Night faded and morning broke. It was a large room, the kind owned by children of the elite. Everything in the room was decorated in two colors—blue and white. There was no clutter at all, except for a luxurious bed and a set consisting of a mirror and drawers.
As usual, she did not move until the sun was already high. It was only after the muezzin from the mosque inside their compound called the Zuhr prayer that she stirred. She reached for her phone and went straight to Instagram, where she posted the photos she took the previous night at the club. Almost immediately, the pictures gained attention as young men and some girls flooded them with likes and comments, as was customary. Once she was satisfied, she dropped the phone, stood up lazily, took her bath, and performed ablution.
Instead of rushing to make up for the prayers she owed—Fajr and Zuhr—she stood in front of the mirror, wrapped in a towel that reached her knees, admiring herself with pleasure and pride in the flawless beauty Allah had blessed her with. She herself knew, masha Allah, that Allah had truly perfected her. That was why she was always active on social media, posting pictures of herself in tight outfits, because she was among the famous women popularly known as “Slay Queens” on Instagram.
She spent quite some time applying makeup and grooming herself, then came out looking stunning in an Ankara blouse and skirt. After that, she picked a hijab that reached the ground and put it on. Smiling at how modest and righteous she looked, she praised herself aloud:
“Woo, me—Zeee the slay mama, the club mama, and Daddy’s righteous girl.”
After striking several poses in front of the mirror, she finally spread her prayer mat and performed the Fajr and Zuhr prayers.
Malam Abubakar Birma and the Truth Behind the Veil
Malam Abubakar Birma was a renowned and wealthy Islamic scholar, famous across Nigeria, especially in Kano and Maiduguri. He was originally from Maiduguri. He had two wives. His first wife, Hajja Kulu, was from the Barebari tribe and lived with him in Maiduguri. She had six children—four sons and two daughters. The second wife, Hajja Aleesha, was from the Shuwa Arab tribe. She lived in Kano and had three daughters: her first daughter Zainab, about twenty‑two years old, popularly called Yakura; the second, Halitta, aged twenty; and the youngest, Falmata, who was eighteen.
Among Malam’s children, Allah tested him with a troublesome daughter—one whose character no one would ever associate with Malam himself. That girl was none other than Zainab, the first daughter of Hajja Aleesha. There was hardly any club within Nigeria—north or south—or even abroad that she had not visited, except those she had no chance to reach. Her exposure was vast, as she constantly mixed with corrupt, wealthy youths, most of whom she met through her interactions in Western schools they attended together.
On social media, she was extremely popular, with countless followers, admirers, and people constantly whispering sweet words into her ears. Two things worked strongly in her favor—beauty and money. Without doubt, Allah had given her the pleasures of this world.
Yet Malam knew nothing of this side of Zainab. To him, she was the calmest, most composed, and most perfect of all his children, because whenever she came to him, she appeared quiet and well‑behaved. Besides, he was not active on social media, so he had no idea of the life she lived online. Moreover, he rarely stayed in one place—today in Maiduguri, tomorrow in Egypt, the next day in Saudi Arabia. Whenever he was home, Zainab was usually away at school—American University of Nigeria in Yola—where she spent most of her time. Anyone who saw her lifestyle would never believe she was Malam’s daughter; she was a daughter who completely contradicted her father’s character.
When Zainab heard that Malam was traveling to Maiduguri that day, she insisted on personally taking the tea items he requested to his guest sitting room. Her intention was to see Malam so she could ask him to replace her phone—a Samsung she had bought barely four months earlier. According to her, the camera was terrible, and she urgently needed the latest iPhone.
Dressed in her long hijab, she gently pushed open the sitting‑room door, greeting as she entered. She froze instantly when her eyes fell on a face partially hidden by a turban—the same face she had encountered the previous night. Her heart skipped. Without thinking, she turned to leave, but Malam’s voice stopped her.
“Yakura, come in. These people you see are my students, along with the driver and the guards. Since you’re always indoors, that’s why you don’t recognize them. We’re discussing reports about some miscreants trying to break into our house at night…”
Although there were about ten men seated in the room, the only person she could see was the man in the turban. Her mind remained unsettled until she heard Malam’s words. She unconsciously looked at the man again—only to find him staring at her as well, confirming what his heart had already suspected.
“So this is the girl I encountered last night. She’s not a spirit after all. But what is her relationship with Malam?”
