma not at home right now?"
"No, she went out to attend a baby-shower ceremony," I replied.
Hearing this, they sighed in relief and said: "Alright, let us quickly go and express our gratitude to your mother before Umma returns."
Later that afternoon, after learning that Umma had left the house, Baba Kabiru walked into our room and handed Mama some money. Looking at the sparse items left on our floor, he asked symathetically: "She picked through everything and took most of it, didn't she?"
Mama laughed it off gently, replying: "Oh, it's nothing major. She didn't take too much."
Baba Kabiru looked at the small pile left in the center of our room and shook his head in pity. "Please have patience, Saude. You know exactly how your mother-in-law (Gwago) is."
"It's really no problem at all," Mama replied gracefully. "She has every right to enjoy these things. After all, I am married to her son. She has every right to consume my provisions as if I were her own biological daughter."
On Thursday afternoons, since we didn't have Islamic evening school (Islamiyya), all the children of the compound gathered in the central courtyard. We were singing, dancing, and making a joyous racket that filled the entire alleyway with laughter.
Before Umma even reached the entrance of the house upon her return, her booming voice echoed: "Hey! What on earth is this foolish nonsense?! Have you all lost your minds that you couldn't find any other place to play your silly games except my courtyard, despite how massive this compound is?!"
The first unlucky child who tried to slip past her received a painful, resounding slap (rankwashe) straight to the head. The rest of the children instantly scattered backward in terror. They looked at each other in sheer panic; though they were accustomed to her volatile temperament, they knew she was in a foul mood today.
In a flash, all of us—including myself—burst into a frantic sprint, charging past her toward our rooms. She was completely overwhelmed by the chaotic stampede, unable to catch a single one of us to beat. Once we were safely out of arm's reach, we burst into collective laughter.
Frustrated, she pointed a finger directly at me, shouting that I was the ringleader of the chaos. She threatened: "Just you wait until you try to come back inside! I will catch you and teach you a lesson!" She spoke with intense fury, as though she had finally found a worthy opponent in a little girl.
Throughout the commotion, Mama remained focused on her cooking, stirring her Tuwo without uttering a single word. She quietly finished her chores and tidied up the kitchen space. By then, the sun was setting and the evening prayer (Magariba) was fast approaching. Mama walked over to Inna's section to deliver her dinner, and on her way back, she strictly warned me to stop playing outside. I followed her back to our room immediately.
Time passed, and the day finally arrived for our wealthy Lagos relatives to conclude their holidays and return to the city. My mother, showing incredible resilience and secret resourcefulness, had been quietly hoarding premium local goods over the duration of their stay. The moment she noticed Umma had stepped out of the house, Mama grabbed a large gallon of pure, locally processed animal butter (man shanu) she had painstakingly saved and hurried over to present it to Mommy as a farewell gift.
Mommy was deeply moved and surprised. Knowing our difficult financial situation, she remarked: "Saude, your husband isn't even fully settled in the city yet. Why on earth did you go through all this immense stress and expense for me?"
Mama replied warmly: "This is the absolute least I can do for you. You have always carried our burdens and shown us immense kindness every time you visit."
"This is far too much," Mommy insisted, tears of gratitude in her eyes.
"It is nothing at all. May Allah continue to bind us together in his infinite blessings," Mama prayed. The following morning, our Lagos relatives departed, leaving us with a profound sense of loneliness in the empty compound.
Life in our village continued in this tense manner. The daily cohabitation between Umma and Mama was defined by constant emotional abuse and oppression. Umma treated Mama with such severe hostility that an outsider would never believe Mama was actually married to her own flesh and blood.
One fateful morning, my younger sister, Shamsiya, woke up with a burning, severe fever. This instantly threw Mama into a state of intense panic and anxiety, as she racked her brain trying to figure out how to get medical help for the frail little girl.
She knew Umma’s volatile nature all too well—approaching her for help was out of the question. Furthermore, if Mama dared to seek financial assistance from any other relative in the compound, Umma would view it as a massive insult and trigger a violent family feud. Left with no choice, Mama simply sat over the sick child, weeping silently, until Baba Kabiru walked into the house. Mama rushed out to inform him of the medical emergency.
