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Translation in English
Haulatu finished her sentence with a burst of laughter.
"What do you want to say? Wasn't our ultimate goal to get pregnant, or what?"
Hindatu threw the question back at her, then quickly dismissed it.
"Ah, what does a dog have to do with a bridge? Did I say anything? Tell me, which mother wouldn't want to see her first grandchild in this world?"
"Uhm, you're the only one who knows. By the way, where are you? You know I lost all my numbers ever since I got this iPhone; it wasn't until I ran into Momi that I got Umma's number from her phone."
"Oh, so she actually has Umma's number?"
"Listen to that! Do you know how many times I call you on Momi's phone? I was the one who saved it for her anyway. When are you coming to my house? And where are you right now? Did they catch those people who tried to kidnap you? What did you even do to them?"
Haulatu just laughed before hissing lightly. It was a matter she kept locked in her heart with the firm resolve that, come rain or shine, she would avenge both her mother and herself against Danmutuwa. She did not like discussing him with anyone, nor did she care to talk about anything concerning him right now.
"I am in Katsina. We came to Umma's family house."
"Katsina? You guys actually knew them? But you never told me."
"Well, everything happens for a reason. Let's talk later. I'll call you."
Without waiting for Hindatu's response, she hung up the phone just as Baba Saude entered the room with a greeting of peace.
"Child of Umma's house, come, she's calling you."
She smiled slightly and replied, "Okay." By that time, she had opened up her heart to anyone who showed them love, except for Hajiya Babba. She was the only one she felt they would never get along with, especially since she noticed people seemed afraid of her in the house. Whenever she reprimanded anyone, they obeyed without talking back; this was part of the reason she avoided the parlor, believing that Hajiya Babba's arrogance and overbearing authority were simply too much.
It was almost a minute after Baba Saude left before Haulatu stood up and walked out, her head bare without a headscarf, her hair neatly combed and tied at the back. As she pushed the door open slightly, she caught sight of Umma along with a woman she had seen about three times in the house—Hajiya Zakiyya, whom she heard people call Maama. She was sitting in her father's quarters, Baba Dakta, currently observing her mourning period. She was facing the door, which forced Haulatu to step completely out. Umma glanced at her, seeing that she didn't even have a veil on her head. Hajiya Babba was on one side talking to Baba Saude, and the time was past three o'clock in the afternoon.
She walked over without even looking at Hajiya Babba and greeted Maama. Maama responded with a cheerful face, saying,
"Come here, my daughter. Are you going to keep locking yourself up in a room all alone? Sitting in silence is no fun."
Haulatu just offered a slight smile.
"Please, go ahead and scold her so she might listen," Umma remarked.
"Dress up quickly and accompany me out."
Hearing this, Haulatu's face brightened up completely. She looked at Umma to see what her reaction would be, and Umma nodded at her. Eagerly, she jumped up and dashed back into her room.
"Honestly Zakiyya, you are something else. I can't understand this kind of girl; she is always locked up in a room, and I know she is doing it just to spite me. Well, she has no choice but to get used to me since I birthed her mother."
Both Hajiya Babba and Umma burst into laughter.
"That's true, Hajja, and we won't be going far anyway. Khaleefa's wife hasn't been feeling well these past few days, so I am going to check on her. The delivery of Raudha's bridal gifts is the day after tomorrow, right?"
She finished by asking Hajiya Babba.
"In sha Allahu. Batulu's own is next week."
"May Allah bring blessings and let us witness it."
Maama Zakiyya's prayer was answered with an "Amen."
Right there, she explained further to Umma that Raudha was the daughter of Alhaji Ridwan, while Batulu was the daughter of Barista Dawud. Both of their families lived close by without much distance. Umma smiled faintly.
"I actually saw the girls; Hajja pointed them out to me when they came in the other day. We greeted their parents too. May Allah let us witness it."
They chorused "Amen" again. Just then, Haulatu came out wearing a Dubai-style blue-black abaya embroidered with white stones, with a matching scarf draped over her head. She looked extremely gorgeous; her skin had become even smoother and fairer, making it seem as though she had always been accustomed to a life of luxury. Maama kept observing her, realizing that Allah had truly blessed the girl with unique grace. In the future, she would easily turn young men's heads once she became even more sophisticated. Only one person came to Maama's mind—she knew him, and it would be a miracle if he ever looked at Haulatu with love and affection. She sighed inwardly before standing up.
