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Absolute darkness enveloped the entire room, so complete that she could not even see her own palms, let alone her surroundings, the distance between her and the walls, or whether she could reach one to press her back against it and perhaps find some relief from the gnawing agony of hunger tearing through her stomach.
She could neither move forward nor backward, remaining frozen in her seat within the dark room. Ever since she had set foot in it, she had known nothing but misery and turmoil. She clutched her abdomen, wincing as a searing, fiery pain burned inside her—the cruel work of intense hunger. The last time she had food was the leftover tuwo tossed to her the previous night, which hadn't even amounted to five full bites before it was gone.
She crouched in one spot, hands pressed to her stomach, shivering from the cold as though she had been doused in ice water in the dead of winter.
She forced herself upright, crawling and groping until she reached the wall, leaning against it and breathing heavily, drained of all strength and energy. Unfortunately, it offered no respite from the hunger and torment plaguing her. Clutching her stomach as hunger ravaged her, she recalled that since they threw her into this room, they had brought her food only three times: yesterday's leftover tuwo, four akara balls tossed to her the morning before yesterday, and in the evening, a heap of rice with absolutely nothing in it—not even pepper.
She knew they were using hunger as a weapon because she had refused to give them her family's phone numbers. She had vowed that if their release depended on ransom money, she would rather die than have them pay it.
It was deeply tragic and infuriating that kidnapping had become a common occurrence in our time. You hear of someone being abducted here or there; it is sickening to hear or witness. People are traded for ransom like tomatoes and peppers—it sounds like a fairytale.
The greatest tragedy was the suspicion that someone close to them was conspiring and orchestrating these targeted abductions. Otherwise, how would these criminals know about her, someone who barely went out? Yet, in her case, it wasn't the work of an informer; the kidnappers had simply ambushed her on the road. That was why they did not have her family's number, and she stubbornly refused to give it to them despite the daily torture of hunger and beatings.
She burst into tears from the overwhelming suffering, though no sound escaped her lips. "Woe is me, Jidderh... Yaa Imran, Ammi, Abbi, Islam... Where are you? Come to my rescue! Come save me from this plight in the hands of these wicked oppressors." She lay down on the cold floor of the room, breathing heavily, her stomach so sunken and hollow it felt as though it would touch her backbone.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, the room flooded with light. A sharp, searing pain pierced her eyes, unaccustomed to such brightness after total darkness. She quickly covered her eyes with a small cry, turning her head and shielding her face with her hand to protect her eyes from the intense glare that caused them to burn.
At the same time, a wave of dizziness washed over her as she took in the brightly lit room. After a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she lifted her head to look ahead. She let out a startled gasp upon seeing a man sitting on a chair. She hadn't heard him enter, so his presence came as a complete surprise—especially since his face was covered by a mask, leaving only his eyes visible.
Clasping her hands together in a pleading gesture and weeping, she said, "Please take me back to my family. Fear God; what you are doing is pure tyranny."
The man nodded and said, "Alright, no problem. Just give us their number so we can tell them where to drop you."
Though panicked, she wasn't so disoriented as to miss his angle. As soon as he finished speaking, she realized what he was after—he wanted the number so they could call and demand ransom.
"How much are you going to ask for my ransom?" she asked, sizing up the man, who was tall and heavily built.
Straight to the point, he replied, "Two hundred million, because just by looking at you, you don't look like the child of ordinary poor people."
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. Two hundred million? Not even their entire extended family combined could raise that amount. She would never give them the number; she refused to add any more burden to Abbi, who was already suffering. She knew well that ever since Abbi returned to Nigeria, his mind had been ill at ease, and she would not add the torment of an impossible ransom to his worries.
Bursting into bitter laughter, she said, "Don't waste your time. This Jiddar standing before you is a child of koko and kosai [porridge and bean cake]. I only wear the clothes of the wealthy, but my father is a dirt-poor man whose very doorstep struggles to say the opening prayers of survival."
Staring hard at her, he said, "Oh really? What about the expensive designer clothes you're wearing?"