Hearing the news, Baba Kabiru gasped: "Subhanallah! Where is the child?!" Mama rushed back into the room and carried the frail girl out.
Hearing the commotion in the courtyard, Umma burst out of her room, shouting aggressively: "Aha! Saude, you truly are the ultimate hypocrite! When I strictly instructed you earlier to boil traditional herbs for this child, you completely ignored my expert advice! Now that Kabiru has arrived with his foolish city money, you quickly run to him just to dump a heavy financial burden on his shoulders—a burden that isn't his to bear!"
Baba Kabiru turned to her, deeply offended: "For heaven's sake, Umma! What kind of heartless statement is that?! Saude is married to my own biological brother! Even if she weren't, I would gladly do for her children exactly what I would do for my own biological offspring. Please, for the sake of Allah, stop this toxic behavior!"
Without wasting another second arguing, Baba Kabiru scooped up the sick child and rushed out toward the village chemist. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Umma whirled around and unleashed a torrent of vicious insults on Mama, pacing back and forth across the courtyard.
Mama remained perfectly silent, refusing to utter a single word in self-defense. She recognized that Umma was an elder and arguing would yield nothing but more chaos. Mama’s peaceful, non-confrontational nature was something Umma routinely weaponized against her, labeling her silence as deep-seated hypocrisy. Umma loudly claimed that Mama had inherited this "wicked, silent plotting behavior" from her own biological mother, arrogantly boasting that Mama's mother had used the exact same submissive tactics to destroy her own husband’s family household years ago.
Despite my young age, listening to Umma constantly vilify and degrade my mother filled my heart with burning rage and immense sorrow. As a young girl, seeing my mother endure such relentless emotional torment broke my heart.
Hours later, Baba Kabiru returned, carrying little Shamsiya in his arms. He explained that she was suffering from severe typhoid and malaria, noting that the doctor had administered injections and prescribed a heavy regimen of modern medications.
Hearing this, Umma marched out of her room again, clapping her hands mockingly: "Didn't I say so?! She purposely took the child to those useless city doctors just to drain people's hard-earned money! Now she leaves everyone saddled with massive debt!"
Baba Kabiru ignored her completely. He shook his head in disgust, handed the sleeping child to Mama, and meticulously explained the exact dosage and instructions for the medications.
Mama thanked him profusely. As Baba Kabiru turned to leave, he stood in the courtyard and confronted Umma, who was still shouting insults at Mama.
He argued: "Umma, where on earth does Saude ever go? She stays cooped up in this house 24/7! She isn't like the other reckless women in this compound who constantly wander the neighborhood gossiping morning, noon, and night!"
"Of course you would defend her! You fools love her silent malice because you are easily blinded by her acts," Umma hissed. "If you had taken the money you just wasted at that useless chemist and bought proper traditional herbs instead, the entire family would have benefited!"
That entire day, Umma threw a massive, unhinged tantrum because Baba Kabiru had spent money at the pharmacy, acting as though the funds had been stolen directly from her personal pockets.
Unfortunately, Shamsiya's health deteriorated rapidly over the coming days. Despite the medications, the fever refused to break, eventually forcing them to admit her into the regional hospital. She spent several grueling days on admission before she finally stabilized and was discharged. Throughout the entire hospital stay, Umma did nothing but complain bitterly about the medical expenses, ranting until she ran out of energy.
One evening, while Shamsiya was still recovering, Mama sat over her, gently rubbing soothing ointment across her frail body. Umma stood at the doorway, shouting insults at Mama yet again.
Overwhelmed by anger and unable to control myself any longer, I blurted out: "Oh my goodness, Umma! Your non-stop fighting is completely out of hand, I swear by Allah!"
Mama’s head snapped up instantly. Her face was completely drenched in tears as she glared at me in absolute horror, barking fiercely: "Shut your mouth immediately! Dare you let me hear such disrespectful words come out of your mouth ever again?!"
Terrified by Mama's rare, explosive fury directed at me, I clamped my mouth shut, lowered my head, and quietly slipped out of the room. I squeezed myself into a dark corner of the outer alleyway, trembling in fear.
