A young man was walking hurriedly, full of anxiety, just like everyone else in the neighborhood. They were all rushing because of the threatening state of the sky; if fate willed it, a torrential downpour could burst forth at any moment in the town.

However, looking at him, you could immediately tell from his demeanor that he was completely devoid of peace of mind; his tense stride clearly betrayed his inner distress. He walked with the rapid pace characteristic of men built with a broad, powerful physique, occasionally adjusting into a light jog to ensure that the heavy storm clouds gathering over the town did not drench him on the road.

As the first few heavy drops of rain began to fall, he quickened his pace even more. His urgency was driven by two or three pressing concerns. First, he wanted to prevent the clothes he was wearing from getting soaked, as he intended to wear them again the very next day. He was also fiercely protecting the small backpack slung over his shoulder, which contained his school documents.

Secondly, he suddenly remembered his grandmother, **Dije**, who was home all by herself. He knew she was no longer fully mobile due to old age, which caused her legs to seize up from time to time. When he left that morning, her legs were already acting up, causing her severe and worsening pain over the last few days.

Shouting a greeting (*sallama*), he burst into the house. His eyes instantly fell upon Dije standing in the middle of their small courtyard, moving with great difficulty as she desperately tried to corral their livestock. The animals were bleating frantically, terrified by the dark storm clouds above.

He rushed over to her, took the animals from her hands, and led them toward the small makeshift shed where they were kept to tie them up. Meanwhile, his grandmother slowly turned back toward her room, quietly murmuring words of appreciation and encouragement to him.

While he was still inside tying up the livestock, the rain unleashed with full force. Before he could even step out of the shed, the water poured down so heavily that it completely drenched his body despite his efforts.

He quickly rushed to Dije’s sleeping quarters and began unrolling a large plastic tarp. This tarp was used to catch the rainwater leaking through the roof. Whenever it rained, they used this clever technique—binding a plastic sheet beneath the ceiling so that even when the water leaked through, it would collect inside the plastic instead of ruining the meager belongings in the room.

Once he finished securing the tarp, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. He reached up to the collar of his wet shirt and slowly began unbuttoning it, staring out at the downpour.

He looked at his shirt with a trace of disappointment; the rainwater had ruined it despite his wishes, and this was the exact clothing he had planned to wear when heading out the next day, if Allah spared his life.

Peering out from his vantage point inside the room, he watched the sheer violence of the wind and rain. It was a classic mid-rainy season storm—the kind that brought heavy destruction to people and their properties alike.

He let out a deep, heavy sigh, knowing all too well that unless Allah intervened, this storm would cause massive damage. Realizing he had no choice, he braved the downpour and bolted across the yard to his own tiny room. He lived here in the home of his elderly grandmother, who was his sole guardian and caretaker in life.

He changed his clothes, hanging up the wet ones to dry, and put on an old pair of shorts and a heavily worn-out shirt that was already fraying at the edges from years of use, but which served as his regular indoor clothing.

He sat down, retreating into a corner of the room. He scanned his surroundings for a moment, sighing quietly as he fixed his gaze on the doorway, watching the awesome power of Allah's rain pounding outside.

He let out another soft sigh and closed his eyes, his mind drifting toward the harsh, impoverished life he and his grandmother Dije endured in this house.

He had absolutely no one else but Dije in this world. Dije was the first face he saw when he opened his eyes; she was the one who raised him. Everything he had become today was because of her; she was his ultimate protector and sanctuary in this life.

To him, she was mother, father, and grandmother all wrapped into one. Since his childhood, he knew no other relative except Dije, who showered him with parental love and care.

Suddenly, a terrifying crash of thunder shook the air, accompanied by a flash of lightning so bright it forced his eyes open. He quickly began reciting a protective prayer under his breath: *"Subbuhul quddusun rabbul mala'ikati warruhi..."* (Pure and Holy is the Lord of the angels and the spirit).

Right then, a sharp scream echoing from their neighbors' side made him open his eyes completely, striking a sudden wave of panic through him. He knew that specific scream signaled disaster.

This was a recurring nightmare they faced every single year during the rainy season. The houses in this neighborhood were all ancient structures built from mud centuries ago.