"Masha Allah, Haulatu, you are all ready. Let's go before it gets too late."
Maama said this while adjusting the small scarf she had draped over her long fabric gown sewn in a bubu style. Maama was tall and stout, not ugly at all, with a lovely complexion. Looking at her, you would never guess she had three grown-up young men; her body showed no signs of aging. She had personally refused all marriage proposals, though lately, someone had been pressing hard enough for Alhaji to bring up the matter of her remarrying. In her own calculations, however, she had completely closed the chapter of marriage in her life.
Haulatu said goodbye to Umma, while Hajiya Babba wished them a safe trip back. Seeing the encouraging looks on Umma's and Maama's faces, Haulatu replied with an "Amen," and they walked out.
They rode in Maama's car as she drove with composure until they arrived at the Modoji neighborhood, where Dr. Khaleefa's house was located. It was a well-built house among the residences on the street they entered. Maama drove right in and honked. As soon as the gateman saw the car, he quickly pushed open the large compound gates, and she drove inside.
It was a strikingly beautiful flat house with a parking space that could hold about four cars. Maama parked her car and got out, complaining that she knew that "clock-work fanatic" of a man wouldn't be home. As for Haulatu, even on the way there, upon realizing whose house they were visiting, she had slightly tightened her face. Maama couldn't figure out where else to take her in Katsina, so why Dr. Khaleefa's house?
She followed behind, pouting slightly. He was a man who constantly glared at her—how were they going to get along now that she had walked right into his territory? However, hearing Maama say it was unlikely he was home made her feel a bit relieved. Right now, her primary goal was just to see his wife and find out what she was like. She knew the wife had to be very patient because he clearly looked hot-tempered and capable of cruelty.
A modern, sophisticated parlor, Haulatu thought to herself after scanning her surroundings. There wasn't much clutter, just tasteful white and maroon furniture. She sat down on a couch facing a small corridor, realizing that must lead to the wife's rooms, as that was the direction Maama had walked. She had heard that Khaleefa had married a relative. Even though they weren't of the exact same immediate lineage, she was the daughter of his father's friend, Barrister Dawud, and they were like close siblings due to the strong ties between their families. She sneered, recalling Hajiya Babba telling the story to Umma earlier. In her view, she couldn't understand why people forced family marriages upon themselves; it didn't appeal to her at all, and she had vowed that even if she were the last woman on earth, she would never enter into such an arrangement, especially not in a family like theirs filled with endless gossip.
Maama walked back and sat beside her.
"Whew! Sorry for leaving you all alone, Haulatu. Why didn't you turn on the TV? It would have kept you entertained. Look, Hafsat's situation has improved, so we just pray for a safe delivery."
Haulatu smiled faintly. Who was she to act bold in the house of a cruel man like Khaleefa? Did Maama's words mean Hafsat was pregnant? She had heard they already had one child, but apart from a housemaid, there were no signs of a child around. She looked at Maama, but before she could say anything, the lady of the house walked in. Haulatu looked at her. She was dark-skinned, the glowing, beautiful kind of dark. She was quite tall, though not as tall as her husband. She was slender, with a charming little nose and a small mouth that graced her face. By all indications, she was a cheerful woman because her face was bright as she walked over and sat down. Their eyes met, and she smiled at Haulatu, prompting Haulatu to return the smile.
"Good afternoon. How is your health?"
"Doing great, our young sister. How is adjusting to the neighborhood? Although by now you're practically a local, right?"
Haulatu just laughed without saying a word. She was puzzled; with such a warm and cheerful demeanor, why had Maama claimed in the car that the wife had a bad attitude and that her husband had to be extremely patient with her? Right then, she concluded in her mind that Khaleefa must be the wicked one mistreating her. After all, men were always the ones oppressing their wives in marriages.
"Atine! Atine!!"
She began calling out to her housemaid. Hurriedly, a young girl of about thirteen or fourteen emerged from a room attached to the parlor and knelt down to the side.
"Yes, Anti, I'm here."
"Bring them some water! Do you have to be told everything?"
"Ah, never mind that, we just want to say our prayers and get on the road. It's getting late. Haulatu, do you have your ablution, or do you need to make one?"
Haulatu nodded. Hafsat pointed to the bathroom with her finger, and Haulatu stood up and went in. By the time she came out, Maama had already started her prayers. Haulatu adjusted her abaya veil and joined in.
