AUREN MU (Our Marriage)

WRITTEN BY ZAINAB BUTALAWA
OFFICIAL VERSION BY ASMABAFFA
Dedicated to Ummu Lateepha

Part 1: The Stubborn Couple (Farooq & Aisha)

He followed her closely from behind as she walked ahead. He was reprimanding her, and she was equally firing back with a furious attitude, shouting, "I am leaving your house for you!"
Farooq retorted, "Then pack your bags and leave! Who cares? That’s exactly what I want. Go! I’ve had quite enough of you anyway."
"Fine! I am leaving right now," Aisha yelled as they both stormed into the bedroom, trading bitter insults.
She dragged out one of her suitcases, threw it open, unlocked her wardrobe, and began pulling out her clothes. Farooq lunged forward and snatched a lace material from her hand.
"Put this back! This doesn't belong to you," he barked. "I bought this for you recently when you came here. After all, you didn't marry into this house with any decent clothes."
"Oh, so that’s what you're saying now?" Aisha sneered.
"Yes! This old, worn-out wax print (atamfa) is yours," he said, pulling it out and tossing it to her.
She picked up another expensive shadda fabric, but he intercepted her. "Drop that and put it back. You didn't come with that either. If you recall, I spent money to tailor that for you last year."
Frustrated, she dropped it and selected only two sets of clothes—the exact ones she had brought from her parents' house. When she moved over to the shoe rack and picked up a pair of white flat shoes, he immediately intervened. "Put those down right now! I bought those for you."
She snapped, "Oh, I forgot! So you were the one who bought them?"
"Yes, and I am reminding you today!" Farooq replied.
"You are incredibly petty and heartless, Farooq. But it's fine," Aisha muttered.
Farooq shrugged, "Whatever you say."
In a fit of rage, she zipped her suitcase and dragged it out. Farooq followed her, mocking her: "I am only letting you use that suitcase out of pity. By Allah, I should have made you pack your belongings in a black plastic bag!"
Aisha turned on him, "Stop coming near me! I don't need your help."
He scoffed, "Oh, please, little girl! Heaven forbid that I help you. I am only walking you out so I can lock my doors. And don't you ever dare think of returning to my house from this day onward."
Aisha fired back, "And what would I ever come back to do in this useless house of yours?"
She paused in the living room, looking around. Deep down, she actually loved the house and didn't want to leave it.
Seeing her hesitation, he barked, "Madam, move! I am waiting for you."
Staring at the apartment, she snapped, "Don't you dare touch my bag! Don't even play the gentleman and offer to carry it for me. I don't want your help, don't even try it!"
In an equally furious tone, he shouted, "God forbid that I carry your bag! Stop admiring my house and keep moving!"
"Admiring your house? Where did you even get the money for this house anyway? I know everything—it was your elder brother who bought it for you. Where would you ever find the money to build a house?"
"Fine, whatever! Just get out, I don't want to see your face."
Aisha, unable to hide her lingering attachment to the beautiful home, kept glancing back. Finally, in a burst of anger and determination, she jerked her suitcase to leave. Suddenly, they heard a sharp knock at the living room door. They froze and looked at each other. Then, they recognized the voice of Farooq’s mother (Umma) calling out from outside: "Is anyone home?"
Farooq’s face completely changed. He quickly grabbed Aisha’s suitcase and whispered urgently, "Hurry up, go back inside! It’s Umma!"
Aisha panicked, grabbed her bag, and dashed back into the bedroom.
Farooq opened the front door, wearing a deeply respectful expression. "Welcome, Umma. Good afternoon."
With a warm smile, Umma stepped inside. "Hello, Farooq. Where is your wife? The house seems so quiet."
Farooq quickly lied, "She is inside, Ma. She just finished her house chores. She is such a blessed and hardworking wife."
Umma beamed with pride. "Son, you are truly blessed. You didn't end up like your brother. Thank God you two are living in total peace and harmony."
Farooq called out to Aisha. She emerged from the bedroom, now wearing a massive, floor-length hijab. She greeted Umma respectfully and offered, "Let me fetch you some water, Ma."
"No, don't worry, my dear. I am actually on my way out," Umma replied. "Please, continue to live in peace with each other. I know you both try your best, and everyone testifies that there is never any conflict between you."
Farooq chimed in smoothly, "Of course, Umma! What is the use of a husband and wife fighting? It’s completely pointless."
Aisha added quickly, "Exactly. That's why we understand each other perfectly. We don't even argue, let alone trade insults."
Farooq joined in, "You know, Umma, marital disputes are outdated now. We don't even know what couples fight about; we only hear stories from the neighbors!"
Umma smiled warmly. "That is exactly what I love to hear. May Allah continue to bless your home with peace."
They both chanted "Ameen" as she stood up and departed.
The very moment Umma left the premises, their smiles vanished, and they glared viciously at each other.
Farooq snapped, "Get your eyes off me, you useless, ill-mannered woman!"
Aisha shouted, "I am going back to my father's house anyway!"
"You are going nowhere!" Farooq yelled back. "You don't have the right to leave. I've changed my mind; I won't let you go. I paid a lot of money to marry you. Your family's greed for worldly things ruined everything! From the moment I started courting you, they kept begging me for money. Even the bride-price (Sadaki) your parents demanded was ridiculously expensive. You yourself were terrified when I told you the amount back then!"
He stepped closer, his voice dripping with spite. "Furthermore, I was utterly deceived! You claimed you were a virgin, but when the wedding night came and I approached you—wuuufff—I just slipped right through inside! There was absolutely nothing stopping me. It was like falling straight into an open well! That's exactly how your stomach felt. Yet, despite you lying about being a virgin, I overlooked it and stayed with you. Therefore, you are going nowhere. You will remain right here in this house!"
Aisha burst into tears, weeping bitterly. "Wallahi, Farooq, Allah will punish you for this slander! How dare you accuse me of not being a virgin? Allah sees everything you do!" She sobbed from the depths of her heart.
Farooq hissed loudly, walked out into the living room, and muttered, "You're going nowhere, you foolish, empty-headed girl."

