AUREN NESA (A Distant Marriage)

BY KADIJA ABDULLAHI BATURE

Chapter 1: The Perilous Journey

"Screeech!" The sound of our vehicle suddenly swerving jolted me from the sleep that had overtaken me. In truth, it was an intrusive sleep, forced upon me because the environment was entirely unsuited for rest.
A massive fuel tanker had almost collided with us head-on. If not for God's intervention and our driver's quick reflexes in steering out of the way, we would have crashed. We ended up on the shoulder of the road, swaying violently from side to side.
Some passengers began chanting prayers, while others screamed in terror. Even after we had driven far past the danger, my heart was still pounding furiously, and my entire body shook with fear because I had been frightened to my very core.
Kamal looked at me with a smile and said, "Maryam, please calm down. God has protected us."
I burst into tears. "For God’s sake, Kamal, when are we going to arrive? Today makes three days we’ve been on the road! Wallahi, I am completely exhausted, and I can't wait for us to get there."
"Just have a little more patience," he replied. "It’s only because you aren't used to long-distance traveling. Once we arrive, you’ll see that all this fatigue will just melt away."
I sat there quietly, burying my face in my hands in deep thought. I was beginning to lose heart, wondering if the consequences of disobeying my parents were already catching up with me. Today was my third day on the road, whereas by now, I should have been settled comfortably in my own home.

Chapter 2: A Mother's Warning Rejected

There was nothing my parents and siblings didn't do to dissuade me from this marriage, but I stubbornly refused, insisting that he was the one I wanted.
My mother, in particular, had warned me: "Maryam, my mind is completely uneasy about this marriage. We don't know anything about his family, nor do we know his hometown, except by name. It is too far away. God forbid, if anything happens to you over there, what will we do? What will you do? Just because he claims he travels frequently for business, you decide to blindly hook yourself to him?"
"Wallahi, Mama, he is a good man," I argued back then. "You haven't heard how frequently he preaches to me. Besides, you know how I kept rejecting suitors before. Every time one came, I would say I didn't like him, until everyone stopped coming. Now, who else is coming around? All my friends are married; some have three children, others have two. People were even gossiping that I might be a divorcee. If I reject him now, who else do I have to bring to you?"
That was how I wore down my parents and relatives until they gave in against their better judgment.
He sent three men who claimed to be his relatives. They brought fifty thousand naira as the traditional "bride-seeing" token (kudin nagani inaso) and set the wedding date for two months later. Shortly before the wedding, these same men brought the bridal boxes—just three suitcases.
The largest box contained only seven pieces of clothing. The next one held four pairs of shoes and two handbags. The smallest box contained a few light cosmetics. Because the marriage was the only thing on my mind, I didn't care about the sparse gifts. Relatives and well-wishers couldn't help but pity me, but they whispered among themselves, "Well, she chose this for herself. We just pray God grants them peace and a trustworthy union."
When the wedding day arrived, Kamal came to see my parents and insisted he didn't want any relatives accompanying the bride due to the extreme distance. He insisted it should just be him and his new bride. While my mother refused to agree, my father interceded, telling her to have patience and let us go, praying that Holy God would protect me.
Thus, I was married to my choice, Kamal. There was no grand celebration, just family and neighbors gathering for a small day-time send-off. The next morning, my groom and I were set to depart, exactly as he had planned.

Chapter 3: The Departure and Arrival in Togo

And so it happened. The next morning, I packed my few belongings into the suitcases he brought, since the clothes were not many, and locked them up.
I was fully dressed and waiting anxiously for my groom. Finally, around three o'clock in the afternoon, he arrived with two of his friends to pick me up. My family members walked me out to the car that Kamal and his friends brought. We shed the traditional tears usually shed when a bride leaves her family home. As I looked back at them, they waved goodbye, saying, "Until we meet again." The driver started the engine, and we hit the road. His friends were dropped off at the roadside, while we proceeded to the park, where we boarded a vehicle bound for Togo.
After a long and grueling journey, God brought us safely to Togo. We arrived late in the afternoon. From there, we boarded two motorcycles to take us into Kamal’s neighborhood.
Along the way, fear, astonishment, and anxiety gripped me. I watched as we began entering the types of mud-brick, clustered settlements we usually see in old African movies. The local people walked around in revealing, scanty clothing, looking completely un-Islamic. My shock deepened when I caught sight of some young women openly bathing in a river without a care in the world.
Before I could fully process it, the motorcycle I was riding came to a sudden halt, signaling that we had arrived.
Our luggage was taken off the motorcycles, and the riders turned back to where they came from. We walked toward a house enclosed by a fence made of dried stalks. Even from the outside, you could see inside the compound, which contained about three thatched huts.
My eyes darted around in pure panic, my mouth repeatedly whispering, "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un" (To God we belong, and to Him we shall return).

