Part 1: The Oil Spill and the Clash of Tempers

A WHITE MARRIAGE

 

I dedicate this story to Anty Rabi Tah (Hajia Rabi Badawi, Mama's Ibrahim).

She was rushing so fast it felt as though her feet weren't even touching the ground. She was clutching a bowl of palm oil stew in her hands. Ever since morning, she had been expected at the hospital to deliver food, but due to her sheer clumsiness and lack of focus, she had accidentally left the essential stew behind at home, which was exactly why she had run back to fetch it.
She walked with heavy, rapid thuds, refusing to linger or delay for a single microsecond out of pure dread that her older brother, Yaya Abba, might return from the mosque before her. If he found out she was lagging behind, she would be in severe trouble for her behavior today.
Suddenly—*rikichaaaa, karam karam!*—she crashed violently right into a man who was walking directly toward her. The raw force of the collision sent the bowl of stew flying, and both she and the hot liquid fell heavily against him. The man was thrown backward with immense force, his back striking the wall hard as she fell against him. The dark red palm oil completely washed over and ruined the front of his pristine, pristine white embroidered Gizna outfit.
The man squeezed his eyes shut in pure agony as the hot, spiced pepper from the stew splashed directly into his eyes, causing a searing, intolerable burning sensation. He violently shoved her away from him to break free. The slippery oil caused her feet to slide, and she collapsed to the ground, the remaining stew completely soaking into and wrapping around her Hijab.
She scrambled to her feet in an instant, seething with explosive rage. "Hey, Mister! What kind of utter disrespect and public humiliation is this?! Are you completely blind? You just threw me right into the stew and completely ruined my brand-new Islamic school Hijab! Aside from the massive financial loss and waste you have just caused me, do you lack the basic ability to walk while looking at what is right in front of your face?!"
She unleashed a torrent of vicious scolding and insults upon him while he stood there desperately trying to wipe the burning pepper out of his eyes. In her blind anger, she completely failed to notice the entourage of formal security personnel and associates walking directly behind him. Suddenly, one of his guards stepped forward aggressively, grabbed her arm tightly, and raised his hand to deliver a harsh slap to her face.
The white-skinned young man quickly raised his hand, signaling his guard to stop and leave her alone.
She took a sharp step back, defiantly placing her hands on her hips. "Oh, wow! So you're the type who travels around town with a gang of thugs to fight your battles for you, huh?! Well, by Allah, you are absolutely not leaving this spot today until you fully compensate me for my ruined stew and my Hijab!"
Only then did he manage to open his eyes to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot red from a mixture of intense fury and the burning sting of the pepper. He let out a booming, thunderous roar that echoed through the area.
"Have your parents completely failed to instill a single shred of proper upbringing and discipline in your household?! Look at you! You have the absolute audacity to stand there and display such wretched, disrespectful behavior over a worthless piece of rag you call a Hijab and a pathetic bowl of cheap palm oil stew?! Do you possess even the slightest understanding of the value and cost of the elite clothes you have just utterly destroyed?!" He widened his eyes in fury, pointing directly at his ruined outfit.
"Oh, please! You think you're the only one who knows value? Do you have any idea how much money was spent to prepare that stew?! Or do you even comprehend the cost of this Hijab?!"
"Shut up!!" he barked furiously, reaching out and aggressively grabbing her arm.
By this time, a massive crowd of hospital onlookers and bystanders had gathered around them to watch the scene unfold. One of the man's senior associates quickly stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Sir, this is completely beneath your high status and dignity. For God's sake, do not lower yourself to her level or engage with her."
He violently shoved her away from him and turned on his heel to walk past her. But like a fierce lioness, she aggressively reached out and tightly grabbed his arm to anchor him to the spot. He stared down in absolute bewilderment at her slender, delicate hand wrapped around his wrist, before looking up at her entire frame, realizing he could practically swallow her whole in a fight.
"By Allah, I don't care how much you glare at me! You will fully compensate me, or you are not leaving this spot alive!"
Thoroughly exasperated and at a complete loss for what to do with such a stubborn girl, he aggressively grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm, and violently threw her to the ground. He and his entourage marched off into the hospital building, leaving her sprawling on the floor. She erupted into loud, dramatic screams and cries, successfully drawing the attention of every single person in the hospital vicinity to her.
Meanwhile, Yaya Abba had just stepped out of the hospital mosque when he spotted a massive, chaotic crowd gathered in the distance. He rushed over to see what the commotion was about, only to find Umaimah sitting in the center of it. A deep, burning wave of pure frustration and embarrassment washed over him. He grabbed her arm with immense force, yanked her up, and aggressively dragged her straight toward the ward where their family member was admitted. The moment her eyes locked onto his furious face, her entire body began to tremble with intense fear.
The moment they stepped inside the private room, Abba didn't waste a single second; he violently slapped her across the face twice. He then demanded she explain the full history of what had just occurred. The moment she finished recounting the event through her tears, he uncoiled a phone charger cable and used it to beat her mercilessly, giving her a severe, brutal thrashing until Goggo forcefully intervened and pulled her out of his grip.