As if Malam sensed his thoughts, he said aloud:
“She is my daughter. This is Zainab, the daughter of my second wife—memorizer of the Qur’an and the most well‑mannered among my children.”
Hearing this, the man looked at her more closely and softly repeated her name, “Zainab…”
If Malam’s description was true, then without doubt, she could not be the same girl he saw the previous night—or so he concluded, as he searched her face for any difference between this seemingly virtuous daughter and the girl from the club.
She placed the tray before Malam, bowed her head in greeting, and once he responded, she quickly stood up and left the sitting room. She could feel the man’s eyes on her. It was only when she was near the kitchen that she paused to compose herself, so that Ammy and Halitta would not notice her condition.
The kitchen was large enough for ten people to work in comfortably. It was well arranged and fully equipped with every kitchen necessity. There were even two refrigerators—one for soup ingredients and meat, and another for water, soft drinks, and fruits. She met Halitta arranging drinks in the fridge, while Ammy was explaining to Iya, their cook, what food she wanted prepared for the afternoon.
“Ammy, are you sure there are no Boko Haram members or kidnappers among the house staff or Daddy’s students?” she asked, picking up a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Auzubillahi!” Ammy and Iya exclaimed together.
Halitta paused and stared at her sister. Unbothered, Zainab poured herself water, drank deeply, then added,
“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m very serious about this.”
Turning fully to Ammy, she continued,
“Ammy, you know Boko Haram usually targets scholars. Remember their leader, Yusuf, who was killed during President Yar’Adua’s time—they said he once sought knowledge from Sheikh Ja’afar. Daddy must be very careful. Honestly, I strongly suspect the man I saw with Daddy is Boko Haram.”
“Don’t ever let me hear that again!” Ammy snapped angrily, switching to her Shuwa language.
“If Malam hears this, your life will become miserable. Are you mad? Talking about Boko Haram in front of the servants—so they’ll go around spreading that Malam shelters Boko Haram members? Yakura, what will you ever do with this foolishness of yours?”
“Well, I don’t think anyone here looks like Boko Haram… unless Halitta is talking about Usman?”
Halitta said excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she mentioned Usman’s name, drawing sharp looks from both Ammy and Zainab.
Description
A Morning of Glamour and Hidden Contradictions
Night faded and morning broke. It was a large room, the kind owned by children of the elite. Everything in the room was decorated in two colors—blue and white. There was no clutter at all, except for a luxurious bed and a set consisting of a mirror and drawers.
As usual, she did not move until the sun was already high. It was only after the muezzin from the mosque inside their compound called the Zuhr prayer that she stirred. She reached for her phone and went straight to Instagram, where she posted the photos she took the previous night at the club. Almost immediately, the pictures gained attention as young men and some girls flooded them with likes and comments, as was customary. Once she was satisfied, she dropped the phone, stood up lazily, took her bath, and performed ablution.
Instead of rushing to make up for the prayers she owed—Fajr and Zuhr—she stood in front of the mirror, wrapped in a towel that reached her knees, admiring herself with pleasure and pride in the flawless beauty Allah had blessed her with. She herself knew, masha Allah, that Allah had truly perfected her. That was why she was always active on social media, posting pictures of herself in tight outfits, because she was among the famous women popularly known as “Slay Queens” on Instagram.
She spent quite some time applying makeup and grooming herself, then came out looking stunning in an Ankara blouse and skirt. After that, she picked a hijab that reached the ground and put it on. Smiling at how modest and righteous she looked, she praised herself aloud:
“Woo, me—Zeee the slay mama, the club mama, and Daddy’s righteous girl.”
After striking several poses in front of the mirror, she finally spread her prayer mat and performed the Fajr and Zuhr prayers.
Malam Abubakar Birma and the Truth Behind the Veil
Malam Abubakar Birma was a renowned and wealthy Islamic scholar, famous across Nigeria, especially in Kano and Maiduguri. He was originally from Maiduguri. He had two wives. His first wife, Hajja Kulu, was from the Barebari tribe and lived with him in Maiduguri. She had six children—four sons and two daughters. The second wife, Hajja Aleesha, was from the Shuwa Arab tribe. She lived in Kano and had three daughters: her first daughter Zainab, about twenty‑two years old, popularly called Yakura; the second, Halitta, aged twenty; and the youngest, Falmata, who was eighteen.