Chapter 4: The Unwelcoming Household

Before we even stepped inside, some scantily clad women rushed out of the huts. They ran and swarmed around Kamal, embracing him and speaking rapidly in a foreign language, displaying immense joy over his return.
As for me, I stood there completely frozen. My heart was pounding with confusion and a barrage of questions: So, Kamal belongs to a different tribe? Is he even a Muslim? And this is where he actually lives?
Suddenly, I heard him calling my name, snapping me out of the deep thoughts I had drowned in. I realized he was introducing me to them.
Not a single one of them offered me a warm welcome or even a basic greeting.
It was as if he had delivered news of their impending deaths; their faces turned sour, and they retreated back into the house in absolute anger.
My heart sank even further seeing that I was completely rejected by his family. Kamal gestured for us to move forward. His face was blank—neither praising nor complaining—a sign that he too was unhappy with their reaction.
We walked in quietly like snakes sliding into a hole. I spotted them gathered around an elderly woman, murmuring animatedly. From their gestures, I knew they were informing her of our arrival. We approached, and I quickly knelt all the way down to the ground to greet her, but she didn't even glance in my direction. Stubbornly, I tried a second time, asking, "Hope we find you well?" Still, no answer. In my heart, I thought, This is exactly what the Hausa people call cold, deceptive silence.
I found a corner and squeezed myself into it, while he stood near them, joining in their low, continuous murmuring. I left everything in the hands of God. Oh Maryam, I thought, look at where God has brought me today.
After they finished talking, he turned to me and pointed at one of the women. "Maryam, this is my younger sister." I noticed she was the only one who didn't seem entirely displeed. He continued, "She will take you to the room. I am going out to find you some food." I replied, "Okay," and stood up. She picked up my bags, and we headed toward one of the three huts in the middle of the compound.

Chapter 5: Tokatu's Revelation

When we entered, I looked around the hut. There was nothing inside except a bare, thin mattress and an old mat woven from palm fronds (karauni). I sat on the edge of the mattress, though I desperately wanted to lie down because of the severe exhaustion weighing on me. Suddenly, as if she could read my mind, she said, "Lie down and rest." I was shocked to hear her speak to me in Hausa.
Seeing me staring at her in utter amazement, she smiled and sat down beside me. "You're surprised, right? Seeing that I can speak Hausa. I'm not the only one; all of us can speak it because our father was a Hausa man. Our mother is a native of this place, which is why we don't speak Hausa often."
She looked at me intently. "You haven't asked me why our family didn't welcome you. It’s not that they dislike you personally, it’s just that you are a Hausa woman. They preferred him to marry a local girl because of religious differences. They believe that our mother’s marriage to our father caused our family to split into two. All of us daughters followed our mother’s religion, but Kamal stayed with our father—meaning he is a Muslim. It was our father who took him to Kano where he does business, because before our father died, he told us Kamal belonged there."
While we were talking, Kamal walked in holding a plastic bag. He looked relieved to see her with me. With a relaxed face, he said, "Alright, thank you, Tokatu." He opened the bag and invited us to eat. We ate together with Tokatu. After we finished, I leaned back, and sleep instantly swept me away due to sheer exhaustion.