Part 2: The Proud Tenants (Affan & Raudat)

Kwan... gwan... gwan!
A loud, aggressive pounding on my apartment door shattered the peace. I was inside, sipping juice and blasting music on my stereo. I stood up and pulled the door open.
Standing there was a handsome young man, impeccably dressed in trendy clothes—a white pair of jeans and a sky-blue shirt.
With a face full of fury, he snapped, "Hey, Madam! Will you turn down that music? You've filled the entire building with noise. Do you think you're the only tenant living here?"
Being a beautiful, fierce young lady myself, I fired back instantly, "Excuse me? I paid my rent in full! As for you, I know your little secret—you haven't paid a single kobo for rent, yet you have the audacity to dress up like a millionaire when you don't have a dime to your name!"
Realizing that I was exposing his secrets and knowing fully well he hadn't paid his rent, he instantly lost his voice. His confidence shattered, and he quietly turned around to leave.
I mocked him loudly, shouting, "Wooo! Look at him, swallowed by shame!" He had nothing left to say. He was the type who cared about nothing but fashion, pretending to be a classy guy. I hissed loudly, shut my door, and went back inside.
Affan returned to his apartment, thoroughly embarrassed but determined to brush it off. He stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his outfit, and admired himself. "Honestly, I am incredibly handsome. I'm going to turn heads today." He spent a long time staring at his reflection before finally stepping out with a proud, measured gait.
At that exact moment, I was heading out to my beautiful red car. He didn't even glance in my direction as he strutted past me toward the estate gate, preparing to leave.
I rolled down my car window slowly and said calmly, "For God's sake, Affan, help me open the gate."
He stopped, glared at me with pure arrogance, and barked, "Look here, I am not your mate! Just because you own this cheap, useless car, you think you can order me around? Who do you think you are? What do you even possess? You call this a car?" As he spoke, he aggressively slapped the hood of my car with his hand.
"Stop insulting my car!" I yelled. "How dare you insult such a beautiful ride?"
He hissed loudly. "You're lucky I have an important business appointment to catch. If not for that, I would have taught you a lesson today." He turned around and walked away pompously.
"That's your only excuse every single day! 'I have an appointment,' yet we never see you driving a car. Always on foot, today and forever!" I hissed, stepped out of my car, opened the estate gate myself, and drove off to my office.