As a result of the ruined stew, they were forced to buy a commercial alternative from outside, which lacked the proper spice.
Umaimah was a complete orphan, having lost both her mother and father. She was raised under the strict, heavy hand of her paternal uncle. Inside his household, she was subjected to nothing but constant mistreatment, psychological abuse, and endless labor. They had strictly forbidden her from acquiring a proper education, completely neglecting her upbringing and causing her to grow up with a rebellious, hardened, and highly defensive personality.
It was her uncle’s wife (Goggo) who was currently admitted to the hospital. Despite the massive geographic distance between their house and the medical facility, Umaimah was forced to trek the long journey three times every single day to deliver breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She emerged from the hospital building looking completely disheveled, wild, and broken, like a madwoman. She walked back toward her neighborhood, her heart heavy with deep bitterness over the complete destruction of her Islamic school Hijab—an item she had acquired only after facing immense hardship and begging. Upon returning to the house, she immediately began scrubbing the garment, but the dark palm oil stains firmly refused to wash out, which only caused her internal fury to burn hotter. She fell to her knees, bitterly praying to Allah to grant her another encounter with that arrogant, disrespectful man so she could exact her revenge.

Part 2: The Servant of the Neighborhood and the Wedding Encounter

One week passed, then two weeks... until nearly five full weeks had slipped by without their paths crossing again. Since Goggo had finally been officially discharged from the hospital, the memory of the arrogant man slowly began to fade from Umaimah's mind.
Umaimah was an exceptionally hardworking girl who harbored absolutely no laziness within her soul. Because of this quality, many residents within her neighborhood constantly took advantage of her labor. She was frequently summoned to various households to sweep compound yards, wash large stacks of dishes, or launder children's clothes. In return for her hard labor, she was compensated with basic food items, laundry soap, body oil, or old, used pieces of clothing.
Inside her own household, absolutely no one cared about her well-being or future. In fact, her uncle's family viewed her neighborhood chores as a form of deep humiliation and self-degradation, frequently subjecting her to cruel mockery and bitter, insinuating remarks (Habaici). Yet, Umaimah genuinely preferred performing hard labor for outsiders who actually showed her deep gratitude, rather than enduring the constant, toxic daily mistreatment she faced at home morning, noon, and night.
Throughout this entire week, she barely spent a single moment at home. She spent her days at the wealthy residence of Alhaji Yakuba, assisting their family with extensive preparations for an upcoming grand wedding. She was primarily tasked with thoroughly cleaning and decorating the bridal chambers, as the family trusted her work and integrity implicitly.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, his heart was still burning with deep frustration. He couldn't shake off the bitter memory of how a wretched, impoverished, and disheveled little girl had publicly humiliated and insulted him. He had returned to that hospital twice after the incident in hopes of spotting her, wishing he had broken her bones right then and there; if he had, his deep anger would have been fully appeased, and he wouldn't be consumed by this constant, lingering resentment.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he would picture her standing there in her ragged clothes, fiercely claiming that her cheap, ugly piece of cloth was a "brand-new Hijab"—an item that wasn't even worth the rags he used to wipe his luxury shoes.
He let out a loud, aggressive hiss. "I swear to God, the very next time I cross paths with that wretched girl..."
"Oh, come on! Are you telling me you aren't dressed and ready yet?" a voice interrupted. "For God's sake, man, hurry up! Everyone has already gathered at the venue, and you are the only one we are waiting for."
His face darkened into a deep, icy frown as he stood up. "Fine. I'm coming."
Today, he was dressed in another spectacularly expensive, pristine white Gizna outfit, adorned with elite, master-tier embroidery. He walked with an air of immense arrogance, power, and prestige, though his inner mood remained thoroughly foul. As he descended the grand staircase of the villa, his friends burst into a collective fit of roaring laughter at his stiff demeanor. Paying absolutely no attention to them, he simply marched past them and headed outside.
Mustapha pointed toward him, smirking. "Look at how high he is holding his nose in the air, as if he's the actual groom of this wedding!" The group exploded into another wave of laughter.
Back at Alhaji Yakuba’s residence, as the family prepared to depart for the grand wedding party, the matriarch, Hajia, turned to look at Umaimah. "Aren't you joining the convoy to the party venue?"
Umaimah smiled gently, shaking her head. "No, Hajia."
"And what is your reason?" Without waiting for an answer, Hajia firmly grabbed her by the hand and guided her inside the house toward a large wardrobe. She swung the doors open. "Look at all these luxury clothes belonging to Asma'u. She explicitly instructed me to give them away to someone worthy. Therefore, I want you to select a beautiful outfit right now, change into it, and join the family at the festival. When you return tomorrow, you can claim the remainder of the wardrobe, because I have personally reserved it all for you."
Umaimah’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Me, Hajia?!"
"Yes, you! Now hurry up and get dressed before all the convoy cars depart."
Umaimah selected an incredibly expensive, milk-colored Paper Lace outfit, tailored into a elegant blouse and skirt. Just as she prepared to step out, Hajia hurried back into the room, holding out a pair of high-end designer shoes and a luxurious matching shawl. "Here, take these. I personally requested the bride to give you these shoes, and this shawl is yours. Put them on quickly and head out."