As soon as they finished, they bade Hafsat farewell and left as she expressed her profound gratitude.
On the way, Haulatu couldn't hold back her curiosity and looked at Maama.
"Maama, I heard you say that woman has a bad attitude, but she seemed completely different. Look at how warmly she welcomed us with smiles and everything."
With her eyes fixed on the road, Maama smiled.
"Oh, Haulatu. You should call her Momin Annur, just like your other relatives do. Secondly, you must know never to judge a person upon a first meeting. Give it time, live with them, or let some shared experiences happen, and that is when you will truly understand human beings. Hafsat can be cheerful when she feels like it. If I had left you in that house for two days, you would discover her real personality. She hates anyone coming close to her and her husband. She doesn't even lift a finger to do the tiniest chore; that young girl you saw, Atine, is the one who bears the brunt of the housework. They only have an elderly woman who comes to cook and leaves. That's what breaks Khaleefa's heart—a wife in her husband's house who can't even cook, leaving a housemaid to cook for him to eat. Plus, she goes to work from morning till evening at a bank; her illness is the only reason you met her at home today. Not that we don't get along—we've been fine from the start—perhaps because Khaleefa is my relative, we clicked. Every serious decision he makes before approaching his mother comes through me; we plan and settle it between ourselves without anyone else knowing. That's why you sometimes hear people calling him 'Maama's Son'."
Haulatu nodded, remembering she had heard Baba Saude use that name whenever she came to greet him. Maama's phone rang, and without checking the screen, she told Haulatu to pick it up and see who it was. Without hesitation, Haulatu picked up the phone from beside Maama and checked the caller ID.
"Zaid."
She spoke aloud. Maama quickly snatched the phone, her smile growing even wider than before.
"Ah, the Abuja boy! I was just getting word of your arrival yesterday."
Whatever was said on the other end, Maama laughed before greeting him and asking, "How is the bride?"
After another exchange, she replied,
"Yes, I went out. I stopped by Khaleefa's house to check on Hafsat."
Then, it sounded like he was pleading with her to stop by because he wanted to discuss something important. She insisted she wouldn't go and that he should come home to see her instead. Finally, Haulatu heard Maama say, "Alright, I'm on my way." With that, they said goodbye.
Instead of heading home, Maama took a different route and glanced at Haulatu.
"You well-water fish, someone could take you away and sell you, and you wouldn't even know!"
They both laughed. Today, her heart felt light and pure, and she was thoroughly enjoying the outing Maama had brought her on.
"Maama, we are heading home, right?" she asked.
Smiling, Maama replied,
"We're going to stop by Zaid's house first. He has been married for five months and lives in Abuja, working at the CBN ministry. He is Malama Safiyya's son; you'll get to know them all in due time. Zaid is her eldest son and has been taking care of their home since his father passed away. If not for his job taking him to Abuja, he wouldn't want to live far from his mother at all. He completely detests family marriages; in fact, he's been against them ever since a troublesome girl in our family swallowed rat poison because of him—thank God she didn't die—and he swore an absolute oath never to marry her. She ended up giving up, though she still hasn't married to this day."
"Who is she, Maama?"
Maama smiled.
"Your relative, the daughter of Hajiya Nafisa from Malaysia. At first, she was under Hajja's care because she started her schooling there, but after that incident, her parents took her back to live with them. She can't be much older than you; if she's older at all, it's only by a year. That's why Hajja doesn't get along with Zaid—she claims he nearly killed her granddaughter and then refused to marry her."
"Uhm," Haulatu muttered. Whoever the girl was, since she was Hajiya Babba's granddaughter, she had probably done worse things, in Haulatu's opinion. She continued listening to Maama narrate family gossip until they arrived at a house. Just by looking at it, you could tell it wasn't a modern building, though it was neat and didn't show signs of severe aging.
"This is Malama's house. Zaid and his people are staying here since he hasn't finished building his own house yet. You've never met her before, right?" she asked, looking at Haulatu.
Haulatu shook her head. Well, she might have seen her before without knowing who she was.
Malama welcomed them with a warm face. Haulatu kept quiet after the initial greetings, sitting silently and admiring the parlor while Malama and Maama chatted.
"Look at you, my son calls me over, and yet you show up instead of him. He insisted I come because there's something to discuss."
Malama pursed her lips in annoyance.
"Oh, so he called you to pacify me? Well, I am sticking to my guns. You really love enabling these youngsters of yours."
