When Kuluwa heard him say he would maim her and leave her crippled, her heart sank. She realized she was alone with him now that Haule had left to find help.

Desperate to deceive him, she cried out, "I heard you! I’ll pay for the entire outfit!" But her words only enraged him further. He set down the axe and the firewood he was holding because he felt Kuluwa was still taking him for a joke. She didn't understand the sheer bitterness and frustration she had caused him. He began pounding on her door, but it wouldn't budge. Kuluwa’s heart hammered against her ribs in sheer terror; it seemed Malam Nura had truly gone mad.

Realizing the door wouldn't open easily, he decided to break it down. He looked around, ran to fetch a heavy wooden pestle, his neck soaked with sweat and his mind racing. He thought to himself that once he had finished crippling Kuluwa—making her a woman without legs—he would hand her a divorce paper. He saw this as the only solution; otherwise, even when the new bride arrived, there would be no peace.

As he began battering the door with great force, Kuluwa started screaming for help. Meanwhile, Haule had made it outside and saw a crowd of people and children gathered. She saw her own children, Alawiyya and the others, standing by watching the commotion. She spotted Hudu coming toward her in a hurry, looking unsettled.

In a panic, she said, "Hudu, there’s a massive problem in the house!" She pointed toward their home.

Alarmed, Hudu asked, “What is it?”

"It's Kuluwa," Haule replied.

Fearfully, Hudu asked, “God, I hope she hasn't poured palm oil on him or locked him inside?”

Haule, fed up with his guessing—though he had moved close so others wouldn't overhear—looked at him and said, “If it were palm oil, it would be easy. I swear, she burned his wedding trousers!”

Hudu’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He clutched his chest. “That woman is a disaster! Does she have any idea how much that fabric cost?”

Haule cut him off. “I’m telling you, he’s in there with an axe, threatening to chop off her legs!”

Hudu rushed ahead with Haule following. He knew his friend’s obsession with money and status. Malam Nura had been dreaming of selling that fabric later and had even contacted brokers to find buyers after the wedding. For Kuluwa to do this was an unforgivable blow to his ambitions.

Inside the house, Malam Nura realized that breaking the door was a major task, so he took off his robe and hung it up. In his haste earlier, he hadn't even put on a singlet. Hadiza’s call—threatening to marry someone else if he wasn't on time—had completely scrambled his mind. He hadn't even rubbed on any lotion; his skin was dry and ashy. The only thing on his face was the blob of oil Haule had smeared on his nose, which was now mixed with sweat and grime. He looked nothing like a groom about to start a honeymoon.

Stripped to his shorts, he took the pestle and began hammering the metal plating of the door. Hudu rushed in and, without realizing it, stepped right on Malam Nura’s wedding cap, crushing it. He stopped dead when he saw Malam Nura: shirtless, wearing only the burnt, thigh-high remains of his expensive trousers, legs looking charred as if he’d just escaped a house fire. He was swinging at the door with all his might.

Hudu grabbed him, trying to calm him down. Malam Nura, face distorted with rage, barked: “Hudu! Hudu! Hudu! How many times did I call your name?”

"Three times," Hudu replied, holding him back.

“Then stay out of this! Do one thing for me: go to Hadiza. Beg her, tell her to beg her parents to wait for me. If she marries someone else, I am finished! My life is over!”

Hudu suppressed a laugh, seeing his friend so completely unhinged over a woman. Hadiza had truly captured his soul.

"Calm down, my friend," Hudu said. “Hadiza has no husband but you.”

Still clutching the pestle, Malam shouted, “Just go and do what I said! You don't know Hadiza. She called and told me to be there in seconds. She didn't say how many seconds, but she said if I’m late, she’s marrying the next man in line!”

Inside the room, Kuluwa listened with ears sharp as a snake's. Her heart was light. She prayed the wedding would fall through; nothing would make her happier than seeing Malam Nura’s pride dragged through the dirt.

Hudu said, “You’re going to lose your eyes while looking for eyebrows. You’re wasting time here while someone else could swoop in and marry her. Let's go and get the marriage done, and when we return, you can deal with Kuluwa.”