Without even applying a single layer of face powder, Umaimah rushed out and climbed into one of the waiting vehicles. The moment the convoy arrived at the grand hall and unloaded the guests, Fiddausi, the bride's younger sister, spotted her.
"Perfect timing, Umaimah! Come over here quickly and help us carry these large crates of drinks inside."
"Understood," Umaimah replied, immediately getting to work.
At that exact microsecond, a luxury car pulled up and parked right in front of the entrance. As if compelled by an unseen force, the driver looked up, and his eyes locked directly onto Umaimah, who was walking past clutching a large stack of canned drinks.
He immediately killed the engine and stepped out of the vehicle, but froze in his tracks as he fully realized where he was.
"Shall we head inside?" his friends asked, stepping out after him.
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, leaning back against the sleek frame of his car. "You guys go ahead. I'll join you in a minute." He quickly pulled out his smartphone and pressed it to his ear, pretending to receive an urgent business call so his friends wouldn't press him further. The moment they walked past the entrance, he shoved the phone back into his pocket.
He watched as Umaimah emerged from the hall, carefully brushing off dust from her new clothes. A cold, mocking smile crept onto his face. Aha, so today she suddenly cares about keeping her clothes clean, huh?
Umaimah was completely oblivious to his presence. Just as she turned to walk back inside, she felt a strong, aggressive hand grab her arm with immense force, violently yanking her into the secluded shadows behind the parked cars. She twisted around furiously, only to find herself staring directly into his face.
She violently snatched her hand out of his grip, giving him a hard shove. "Are you completely insane?! What gives you the right to just grab me like that?!"
Before he could utter a single word in response, she turned her back on him and marched away, completely abandoning the crates of drinks she was supposed to carry.
She walked into the main hall, which was already fully packed with wedding guests. Spotting an empty chair located right in the center row, she reached out to pull it back so she could sit down. Unbeknownst to her, he had followed her closely into the hall. Before she could sit, he deliberately and aggressively kicked the chair out from under her.
With a loud—*timmm!*—the chair flew backward, and he calmly walked past her as if nothing had happened. The loud commotion caused a massive portion of the guests to turn around, drawing everyone's attention directly onto her.
Seething with public embarrassment and rage, she scrambled to her feet, intending to march over and confront him. However, Fiddausi suddenly stepped directly in front of her. "Oh, thank goodness, Umaimah! I've been looking everywhere for you. Come with me right now to the catering wing and help me serve the VVIP guests on the high table."
A burning wave of pure frustration washed over Umaimah. She followed Fiddausi's gaze up toward the elevated high table, only to see the arrogant man calmly taking his seat right next to the groom. He turned his head, locking his eyes onto hers, and flashed her a cold, piercing glare.

Part 3: The High Table Revenge

A deep, burning sense of public shame washed over Umaimah. Up on the stage, the master of ceremonies opened the event with a traditional prayer before transitioning into a detailed speech about the groom's prominent family background. Umaimah, however, wasn't listening; she was locked away in the back with the catering team, meticulously arranging large platters of food.
Fiddausi approached the serving counter, instructing, "We need to begin serving the high table guests first."
Umaimah immediately stepped forward, her eyes flashing with a dangerous spark. "Anty Fiddausi, let me handle the high table up on the stage. I'll start from the top and work my way down."
"Oh, may Allah reward your immense willingness, Umaimah! Honestly, everyone else was hesitant to serve the elite section up there." Fiddausi handed her a large, heavy serving tray.
Umaimah began arranging the items on the tray. For her third trip up to the high table, she heavily loaded the tray with deep red, stained cocktail juices and a steaming bowl of dark, oily peppered offal soup (Farfesun Kayan Ciki). She walked gracefully up the steps of the stage, approaching the arrogant man's seat. She made it look entirely as though she was gently lowering the tray to serve him, just as she had done with the previous guests.
Then, with sudden, violent precision, she intentionally tipped the entire tray, dumping the dark, boiling, oily pepper soup and red juices directly onto his lap and chest. The heavy metal tray clattered loudly—*rikichaaaa!*—against his body.
Every single dignitary and guest seated at the high table instantly jumped to their feet in absolute shock and panic.
MAMAN ABDALLAH PRESENTS
😃💑
A WHITE MARRIAGE
💑
002
Putting on a highly dramatic act of sudden shock and panic, Umaimah gasped loudly. "Oh my goodness! I am so incredibly sorry, I completely didn't see you there!" She took a quick step backward, preparing to bolt off the stage.
Before she could take a second step, Salkhan’s hand shot out like a steel vice, aggressively grabbing her wrist.
Asma'u, the bride, barked at her in deep embarrassment. "For heaven's sake, Umaimah! Are you completely blind?! What on earth is wrong with you?!"
Umaimah twisted and turned violently, trying with every ounce of her strength to wrench her hand free, but his grip remained completely unyielding.
