From afar, she called out, but they ignored her, forcing her to quicken her steps to catch up with them.
“For God’s sake, Kubrah, you heard me calling! Why did you ignore me? You all know I’m scared of this road,” said the girl, who was barely fifteen years old.
Kubrah threw her a cold glance.
“And why should we stop for you? You know your place is different even in this house. Your name is Agola, remember? You’re not one of us, and we don’t share blood.”
Another girl beside Kubrah added mockingly, “You dare talk back? I, Kubrah, will never walk with Agola! So, the best thing for you is to stop talking to us. If not, one day I’ll treat you like a donkey!”
“Please, Kubrah, Salma, don’t do that,” pleaded another girl walking with them. “Don’t forget—she’s a Muslim like us, even if she’s poor. And you know her name; stop calling her Agola, it’s cruel.”
Kubrah sneered. “Oh, the merciful one speaks again. Say what you like—we’ve said ours. Just stop following us. Go back to your Agola world; we don’t care about you!” she hissed, dragging Salma away.
Anisa sighed. “You see, Ailah, you should’ve ignored them. Don’t ruin your friendship because of me. Go ahead; I’ll catch up soon. I thought they changed after Brother Nabil scolded them, but they’re still the same.”
Ailah shook her head. “No, Anisa, I can’t let anyone be insulted like that. If our friendship ends because of this, so be it. They don’t know the worth of a human being anyway. From now on, you’ll walk home with me, okay?” she said as they reached her gate.
She waved goodbye to Anisa, then entered her compound. The house was large and well-built, showing signs of wealth. She knocked on the tall black gate, and the gatekeeper shouted irritably, “Oh, the queen of latecomers! You always wait until everyone’s back from school before showing up—now you’re banging like you’ll break the gate! I’m coming!”
I couldn’t help but mutter, “What’s your business with her?” but then I thought again—it’s just the gatekeeper; people in this house are all the same.
From the courtyard, my eyes caught sight of something that deeply struck me.
“Ailah! You’re only just getting back?” a woman called out harshly, sitting nearby and staring at the lush green lawn.
“Aunty, even Salma and the others just came in—I was right behind them,” Ailah replied politely.
“Oh really? Didn’t I tell you not to talk back? Take this key,” the woman said, handing it over. “Go to the laundry room and wash Husna and Yusra’s clothes. Don’t leave until they’re dry and folded. You hear me?”
“But Aunty,” Ailah said softly, “I haven’t been to see Umma, and I’m still in my school uniform. I just came back.”
The woman glared. “So now you talk back to me? Your mother doesn’t even care about you. If you stayed away all night, she wouldn’t look for you—you’re not her concern! You’re Agola, a nobody. Now go do the chores before I lose my temper, you insolent child!”
Tears streamed down Ailah’s face as she quietly made her way to the large sitting room that led to the laundry area.
“Where do you think you’re sneaking off to, walking like a thief?” another heavyset woman snapped, chewing gum loudly.
“Aunty asked me to do laundry,” Ailah answered nervously.
“And who’ll clean Samra’s room then? You know she can’t do it herself,” the woman said mockingly.
“I’ll clean it right after the laundry, Mama. Please give me a moment,” Ailah replied timidly, fear written all over her face.
“Do whatever you want. Just don’t count on me to help you. You know how those kids are—if they decide to hurt you, they will.”
Who Is Ailah
Alhaji Salisu Sani was a wealthy businessman in Bauchi, known across the city. He had one wife, Hajiya Rabi, and a single daughter named Khadija, fondly called Ailah.
When Ailah was just eight years old, her father passed away, leaving behind a vast fortune. But his relatives quickly seized everything, refusing to divide the inheritance. They even forced Hajiya Rabi to leave the family home, claiming it belonged to their late brother, not her.
With nowhere to go, Rabi took her young daughter back to her parents’ old house—a small, quiet place now empty after their death. She struggled to make ends meet, doing petty trade just to pay for Ailah’s schooling.
Many men proposed to her, but none returned after learning she had a child. Most said they couldn’t take responsibility for another man’s daughter.
Then, when Ailah turned ten, Rabi met a wealthy trader named Alhaji Suraja, who promised to marry her—but under one cruel condition: he wanted nothing to do with Ailah. If she ever disobeyed him, Rabi was to remain silent.
At first, Rabi refused. But poverty and her friend Sadiya’s persuasion broke her spirit. She agreed and married Alhaji Suraja.
From the day Ailah entered that house, peace left her life. The man had two wives who constantly abused her, turning her into a servant. Each wife assigned her chores, and if she refused, Alhaji Suraja would be told—leading to punishment.
Hajiya Bilkisu (called Mama) had six children—Imran, Beelah, Sadeeq, Aliyu, Kubrah, Samra, and the youngest, Mukhtar. The second wife, Hajiya Dausiyya (called Aunty), had three—Salma, Yusrah, and Husna.
In that household, Ailah endured relentless suffering. No one respected her, not even the servants. Her only brother, Mutallab, aged four, also began to look down on her.
Still, Ailah remained patient. Despite being overworked, she never complained. She attended a distant government school on foot, unlike the others who went to private schools in cars.
That was her life in Alhaji Suraja’s house—endurance, tears, and silence.