Malam Nura looked toward the window where he could see Kuluwa. She didn't look remorseful at all; in fact, seeing Hudu arrive had made her feel safe and bold again.

Malam gritted his teeth. "You know no one is going to buy a lone robe without the trousers, right? She has ruined me! I can't go to the wedding in these short-shorts! People will see my bare legs. Look at what she did—they barely cover my thighs! They’re practically underwear!" He pulled at the fabric to show Hudu. Hudu struggled not to laugh. Malam Nura was worried about a 30,000 naira outfit while his entire life was in chaos.

Hudu said, “Forget the trousers. Even in Kano, the shop I bought them from had none left in that bundle. Even if they get more, the pattern won't match exactly. Just take the loss.”

Malam couldn't even speak; he just glared at Kuluwa through the window, wishing he could turn into a fly, buzz through the screen, and carry out his revenge.

Instead of answering Hudu, he turned to Kuluwa. “Kuluwa, do you have any fabric with this pattern?”

She looked at him with genuine surprise. She almost laughed but held it back, knowing he’d claim she didn't care about his plight. She tilted her head mockingly. “Haba, Malam. Where would I get such expensive fabric? This is the first time in your life you've even sewn something this nice, and you only did it so you could sell it later!”

Enraged, he moved as if to strike her. “I asked a simple question!”

Hudu intervened. “Leave her. The one who did the deed is locked in the room. Don't take it out on Haule just because she's an easy target.”

Malam snapped, “Is she your wife or mine?”

Hudu apologized, then asked with a straight face, "Are you really planning to wear a woman's wrap (*zani*) to the wedding if she has one?" He swallowed his laughter, imagining Nura in a skirt.

Malam Nura fell silent, imagining the scene at the wedding: people congratulating him, taking photos with Hadiza, her smiling at him. But Kuluwa had stalled everything.

“You think I'll go there looking like a Yoruba man in a wrap? If I do that, Hadiza will never marry me! I was thinking we find a tailor to sew the wrap into trousers quickly. Even if the fabric doesn't match, he can use a different fabric for the top part because the long robe will cover the waist anyway!”

Hudu’s eyes filled with tears—not from sadness, but from the sheer effort of holding back his laughter. Malam Nura, in his burnt shorts, looked like a madman. Hudu also knew that Nura's "love" for Hadiza was based on a lie; he heard her ex-husband was rich and thought she was too. He wanted to marry her, spend her money, and then divorce her. But irony had struck: he was the one spending all his money on her, and Kuluwa had just burned his best asset.

Hudu suggested, “Just forget the robe and wear something else.”

Nura looked at him like he was crazy. “Hudu, look at my wardrobe! I have nothing else fit for a public gathering. If I don't wear this outfit, Hadiza won't even take a photo with me! She said she wants to hang our wedding photo in her room. Kuluwa, I swear, if I get my hands on you, I won't just chop off your legs—I’ll chop you into pieces!”

He swung the pestle against the door again. Kuluwa, knowing the door was sturdy, shouted back, “By the time I come out, you won't be here, and you better send my divorce papers!”

"You're a liar and a villain!" he screamed. “I won't waste the money I spent marrying you. I’m not divorcing you yet. I’m going to keep you here and make your life a living hell!”

To provoke him further, Kuluwa shouted, “Haule, pass me that robe he took off! Pass it through the window so I can finish the job and burn that too! Then he can go ahead and borrow your wrapper since he wants to wear one so badly!”

Malam Nura looked at the clothesline in horror. His phone began to ring. Haule fetched it, along with his crushed cap and shoes. He saw Hadiza’s name on the screen.

"Answer it!" Hudu urged. “Since when are you afraid of a woman?”

"You don't understand love, Hudu," Nura whimpered. “My heart is in shreds. I thought I only loved money, but this woman has broken me.”

"Serves you right," Hudu thought. “You treat women like trash, and now you've met your match.”

Nura answered the phone, and Hadiza immediately began screaming at him. “Nura! Are you trying to humiliate me? The wedding time has passed! It’s past 11:00 AM! My father gave us one more hour. If you aren't here, I’m marrying whichever man in the crowd looks the best!”