"Don't worry about it, it's completely fine," Salkhan announced to the high table, his voice dripping with an icy, dangerous calm. He raised his free hand, violently ripped the luxurious matching shawl right off Umaimah's shoulders, and began using it to aggressively scrape the thick, oily red stew off his expensive white outfit.
The dark stains had completely soaked through his elite clothing, ruining it entirely. This wretched little girl has caused me thousands in property damage once again, he thought bitterly, but by Allah, I am going to deal with her permanently today.
The entire wedding ceremony ground to an absolute halt, with every single eye in the hall glued directly to the stage. Salkhan thoroughly despised being the center of public spectacle, which only caused his internal fury to burn hotter.
"Pick up these dirty bowls off the floor right now! Why are you just standing there?!" he snapped at her.
Umaimah looked down at herself, frozen in deep humiliation. How on earth was she supposed to walk through a crowd of thousands of elite wedding guests without her shawl? Her milk-colored lace outfit was tightly tailored, hugging her curves tightly. To be forced to walk out like this was a deep, intolerable degradation.
"Did you suddenly go deaf?! I said pick them up!" he barked again.
Umaimah reluctantly knelt down to gather the scattered dishes. As she bent over, Salkhan deliberately reached out and snatched the small head-tie (Kallabi) right off her head. Without its protection, her long, neatly braided hair unraveled, tumbling down around her face and shoulders.
She stood up abruptly, her chest heaving as she prepared to unleash a torrent of vicious insults upon him.
But Salkhan cut her off, a cold, mocking smirk on his face as he threw her shawl onto the floor beneath his feet. "I'm just going to use this shawl to wipe my shoes, since it clearly doesn't absorb liquids very well. It's a shame I don't have a proper towel; these cheap clothes of yours feel exactly like a rough woolen blanket anyway."
Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed Umaimah from behind and forcefully pulled her away. She twisted around to find Fiddausi standing there, her face twisted in anger. "For God's sake, Umaimah! Do you have even the slightest inkling of who that prominent man is whose clothes you have just utterly ruined?! Come with me right this instant to fetch a clean towel from the car to give to him!"
Umaimah was dragged off the stage, completely bare-headed without her shawl or head-tie, her eyes pooling with hot tears of pure, unadulterated fury.
Up on the stage, his friends repeatedly urged him to head out to a nearby hotel to change into a fresh outfit, but Salkhan flatly refused, stubbornly insisting he would remain right there until the entire reception concluded. His inner soul was burning with intense rage, yet he maintained his signature, cold, completely unreadable facial expression.
"For God's sake, Anty Fiddausi, please lend me your own head-tie or scarf," Umaimah begged through her tears as they walked back inside. "I cannot face that massive crowd of people looking like this."
Fiddausi initially resisted, but seeing the girl's deep distress, she reluctantly unwrapped her scarf and handed it over. All the other elite guests inside the hall were wearing elaborate, formal head-wraps, but by some stroke of luck, Fiddausi hadn't styled hers fully yet.
Before Umaimah even reached the steps of the high table, she spotted her original shawl and head-tie tossed carelessly on the floor beneath Salkhan's feet, where he was actively using them to wipe the remaining oil stains off his luxury leather shoes.
The wedding reception had slowly resumed its lively atmosphere, but the moment Umaimah stepped back onto the stage, the bride’s attention locked back onto her. Umaimah stepped forward and handed Salkhan the clean towel, burning him with a fierce, deadly glare.
"Can't you even properly wipe it off for him? Honestly, Umaimah, what on earth is wrong with your character today?!" the bride scolded.
Salkhan repeated the name silently within his bitter heart. Umaimah.
Umaimah reluctantly knelt down and began using the towel to clean his clothes. The moment she noticed the bride's attention drift away to greet some arriving guests, Umaimah discreetly reached out, scooped up a small dollop of thick, dark gravy from a nearby leftover plate, and deliberately smeared it directly onto a clean, unsoiled patch of his white outfit.
Salkhan’s eyes locked onto her hand. He stared at her in absolute astonishment. Does this wretched girl have even the slightest comprehension of who I am?
He watched her continue her silent rebellion, her face hardened into a stiff frown as she aggressively rubbed the grease into his fabric using the towel. The moment she finished and attempted to stand up, Salkhan suddenly placed a heavy, powerful hand on her shoulder, forcefully pressing her down so hard she was forced back into a deep, painful kneeling position.
He turned his head toward his friend Zaid. "If you aren't going to finish that plate of peppered meat, hand it over to me." Zaid passed the small bowl over without looking, his attention completely absorbed by the dancers performing on the main floor.
Umaimah struggled violently to push herself up, but Salkhan firmly pinned her shoulder down with one hand. He glanced around quickly, ensuring everyone's attention was fully occupied by the entertainment. Then, with sudden, ruthless speed, he yanked open the front collar of her lace blouse and poured the entire bowl of dark, oily pepper soup directly down into her cleavage, soaking her chest and brassiere completely.
The moment he finished, he released his grip, causing her to lose her balance and fall backward onto the floor with a heavy thud. Salkhan calmly turned his face away, looking completely innocent as if he hadn't moved a single muscle.