Part 3: Affan's Financial Struggle and the Fake Cleric

Affan walked directly to the house of his friend, Mustapha, who worked at the Ministry of Environment. Unlike Mustapha, Affan had no job. He survived entirely on petty hustles, and whenever he managed to get some cash, he spent it all on high-end clothes to maintain his flashy appearance. He hadn't even been able to pay his rent in the luxury estate, which constantly led to bitter arguments with the landlady.
Sitting in Mustapha’s beautifully furnished living room, Mustapha looked at him skeptically. "What brings you to my house today, Affan? I know you never visit without a reason."
Affan hesitated, then said, "I need you to lend me five thousand naira. I don't even have money for food, and my groceries are completely exhausted."
Mustapha sighed. "I knew it. To be honest, I am low on cash myself."
"Please, help me," Affan pleaded. "You are my true friend. I know you can't lack a common 5k."
Reluctantly, Mustapha groaned, "What am I going to do with you? You are my friend, but I can't keep feeding your lifestyle. Fine, I will give you 3,000 naira. But you must make sure you pay me back. I am tired of your endless debts; you owe me way too much."
Affan beamed with joy. "Don't worry, my man! We are in this together." Only then did Mustapha relax, and they began chatting about general matters.
On his way back to the estate, an Islamic cleric (Mallam) dressed in a large traditional robe and a turban suddenly stopped Affan.
The Mallam cried out, "Innalillahi wa innailayhirraju'un! Young man, a great calamity is heading your way!"
Seeing how stylishly Affan was dressed, the Mallam assumed he was a wealthy elite with deep pockets. He continued, "Alhaji, you have fierce enemies! Some people are plotting to steal your luxury car."
Affan stared at him, gaping open-mouthed, knowing the man was lying through his teeth since he didn't even own a bicycle, let alone a car.
The cleric added dramatically, "Furthermore, your enemies are your own relatives! They have taken your name to a witch doctor to cast a spell on you. Very soon, you are going to lose millions of naira from your wealth!"
Affan wanted to burst out laughing. He didn't have a single kobo to his name and had just begged for a 3,000 naira loan with great difficulty. However, he decided to play along and pretend to be completely terrified.
"Oh my god, Mallam! What should I do now? What is the solution?"
The cleric secretly rejoiced, thinking he had found a wealthy fool to scam. "You need to bring one hundred thousand naira immediately so I can perform a powerful spiritual intervention against them."
Affan replied smoothly, "Consider it done! Just give me your house address. I don't have enough cash on me right now."
Eagerly and with trembling hands, the Mallam scribbled down his address. Affan took it and walked back to his apartment.
His apartment was located in a high-end estate where each tenant occupied a secure section consisting of a living room and two bedrooms. It was a luxury estate meant for the wealthy and top corporate workers, complete with uniform security guards. Affan sat in his living room, gulping down juice and eating bread—the only food left in his house.