She replied, "They were given to me as cast-offs from the house where my mother does laundry."
He burst out laughing and said, "You're lying! Even if your father isn't as rich as we think, you clearly didn't come from a home that lives on scraps." Barking at her, he commanded, "Give us your parents' numbers so we can state your ransom!"
She shook her head vigorously like a lizard and said, "No, I won't give you anyone's number. You might as well just kill me."
He shook his head and said, "It seems you haven't learned your lesson yet, but I'm certain that what comes next will force you to give us the number—so that you yourself will cry and beg us to take the number and call them to pay your ransom just to escape this suffering."
He stood up and walked toward her. His eyes roving over her chest made her heart flutter with dread. She curled into a ball, shivering from the cold, as he grabbed her arms and pushed her back, burying his face near her neck and letting out a vile growl.
She fought with all her might, unable to break free from his grip. Weeping, she recited every single prayer that came to her mind in that terrifying moment of attempted assault and utmost oppression.
At that exact moment, a miracle occurred: despite his best efforts, his manhood completely failed to arouse. Frustrated, he pulled away, dragging her up and trying to shake it into action, but it remained entirely limp. Livid, he stood up, shoved her rudely to the side, and stormed out of the room in a rage.
She let out a long breath, whispering, "Alhamdulillah. Oh Allah, You are worthy of all praise. Thank You, God, for this rescue You brought me."
Slowly, they emerged from the massive shopping mall. He was holding her hand and talking to her with a smile, but her attention was entirely elsewhere—fixed on the Samsung Z Fold smartphone in her other hand. Noticing this, he took the phone from her, saying, "Rumana, what are you looking at? I'm talking to you, and your mind isn't on me at all."
She reached out to grab the phone back, but he held it behind his back, staring at her intently as he demanded, "Tell me what you're looking at in there first."
She smiled and replied, "I'm reading a book by my favorite writer, Aysher Angel."
Clasping his head, he groaned, "Gosh! I forgot something. Wait for me in the car; I'll be right back."
She nodded and said, "Alright."
She reached for her phone again, but he flicked her nose, playfully stuck his tongue out at her, and turned back toward the shopping mall without returning the device.
She walked gracefully toward the parking lot. She was very fair—so much so that her skin had a golden-yellow hue due to her light complexion. She wore an umbrella-cut lace gown, her head elegantly wrapped in a matching headscarf with a shawl draped over her shoulder, adorned with gold necklaces and bracelets.
She turned to look back at him with a warm smile on her face. Ever since their father passed away, Yaya Junaid had never let her feel the pain of loss; he had stepped into their father's shoes, providing luxuries she hadn't even enjoyed while Abbi was alive. If all older brothers treated their younger sisters this way after losing a father, it would surely ease a great fraction of the pain of grief.
"Imran, stop stressing yourself. In sha Allah, Jidderh will be found in good health," Ahmad said as he steered the car through heavy traffic.
The man called Imran turned to look at his friend, his face etched with raw anguish. "Ahmad, you have to understand why I'm stressed. It's been three days with no sign of Jidderh. The disappearance of a young, unmarried girl in this era is a massive crisis, especially for her parents and siblings. Our only prayer is that Allah protects her honor, safeguards her, and returns her to us in good health."
Ahmad replied, "Amin."
Imran continued, "You must understand why I'm like this. Ever since this happened, Ammi has been in constant tears. Abbi puts on a brave face, but one glance at him reveals he is drowning in profound distress and confusion. To put it briefly, no one's mind is at peace in our house." As he spoke, his eyes scanned the passing pedestrians, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Jidderh.
Just as they rounded a corner, his heart skipped a beat. He looked, looked again, and even pinched himself to verify what his eyes were seeing. Without a doubt, it was her—it was Jidderh! His speech cut off entirely at the sight of Rumana.
"Jidderh!!!!" he blurted out urgently.