The friend sitting next to him glanced down at her in confusion. "Whoa, easy there! Stand up, miss."
Umaimah staggered to her feet, her body shaking violently as the cold, oily gravy dripped down inside her clothes, soaking through her underwear.
Hot, heavy tears streamed down her face. How could anyone subject a human being to such deep, intolerable degradation?
Seeing her break down into genuine tears, Salkhan felt a sudden, deep wave of satisfaction wash over his heart. Finally, he had successfully broken her pride and avenged his ruined clothes.
Umaimah bolted off the stage and ran out into the courtyard of the hall, sobbing hysterically. Fiddausi immediately intercepted her, barking in frustration, "For heaven's sake, Umaimah! Look at how you have completely ruined my expensive head-tie with all this grease!" Fiddausi snatched the cloth back, leaving Umaimah completely bare-headed once again.
Umaimah ran toward the secluded back alley behind the grand hall, collapsing against a concrete wall as she wept bitterly out of pure, unadulterated humiliation. She remained huddled in the shadows for hours until darkness completely blanketed the city. As she watched the massive crowd of wedding guests finally streaming out of the main exits, signaling the end of the event, she shrank further into the darkness.
"I will just wait until every single person leaves this venue," she whispered fiercely through her tears. "Then I will sneak back inside, fish my shawl and head-tie out of that disgusting oil, wrap them around my head, and head home. But I am absolutely not walking out in front of those elite people looking like a disgraced servant. By Allah, I don't care who that man's father is in this city—I will make him pay dearly for this humiliation!" She let out a sharp, bitter hiss.
Inside the empty hall, Salkhan's friends gathered around him, repeatedly urging him to stand up so they could depart, but he remained completely motionless in his seat. He simply could not bring himself to walk out through the remaining public venue looking so thoroughly disheveled and stained—not with the immense reputation, high societal status, and dignity he commanded throughout the state.
His face hardened into an icy glare. "I told you guys to go ahead without me. I will call my personal security team to deliver a fresh change of clothes and a private car. You guys take the vehicle we arrived in; the keys are right here."
Zaid shrugged, taking the keys. "Fine, suit yourself. We're heading out." As they turned to leave, they ran into the newlyweds who had come to bid them farewell.
The groom looked at Salkhan's ruined clothes, offering a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry about it, man. I am so sorry for what happened. And please, don't hold a grudge against what the bride's younger sister did to you..."
Asma'u quickly interrupted. "Oh, she isn't my sister, Sir! She's just a common neighborhood girl from next door who frequently comes over to our house to perform menial house chores and servant work."
A servant girl? Salkhan repeated the words within his mind, a cold spark flashing in his eyes.
"Whatever the case, it's completely fine," Salkhan dismissed smoothly. "You guys head out. I've already placed a call, and my team is on their way to pick me up."
Knowing exactly who he was and the immense power he wielded, the couple didn't press further and exited the hall.

Part 4: The Escape and the Hidden Identity

The moment Umaimah peeked out from her hiding spot, she saw the very last guest vehicle pull out of the main gates. However, just as she prepared to step out, another luxury SUV pulled into the compound. Two heavily armed military escorts stepped out of the vehicle and marched directly into the hall.
Realizing his private security detail had finally arrived, Salkhan stood up from the high table. At that exact microsecond, he spotted Umaimah sneaking back into the hall through the side entrance. His instincts instantly told him she had returned to fetch her ruined shawl. He quickly scooped up both garments from the floor and stuffed them deep into his pockets, despite them being completely soaked in grease.
Seeing him standing there didn't intimidate her in the slightest; she was already completely frantic and panicked about being stranded at the venue so late into the night. She began scanning the empty tables, her eyes wide with desperation. Salkhan stood perfectly still, waiting to see if she would dare address him.
Losing her temper completely, Umaimah marched right up to him. "Are you a literal vampire or a parasitic demon?! My soul is far too powerful for your evil tricks! What on earth did I ever do to deserve running into a walking calamity like you today?!"
"You think you've seen a calamity? By Allah, I am going to teach you a lesson you will never forget!" Salkhan snapped, lunging forward and aggressively grabbing her by the arm. He dragged her forcefully toward the exit, scanning the courtyard.
As they stepped into the light, Umaimah spotted the trailing edge of her shawl hanging out of his suit pocket. Looking into his crazed, furious eyes, she realized he had completely lost his mind to rage. What is this lunatic going to do to me? Seeing the two armed soldiers rapidly approaching them to intervene, panic took over. She leaned in and sunk her teeth deep into his thumb, biting down with such raw, vicious force it felt as though she was going to sever the digit entirely.
Salkhan let out a violent, agonizing scream—*"Kaiiiiii!"*—instantly releasing his grip on her.
The moment she was free, Umaimah bolted toward the main gates, running at a breakneck speed of a hundred and sixty miles an hour. One of the soldiers lunged forward, intending to chase after her and apprehend her, but Salkhan quickly raised his hand, shouting for him to stand down and let her go.