Part 4: The Rent Issue and Retaliation

Meanwhile, Raudat parked her car in the compound and found the landlady, Hajiya Mairo, standing near her section. Raudat handed her some high-quality perfumes as a gift.
Hajiya Mairo was thrilled. She and Raudat were very close friends. Whenever Hajiya Mairo felt like it, she would eat at Raudat’s apartment, and Raudat did the same. They got along perfectly and looked out for each other.
Raudat asked slyly, "Landlady, has that arrogant guy over there paid his rent yet?"
Hajiya Mairo sneered, "That useless man? Where would he get the money? Every day he dresses up in expensive clothes, but he doesn't have a dime. I am completely fed up with his presence in my house, and I am going to evict him very soon."
Raudat chuckled softly. "What is his worth anyway besides showing off? He can't even raise fifty thousand naira, let alone the two hundred thousand naira rent."
As they were gossiping, Affan stepped out of his apartment, dressed to the nines in stylish casual clothes. He walked with a proud, rhythmic stride, completely ignoring them as he passed by. They stared after him in utter astonishment, amazed by how someone with absolutely no money could walk with such immense pride and confidence.
Affan walked to a provisions store near the estate. The shopkeeper greeted him warmly, shouting, "Wow, Affan! Look at this grand outfit. Where are you heading today?"
Affan lied smoothly, "I am traveling to Abuja shortly for an important business transaction. In fact, look at my ATM card—it’s temporarily malfunctioning."
Knowing Affan as a frequent customer who always dressed elegantly, the shopkeeper assumed he was indeed a wealthy businessman. "Wow, boss, you are always traveling for business!"
Affan puffed his chest. "Well, that's how the business world works. If you want to make money, you can't stay in one place. I need to head to the bank, but I want to pick up some groceries now. When I return from my trip, I will settle the bill."
The shopkeeper smiled, "No problem at all, boss. Everything is fine. Pick whatever you want."
Affan went on a shopping spree. He grabbed large tins of powdered milk, several tins of Milo, and a variety of tea ingredients. He added canned tomatoes, five measures (kwano) of rice, beans, pasta, macaroni, cooking oil, and crates of eggs. The total bill was calculated and added to his growing debt ledger. He carried his heavy bags home, cooked a rich, delicious meal, and ate to his satisfaction. Afterward, he dressed up again and set out to find the cleric who had given him the address.

Part 5: Outsmarting the Scam Cleric

Since Affan didn't have money for transport, he had to trek the entire distance on foot, enduring a grueling walk before finally tracking down the cleric's residence. To his surprise, the Mallam owned a massive, luxurious two-story house. He was easily ushered into the cleric’s private section.
The cleric was currently seated with another victim, spinning lies to extort money from him.
Once that client left, the Mallam turned to Affan.
Affan spoke with urgency: "Mallam, your words terrified me so much that I had to rush over. I am currently in a hurry because I have an urgent business trip to catch. Right now, I don't have enough liquid cash on me, but I am going to collect a massive amount of money on this trip. That's why I came to see you. Can you lend me fifty thousand naira right now? As soon as I return from my trip, I will pay you back two hundred thousand naira, including a heavy profit for your help."
Hearing the promise of a massive payout, the cleric fell for the trap hook, line, and sinker. Without wasting any time, he quickly counted out fifty thousand naira cash and handed it over to Affan. Affan thanked him profusely, promised to return soon, and walked out.
The moment he left the house, he went straight back to the provisions store, paid off his entire grocery debt, collected his change, and went about his business.
Days passed, and the cleric heard nothing from Affan. He had no idea how or where to find him.
Meanwhile, Affan dressed up in a premium traditional fabric (yadi), strutting down the street with confidence. Raudat, who was driving back from work, spotted him and pulled over.
Rolling down her window, she offered, "Hey, Affan. Jump in, let me give you a ride. It looks like you're heading back to the estate."
True to his arrogant nature, Affan snapped rudely, "Who do you think you are to offer me a ride? Do you think driving this cheap, useless car gives you the right to look down on me?" He turned his back to walk away.
But as he turned, his eyes caught sight of the cleric and another man talking further down the street!
Panicking, Affan quickly spun around, yanked Raudat's car door open, and hopped into the passenger seat.
Raudat drove off. Once they were a safe distance away, she smirked. "I thought you said you would never step into my car? Why did you suddenly change your mind?"
Affan flared up defensively, "Listen to me! Just because I stepped into your car doesn't give you the right to disrespect me. Your car is garbage, a complete piece of junk!"
Raudat slammed on the brakes and pulled over. "You are completely classless! Get out of my car right now!"
Affan hissed, opened the door, and stepped out. "Useless car! Besides, everyone knows you didn't buy this car with clean money. Some wealthy man bought it for you. You are just a cheap sugar baby living off men's wealth. Do you think we don't know about your Senator and House of Representatives boyfriends?" He kicked her car tire aggressively and walked away with his head held high.
Raudat leaned out of her window and yelled back, "Look at you! A broke man who can't even pay his house rent! You are a beggar who can't ever dream of buying a car like mine! Never! What decent woman would ever look at you? You pretend to be handsome and classy, but all your clothes are cheap, secondhand items (gwanjo)!" She slammed on the gas pedal and sped away.
Affan muttered, "Stupid girl. She thinks she's special just because she drives a car. Heaven forbid that I ride in a vehicle bought with dirty money."