Ahmad looked where he was staring and said, "By Allah, it's her." He pulled the car over to the side of the road. Before he could even park properly, Imran flung the door open, rushed over to her, pulled her into a tight embrace, and let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Jidderh! Alhamdulillah, we've found you. All praise belongs to Allah!"
At that exact moment, anger, disgust, and frustration consumed Rumana's heart. Just who did this wretched beggar think he was to pull her into an embrace?
Furious, she pushed him away, looking down at him with utter contempt. "Hey, mister! What kind of madness and indecency is this? Are you shameless, or has your foolishness blinded you so much that you can't recognize people?"
Imran didn't care about her harsh words; the sheer joy of finding her filled his heart. He grabbed her hand, saying, "Jidderh!"
Rumana glared at him with pure irritation, ripped her hand away, and snapped, "I am not Jidderh. This is Rumana."
He shook his head, saying, "Jidderh, I am not playing games with you. Let's go home," he finished with a stern voice.
"Our parents are worried sick," he added. "Ammi and Abbi are in profound agony over your disappearance."
In her mind, she thought, Good grief. Outwardly, she scowled and said, "I told you, my name is not Jidderh, and I don't know you. Move away and give me some space before I gather a crowd and disgrace you!"
She was already regretting her decision to let their security detail stay behind while they went out alone. If their bodyguards had been with them, this low-class beggar wouldn't have even dared to approach her car, let alone touch her body.
For the first time, he barked a stern command: "Jidderh!!!" shouting her name with force.
She stepped back quickly. She hated yelling; she hadn't been raised in a home where people shouted at her. By now, the situation was genuinely frightening her, and she turned around hoping to spot Junaid, but there was no sign of him.
With a trembling voice, she said, "Mister, I don't know you. I've never seen you before. The name you're calling me is not my name. My name is Rumana. I'm not Jidderh."
He ignored her, fully convinced that her captors must have subjected her to something that scrambled her mind—how else could Jidderh fail to recognize him? He grabbed her hand again, saying, "Jidderh, did something happen to you that made you forget your older brother Imran? Come on, let's go home. Our parents are in anguish and worry. Ever since you went missing, our family has been in turmoil. Ammi has been crying nonstop, and Abbi has found no rest."
Infuriated by his grip on her hand, she jerked away, delivered a sharp slap across his cheek, and stared at him with supreme disdain. "Are you out of your mind?! Is this some sort of prank?! I told you and I'll repeat it: my name is not Jidderh, it is Rumana, and I don't know you!"
Imran clutched his cheek, staring at her in shock, while Ahmad's eyes bulged wide. This was serious—Jidderh, who wouldn't even dare look a man directly in the eye when speaking, had just slapped her older brother Imran!
Rumana turned to Ahmad and said, "Hey mister, grab your friend and get out of here before I have people beat him senseless for this public harassment!"
Yet, Ahmad's response only added to her frustration, as he casually said, "Jidderh, don't do that."
She was rendered speechless, tapping her fingers against her palm with a mocking laugh as if watching a bizarre stage play or a fairytale. Incredulous at the surreal situation, she muttered, "God is great! Here I am, Rumana, witnessing this madness. It seems both of you have lost your minds."
Imran shouted her name a second time: "Jidderh!!!!" Without another word, he grabbed her hand and dragged her toward their parked car by the roadside.
She fought back with all her might, but could not wrench her hand from his firm grip. Her eyes widened, and her heart plummeted. What was happening to her? She had heard stories of kidnappings—could it be that she had been targeted, tracked all the way from Kaduna to Katsina and snatched?
She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Let go of me!" trying desperately to pry his fingers apart, but his grip was unyielding and his strength vastly superior.
Imran looked at her with concern. "Jidderh, I am not going to hurt you. I am taking you home to our parents."
Incensed, she yelled at him, "Let go of me, or I'll scream thief! Kidnappers!" He kept walking as if he hadn't heard a word.
Realizing he was entirely serious, she gathered all her breath and let out a piercing scream that instantly drew the attention of passersby. A crowd gathered around them, and seeing her chance, she burst into tears and addressed the onlookers: "I don't know him! He just came up to me, calling me Jidderh and saying all sorts of things..."