By Allah’s grace, the moment she burst through the gates, she managed to hail a passing commercial tricycle. The driver initially hesitated to pick up a bare-headed, disheveled girl so late at night, but Umaimah quickly fabricated a lie, claiming she had just escaped a chaotic wedding party raid where thugs had attacked the guests.
The driver dropped her off directly in front of her uncle's residence. Lacking any money, she quickly borrowed a hundred-naira note from Sham'unu, the local neighborhood palm oil vendor, handed it to the driver, and slipped quietly into the house. Finding the main living room packed with family members watching television, she stealthily bypassed them, ducked into her cramped quarters, and quickly changed out of her ruined lace outfit.
The following morning, she flatly refused to step foot near Alhaji Yakuba’s residence for the continuation of the wedding festivities. Hajia sent multiple messengers to fetch her, but Umaimah deliberately fled the neighborhood to avoid being dragged back.
At exactly 7:00 AM on the morning of the traditional wedding lecture (Walima), Hajia personally sent her younger sister to Umaimah's house with strict instructions: she was not to return without Umaimah. Realizing she had run out of excuses and couldn't escape, Umaimah was forced to accompany her, without even having the chance to eat breakfast.
The moment they entered the residence, Hajia immediately assigned her to deep-clean one of the master bedrooms, scolding her gently. "You know perfectly well that if you aren't the one who cleans my rooms, I never feel truly satisfied with the results. But after yesterday's performance, you completely vanished! Well, today you are going to do double the work; cleaning the grime off these floor tiles alone should keep you occupied for hours."
Hajia paused, looking around. "I've already packed your new clothes inside that bag over there. But tell me, where is that expensive shawl I lent you yesterday?"
Umaimah’s heart skipped a heavy beat. She froze for a moment before stammering, "Oh... it's back at my house. I wanted to thoroughly wash it first."
"Very well, no problem," Hajia replied before stepping out of the room.
Umaimah got straight to work, meticulously deep-cleaning the entire bedroom until it was absolutely spotless within a matter of minutes, as she possessed immense speed and efficiency when it came to housework.
As the rest of the household prepared to depart for the wedding lecture venue, Hajia called out, "Umaimah, hurry up and get dressed so you can join the convoy to the Walima!"
"Oh, no, Hajia," Umaimah declined quickly. "My body feels incredibly weak and aching today. Besides, if I leave with the convoy, who will stay behind to scrub the verandas and clean the compound? Please let the family go ahead; I will stay back and finish deep-cleaning the rest of the villa for you."
Hajia smiled warmly, placing a hand on her head. "May Allah shower you with endless blessings, my dear, and may He choose a perfectly righteous, noble husband for your future."
Umaimah’s face lit up with a wide smile. "Amin, our beloved Hajia!"
She carried a stack of dirty dishes out to the back courtyard, muttering to herself, "There is absolutely no way I am going to that venue. Why on earth would I go out of my way to cross paths with that brute again? A common servant girl like me has absolutely no business mingling with elite tycoons like him anyway."

Part 5: The Elite Matriarch and the Shocking Revelation

Suddenly, a group of four prominent, elite women entered the back courtyard just as Umaimah was busy stacking the laundry and dishwashing basins. Among them was an elderly, highly distinguished matriarch. As she walked across the damp courtyard, her foot suddenly slipped on a wet patch, her body twisting violently—kichaaaa!—as she began to fall backward.
Umaimah instantly dropped the metal bowl in her hands and lunged forward with lightning speed, throwing her own body beneath the falling matriarch to break her fall. The elderly woman collapsed directly into Umaimah's arms, but despite the rescue, a sharp, loud—kat!—sound echoed from her ankle as it twisted.
"Subhanallahi! Quiet down, Mama, I've got you," Umaimah whispered gently, holding her steady. The elderly woman let out a sharp gasp of pure agony—"Washhh!"
Suddenly, one of the elite women in the entourage stepped forward aggressively, violently shoving Umaimah out of the way. "Move out of the way, you clumsy girl!" She then reached down to lift the matriarch themselves.
A sudden flash of pure, unadulterated fury ignited inside Umaimah. She whipped around, glaring fiercely at the woman. "Move?! Did you just tell me to move?! Well, I flatly refuse to move!" With a powerful, defiant gesture, Umaimah forcefully shoved the elite woman back and firmly took sole custody of the elderly matriarch once again.
The remaining women in the entourage instantly lunged forward aggressively, preparing to attack Umaimah.
Umaimah stood her ground, baring her teeth and shouting fiercely, "Don't you dare take another step toward me!"
The sheer ferocity in her voice caused the women to freeze and take a cautious step back. Umaimah gently lowered the elderly woman onto a nearby stone bench. "I am so sorry, Mama."
She whipped around, glaring at the cowardly entourage. "Oh, so now you want to form a gang to fight me?! If you truly cared about her well-being, why on earth did you stand there like statues and allow her to fall in the first place?! The moment she was heading toward the hard concrete, you should have shouted your precious 'Move' then, when it actually mattered! Absolute useless fools!"