Chapter 6: The Harsh Reality of Rural Life

I didn't wake up until the following morning. I stepped outside to make ablution and make up for the prayers I had missed. I saw their mother and walked toward her with the intention of greeting her. She threw a vicious glare at me and stopped me by raising her hand. I hit the brakes immediately. Just then, Kamal appeared. "Maryam, what's wrong? Have you prayed?" I shook my head. He said, "Come and pray." He gave me water, I performed ablution, went back to the room, and observed my prayers.
After I finished, Tokatu came in. I assumed she was bringing me breakfast because since I woke up, my stomach had been growling fiercely. To my surprise, her hands were empty. She sat down, and we exchanged greetings. "Brother sent me to tell you he has gone to his shop for business. I am also heading to the farm, which is why I came to inform you. Let me show you where your food ingredients are." I agreed, but in my mind, I wondered why Kamal hadn't bought me something to eat like yesterday, considering I was a complete stranger here.
We walked out toward a granary. I expected to see processed rice or pasta.
What did I see? Raw stalks of sorghum, millet, and maize, all unthreshed in their husks. She looked at me. "So, which one are you going to cook?" My heart dropped instantly. I had no idea what to do with them. Usually, the millet would already be processed to make couscous (buski) or porridge (kunu), and the maize and sorghum would be ground into flour for tuwo or danbu.
She interrupted my thoughts. "I asked, which one are you scooping out?" I looked at her and asked, "Isn't there any processed one? And who will take me to where they grind it?" She stared at me in disbelief. "Don't tell me you don't know how to do this? Mother said from now on, you will be the one cooking every day." Tears welled up in my eyes, on the verge of spilling over. She sighed. "Even though I know they will scold me, let me stay behind today and teach you how it’s done."
We took some sorghum, and she immediately began threshing and cleaning it thoroughly. She put it into a mortar and started pounding it with a pestle, while I just stood there staring with wide eyes like a roasting skewer. I couldn't hold back, so I asked, "Don't you take it to a grinding machine?" She looked at me. "All the women in this village do everything by hand. Brother even begged them to leave you alone for a while to adjust before you start going to the farm." My eyes widened. "The farm?!"
Oh my God, I have never even held a hoe in my entire life! She laughed. "You'll get used to it."
What seemed like a mountain of labor to me was a routine to her. In no time, she finished cooking tuwo with a local leaf soup (miyar d'ata)—something I had never seen before in my life.
She showed me how to portion out everyone's share. We took ours into the room. While we were eating, the rest of the family returned. Goodness, Tokatu faced a storm of anger! Their mother went as far as slapping her. I pitied her deeply. She was punished just for helping me and because she hadn't gone to the farm.
From that day onward, it became my daily routine to do this backbreaking cooking, alongside cleaning the house and washing dishes. Within a short time, I lost weight, emaciated and completely broken. They forbade Tokatu from coming near me. The weight of the world crashed down on me. To make matters worse, Kamal never returned home until very late at night.
I would go into the room and cry my eyes out. Eventually, I began thinking of a way out—running away to go back home. But I didn't have a single kobo for transport.

Chapter 7: The Desperate Scheme

Suddenly, a clever idea crossed my mind, and my heart agreed with the plan.
When night fell, I stayed awake until Kamal returned. I told him that I wanted to start a small business. He looked at me with surprise written all over his face. "What do you need money for?"
I shifted slightly and said, "You know I am not used to this kind of food. I want to earn some money so I can buy some provisions without having to ask you every time." He nodded. "To be honest, your weight loss is scaring me too. Wait, let me think of what we can do." I went to sleep full of joy.
Two days after our conversation, he unexpectedly brought home large logs of wood with the help of some neighborhood boys. With a smiling face, he told me that once I finished chopping them into firewood, he would find buyers for me. He thought he had done something worthy of praise! What a nightmare—hard labor for someone already suffering.
However, I steeled my heart and worked with determination just to achieve my ultimate goal.
That was how my life went on as time passed. I endured every bit of hardship and agony. I chopped the wood, and thankfully, people were buying. Even when sales were made, Kamal would take two-thirds of the money and leave me with only one-third. I didn't spend a single coin of my share; I kept saving it. I even took the firewood to the roadside to sell, since doing that wasn't an issue over there.
I endured this suffering for a whole year. The money I saved kept growing until I didn't even know how much I had accumulated.
At the roadside where I sold my firewood, I met a woman who understood Hausa. Whenever she bought wood, she would sit down with me for a brief chat. Cleverly, I brought up a question: "If I want to board a vehicle going to Kano from here, where do I go?" She laughed. "Are you going homesick?" I replied, "No, I just want to know."
She immediately explained the route to me: "From this alley of ours, you see the motorcyclists coming in, right?" I said yes. She continued, "They will take you all the way to Cotonou. From there, they will take you to the Idiroko border. Once you cross, you will board a vehicle straight to Lagos. From Lagos, there are direct vehicles straight to Kano."
I was filled with immense joy, feeling as though I was already back home.

Chapter 8: The Great Escape and Heartbreak

One Saturday, I woke up very early, finished my household chores, took my savings, and tied them securely in my headtie, wrapping it tightly around my waist like a girdle. I went to my firewood spot, praying desperately for a motorcycle to come by. Before long, one approached. I waited until the rider dropped off his passenger and turned around. As he neared me, I quickly flagged him down and told him I was going to Cotonou. I climbed onto the back. My heart was pounding furiously; I was terrified that someone from our house might spot me. Fortunately, we made it out without anyone seeing me, and I paid him his fare.
From there, I found a vehicle to the Idiroko border, just as the woman had told me. I didn't face any issues until I arrived in Lagos. I asked around, and they pointed me to the loading park for vehicles going to Kaduna, Zaria, and Kano.
I pushed through the crowd to buy my ticket. But then, the unthinkable happened!
I reached for my waist where I had securely tied my money. It was gone! My heart sank into my stomach. My chest pounded violently, and I felt as if my heart was about to explode into pieces. A thick darkness suddenly veiled my eyes. With great effort, I forced myself to walk to the side of the road and sat down on a small stone.
I felt a warm liquid streaming down my face. I raised my hand to touch it, only to realize I was crying. The saliva in my mouth had turned thick, my throat was bone dry, and hunger and thirst were tearing me apart. My stomach was churning, making a loud, hollow rumbling sound. I was completely broke and stranded.
Oh my God, this is what they call being caught between a rock and a hard place.
With extreme difficulty, from the depths of my throat, I managed to whisper, "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un." I repeated it painfully, feeling my consciousness slipping away.