Imran cut her off: "She's lying. She's my younger sister. Today makes it three days since she went missing from home."
She was speechless as she watched them conspire and spin outright lies right in front of her. When had she ever shared blood with this person? Why would she ever associate with a peasant like him? What hurt and angered her the most was that he spoke these lies with absolute conviction, knowing fully well they were false.
Before she could dwell on it further, an elderly man's voice pierced her ears: "You don't even need to swear; anyone who looks at you and looks at her can tell she's your blood." A young man beside him added, "That's right, absolutely."
She screamed, "I told you I am not her! I don't know him! What kind of madness has possessed you all to link me to this poor, destitute beggar? Why are you doing this to me? Or did you all plot a conspiracy to harm me? Well, whatever your game is, let me tell you now—you will fail, and your plots will come to nothing!" Pointing at Imran, she declared, "This person and I have no relation whatsoever, near or far. How on earth would I have any connection to this wretched beggar? Look at him and look at me; our clothing alone shows the distance between us!"
An older man chimed in, "Young lady, take life easy. Go along with your brother. Young man, take her home."
She felt like screaming her lungs out. "I'm telling you, he is not my brother! I don't know him!"
The man replied, "Such is life. May God reform our youth."
Realizing the grim reality of her situation, she crossed her arms over her chest and proudly declared, "I am not going anywhere!"
Ahmad urged, "Please help us, wallahi, she is his younger sister."
She clutched her head in anger and frustration, realizing that no one in the crowd believed her, especially with Imran showing them photos on his phone. She was lost for words.
Feeling Imran attempt to hoist her over his shoulder, she struggled and beat him with all her might, but he didn't even budge.
Realizing they were about to bodily toss her into the car, she stopped resisting and said, "Fine! Stop right there, hold on. Lies may bloom, but they bear no fruit, and I know you're lying. Let's go to your house. When your family looks at me and sees I am not her, they will force you to bring me back. If your own head isn't screwed on right, I expect theirs to be steady enough to tell beans from stones—they will make you return me since I know my name is not Jidderh, my name is Rumana, and I do not know this man!"
He grabbed her hand, but she yanked it away, looking at him with utter contempt. "Don't you ever dare put your filthy hands on me again, not even in your wildest dreams! Aside from sheer insanity, how could you look at me—a child of luxury and wealth—and call me your sister? What do a bicycle and an airplane have in common? We don't even share a kobo's worth of similarity! But fine, let's go so your family members can make you return me."
He walked ahead, and she followed behind with Ahmad trailing them. Imran opened the back door for her, and she climbed inside while he and Ahmad took the front seats. She heard Imran making a phone call, happily announcing that he had found Jidderh.
Sucking her teeth in disgust, she muttered, "Keep dreaming, save that celebration—because this isn't Jidderh, this is Rumana."
Neither Imran nor Ahmad said a word in response, despite hearing her loud and clear. They excused her behavior, assuming some trauma had caused her memory loss.
They stopped in front of a modest house. Imran drove inside after honking for the security guard to swing the gate open. Although the house was reasonably sized, she viewed it like a chicken coop compared to where she came from. The gulf between their mansion and this house was light-years apart; they were simply not in the same league.
Imran turned back with a smile on his face and said, "Welcome home."
Scowling, she shot him a look of pure disdain. "I told you, my name is not Jidderh." Frustration boiling up in her throat, she barked at him, "Don't you dare call me by that name again. Damn it! What kind of sick game is this? I am telling you the truth, yet you close your eyes and chase lies out of pure selfishness just to torture me! Why are some people so messed up? The truth is right here in plain sight, yet out of self-interest and a craving for attention, you back up a lie!" She finished her tirade at the top of her lungs, but he acted as though he heard nothing.
Ahmad, having finished his phone call, said, "Our Hajiya called."
Imran popped his door open and stepped out, saying, "Give her my regards."