Consequently, whenever the rainy season arrived, the residents lived with their hearts in their mouths, gripped by constant anxiety. Most families in the neighborhood could never find peace of mind until they saw the rains completely stop.

Deep, systemic northern poverty had taken a firm hold of the area. The residents lacked the financial means to build modern homes; only those blessed by Allah with a sudden financial breakthrough could afford to renovate their houses or relocate entirely.

Because of this, the neighborhood was widely referred to as "The Old Town" (*Tsohon Gari*). The vast majority of the houses belonged to the impoverished masses (*talakawa*), while the wealthy and the upwardly mobile youth preferred to move to the outskirts of the city to build modern, contemporary homes.

The house belonging to this young man’s grandmother was among those struggling talakawa properties facing the constant threat of collapse every rainy season.

Despite the ferocious wind and pounding rain, the neighborhood could still hear the desperate cries of certain residents whose homes were currently being destroyed by the storm.

Hearing this, other neighbors began trickling out of their houses to offer emergency assistance, as was their long-standing custom of mutual aid.

The young man first checked on his grandmother's room. He discovered that despite the plastic tarp he had tied up to deflect the leaking water, the sheer intensity of today's downpour had bypassed the plastic entirely. The elderly woman was crouching on the floor, frantically gathering old rags to soak up the water pouring directly from the rusted, ancient corrugated iron sheets of her roof.

"I hear screaming outside!" he yelled, reaching over to take the container she was using to scoop up the water. Before she could even hand it over, she urged him: “Go and help them for the sake of Allah!”

“From the moment I saw those clouds gathering, I knew this neighborhood would be at the mercy of Allah today. This rain is accompanied by a terrible wind. Look at my room—even with that clever plastic trick you did, the water is still flooding in today.”

The young man turned quickly and rushed out into the storm, leaving her talking to herself. The sight that greeted him outside shook him to his core. Water was everywhere, completely submerging the ground; it looked as though their entire neighborhood had been built in the middle of a flowing river.

He quickly looked to his left and saw that the house of **Malam Tanimu**, the woodcutter, had flattened completely to the ground, leaving no trace that a structure had ever stood there.

Malam Tanimu's family members were standing outside in the torrential rain, screaming at the top of their lungs and begging for help from the few neighbors who had emerged to provide emergency aid.

In a state of sheer panic, the young man rushed toward the scene. It was obvious from the family's frantic cries that someone had been buried under the collapsed mud walls.

At that moment, he noticed that only two other people had come out to help; everyone else was trapped inside their own homes, watching the unfolding judgment of God.

"Malam! Malam!" the women wailed. Malam Tanimu's wife stood in the middle of the collapsed ruins, wearing nothing but a single wrapper tied around her chest, slapping her head and cheeks in utter despair.

The young man advanced resolutely toward the collapsed room and began digging through the muddy earth with the frantic speed of a first responder rescuing someone on the brink of death. Seeing his bravery, the others joined in. Finally, by the grace of Allah, they spotted Malam Tanimu buried under the mud. He was unconscious. They dragged him out of the debris, completely unresponsive.

Everyone watched in awe as the young man skillfully and intelligently administered emergency first aid. Within moments, Malam Tanimu's hands began to twitch. Right at that second, another deafening crack of thunder shook the sky, followed by blinding lightning.

An even more intense wave of rain followed, heightening everyone's panic. They were desperately racing against the oncoming night, though fortunately, it was still late afternoon and total darkness had not yet set in.

Seeing that the other helpers were beginning to disperse back to their respective homes, leaving only the victims and **Amadi** (the young man) working over Malam Tanimu, the urgency grew.

The terrifying roar of floodwaters rushing toward the neighborhood from another part of the city caught their attention. Amadi raised his head and yelled, “Someone help me lift him so we can leave this place!”

Looking around, he realized that everyone else had vanished; only he and the immediate family of their neighbor, Malam Tanimu, remained. With the help of Malam's family, they managed to lift the unconscious man and carry him toward the surviving veranda of Amadi's house.