By the grace of Allah, Shamsiya slowly regained her health and strength. Once she was strong enough, I would joyfully carry my little sister out to play in the compound, freeing Mama up to complete her heavy household chores in peace.

Part 3: The Intercepted Errand and the Great Escape

Our enrollment in the local village school was highly erratic; we only attended whenever we felt like it, and stayed home whenever we lacked the motivation. Umma actively discouraged our education, routinely telling our father: "You should completely pull these girls out of school! Western education is entirely useless for a female child; a woman has absolutely no business pursuing modern city learning."
Because I was deeply passionate about attending school, Umma’s hatred toward me intensified. Whenever her volatile moods flared up, she would even include our father in her bitter rants, fiercely mocking him for supporting my education.
Her toxic, confrontational reputation was widely known throughout the entire village. The locals actively avoided her like a plague; only an unfortunate soul who accidentally crossed her path would experience the full wrath of her malicious tantrums. Ironically, she deeply doted on Baba Kabiru’s wife and children, despite the fact that Baba Kabiru's wife treated her with cold indifference and never showed her any real respect.
One hot afternoon, Mama was busy doing a mountain of laundry. Shamsiya’s prolonged illness had prevented Mama from washing our clothes for days, which caused a massive backlog. Because of this heavy chore, Mama ran significantly behind schedule with her daily cooking rotation.
Just then, Umma woke up from her afternoon nap. She was a notorious light sleeper who slept with her eyes practically open; the slightest movement or the clucking of a chicken would startle her awake. Whenever she heard Mama speaking to anyone in the courtyard, she would instantly assume they were secretly gossiping about her.
Umma walked out of her room, adjusting her headscarf, and marched over to Mama’s cooking station. She demanded aggressively: "Is anyone going to bother bringing me my lunch today, or am I completely excluded because I have no rights in this house?!"
Mama paused her laundry, looked up politely, and explained: "Umma, I haven't finished cooking yet. A massive pile of the children's laundry had accumulated over the days due to Shamsiya's illness, so I had to prioritize washing them first."
"Oh, structural nonsense!" Umma sneered. "Just because I am not your biological mother, you feel perfectly comfortable leaving me to starve to death! If you had even an ounce of respect for my status in this house, you wouldn't prioritize washing your children's rags over feeding me!"
In a quiet, submissive voice, Mama apologized: "I am deeply sorry, Umma. The firewood is wet and refusing to catch fire properly."
Umma let out a loud, dramatic hiss. "Of course! You modern women are all plagued by chronic laziness when it comes to hard work!"
She then turned to me and barked a command, ordering me to run to the neighborhood trader's kiosk to buy her chewing kola nuts (Goro). She gave me a harsh warning against delaying, aggressively shoving the money into my small palms.
As I stepped out of the main gate, I ran into my best friend, Hafsa. She was holding some money and explained that she had been sent on an errand to a nearby house, but was terrified of going alone. She begged: "Please accompany me there, and the moment we return, we can buy Umma's kola nuts together."
I hesitated, remembering Umma’s terrifying warnings. However, the moment Hafsa mentioned the specific destination, my resistance dissolved completely. She was heading to the residence of her maternal aunt—which was widely recognized as the most breathtakingly beautiful modern mansion in the entire village. Whenever we visited that house, the wealthy owners treated us like royalty, showering us with delicious food and luxurious gifts that made the trip unforgettable.
We ended up spending hours at the mansion, eating to our hearts' content and lounging in absolute comfort, completely forgetting that a tyrannical grandmother was waiting for her kola nuts. Back at the compound, Umma had systematically marched through every single neighboring house searching for me, only to be told I hadn't been seen anywhere.
By the time we finished our lavish treats and walked back toward our street, reality hit me like a bag of bricks. Panic gripped my chest. I frantically reached into my pocket and was relieved to find Umma's money completely untouched. Using the generous pocket money the wealthy aunt had given us, I added it to Umma's funds and bought three massive, premium-quality kola nuts. I marched toward our house, trying to put on a brave, cheerful face.