Part 6: The Household Feud and the Fuse Box Trick

Raudat returned home deeply frustrated by Affan's insults. After eating her dinner, she waited until the compound was quiet. She slipped outside, climbed the steps to the main electrical control unit, and intentionally disconnected the power supply to Affan's apartment by flipping his switch off. She then retreated to her apartment, giggling.
When Affan returned, he turned on his switches, but his entire apartment was plunged into pitch darkness. He couldn't figure out the cause. He didn't want to alert the landlady because she would instantly demand the unpaid rent.
He stepped outside to inspect the meter. Raudat, watching from her window, burst into hysterical laughter.
Realizing she was behind the trick, Affan marched to the control box, reconnected his power, and aggressively disconnected hers instead!
Plunged into darkness, Raudat marched outside in a furious rage. "Affan, you are looking for trouble! Your behavior in this estate is completely unbearable, and I am going to take legal action against you!"
Affan laughed mockingly. "You are a complete fool. I see what's happening here—you're pulling all these stunts just because you want me to tell you I love you! Well, it won't work. You are far below my standards. Go and find someone on your low level."
Raudat mocked him, "Me? fall for you? What can you even provide for a woman? You can't even pay your rent, what can you possibly buy for a wife?!"
Just then, Hajiya Mairo, the landlady, drove into the compound in her sleek car. She stepped out and scolded them, "What is wrong with you two? Don't you have anything better to do than fight every single day? What is the issue this time?"
Affan opened his mouth to explain, but Hajiya Mairo cut him off harshly, "Shut your mouth! Do you even have any rights in this house? You haven't paid your rent, yet you have the audacity to speak? Shut up!"
Affan instantly lost his voice, unable to say a word.
Raudat burst into mocking laughter. Dressed in a beautiful, aromatic Arabian gown, she clapped her hands and taunted him, "Have you paid your rent? You can't even afford a roof over your head! You are an outsider here! Woooo! He can't pay his rent! Get out!"
Affan quietly slunk back into his dark apartment, completely broke and with nowhere else to go.

Part 7: Nusaiba's Family and the Battle at the Bus Park

In another part of the city, a woman burst into bitter tears, confronting her husband. "Wallahi, Shehu, Allah will hold you accountable! You have six children, yet you refuse to feed us. Every single day, you drain the tiny capital from my small business just to feed yourself!"
Shehu hissed loudly. "They are your children too; you gave birth to them. What is the big deal if you spend your money on them?"
"But Shehu, you know fully well that I am the one solely carrying the burden of myself and these children! It’s not that you don't have the money; you simply refuse to provide! I survive entirely on selling bean cakes (kosai). Sometimes, we have to go to bed having only drank local millet porridge (koko). Look at your daughter, Nusaiba—she is fully grown into a beautiful young woman, but she looks like a street beggar! Shehu, fear Allah!"
Just then, Nusaiba walked into the house, wearing worn-out, faded clothes and carrying a massive basin of kosai on her head. She offered her greetings and said, "Mama, I forgot the spicy pepper blend for the bean cakes."
She picked up the pepper mix and left to hawk her food at the busy motor park, where large crowds usually gathered.
Nusaiba's business was booming. She stood by the roadside, counting out the bean cakes into plastic bags for her customers. As she reached up to hand a bag to a long-distance truck driver, a drunkard sneaked up behind her and aggressively grabbed her buttocks.
Nusaiba spun around, her eyes blazing with fury. "Do I look like your playmate?! Am I a loose girl? Have you ever seen me engaging in immoral behavior? I am out here strictly to earn a decent, halal living! How dare you touch me?!"
In her intense fury, she hurled her entire basin of bean cakes away, lunged at the man, and swept his legs out from under him. He crashed heavily to the ground. Nusaiba pinned him down, raining brutal punches on his face until his mouth was completely bloodied.
The crowd rushed in to pull her off him. One onlooker pleaded, "Please, calm down, Nusaiba! He is new to this park; he doesn't know who you are."
Nusaiba snapped back, "I don't care! Anyone who behaves like that is a pervert. He deserved it for touching me!" She hissed loudly, gathered the neighborhood street urchins (almajirai), and distributed the remaining bean cakes to them as charity. Thoroughly upset, she packed her empty basin and marched home.