Nura cleared his throat, trying to sound dignified. “My love, I'm almost there! No one in this town dresses better than me. You’ll be amazed when you see this outfit; even Hudu can't stop praising it. We were just delayed because we were packing the wedding meat into bowls to distribute.”

Hudu looked at the stove. There was only a pot of water boiling. There was no food, let alone meat. Nura had told his friends there would be no food because he had no money to waste. Yet here he was, half-naked in burnt shorts, telling her how good he looked.

Hadiza replied, “Good! My friends and sisters are waiting. I told them we have the same fabric and that you’ll look even better than me.”

Nura looked at his ruined trousers and forced himself to say, "You won't be disappointed. My cap is set perfectly." Haule winced, looking at the crushed cap in his hand.

Hadiza continued, “Zainaba’s father showed up and asked me to marry him instead...”

Nura’s heart nearly stopped. Kuluwa let out a loud, mocking cheer from inside the room.

"Don't marry him!" Nura shouted.

"Of course not," Hadiza said. “I want my Nura. He’s trying to brag about his money, but I know you're richer. Your house is probably a thousand times better than his.”

Nura nodded frantically. “We are coming right now!”

He hung up and turned to Haule. “Haule, please! Find me a wrap to rent! I’ll pay anything! Or even a skirt, as long as the color matches. I’ll use a razor to cut it and sew it into trousers myself!”

Haule and Hudu burst into uncontrollable laughter. Malam Nura, the neighborhood tough guy, had been reduced to this. He glared at them. From the room, Kuluwa shouted a proverb: “The world keeps turning, and the frog has fallen into hot water!”

Hudu finally said, “Forget renting a skirt. I’ll go to my house and find something of mine for you to wear.”

"Is it new?" Nura asked. “I can't wear old clothes to Hadiza's wedding! If I do, she'll kick me out. I’d rather borrow something from the dry cleaners.”

"Don't you dare," Hudu warned. “If you wear a customer's clothes to a public wedding, the real owner might be there and strip you naked in front of everyone! You only get away with that at night.”

Hudu left to get the clothes. Nura watched him go, jealous of how good Hudu looked in his own clothes, fearing the "best man" would outshine the groom. As soon as Hudu was out of sight, Nura’s rage boiled over again. He threw the pestle aside, ran, and did a flying kick against Kuluwa’s door.

The door finally gave way. Kuluwa, who had been relaxed, gasped as the door swung open. She saw her end approaching.

Nura landed hard on his back from the kick, but he didn't care. Kuluwa tried to bolt past him. She stepped right on his thigh and chest as he tried to get up. She flew past him like lightning, but he managed to grab her leg. He dragged himself toward his axe.

Kuluwa screamed at the top of her lungs, “Help! My leg! Haule, call the neighbors!”

"Not just your leg!" Nura roared. “Today I’m going to slaughter you like a cow for what you did to my trousers!”

Haule ran out to the street. She saw Hudu and sent a child to bring him back. Hudu ran back into the house, Kuluwa’s screams ringing in his ears. He found Nura pinning her down, lining up the axe.

"Nura, stop! What are you doing?" Hudu shouted, grabbing his arm.

“Let me cripple her! She'll never do this to anyone again!”

They struggled and wrestled until Kuluwa managed to break free. She ran and clung to Haule, then switched and tried to hide behind Hudu, nearly knocking him over.

"Kuluwa, that's Hudu, not me!" Haule yelled. "Don't hug a man who isn't your relative!" But Kuluwa was beyond reason; she was looking death in the face.

Just then, seven women from the neighborhood entered the house, led by a praise-singer. “We’ve come for the festivities! The women’s side is full and everyone is waiting for the groom!”

Malam Nura immediately snatched up his robe and bolted into his room before anyone could see his burnt shorts. Kuluwa slumped to the ground, panting, having narrowly escaped death. Haule began welcoming the guests, while Kuluwa’s sisters arrived and began fueling her resolve to stay and fight.