The moment I voiced my greeting (sallama) at the entrance, Umma unleashed a barrage of horrific profanities that shook me to my core. She lunged forward to grab me, but I bolted away in a flash. In her blind rage, she accidentally slammed full force into Baba Kabiru, who was just stepping out of his room.
He stumbled back, gasping: "Subhanallah! Umma, what on earth is happening here?!"
Umma stood up with difficulty, rubbing her bruised hip as she pointed a finger at me: "It's that wretched, useless brat! I sent her to Awali’s kiosk to buy me kola nuts hours ago, and she ran off to engage in useless street loitering, only returning just now!"
Baba Kabiru whirled around to face me. I was standing in the corner, trembling violently from head to toe. In a calm, measured voice, he asked: "Hadizatual Kubra, where on earth did you go after Umma sent you on an errand hours ago?"
Tears welled up in my large eyes as I whimpered: "Hafsa begged me to accompany her to the house with the fierce guard dog because she was too terrified to go alone. That's why we went together."
Baba Kabiru sighed. "So you're saying you aren't afraid of the fierce dog yourself, Hadizatu?" I looked down, blinking back tears. He asked gently: "Have you eaten anything today?"
Before I could answer, Umma barked: "Of course she has eaten! She ran off to satisfy her greedy appetite long before her useless mother could even finish cooking our lunch!"
"For heaven's sake, Umma! What does Saude have to do with this mix-up?" Baba Kabiru defended. "If you could look inside Saude’s heart right now, you would see just how deeply disappointed she is by this child's irresponsible behavior."
He then turned back to Umma and pleaded: "Please have patience, Umma. She has never done this before; this is her very first time delaying an errand. For the sake of Allah, please forgive her and do not beat her."
Umma gave Baba Kabiru a venomous look, then marched over to me, peering closely at my face. She demanded harshly: "Whose house did you go to eat food that your entire mouth is covered in rich grease like a glutton?!"
I lowered my head, refusing to meet her eyes. She raised her voice, screaming the question again. Terrified, I quickly pointed a trembling finger toward the wealthy aunt's neighborhood.
"Aha! So you've started begging for food at people's houses, showcasing to the entire world that your father has abandoned you all to starve?!" Umma screamed triumphantly.
Baba Kabiru finally snapped, his voice booming with authority: "For heaven's sake, Umma! What kind of horrific accusation is that?! How can you let such vile words slip out of your mouth?!"
"Your own biological son went to the city to work and provide for his family! He didn't abandon them to loiter! When he returns, he will bring immense wealth and prosperity to this household, by the grace of Allah!"
Umma froze, her body stiffening as a wave of sudden embarrassment washed over her. She realized her explosive anger had caused her tongue to slip, uttering words that deeply insulted her own biological son.
Attempting to backtrack, she stammered defensively: "That... that is absolutely not what I meant! How could I ever speak ill of my own beloved son? I am strictly addressing this big-eyed brat standing right here!" she shouted, pointing an aggressive finger at me.
"Where are the kola nuts she sent you to buy?" Baba Kabiru asked me. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the crumpled paper parcel, and handed it to him. He checked it and passed it to Umma. She snatched it, unrolled the paper, and muttered: "You got lucky today, I swear by Allah."
As she inspected the massive, high-quality kola nuts, I piped up bravely: "I added the extra money the wealthy Hajiya gave us so I could buy you the biggest ones available."
"Shut your mouth immediately!" Umma roared, causing me to jump backward in fear.
Baba Kabiru turned to Umma and asked: "Umma, is the fighting still not over, despite the fact that she used her own gift money to buy you premium items?"
He then whirled around and fixed a stern gaze on me: "As for you, Hadizatu, if I ever catch you deviating from an errand again, I will personally hand down a severe punishment that you will never forget in this house! Do you hear me?"
I nodded vigorously, trembling in fear. "Now get back to your section, immediately!" he ordered. He stood there until he confirmed I had safely run back to Mama's quarters before he turned and walked away.