Chapter 9: The Stranger's Trap

Unexpectedly, I felt a hand tap my shoulder. It was only then that the machinery in my brain sent a signal to my senses. Startled, I turned around toward the hand. I opened my bloodshot eyes, which were sunken into their sockets due to my severe emaciation.
I saw a heavily built woman. She was wearing a short dress that stopped at her knees. She wore no headtie, just a mountain of fake hair extensions that she carried proudly as if it were her natural hair. She spoke to me in English: "Madam, I noticed you need help. From the moment you arrived, I could tell." I looked down at her hand on my shoulder for a second time. She had long, sharp fingernails. Looking up at her neck, she had a dark tattoo that looked like an owl.
For no explicit reason, my heart deeply distrusted her, and my chest began to throb even harder.
She continued, "Or do you need some food?" I quickly nodded my head yes. She turned and walked away with a strange gait; I couldn't tell if she was trying to swagger or if her high heels were stopping her from moving faster. Goodness, different cities, different people.
It wasn't long before I saw her approaching with a plastic bag in her hand. She handed it to me. I snatched it eagerly with trembling hands like someone being driven by a drumbeat. I opened the bag. It was rice with vegetable soup and fish. What a luxury! I hadn't eaten anything like this since I left Kano. I devoured the food.
After I finished, she asked me what had put me into such deep distress. I narrated how I had lost my transport fare.
She said, "Don't worry, I will give you the money. But first, I will take you to my house so you can rest, and you can leave in the morning." In my heart, I wondered what choice I had, even though my instincts still completely refused to trust her.
"Let me go and get my car from the parking lot," she said. I replied, "Okay."

Chapter 10: The Savior and the Scent of Home

The moment she left, an elderly Hausa man rushed over to me in a hurry. "Everything you were doing with that woman, I was watching. I recognized you as a girl from the North because of the modest clothes you are wearing, and I can see signs that you are a Muslim. Because of that, leave this spot immediately before she returns! I do my business here, and I see how they come around to deceive strangers under the guise of helping them, especially when they notice someone is desperate, because desperate people trust easily."
"To cut a long story short," he whispered urgently, "she belongs to a blood-drinking cult! Hurry up and leave this place. I am also in danger if she catches me here with you." He turned to leave but paused. "What is your problem anyway?" I said in a shaking voice, "My transport fare fell out." He pulled out three thousand naira and handed it to me. "Take this, go around to the passenger lounge and ask for help." He quickly left the area and vanished as fast as lightning.
I also scrambled to my feet, feeling a bit stronger from the food she had bought me. I left the spot in a hurry and circled to the back where the passengers were gathered. I blended into the crowd where I knew it would be difficult for her to find me. There, I began to beg for assistance, just as the man had advised. It was the first time in my life doing so.
To my amazement, people actually started handing me money because anyone who saw me pitied my condition. This was especially true when they heard me crying and explaining that I had lost my fare. Among the passengers, a young man who looked quite wealthy approached me compassionately. "Which town are you going to?" I said, "Kano." He replied, "Well, look at that, we are traveling on the same path. Wait here." To cut the story short for the reader, he paid for my ticket. It wasn't long before we boarded and hit the road.
The moment we reached Zaria, I began to catch the distinct scent of Kano. I felt a deep sense of peace wash over me.
"Masha Allahu la kuwwata illa billah" (As God wills, there is no power except with God), I uttered when I heard the young man who paid my fare say, "We have arrived in Kano city. Where are you heading?"
I put my head out of the window, inhaling the sweet scent of my hometown. A pleasant, gentle breeze hit my face, and I closed my eyes. Before I knew it, my lips began loudly chanting the famous praise of my city:
"Kano ta dabo tumbin giwa, tunjumin gari mai dala da goron dutse, mai Mata mai Mota!" (Kano, the city of Dabo, the elephant's belly, the great city of the Dala and Goron Dutse hills, the city of women and cars!)
Alhamdulillah.