Description
Cruelty on the Way Home
From afar, she called out, but they ignored her, forcing her to quicken her steps to catch up with them.
“For God’s sake, Kubrah, you heard me calling! Why did you ignore me? You all know I’m scared of this road,” said the girl, who was barely fifteen years old.
Kubrah threw her a cold glance.
“And why should we stop for you? You know your place is different even in this house. Your name is Agola, remember? You’re not one of us, and we don’t share blood.”
Another girl beside Kubrah added mockingly, “You dare talk back? I, Kubrah, will never walk with Agola! So, the best thing for you is to stop talking to us. If not, one day I’ll treat you like a donkey!”
“Please, Kubrah, Salma, don’t do that,” pleaded another girl walking with them. “Don’t forget—she’s a Muslim like us, even if she’s poor. And you know her name; stop calling her Agola, it’s cruel.”
Kubrah sneered. “Oh, the merciful one speaks again. Say what you like—we’ve said ours. Just stop following us. Go back to your Agola world; we don’t care about you!” she hissed, dragging Salma away.
Anisa sighed. “You see, Ailah, you should’ve ignored them. Don’t ruin your friendship because of me. Go ahead; I’ll catch up soon. I thought they changed after Brother Nabil scolded them, but they’re still the same.”
Ailah shook her head. “No, Anisa, I can’t let anyone be insulted like that. If our friendship ends because of this, so be it. They don’t know the worth of a human being anyway. From now on, you’ll walk home with me, okay?” she said as they reached her gate.
She waved goodbye to Anisa, then entered her compound. The house was large and well-built, showing signs of wealth. She knocked on the tall black gate, and the gatekeeper shouted irritably, “Oh, the queen of latecomers! You always wait until everyone’s back from school before showing up—now you’re banging like you’ll break the gate! I’m coming!”
I couldn’t help but mutter, “What’s your business with her?” but then I thought again—it’s just the gatekeeper; people in this house are all the same.
From the courtyard, my eyes caught sight of something that deeply struck me.
“Ailah! You’re only just getting back?” a woman called out harshly, sitting nearby and staring at the lush green lawn.
“Aunty, even Salma and the others just came in—I was right behind them,” Ailah replied politely.
“Oh really? Didn’t I tell you not to talk back? Take this key,” the woman said, handing it over. “Go to the laundry room and wash Husna and Yusra’s clothes. Don’t leave until they’re dry and folded. You hear me?”
“But Aunty,” Ailah said softly, “I haven’t been to see Umma, and I’m still in my school uniform. I just came back.”
The woman glared. “So now you talk back to me? Your mother doesn’t even care about you. If you stayed away all night, she wouldn’t look for you—you’re not her concern! You’re Agola, a nobody. Now go do the chores before I lose my temper, you insolent child!”
Tears streamed down Ailah’s face as she quietly made her way to the large sitting room that led to the laundry area.
“Where do you think you’re sneaking off to, walking like a thief?” another heavyset woman snapped, chewing gum loudly.
“Aunty asked me to do laundry,” Ailah answered nervously.
“And who’ll clean Samra’s room then? You know she can’t do it herself,” the woman said mockingly.
“I’ll clean it right after the laundry, Mama. Please give me a moment,” Ailah replied timidly, fear written all over her face.
“Do whatever you want. Just don’t count on me to help you. You know how those kids are—if they decide to hurt you, they will.”
Who Is Ailah
Alhaji Salisu Sani was a wealthy businessman in Bauchi, known across the city. He had one wife, Hajiya Rabi, and a single daughter named Khadija, fondly called Ailah.
When Ailah was just eight years old, her father passed away, leaving behind a vast fortune. But his relatives quickly seized everything, refusing to divide the inheritance. They even forced Hajiya Rabi to leave the family home, claiming it belonged to their late brother, not her.
With nowhere to go, Rabi took her young daughter back to her parents’ old house—a small, quiet place now empty after their death. She struggled to make ends meet, doing petty trade just to pay for Ailah’s schooling.
Many men proposed to her, but none returned after learning she had a child. Most said they couldn’t take responsibility for another man’s daughter.
Then, when Ailah turned ten, Rabi met a wealthy trader named Alhaji Suraja, who promised to marry her—but under one cruel condition: he wanted nothing to do with Ailah. If she ever disobeyed him, Rabi was to remain silent.
At first, Rabi refused. But poverty and her friend Sadiya’s persuasion broke her spirit. She agreed and married Alhaji Suraja.
From the day Ailah entered that house, peace left her life. The man had two wives who constantly abused her, turning her into a servant. Each wife assigned her chores, and if she refused, Alhaji Suraja would be told—leading to punishment.
Hajiya Bilkisu (called Mama) had six children—Imran, Beelah, Sadeeq, Aliyu, Kubrah, Samra, and the youngest, Mukhtar. The second wife, Hajiya Dausiyya (called Aunty), had three—Salma, Yusrah, and Husna.
In that household, Ailah endured relentless suffering. No one respected her, not even the servants. Her only brother, Mutallab, aged four, also began to look down on her.
Still, Ailah remained patient. Despite being overworked, she never complained. She attended a distant government school on foot, unlike the others who went to private schools in cars.
That was her life in Alhaji Suraja’s house—endurance, tears, and silence.