Part 4: The Triumphant Return and a Major Life Change

Mama was a woman defined by exceptional cleanliness and resourcefulness. Today, like every other day, she was out in the courtyard meticulously scrubbing and tidying up every area she could reach, even cleaning spaces that weren't technically her responsibility whenever she felt they needed maintenance.
Once she finished cleaning, she set up her cooking pot. Our daily meals were highly predictable—consisting entirely of local corn or guinea-corn Tuwo. Rice, beans, and meat were extreme luxuries reserved strictly for Fridays, major Eid celebrations, or whenever Allah blessed our father with a sudden financial breakthrough.
She completed all her chores early and announced that she wanted to get her hair braided. After thoroughly combing and detangling my hair and my sister's, we locked our room door and walked over to Umma’s veranda to inform her of our departure.
The hair-braiding house was located just a few doors down in our neighborhood. Mama stood at Umma's entrance and offered a polite farewell greeting. Umma ignored her for several agonizing seconds before indifferently grunting: "Fine, return safely."
Mama had her hair beautifully styled into traditional Shuku braids, while my sister and I received neat, youthful braids. Mama paid the hair-braider, and we joyfully marched back home.
By the time we returned, the afternoon prayer (Azahar) had already passed. Mama hurriedly performed her ablutions and prayed, running late due to the lengthy hair-braiding session.
Once she concluded her prayers, she served our lunch, and we all sat together to eat out of the same plate. In the middle of our meal, Umma’s booming voice echoed through the front gate as she returned from a neighbor's house.
Seeing us, she sneered: "Oh, so you've been back for hours? You modern women spend so much time getting your hair braided as though your husbands are living right next door to you!" Mama simply offered a polite, silent smile and went right back to her household chores.
Running late with chores was always a dangerous trigger around Umma, who never overlooked a single mistake. Just as Mama was wrapping up her work, the front gate swung open and our father walked into the compound! He was accompanied by several local laborers carrying an immense mountain of luggage—far more care packages and high-end city goods than he had ever brought home before.
A wave of ecstatic joy and celebration erupted throughout the entire compound. We all rushed forward to welcome him, with the sole exception of Mama, who maintained a respectful, traditional distance so Umma wouldn't accuse her of lacking modesty in public.
Yet, no matter how hard Mama tried to conceal her emotions out of traditional modesty, the sheer radiance of her silent joy was undeniable.
Our father went straight into Umma's room first, spending a considerable amount of time there as he presented her with her personal gifts and handled his luggage. This lengthy stay was a direct acknowledgment of the immense maternal authority she wielded over her children.
Suddenly, our father called out loudly for Mama. Mama, who had been frantically sweeping and preparing our modest room to receive him, quickly straightened her dress and hurried over.
Without even glancing at Umma's sour expression or showing an ounce of hesitation, our father commanded Mama: "Take all these modern appliances and provisions that the children packed for me and carry them straight over to your room."
Mama froze for a microsecond, terrified of the explosive tantrum Umma might throw at that moment. Surprisingly, Umma remained dead silent, refusing to utter a single word as Mama knelt down and began systematically transferring the heavy boxes to our section.
Umma's face was contorted in deep rage, but she was completely paralyzed by our father’s commanding presence. He had grown so sophisticated, completely transformed into a polished city gentleman with absolutely no trace of village awkwardness left about him.
Helplessly, Umma watched as Mama successfully moved every single box into our room. Finally, our father stood up, left Umma's quarters, and followed Mama back to our section of the compound.
My sister Shamsiya and I were sitting on the mat playing when he walked in. I jumped up with absolute delight and rushed into his arms. He smiled warmly, scooping me up: "Ah, Hadiza! You're home! I didn't see you when I walked in earlier."
Devoid of any childhood bashfulness, I blurted out honestly: "If I had come out to meet you earlier, Umma would have aggressively chased me away, Baba!"
Our father's face tightened, and he slowly nodded his head in silent comprehension. Just then, Mama walked in carrying a polished cup of cold drinking water, cutting off the conversation. She placed it respectfully before him and murmured: "Welcome back, dear."
Suddenly, Umma’s piercing voice echoed across the yard, calling my name. I dashed out of the room to answer her. The moment I stepped into her room, she slapped her forehead and ranted: "Look at you! You burst into my room like a wild animal just to spy on me and gather gossip!"