Part 8: The Selfish Father and a Gift from the Village

When her mother saw her walk through the door with an angry face, she instantly knew someone had crossed her line. Her father, Shehu, was sitting comfortably, sipping rich, thick tea, while his younger children sat around him drinking the cheap porridge their mother had prepared for sale.
Shehu glared at Nusaiba. "Look at this troublesome, aggressive girl! What happened this time, you shameless brat? Every single day, you are fighting with people—fighting with women, fighting with men, fighting with children! You are completely destroying my reputation on this street!"
Nusaiba, swelling with anger, snapped, "You know the truth, Abba! Mama, you know I never start a fight without a reason. Abba, I had no choice, and I even gave out all the food as charity today."
Abba yelled, "You just caused a financial loss for your mother! I don't care about your excuses. What I want to know is why you beat up a man?"
Nusaiba replied firmly, "He grabbed my buttocks! The very buttocks that no man has the right to touch until he pays my dowry! My body is sacred, and I will severely injure anyone who tries to violate me!"
Hearing this, Abba's expression softened. Deep down, he loved his daughter and didn't want anyone taking advantage of her. He went quiet and muttered, "Well, you are right."
Mama agreed, "You did the right thing, my daughter. He probably thought you were one of those loose girls who hawk food, but it is entirely your father's fault! If he had provided for his family, you wouldn't be out there exposed to such animals."
Nusaiba poured herself a bowl of porridge and drank it. Meanwhile, their father sat right in front of them, enjoying his premium tea loaded with condensed milk and sugar, which he had bought exclusively for himself. He always made sure to eat luxury food outside, completely indifferent to whether his wife and children were starving. Nusaiba was the eldest child, followed by her five younger siblings.
Later that afternoon, Shehu’s mother arrived from the village carrying a massive sack. She handed it to Mama, saying, "I brought this from my recent harvest to help ease your burden."
She pulled out large quantities of laundry soap, detergent, three measures of maize, two measures of millet, a measure of beans, dried chili peppers, and peanut cakes (kuli-kuli).
"I know exactly how my son Shehu behaves," the grandmother sighed. "Take this to relieve some of your stress; it’s not much, but it will help."
Mama thanked her profusely. Nusaiba and her siblings were overjoyed. There were days they went to bed on completely empty stomachs. Nusaiba immediately took some of the leftover food items and cooked a hearty meal for her siblings, and they ate until they were full.
As for Shehu, he remained completely unbothered, continuing to enjoy expensive meals outside while his family struggled to survive.