They aimed to take shelter there until the rain subsided before deciding on the next step. However, as they approached his grandmother's section of the house, Amadi was horrified to see his grandmother, Dije, sitting outside in the pouring rain. The water was beating down on her heavily as she rested her chin on her hand, staring blankly at the overwhelming power of nature.

Seeing them approach, she walked toward them in a panic, crying out: “Amadi! My room is shaking and vibrating as if it's about to fly into the sky! That's why I ran out to stand here.”

Amadi looked at her room, his heart pounding with fear. He was still carrying half of Malam Tanimu’s weight against his shoulder. Without putting the unconscious man down, he guided everyone, including his grandmother, toward his own small room. They all crowded inside, watching the awe-inspiring and terrifying will of Allah unfold outside.

Massive stones and debris rolled down from behind the house, slamming into the base of the old woman’s shaking mud room. Ironically, the debris piled up perfectly against the structure, wedging it tightly into place and preventing it from vibrating or collapsing.

Only then did Amadi let out a massive sigh of relief. He entered the room, catching his breath as he sat down on a small stool, silently surveying the crowded space and deeply pitying the harsh reality of their impoverished lives.

Meanwhile, in a completely different world across town, the occupants of a luxurious modern mansion had absolutely no idea it was even raining. The advanced architectural design of their home completely insulated them from the elements; unless you stepped outside, you would never know that a historic, destructive downpour was currently ravaging the town.

They went about their luxurious daily lives, entirely oblivious to the severe hardships and psychological trauma the less fortunate citizens were enduring.

**Hajiya Saude** walked into her daughter’s room wearing a grey hijab. She was a fair-skinned, middle-aged woman of average height and slender build; one look at her revealed she was still quite youthful.

Her eyes landed on her daughter, who was lying down reading a book, half of her body exposed because she was wearing a short, comfortable house dress.

“For goodness' sake, Maamah! How can someone remain lying down like this since morning? I don't think you've even peeked outside today. You simply refuse to listen to advice, Maamah.”

The girl, whom she called **Maamah**, raised her head with a warm smile, slowly sitting up as she replied: “I swear, Ummah, I was just about to come out and see you, but studying for this upcoming test completely consumed my attention.”

"Please forgive me, Ummah," she added, swinging her legs off the bed. Her mother watched her daughter's fair feet and remarked: “You didn't even go to your stepmother's (*Mama*) section today to greet her.”

“I absolutely detest this detached, indifferent attitude of yours. It makes people think I am the one isolating you from the family or forbidding you from mingling with your relatives. I truly hate this habit of you distancing yourself from everyone.”

"Ummah, I'm sorry. I will go and greet them right this minute. What time do you think it is anyway?" She raised her head to check the wall clock, which read 5:30 PM.

"Oh, so there's still time. But I noticed the sky has turned incredibly dark. It's raining cats and dogs outside, but you're cooped up in here, completely oblivious to the world. This kind of isolated lifestyle isn't good, Maamah. You need to mingle with your family and stop isolating yourself," Ummah concluded, her voice tinged with evident frustration.

"Ummah, I'm sorry," Maamah replied. She turned and walked out of the room, heading into the bathroom to freshen her face. As she stepped out to walk to Mama's section, she finally felt the chilly breeze of the rainy season piercing her skin.

Walking gracefully and unhurriedly, she walked down a long corridor on the eastern wing that faced their own apartment. Finding the living room door wide open, she stepped inside, offering a soft, polite greeting.

Everyone turned to look at her and returned her greeting. She walked straight toward the woman sitting on the carpet, kneeling down respectfully before saying, “Mama, good afternoon.”

The woman looked at her in surprise and asked, “Maamah! Have you been home all this time? Did this massive rain storm meet you here?”

Maamah offered a gentle smile, sitting down close to her as she replied, “I didn't go anywhere today, Mama. I’ve been inside studying for a test we are writing tomorrow, if Allah spares our lives.”

“Studying since morning while cooped up in a room... I bet you haven't even eaten a single thing since today, all because of your stubbornness. Just a moment ago, we were talking about you, noting how heavily it's raining today.”

"I swear I’ve been home, Mama, I didn't go out," she said, adjusting her posture. Her eyes caught a plate filled with a traditional northern delicacy placed in front of Mama. It was a rich salad of moringa leaves (*zogale*), heavily garnished with ground peanut cake (*kuli-kuli*), fresh tomatoes, onions, and scotch bonnet peppers.