She handed me some money and ordered me to buy her more kola nuts. I rushed out of the gate, using the opportunity to proudly announce to all my friends and neighbors that my sophisticated city father had finally returned home.
By the time I returned, Baba had unboxed his gifts. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the massive crates of fresh fruits, sodas, and bananas spilling out of large burlap sacks.
Mama was busy sorting out portions to distribute to every single household in our large family compound. The moment I walked in, she handed me a plate: "Take this to Inna quickly." I ran from section to section, delivering the fresh fruits as the relatives showered our family with endless gratitude. As I was about to deliver the final portion, Umma blocked my path and loudly called for Mama.
Mama rushed out of our room, responding: "Yes, Umma?"
Umma hissed: "What on earth is the meaning of this foolishness?! Your husband just brought home these expensive city treats, and you are already aggressively distributing them to the entire neighborhood just to build a cheap reputation for yourself?!"
"Go ahead and squander it all, since you think these items dropped from the sky and you have no idea how much grueling labor he went through to afford them in the city!"
Just then, our father walked out of the bathroom, drying his face with a towel. He intervened firmly: "For heaven's sake, Umma! Who is a stranger in this household? She is distributing these gifts strictly to my own biological relatives and siblings! Please, for the sake of Allah, stop this toxic behavior. You should be thanking Allah that He blessed me with the financial means to buy these items for the family."
Umma pouted deeply. She turned away and popped a piece of chewing kola nut into her mouth, treating it like a full meal, and refused to say another word.
For the rest of the evening, a steady stream of relatives poured into our section to greet our father and thank him for the generous gifts, which filled his heart with immense joy. As for me, I ate until my stomach was full and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep right there on the living room mat.
The following morning, our father gathered all his siblings alongside Umma to deliver a major announcement. He officially informed them that he had successfully passed his examinations and had been formally enlisted as an officer in the Nigerian Police Force. The relatives erupted in joy and celebration upon hearing the incredible news, but Umma instantly threw a massive tantrum, flatly refusing to grant her blessings for the job.
Baba Kabiru finally stood up, aggressively cutting Umma off: "Umma! If anyone else had told me you would react this way, I would have called them a liar to their face!"
"Allah has finally opened a grand door of success and prosperity for our family, yet you view it as a tragedy! In this entire village, not a single lineage has ever produced a police officer until your own son achieved it today! This should be a source of immense pride and glory for you!"
"What was the point of all the grueling sacrifices you made to ensure he received a proper education, if you are going to use your own mouth to reject the professional breakthrough Allah has provided?!"
"Umma, you used to complain bitterly that he was jobless and loitering in the city. Now that Allah has provided a magnificent career path, you turn around and create fresh drama?!"
Umma’s body went completely limp, her resistance shattering. She realized she had been thoroughly cornered by the truth. In a subdued, quiet voice, she muttered: "If that is the case, may Allah protect him and grant him absolute success." Everyone in the room chanted a resounding "Ameen!"
Our father then informed them that he wouldn't be returning to the city alone; he had already secured a comfortable, spacious house in the city to settle his family.
Umma quickly interjected: "But you are moving there entirely alone, correct?"
Baba Kabiru countered immediately: "For heaven's sake, Umma, absolutely not! It is vastly better and more peaceful for him to move alongside his wife and children so they can support him up close."
Baba Yushau added: "I completely agree. This is an incredible development! It means we finally have a grand royal family house to visit whenever we travel to the city."
Umma barked: "Shut your mouth with that childish nonsense!" She then whirled around to face our father, demanding: "Does this mean you are packing Saude and all the children away to the city?!"
Baba Kabiru answered resolutely: "Yes, indeed! He has already paid for their accommodation over there long before he even traveled down here. They are all departing together."
Baba Yushau clapped her hands joyfully: "Oh, I am absolutely thrilled by this news! Even if you all try to leave me behind in this village, I will tightly tie my legs to yours and follow you to the city!"