Ahmad replied, "Will do. Jidderh, I'll head inside in a bit, alright?"
Before she could process it, Rumana snapped at him furiously, "Don't you ever call me by that name again, damn it!"
Ahmad smiled and said, "Jidderh, today I'm the target of your sass, but no matter—when I come back, I'll investigate what's going on, and you'll get a piece of my mind."
That remark deeply offended her, especially his threat that she would "get a piece of my mind." Scowling fiercely, she retorted, "Watch it, peasant boy. You are playing a dangerous game. You know very well that calling me Jidderh is a flat-out lie. Who is Jidderh? My name is Rumana! And right now—not later—you are going to take me back to where you abducted me. I'm warning you loudly: don't you dare move this tin-can car from this spot until you return me to where you snatched me."
Ahmad stared at her like an owl in sheer astonishment. When had Jidderh ever changed into someone who hurled direct insults like this? The girl who used to be too shy to even lift her eyes to look a man in the face was now shouting at him, calling him a peasant and dismissing his prized car as a mere tin can! And speaking of calling him a peasant—if he was a peasant, then she was too, since her father wasn't any richer than his.
Imran opened her door, and she stepped out, surveying the compound's courtyard and curling her lip. In her mind, she thought, This house looks like a glorified boys' quarters, and yet they act like they're rich.
She certainly couldn't bring herself to call the owners of this house wealthy. Within one full hour...
Summary
The provided text weaves two distinct narrative threads centered around cases of mistaken identity and the dark reality of kidnapping.
In the first storyline, a young woman named Jidderh is held captive by brutal kidnappers who demand a staggering 200 million naira ransom. Despite facing severe starvation, psychological torture, and a narrow escape from a predatory assault, she bravely refuses to give up her family's contact information, choosing endurance over bringing financial ruin and despair to her father.
In the second storyline, a wealthy and pampered young woman named Rumana—who lives a life of luxury supported by her older brother Junaid following their father's death—is walking with her fiancé/brother figure when she is suddenly accosted by a distressed young man named Imran. Imran and his friend Ahmad mistake Rumana for Jidderh, his missing sister who vanished three days prior. Despite Rumana's furious denials, slaps, insults, and protests that she is a wealthy lady and not the missing girl, Imran refuses to listen. He bundles her into his car and takes her to his family home, utterly convinced that trauma has scrambled her memory, while Rumana fusses over the perceived "peasant" lifestyle of her captors/rescuers.
Description
- Setting: Spans between a grim, lightless kidnapper's hideout (evocative of modern-day insurgency/banditry in Nigeria), a bustling upscale shopping mall parking lot, and a modest suburban family home.
- Themes: Mistaken identity, kidnapping and insecurity in contemporary society, family loyalty, trauma, class disparity, resilience against abuse, and psychological distress.
Tone: High-stakes, tense, dramatic, and emotionally charged, juxtaposing the harrowing suffering of a genuine captive with the absurd, fiery frustration of a wealthy doppelgänger wrongly detained.
Analytics
Metric CategoryDetails & InsightsPrimary Characters* Jidderh: Captive victim, resilient, self-sacrificing, protecting her family from extortion.- Rumana: Wealthy, haughty, fiercely independent, hot-tempered doppelgänger mistakenly snatched.
- Imran: Anxious, desperate older brother searching for his missing sister; fiercely protective.
- Ahmad: Imran's supportive friend and companion.
- The Kidnapper: A predatory and unsuccessful criminal tormenting Jidderh. |
| Narrative Conflict | * External: Kidnapping, forced mistaken identity, physical altercations, and ransom demands. - Internal: Trauma, grief over lost parents, frustration of not being believed, and the psychological weight of poverty vs. wealth. |
| Linguistic Style | Written in modern Nigerian prose (Hausa-English bilingual context embedded in narrative thoughts/dialogues), utilizing vivid imagery, emotive vocabulary, and realistic dialogue structures characteristic of contemporary Hausa popular literature (Littattafan Soyayya style). |