Maama paused.
"Well, you see, I don't even know what this is about, but you're springing it on me. Did something happen? Or is it not serious enough for Zaid to drag me out here?"
"No, you know how it goes—a song sounds sweetest from the original singer. Go on over to his annex since he's the one who asked you to come. All roads lead to the same destination; you'll all come back to me later."
Maama laughed as she stood up.
"May Allah make it easy, then. I'm actually eager to go and hear what is happening. Haulatu, wait for me here."
Haulatu simply said "Alright." After Maama left the parlor, Malama shook her head slightly and looked at Haulatu.
"You look like you've found peace; you don't seem like the talkative type, do you? Though my house doesn't have many visitors to chat with anyway. All three of my children are boys, except for one girl who is about two to three years younger than you—she went to school but will be back soon."
Haulatu smiled. Her? Not talkative? Indeed, that was only because Malama didn't know who she really was.
"Do you go to school where you live?" Malama asked.
That question made Haulatu realize that Malama actually wanted to chat, and the woman clearly wasn't arrogant; her face had been welcoming right from the start. So, she adjusted her posture and began narrating her educational struggles, even describing how she was harassed outside and how people called their house a brothel. She held nothing back as she poured her heart out to Malama. Deep pity filled Malama Safiyya's heart. She also noticed several things about Haulatu—the girl clearly needed guidance regarding certain manners and conversational etiquette. In her narration, she often spoke as if talking to a peer, using phrases like, “Hum, let me tell you about life,” or “You wouldn't understand,” and so on. Given Malama Safiyya's age, exposure, and refinement, she didn't blame the girl, considering the environment she grew up in; her own mother probably hadn't received adequate education or social refinement. Malama thought to herself how wonderful it would be if the girl could be entrusted to her for even a few short months; she would do her absolute best to reform at least sixty percent of her bad habits. Since their arrival, Malama hadn't visited much because she had been bedridden with illness and had only recently recovered. However, she had heard from her relatives that Haulatu had no shame—that whenever anyone visited, she would stare them down and talk back.
As she observed Haulatu's behavior, Haulatu remained completely unbothered, sincerely telling her story while carefully omitting the nature of her father's illicit business, keeping to Umma's strict warning never to mention it to anyone. She never explained why Umma was covering up for him, but she made sure to convey to Malama just how much she hated Danmutuwa.
"May Allah guide him if he is meant to be guided. Just have patience; what happened to you is destiny. Accept that this is how it was ordained for you, okay?" Malama Safiyya said, trying to gently wrap up the conversation, sensing that the topic was unpleasant and realizing the lack of refinement in Haulatu's speech.
Hearing that, Haulatu let out a laugh.
"We sure saw life! Wow! Wallahi, Hajja saved her own face by taking us in; otherwise, it would have been all over the radio stations!"
Malama was filled with profound astonishment. Without a doubt, the girl was in desperate need of behavioral correction. She remained silent, not uttering another word, though she felt no hatred or anger toward Haulatu—only deep pity. She understood the challenges of proper upbringing and excused her based on the kind of household she was raised in. Smiling, she stood up.
"Let's get ready for prayer; Maghrib time is approaching. Get up and let me show you Auta's room so you can make ablution."
Haulatu replied "Alright," just as a thirteen-year-old girl walked in with a loud, cheerful greeting of peace. They looked at her; she was dressed in her Islamiyya school uniform. She was a young girl, but quite chubby, masha Allah. She wasn't very light-skinned, but she had striking eyes and a sharp nose. She walked in panting and tossed her handbag aside.
"Mama, I am so hungry, wallahi!" she said, almost sounding like she wanted to cry. It was only then that she noticed Haulatu, and her face lit up into a wide grin.
"Ah, Anti Mimi! When did you guys arrive in Katsina?"
"That's not Mimi, Bebi. Her name is Anti Haulat. Quickly go and show her your room so she can make ablution and come eat. And pick up your bag!"
The girl answered "Alright" before picking up her bag, while continuing to steal glances at Haulatu, who stood waiting for her.