Umma snapped: "You are going absolutely nowhere! He will leave with his immediate family, and may Allah grant them a safe journey."
She then turned to our father and pleaded: "However, I strictly demand that you leave Hadiza (Kubra) behind with me in this village so we can live together."
This time, our father spoke up firmly: "Umma, I deeply desire to take her along with us so she can finally receive a high-quality, modern western education in the city. The lack of proper schooling available for the children down here has been a source of constant worry for me."
Umma scoffed: "What a joke! What kind of education could that big-eyed, stubborn girl ever comprehend, even if you take her to the city? You should simply pray that Allah blesses you with male children who can attain high academic degrees, just as you and your brothers did."
The harsh, sexist remark deeply stung every parent in the room, but they knew better than to argue with their volatile matriarch. However, Baba Kabiru stood his ground, looked Umma dead in the eye, and declared: "She is his daughter, and she is moving to the city with her parents."
The moment Mama was officially informed of our permanent relocation to the city, her heart overflowed with pure, unadulterated joy. She quietly moved through the village, bidding a warm farewell to all her friends and relatives, who showered her with heartfelt prayers. They were universally ecstatic that she was finally escaping the tyrannical shackles of Umma, who had spent years relentlessly tormenting her marriage.
Mama packed very lightly, as Baba had advised her that the nature of his police career meant they could be reassigned to different states at a moment's notice. He explained that their new lifestyle would mirror that of nomadic Fulani herders—constantly on the move.
This marked our final exit from our ancestral village as we journeyed into the bustling city, returning only for occasional family visits.
We officially arrived in the ancient city of Kano, where Baba had rented a neat, mid-sized apartment in the Madawari quarters. The house featured two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a restroom, and a cozy central courtyard that was completely paved with smooth concrete.
We looked like absolute village bumpkins when we first stepped into the house. Our eyes popped at the sight of the electronics in the living room and the polished linoleum carpets covering every inch of the floor. Baba had also purchased an array of modern kitchen appliances for Mama, signaling that her days of cooking with smoky wood fires were officially over.
My heart swelled with immense pride—we were finally sophisticated city slickers! I watched with fascination as Baba patiently taught Mama how to operate the modern kerosene stove and the compact gas cylinder in the kitchen.
Two weeks later, I was formally enrolled in a local public school. Despite it being a government institution, the quality of education was light-years ahead of the erratic schooling we had received in the village.
Since Baba was always busy with his demanding police duties, he only accompanied me to school for the first few days until I completely memorized the route and could commute independently.
Because Mama was entirely illiterate in western education, my academic progress faced an uphill battle at home, as there was no one available to assist me with my heavy homework assignments.
Fortunately, Allah had blessed me with a brilliant, sharp intellect. I absorbed lessons with incredible speed, which quickly transformed me into the star student, deeply adored by both my teachers and my classmates.
Upon returning from school each afternoon, I would head out to the neighborhood Islamic school (Islamiyya), studying intensely until we were dismissed at 6:00 PM.
Mama also enrolled in an adult literacy and Islamic school within our quarters, attending classes from 10:00 AM until 12:00 PM daily. This education triggered a magnificent transformation in Mama; she quickly adapted to the elegant lifestyle of city women, mastering modern social etiquette and community relations.
In truth, moving to the city meant we rarely saw our father due to his grueling police shifts. Yet, this busy lifestyle was a trillion times better than enduring the toxic tantrums of Umma back in the village.
After we had spent one peaceful year in Kano, Baba Kabiru suddenly traveled down to pay us a surprise visit.
I was ecstatic to see my beloved uncle. This marked the very first time we were receiving a formal guest in our city home since our relocation a year prior. I frantically ran around the house trying to entertain him, making him laugh with pure delight as he noted how remarkably transformed and healthy we all looked. Mama looked absolutely radiant, her skin glowing, and she was currently carrying a visible, beautiful baby bump that was just beginning to show.
He informed Mama that he intended to spend an entire week vacationing with us, which filled our hearts with joy. Late that evening, our father finally returned home from his police shift.
