It was Saturday, around three o'clock in the afternoon, when she arrived at her neighborhood. The area was extremely busy and teeming with people because it was a market district. The streets were buzzing with activity: blacksmiths hammering iron, fabric vendors, timber sellers, and coal merchants. Some people were smoking, while mechanics worked on motorcycles. The neighborhood was the very definition of a “ghetto.”

As she walked, sweat beaded on her forehead due to the intense sun and the haste in her step. She sensed a looming tension in the air. Upon entering her lane, she saw a crowd gathered around a pile of tires and wood, with gasoline nearby. She prayed to God that nothing violent would happen today. She hurried into an alleyway where two small houses faced each other. She paused in front of one, saw a padlock on the door, and turned to the house opposite where a woman sat in the courtyard.

Seeing her, the woman called out, “The doctor is back!”

The girl rolled her eyes slightly. They were large and white, clear as milk. She was barely fifteen years old, dressed in a white nursing uniform and a small white hijab. Her skin was a light caramel, framed by thick eyebrows and lush eyelashes. Her nose was long, and her small mouth had beautiful pink lips. Her forehead was covered in fine hair, matted down by sweat. Just last month, she had finished her WAEC exams, and her father had enrolled her in an auxiliary nursing program held on weekends at the LEA school grounds so she wouldn't stay idle at home.

The woman washing rice said, “Go into my room; your mother left the key on top of the fridge. She and the neighbors went to the teaching hospital in Gabari for a visit. They probably won't be back until evening.”

The girl nodded, retrieved the key, and went to her own house. She opened the door, passed through the entrance hall (zaure), and lifted a sack curtain to enter the tidy courtyard. The house was small, much like the one she had just left. She entered their parlor, which was clean, though the black leather sofas were torn, exposing the foam. Behind the parlor were two rooms. She entered the second one, which contained a small boarding-school-style mattress on the floor covered in a neat bedspread. Books were piled next to the bed, alongside a small food flask and a large wardrobe her mother had recently moved in.

As she bent down to remove her black school sneakers, she heard a sudden commotion and shouting in the neighborhood.

**"We must kill him! Kill him! Set the tires on fire! Burn him! We’ll show the government they can't close off our means of livelihood!"**

Her heart sank. She had been born and raised here, but she remained terrified of the neighborhood. Aside from school and Islamic classes, she went nowhere. Violence was a daily occurrence—beatings, necklacing (burning people with tires), and stabbings were common. Even the police were tired of the residents, who were "constant customers" at the station.

Hearing the screams and the sound of people running, she didn't wait to take off her other shoe. She ran to the parlor to lock the main door, terrified because her parents were out. She hated violence. Just as she reached for the curtain, someone burst into the house at a frantic pace. Before she could react, the curtain was flung aside, and a man stumbled into the room. She recoiled, steadying herself against a chair, staring in horror.

He was a tall, large man. His clothes were so blackened by soot and grime that their original color was unrecognizable. He was shirtless, and his entire body was charred like charcoal. His left arm was steaming as if it had been boiled. His face was blackened, blood trailed down his forehead, and he smelled of acrid smoke.

He looked at her. Seeing the young girl with wide eyes, trembling lips, and on the verge of a scream, he heard the mob outside shouting, **"He went into this alley! He's in here!"**

He quickly looked back at her and raised his hands slightly. In a strained voice that he tried to keep calm so as not to further terrify her, he gasped, **"Please help me!"**

### Episode 2 & 3 Summary

Safeerah, though paralyzed with fear, felt a surge of compassion. The man begged, "Hide me, please! They want to kill me!" When a loud bang shook the front door, she panicked but realized that letting him die would be a sin. She led him to her room and hid him inside the large wardrobe.

The mob, led by a local thug named Anas, burst into the house. In a desperate move to protect the man's hiding spot, Safeerah began to unbutton her dress to make it look like she was changing. When the men barged toward her room, Anas stopped them, rebuking them for intruding on a girl's privacy. Anas, a neighbor who respected Safeerah’s mother, believed her when she lied and said no one had entered. The mob moved on.

Once they were safe, Safeerah locked the house and tended to the man. She gave him water and offered him her only meal—palm oil rice—which he initially refused, touched by her selflessness. She used her basic nursing skills to clean the blood from his face and apply honey to his severe burns. Though she cried throughout the process out of empathy, she tried to stay professional, telling him her name was Safeerah Shu'ibu and that she dreamed of becoming a university-trained nurse.

The man revealed he was in Kano for a government project and had been set up after helping an accident victim. He used a borrowed phone from a neighbor to make a brief, cryptic call in English. As sirens approached and the police began dispersing the crowd, the man grew weak from fever and pain. Safeerah, hearing footsteps approaching their door again, urged him to hide back in the wardrobe.