She turned her attention back to the matriarch, offering a comforting look. The elderly woman, Hajiya Bilkisu, didn't utter a word; she simply stared at Umaimah with an intense, deeply fascinated gaze. Aside from my own son, Umar, she thought in awe, I have never met a single soul who would fiercely stand up for my physical safety with such raw, unyielding protection.
"Well, don't just stand there staring like complete idiots! Pick her up carefully and let's carry her inside to a comfortable bedroom!" Umaimah barked at the entourage.
They carefully carried the matriarch inside and laid her down on a plush sofa in the living room. Hajia Yakuba hurried into the room, panicked. "Innalillahi! Hajiya Bilkisu, what on earth happened?!"
Hajiya Bilkisu kept her eyes tightly squeezed shut against the intense waves of pain shooting up her leg. "I simply lost my footing on a slick tile," she gasped out.
Umaimah bolted out of the villa, ran across the street to her uncle's house, and snatched a large, fresh jar of traditional Robb pain-relief ointment. She rushed back into the living room just as Hajia Yakuba was dialing her phone. "Hajiya, I'm trying to reach Sadi right now so he can fetch a traditional bonesetter to come examine her ankle."
"There's no need to wait for that," Umaimah interrupted, stepping forward. "Let me apply this Robb ointment I fetched from my house first to soothe the burning pain."
Without waiting for their permission or approval, Umaimah firmly but gently took hold of the swollen ankle and began massaging the ointment into the skin with smooth, expert strokes. Hajiya Bilkisu watched her in absolute amazement, her eyes locked entirely onto the young girl's focused face.
Umaimah, burning with a desire to properly reset the dislocated joint, noticed the matriarch staring intently at her. At that exact microsecond, Hajia Yakuba turned her head away to check on a platter of meat on the dining table. Seizing the moment of distraction, Umaimah gripped the ankle firmly and gave it a sudden, powerful, professional twist.
A loud, distinct—*kas!*—sound echoed through the quiet room, immediately followed by a sharp, piercing shriek of pain from Hajiya Bilkisu.
The elite entourage instantly went into a frenzy, lunging at Umaimah, grabbing her forcefully, and dragging her toward the front exit of the villa as if she were a dangerous criminal.
MAMAN ABDALLAH PRESENTS
A WHITE MARRIAGE
💑
003
From her seat on the sofa, Hajiya Bilkisu unleashed a loud, commanding roar at her entourage. "Release her right this instant! Where on earth are you taking her?!"
She gently rotated her ankle in a complete circle, a wide smile breaking across her face. "Look! My ankle is completely healed and perfectly reset!"
The guards reluctantly released Umaimah, stepping back. Hajia Yakuba stared in absolute awe. "Ikon Allah! Umaimah, this is truly a miracle from Allah! Since when did your notorious clumsiness include the expert skill of traditional bone-setting?!"
Umaimah stepped back toward the sofa, smiling gently. "I am so glad you feel better, Mama. My late father used to be a renowned traditional bonesetter in our village, and he taught me exactly how to reset joints whenever an ankle twists or dislocates... I knew exactly what to do."
Hajiya Bilkisu glared fiercely at the remaining women standing in the room. "All of you, get out of this room right now and wait for me outside!" The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving only the close family.
Umaimah knelt down once more, gently applying another layer of the soothing ointment.
"Thank you, my dear. Thank you so much for your immense care. I am incredibly grateful," the matriarch reiterated, her voice filled with deep emotion. She looked down at Umaimah, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Well, look at us, you are the one telling me to relax!"
Umaimah eventually exited the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen to begin cleaning up the catering area.
Inside the living room, Hajiya Bilkisu turned to Hajia Suwaiba. "That young girl possesses an exceptionally sharp mind and a beautiful soul, Hajiya. I am deeply impressed by her genuine care and attentiveness."
"Ah, yes, that is our Umaimah," Hajia Suwaiba replied with a warm smile. "She is an incredibly hardworking, dedicated girl, by Allah."
"Is she your daughter or a granddaughter?"
"Neither, unfortunately. She is a complete orphan; both of her parents passed away years ago. She lives next door with her paternal uncle who took her in out of family obligation. She frequently comes over to our villa to help us with menial chores and domestic work. She possesses absolutely no laziness or arrogance; she is a delightful, energetic girl to have around."
"May Allah bless her soul," Hajiya Bilkisu murmured softly.
Later that afternoon, as Umaimah was out in the back courtyard stacking the clean, washed dishes to transport them into the kitchen cupboards, the elderly matriarch and Hajia Suwaiba approached her.
"Umaimah!" Hajia Suwaiba called out.
Umaimah quickly dried her hands, turning around with a warm, bright smile. Seeing the elderly woman walking perfectly on her feet, she burst into a soft laugh. "Ah! Look at you, Mama! Your feet are completely back in action!"
The two older women burst into a hearty laugh. Hajia Suwaiba teased, "Well, look at you, Miss Know-It-All! You always have something clever to say to everyone."
Hajiya Bilkisu prepared to depart for her vehicle, turning to look at Umaimah. "I would like you to accompany me out to my car and help carry some of my personal bags."