As a young girl, I happened to be standing in the living room when Baba walked in and spotted his brother. I was deeply baffled by the immediate coldness in my father's voice when he looked at Baba Kabiru and asked dryly: "Is everything alright, Kabiru? What brings you here?"
The joyous smile instantly vanished from Baba Kabiru's face. He replied quietly: "Everything is perfectly fine. I simply traveled down to see how you all were faring, to maintain our family bonds, and to discuss a new political campaign I am planning to launch back home."
Our father’s blunt response deeply rattled Mama. He sneered: "Oh, so you suddenly have an abundance of wealth that you can afford to waste it on politics?"
Baba Kabiru adjusted his posture and replied softly: "I am simply relying on the infinite provisions of Allah and the support of our relatives. After all, my farming and livestock businesses are thriving, and I have recently expanded my operations."
Our father refused to engage further. He stood up abruptly, marched into his bedroom, and remained cooped up inside for hours, leaving his brother sitting alone in our small living room chatting with Mama.
Later, Baba emerged to join them as they discussed village news and extended family updates. Eventually, sleep overtook me right there on the rug. Baba Kabiru spent the night sleeping in our small living room.
The following afternoon, upon returning home from school, I was heartbroken to discover that Baba Kabiru had already packed his bags and departed. I turned to Mama and cried: "Mama, didn't he promise he was going to spend a whole week with us?!"
Mama looked at me sadly, sighing: "Hadiza, you know exactly how your father is. Whenever his volatile temperament flares up, he acts with the exact same harshness as Umma."
I couldn't control my emotions; tears began streaming down my face. I felt a deep sense of sorrow because Baba Kabiru was a truly remarkable, loving man who genuinely adored our family.
I spent the rest of the day in a sullen, depressed mood, to the point where a stress-induced fever began creeping over my body. I went to bed exceptionally early. When our father finally returned from his shift and completed his evening routine, he glanced over at my sleeping form and asked Mama: "Is she already asleep this early today?"
Mama replied coldly: "She is furious with you because her uncle departed without getting to say a proper goodbye."
Our father let out a sharp, dismissive hiss, pulled his dinner flask toward himself, and began to eat in absolute silence.

2.  Summary

The narrative details a multi-generational family saga tracking a young girl's journey from a toxic, impoverished village household to a fresh start in the city, exploring themes of maternal oppression, domestic rivalry, and systemic sexism.

• The Tyranny of the Matriarch: The story chronicles the childhood of Hadiza (Kubra), a young girl caught in a highly oppressive rural household ruled by her tyrannical grandmother, Umma. Umma routinely subjects Hadiza's mother, Saude (Mama), to severe emotional abuse and structural isolation, weaponizing Mama's quiet, non-confrontational nature against her. Umma routinely intercepts care packages sent by Mama's husband, greedily hoarding the best provisions for herself while actively discouraging Hadiza's western education under the sexist belief that schooling is entirely wasted on a female child.
• The Sibling Protector: Throughout the daily torment, Hadiza’s paternal uncle, Baba Kabiru, acts as the family's sole protector. He routinely confronts Umma’s abusive behavior, finances medical treatment for Hadiza's critically ill sister (Shamsiya) when Umma attempts to block modern medical intervention, and fiercely defends Mama's marital rights within the compound.
• The Escape to the City: The family's destiny shifts dramatically when Hadiza's father successfully enlists as an officer in the Nigerian Police Force. Despite Umma's fierce opposition, Baba Kabiru ensures that our father relocates his immediate family out of the village. The family relocates to the Madawari quarters in Kano, where Mama undergoes a magnificent social transformation through adult literacy classes, and Hadiza emerges as a star student due to her brilliant intellect.
• The Bittersweet Reality of Success: The narrative closes on a poignant note one year later. When the heroic Baba Kabiru travels to Kano to announce his new political ambitions, Hadiza's father—now hardened and corrupted by his status as a city police officer—treats his own brother with shocking coldness and arrogance, mimicking the exact toxic traits of their mother, Umma. Baba Kabiru is forced to cut his vacation short, leaving a heartbroken, feverish Hadiza to realize that while they successfully escaped the village, the generational curse of Umma's harsh temperament has formally taken root within her own father.