Zaid El-Yakub: a young man whom everyone loved and only losers missed out on. Allah had blessed him with eloquence and mastery of both Western and Arabic knowledge. When Zaid switched to Arabic, he sounded like a native of Saudi Arabia. Among all the young men in the family, only two had been blessed with this deep fluency in Arabic: Zaid and Abeed (Sadaukin Alhaji). To top it all off, he possessed striking good looks and a natural radiance bestowed by Allah. With just a smile, he could melt a woman's heart. He was a man who knew how to soothe a woman, especially when she was angry or upset. Yet, despite these virtues, he had never surrounded himself with a crowd of women, nor did he encourage romantic advances. No matter your relationship with him, the moment he realized you viewed him with anything more than platonic affection, he would instantly pull away and distance himself completely. Even Zaituna from Malaysia, who had been madly in love with him, saw their family friendship transition into unrequited love on her part. More than anything in the world, he detested family marriages; they simply did not appeal to him. This was one of the reasons he pursued his former schoolmate, Jalilah, eventually marrying her. He had deeply admired her modesty back when they were in school together; she loved him, though she had never once voiced it, a fact he had figured out on his own. He only confirmed it when he started visiting her house under the guise of casual visits, and now she was his wife.
"Abuja boy."
He lifted his head from his laptop, looked toward the door, and instantly broke into a smile while running a hand through his short hair.
"Maama, please come in."
After she sat down, he greeted her with utmost respect. Before she could even ask about Jalilah, he informed her that he had visited their house. Without wasting time, he stated his intention to take Bebi with him to Abuja—a request Malama had flatly rejected. Maama glared at him and hissed softly.
"Sometimes you act like you're the lastborn instead of Bebi Ayyush! Zaid, did you really drag me out here for this? You know very well this is impossible. Do you expect Malama to stay in this house all by herself?"
He crinkled his nose.
"Maama, how would she be all alone? There's Jafar, Nabeel, and Juwairiyya is even returning from Malumfashi tomorrow. Besides, I'm not taking Bebi for no reason; sitting around at home is no fun, and Jalilah has been feeling lonely since I leave early in the morning and don't return until Maghrib. I just want to borrow Bebi for a few weeks until schools resume. Isn't there a wedding coming up soon anyway?"
"That's true, but what about her Islamiyya school?"
He smiled.
"I will teach her at home."
Maama shook her head.
"If I had known this was the reason you called me here, Zaid, I wouldn't have agreed over the phone. Now let me leave before Haulatu gets impatient."
He quickly grabbed the edge of her veil, pulling a pleading face.
"Please, Maama! Who is this other person who isn't..."
Summary
In Katsina, Haulatu's life continues to unfold within her extended family's home, where she interacts with various relatives like Umma, Maama Zakiyya, and Baba Saude, while deliberately avoiding Hajiya Babba. During an outing with Maama to visit Dr. Khaleefa's ailing wife, Hafsat, and later Zaid's family, Haulatu observes different marital dynamics and family structures. Meanwhile, Zaid—a well-educated and respected young man living in Abuja—brings Maama over to negotiate taking his younger sister, Bebi, to Abuja to keep his wife company, leading to a lighthearted family debate. Throughout these visits, Haulatu's sharp personality, background struggles, and growing exposure to refined social settings are highlighted.
Description
This narrative excerpt captures a vibrant domestic slice of life in a large Northern Nigerian family estate in Katsina. It explores themes of family ties, generational differences, contrasting marital expectations (specifically addressing the complexities of family marriages), and personal growth. Through the eyes of Haulatu—a young woman carrying emotional baggage from her past yet slowly adapting to a more privileged and structured environment—we witness nuanced character interactions, lively dialogue, and rich cultural settings ranging from traditional family homes to modern middle-class households.
Analytics
- Primary Characters: Haulatu, Maama Zakiyya, Zaid El-Yakub, Umma, Hajiya Babba, Hafsat, Malama Safiyya, and Bebi.
- Settings:
- The family compound in Katsina (Umma and Hajiya Babba's domain).
- Dr. Khaleefa's modern flat in the Modoji neighborhood.
- Malama Safiyya's traditional family home where Zaid is staying.
- Key Themes:
- Family Dynamics & Relations: Exploration of extended family politics, mentorship, and differing viewpoints on cousin/family marriages.
- Personal Growth: Haulatu's gradual transition from a guarded, defensive environment into a broader social sphere where she learns new behavioral patterns and observes societal etiquette.
- Gender Roles & Marriage: Contrasting views on marital harmony, responsibilities, and companionship (highlighted via Hafsat/Khaleefa and Zaid/Jalilah).
- Narrative Tone: Engaging, observant, culturally rich, and character-driven, blending domestic realism with emotional depth.