Umaimah quickly untied the matching lace shawl she had wrapped tightly around her waist to protect her clothes during work. "Oh, absolutely! Let me take those bags for you," she replied, eagerly gathering the luggage.
As they walked down the long driveway toward the main gates, Hajiya Bilkisu struck up a casual conversation. "Tell me, my dear, where exactly is your family home located?"
Umaimah pointed toward the edge of the neighborhood. "Do you see those large yellow plastic jars of palm oil stacked over there against the veranda?"
The matriarch adjusted her glasses, peering in that direction. "The house with the open veranda?"
"Yes, exactly! That is our residence."
"May Allah bless your home," the matriarch murmured gently. "Tell me, when will you come honor me with a personal visit at my residence?"
Umaimah’s eyes widened in complete shock. "To your house, Mama?!"
Hajiya Bilkisu let out a warm chuckle. "Yes, of course, to my home! I would love for you to come deep-clean my master quarters and scent my rooms with your wonderful traditional incense."
Umaimah laughed heartily. "Oh, I see! Hajia Suwaiba has been filling your head with stories about my cleaning habits, hasn't she?"
The matriarch smiled warmly. "I was genuinely touched by the deep, protective care you showed me today. If your family permits it, would you please consider coming over to visit me tomorrow? For God's sake, Uwani?"
"My name is Umaimah, Mama, not Uwani," she corrected gently, laughing.
"Ah, I know, my dear. It's just that you happen to share the exact birth name of my own late mother. It feels as though my own daughter rescued me today." The entire group erupted into a warm wave of shared laughter.
They finally reached the front gates where the luxury SUV was parked. Hajiya Bilkisu's personal entourage of heavily armed military escorts and security personnel stood at absolute attention around the vehicle. The moment Umaimah’s eyes locked onto the uniforms, a sharp chill ran down her spine; she instantly recognized the elite military security detail. She held onto the shopping bags tightly, burning the soldiers with a suspicious glare.
The matriarch pulled out her smartphone, and they snapped a few joyful group photographs together. After climbing into the comfortable back seat, Hajiya Bilkisu leaned out the window. "So, it's settled then? You will come visit me tomorrow?"
"Insha Allah, I will certainly come, Mama. At what exact time should I arrive?"
"Give me your phone number, and I will personally place a call to you tomorrow morning."
"Oh... I don't possess a mobile phone, Mama. But if you give me the exact address and landmarks, I can simply instruct a commercial tricycle driver on how to find your estate."
Hajiya Bilkisu smiled warmly. "Very well. Simply instruct the driver to take you to Lamido Crescent, directly to the grand estate belonging to Umar Madaki."
Umar Madaki?! Umaimah’s jaw instantly dropped, and her entire arm went completely limp, nearly dropping the bags in her hands. The Umar Madaki belonging to Hajiya Bilkisu's family?!
"I... I know exactly where that estate is," Umaimah stammered, her voice suddenly trembling with sudden terror. "Everyone in the city knows that mansion; we pass by it all the time. It is legendary. But once I arrive at the outer gates, who should I ask for?"
Hajiya Bilkisu, noticed her sudden, intense panic and laughed gently. "Don't worry about a thing, my dear. I am his biological mother. Please, for God's sake, make sure you come tomorrow." She handed a thick, tightly wrapped bundle of high-denomination one-thousand-naira notes directly into Umaimah's hand. "Here, take this to cover your transport fare."
"Oh, no, Mama, please, I cannot accept this money!" Umaimah protested, but the matriarch simply rolled up her window with a warm wave, and the luxury SUV pulled away into the traffic.
Umaimah stood frozen on the pavement, her mind caught in a whirlwind of absolute shock and panic. Umar Madaki! He was the legendary, astronomically wealthy young tycoon of the state—a young man whose late billionaire father had bequeathed him an empire of multinational corporations, industries, and unimaginable generational wealth. He was a man so immensely powerful that even the highest echelons of the state government treaded carefully around him. She had heard his legendary background discussed countlessly by Hajia Suwaiba and the older women.
He rarely even resided within the borders of Nigeria, spending the vast majority of his time traveling across foreign continents on business. Despite his immense wealth and elite status, his family had desperately tried to get him to marry for years, but he had stubbornly refused every single arrangement. He was the sole, pampered child of his billionaire father, and his father had maintained a strict household with only one wife. He was an elite entity whose legendary status required no further introduction; his reputation preceded him everywhere.
Later that evening, Salkhan pulled his vehicle into the grand driveway of his mother's palatial estate on Lamido Crescent. The moment he stepped through the front doors, his sharp eyes locked onto his mother's posture. He noticed a slight, distinct hitch in her gait as she walked toward the lounge.
His face instantly contorted into a deep frown of pure worry. He hurried across the marble floor, his voice frantic. "Mamee! For God's sake, what happened?! What is wrong with your ankle? Why are you limping?!"
Hajiya Bilkisu turned around, amused. "Goodness, you just walked through the door and you're already noticing a tiny limp?"
"What on earth happened, Mamee?!" he demanded, his voice rising in panic.
"I simply had a slight twist..."