Part 9: The Struggle for Survival

When night fell, all the females slept in a single room with their mother to avoid Shehu's difficult and cold attitude. The children couldn't sleep properly because there was no dinner left. Shehu and Mama slept on the only bed, while Nusaiba and her younger siblings lay on a woven mat spread on the bare floor. The boys slept in a corner of the kitchen, surrounded by pots and dishes.
The next afternoon, there was absolutely nothing left for Nusaiba to cook. She managed to comfort her younger siblings and sent them off to the Islamic evening school (Islamiyya). The younger ones were fortunate enough to attend a free government primary school, but as for Nusaiba, her western education had ended the moment she graduated from primary school.
When the children returned, her younger brother, Ameer, complained, "Aunty Nusaiba, wallahi we are starving. We didn't eat anything last night."
Mama, overhearing their conversation, looked at her children with deep pity. "My children, I don't have a single thing left in this house except raw maize and one hundred and fifty naira cash."
Their younger sister, Ihsan, suggested, "Aunty, let's take the maize to the grinding mill! You can make tuwo for us. Even if it doesn't taste great, we will eat it to survive. Mama needs to keep the beans and millet for her business anyway."
Mama agreed that it was a good plan. She pulled out the 150 naira and handed it to Yasmin, who went to the market and bought fifty naira worth of soup ingredients, fifty naira worth of palm oil, and some Maggi cubes. Using some leftover dried baobab leaves (kuka) and peppers, they prepared a basic meal of tuwo.
As they ate, Mama looked at her eldest daughter and prayed, "Nusaiba, may Allah grant you a wealthy husband who will take me to Paris!"
Nusaiba laughed. "I prefer you say Dubai, Mama! That’s where tourists gather. What would we even do in London?"
Mama grimaced. "Oh, forget London! It’s a city of manual laborers. Besides, even if you marry a rich man, don't you dare spend a dime of his money to help Shehu! He has oppressed us for too long."
Ameer chimed in, "Who would ever give Abba a single kobo anyway?" They all laughed and continued chatting.
Ihsan, however, corrected them. "Come on, a father is still a father regardless of what he does. If you help him, Allah will open more doors of blessings for you."
Nusaiba sighed. "Hmm, Ihsan, you say that because you don't understand how much we've suffered under his neglect."
"We just have to be patient," Ihsan replied calmly. "Everything happens for a reason."

Part 10: The Encounter with Charity

Suddenly, a loud, energetic greeting echoed from the doorway as Siyama walked in.
Nusaiba grinned. "Look, it’s the infamous 'Charity'!"
Siyama, popularly known in the neighborhood as Charity, walked in and exchanged a high-five with Nusaiba.
Nusaiba began teasing her, "Hey, Charity!"
Siyama shot back playfully in broken English, "Charity begins at home! We must begin at home!" They both burst into laughter.
Siyama looked at Nusaiba's outfit and remarked, "Don't you guys ever get tired of wearing these same clothes? Always massive hijabs and old wax prints."
Nusaiba shot back, "Look at you! Who would ever look at you and know you're a decent Muslim Hausa girl? Look at your oversized shirt, trousers, and that peak cap. Even if they were new, it would be acceptable, but they look completely worn out!"
Charity looked down at herself and laughed. "You wouldn't understand, Nusaiba. Anyway, what did you guys cook today? In our house, we don't even have a grain of corn left, and my mother's business capital is completely depleted."
Nusaiba looked at her best friend compassionately. "We are in the same boat. We had nothing today except the morning porridge."
Charity eyed the pot. "Pass me the remaining porridge, let me at least fill my stomach."
Mama poured the remaining porridge for Charity, who drank it down eagerly. "Whew! Now I just need to find a place to relieve myself."
She turned to Nusaiba and said, "I am heading over to my aunt's house. Even though she never helps us, I have to pay her a visit, if only to see if I can get some food to fill my belly."
Nusaiba stood up quickly. "Wait for me, let's go together! Even if she isn't home, we will check on the neighbors and see if we can get a proper meal."
They high-fived each other, and Charity noted, "Perfect, it’s already 1:30 PM. Most households have already served lunch."
They lied to Mama that they were going to collect a debt owed to them, and they stepped out into the streets, walking all the way to the wealthy GRA district of Kano. The streets were quiet, with luxury cars driving in and out. They finally arrived at the grand mansion belonging to Charity’s aunt.
However, as they approached the gate, the security guard stopped them and said coldly, "They are not around. They have traveled to Mecca for Umrah."