She had been sitting alone at the canteen table for almost an hour with nothing in front of her except her black school backpack and a large drawing board leaning against it. She wore a long black abaya with a matching veil covering her head. Her face was bare, but her caramel skin had a glow so radiant one would assume she had a dedicated skincare routine—the literal definition of "glass skin." The fine hair along her forehead was laid perfectly, giving her an exotic, striking beauty. Her naturally pink lips were slightly pursed as she looked down, fidgeting with her beautiful white fingernails, clearly upset.

She looked up again at a nearby table where three girls sat with various meals and "posh" drinks, chatting away. Her stomach growled loudly; she hadn't eaten since having tea and bread in the morning, and it was now almost 5:00 PM. Lectures had ended at 2:00 PM, but she was still there waiting for Salma.

Aziz, who worked in the cafeteria and had been busy on his laptop, had noticed her since she went to pray and returned. He saw that her companions had ordered food but hadn't gotten her anything. He packed his laptop, bought a plate of Jollof rice with chicken and a juice, and brought the tray to her table. One of the chatting girls watched him as he approached.

He set the tray down with a friendly smile. “Assalamu Alaikum. My name is Aziz. I bought you lunc—”

"Excuse me, Mister, she’s a divorcee with a child!" a female voice interrupted sharply. The entire cafeteria went silent and turned to look. The speaker was a fair-skinned girl, no older than twenty-two, whose expensive clothing screamed wealth. Her two friends burst into malicious laughter.

Safeerah lowered her head in shame. Salma looked the man in the face and continued shamelessly, “I’m just saving you the trouble. She was only married for six months before her husband kicked her out while she was pregnant. She has a three-year-old son. Looks can be deceptive! I'm sure a young guy like you wouldn't settle for the daughter of our family's car washer.”

The other girls laughed harder. Overwhelmed by shame, Safeerah’s eyes filled with tears. she stood up abruptly, grabbed her bag and board, and bolted for the door. As she reached it, Salma called out, “Who did you leave my bag for to carry?”

Wiping tears with the back of her hand, Safeerah turned back, kept her head down, and silently took Salma's bag. Salma, ignoring Safeerah, turned to the guy who was still staring in shock. “My name is Salma, my friends call me 'Sams.' You’re welcome—I just saved you from a disaster. Let’s go, girls.”

They walked out, Safeerah trailing behind them. In the parking lot, Salma got into a 2024 Mercedes-Benz. Safeerah sat in the front passenger seat, and Salma sped off toward the GRA (Government Reserved Area).

"There's the University of Abuja in Gwagwalada, there’s FCE, there’s the Poly," Salma hissed while driving. “Why on earth would Momma put you in Nile University with me? Are we the same? Being seen with you lowers my status. Imagine me driving you like I’m your servant. Thank God it's the holidays; Momma will have to find someone else to drive you because I’m done. I hate poor people.”

Safeerah squeezed her eyes shut, terrified of Salma’s reckless speeding. When they arrived at a large mansion in the GRA, a thin man in a faded outfit stopped washing a car to open the gate. It was her father, Baffa. His eyes were milky, indicating he was partially blind. He smiled joyfully at the sight of them.

Salma parked and barked at him, “Wash this car right now, Baffa, because I'm going back out. And get my things out of the trunk and bring them inside. Hurry up, or you'll regret it.”

Safeerah’s heart ached. She moved to help him, but her father stopped her. "What are you doing? Go inside. Your mother is struggling with Waleed’s tantrums; go take him from her. Oh, and set this radio for me before you go." Safeerah took the radio, tears streaming down her face. Her father knew she was crying but didn't show it, simply telling her, “Go inside, my blessed daughter.”

### Episode 7 & 8 Summary

Inside the main house, Safeerah found her aunt (Momma) and Salma. Momma, despite being Baffa’s sister, treated Safeerah’s family like servants. She berated Safeerah for "upsetting" Salma and reminded her that she pays for their food, medical bills, and Safeerah’s private university tuition. Salma, vindictive as ever, declared that no one should buy special food for Safeerah’s son, Waleed, for the rest of the week, insisting he eat adult food or starve.

Safeerah found her mother, Mama, in the kitchen with three-year-old Waleed tied to her back. Mama comforted her, giving her a plate of leftover rice and spaghetti. Despite her hardships, Safeerah is a brilliant student about to start her industrial attachment (internship) at a construction company.

Later that night in their small BQ (Boys' Quarters) apartment, Safeerah tended to Waleed. He is a picky eater who only accepts expensive baby formulas like Aptamil and Gerber, which he considers "real" food. Checking her bank accounts, Safeerah realized she only had 18,200 Naira—not enough to cover his milk, cereal, and diapers.

The episodes conclude with the arrival of Salma’s brother, Shamsu, who scolds Salma for her behavior at clubs, while Safeerah stays awake, caring for her son and worrying about their future, determined to succeed and lift her parents out of this humiliating life.