"I suppose you want to eat some?" Mama asked. Maamah nodded her head slightly. "Yasmin, pour some for her," Mama instructed. The girl named **Yasmin** pouted, grumbling, “But Mama, it's not even that much, and besides, you already sent some to their section.”

“Mind your business! This is exactly what she wants to eat, so go grab a plate and serve her. Or better yet, leave it—I know how little she eats anyway. Just put your hand in here and let's eat together from the same plate.”

Maamah looked at her hands, but before she could move, Mama interjected, “You know very well we don't eat with unwashed hands, Miss Cleanliness! Go wash your hands first, then come join me.”

Maamah stood up and went into the kitchen. The moment she left, Mama turned to Yasmin and scolded her: “I highly dislike this hostile attitude you girls show toward this child. It is exactly why she keeps her distance from us lately. I know this isn't her natural character; she's being forced into it.”

"Oh please, Mama! Is she your mate that she should constantly be glued to your side? She should go hang around her own mother instead of always imposing herself on others," Yasmin muttered right as Maamah emerged from the kitchen.

Maamah sat back down with Mama, and they ate the moringa salad together, exchanging light conversation. After taking barely four bites, Maamah announced that she was full. She stood up, went back to the kitchen to wash her hands, and returned with a bowl of water for her stepmother. “Mama, here is some water to wash your hands when you are done.”

"My goodness, Maamah, your neatness is unparalleled! That is precisely why I love you so much," Mama praised. Maamah didn't linger; seeing that the sunset prayer (*Magariba*) was approaching, she bade them goodbye and returned to her mother's wing. Instead of resting, she did some light tidying up before entering her room to perform her prayers. By then, the chilly rainy-season breeze had intensified, blowing through every opening.

She did not step outside again until the following morning. Knowing she had an examination that day, she woke up early and got ready. In their living room, she found her mother, Ummah, speaking with their domestic maid, **Tani**. Her mother’s face looked deeply troubled.

"Ummah, good morning," Maamah greeted from behind, causing her mother to turn around and answer. "Are you ready to leave?" her mother asked. “Yes, Ummah. I want to arrive early so I can do some revision over there.”

"Make sure you eat breakfast before leaving; you cannot go out on an empty stomach. Tani, please bring her some hot water quickly," Ummah ordered, her face still devoid of any joy.

"Ummah, did something happen?" Maamah inquired. Her mother turned to her and explained, "Oh Maamah, yesterday's rain caused massive devastation across the town. There are reports of several lives lost." Just then, Tani the maid emerged from the kitchen, complaining, “Hajiya, I think our matches have finished.”

“For heaven's sake, Tani! I’ve told you repeatedly to alert me before items finish so I can restock. Ummah, let me just leave; otherwise, I’ll be late. I will eat at the school cafeteria when I get there.”

"Do you have money on you?" Ummah asked. "Yes, the money Abba gave me is completely intact; I haven't spent a dime," she replied. Offering her motherly blessings, Ummah watched her daughter walk out the door. Maamah glanced toward Mama's wing, but noticed it was still locked up, so she proceeded straight out of the mansion.

Ummah sat back down, silently trailing her daughter with prayers for success and protection.

Maamah was Ummah’s only child, born after eighteen long years of marriage before Allah finally blessed her with this daughter. She named her **Zarah**, after her husband’s mother, **Fatima**, who was still very much alive.

Ummah’s long battle with infertility had put immense pressure on her husband. Just one year into their marriage, his family forced him to take a second wife, which was when he married Mama. Mama conceived almost immediately after entering the house, a feat that instantly elevated her status in the eyes of the entire extended family.

Worldly love and adoration were showered heavily upon Mama by both her husband and his relatives. She became the pampered favorite, effectively usurping Ummah's position as the senior wife.

As time went on, Mama went on to give birth to two boys and three girls, followed by another set of boys who were age-mates with Zarah. This stark reality made Ummah completely yield all domestic authority to Mama. Furthermore, Mama was significantly older than Ummah, having com