Among Malam’s children, Allah tested him with a troublesome daughter—one whose character no one would ever associate with Malam himself. That girl was none other than Zainab, the first daughter of Hajja Aleesha. There was hardly any club within Nigeria—north or south—or even abroad that she had not visited, except those she had no chance to reach. Her exposure was vast, as she constantly mixed with corrupt, wealthy youths, most of whom she met through her interactions in Western schools they attended together.
On social media, she was extremely popular, with countless followers, admirers, and people constantly whispering sweet words into her ears. Two things worked strongly in her favor—beauty and money. Without doubt, Allah had given her the pleasures of this world.
Yet Malam knew nothing of this side of Zainab. To him, she was the calmest, most composed, and most perfect of all his children, because whenever she came to him, she appeared quiet and well‑behaved. Besides, he was not active on social media, so he had no idea of the life she lived online. Moreover, he rarely stayed in one place—today in Maiduguri, tomorrow in Egypt, the next day in Saudi Arabia. Whenever he was home, Zainab was usually away at school—American University of Nigeria in Yola—where she spent most of her time. Anyone who saw her lifestyle would never believe she was Malam’s daughter; she was a daughter who completely contradicted her father’s character.
When Zainab heard that Malam was traveling to Maiduguri that day, she insisted on personally taking the tea items he requested to his guest sitting room. Her intention was to see Malam so she could ask him to replace her phone—a Samsung she had bought barely four months earlier. According to her, the camera was terrible, and she urgently needed the latest iPhone.
Dressed in her long hijab, she gently pushed open the sitting‑room door, greeting as she entered. She froze instantly when her eyes fell on a face partially hidden by a turban—the same face she had encountered the previous night. Her heart skipped. Without thinking, she turned to leave, but Malam’s voice stopped her.
“Yakura, come in. These people you see are my students, along with the driver and the guards. Since you’re always indoors, that’s why you don’t recognize them. We’re discussing reports about some miscreants trying to break into our house at night…”
Although there were about ten men seated in the room, the only person she could see was the man in the turban. Her mind remained unsettled until she heard Malam’s words. She unconsciously looked at the man again—only to find him staring at her as well, confirming what his heart had already suspected.
“So this is the girl I encountered last night. She’s not a spirit after all. But what is her relationship with Malam?”
As if Malam sensed his thoughts, he said aloud:
“She is my daughter. This is Zainab, the daughter of my second wife—memorizer of the Qur’an and the most well‑mannered among my children.”
Hearing this, the man looked at her more closely and softly repeated her name, “Zainab…”
If Malam’s description was true, then without doubt, she could not be the same girl he saw the previous night—or so he concluded, as he searched her face for any difference between this seemingly virtuous daughter and the girl from the club.
She placed the tray before Malam, bowed her head in greeting, and once he responded, she quickly stood up and left the sitting room. She could feel the man’s eyes on her. It was only when she was near the kitchen that she paused to compose herself, so that Ammy and Halitta would not notice her condition.
The kitchen was large enough for ten people to work in comfortably. It was well arranged and fully equipped with every kitchen necessity. There were even two refrigerators—one for soup ingredients and meat, and another for water, soft drinks, and fruits. She met Halitta arranging drinks in the fridge, while Ammy was explaining to Iya, their cook, what food she wanted prepared for the afternoon.
“Ammy, are you sure there are no Boko Haram members or kidnappers among the house staff or Daddy’s students?” she asked, picking up a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Auzubillahi!” Ammy and Iya exclaimed together.
Halitta paused and stared at her sister. Unbothered, Zainab poured herself water, drank deeply, then added,
“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m very serious about this.”
Turning fully to Ammy, she continued,
“Ammy, you know Boko Haram usually targets scholars. Remember their leader, Yusuf, who was killed during President Yar’Adua’s time—they said he once sought knowledge from Sheikh Ja’afar. Daddy must be very careful. Honestly, I strongly suspect the man I saw with Daddy is Boko Haram.”
“Don’t ever let me hear that again!” Ammy snapped angrily, switching to her Shuwa language.
“If Malam hears this, your life will become miserable. Are you mad? Talking about Boko Haram in front of the servants—so they’ll go around spreading that Malam shelters Boko Haram members? Yakura, what will you ever do with this foolishness of yours?”
“Well, I don’t think anyone here looks like Boko Haram… unless Halitta is talking about Usman?”
Halitta said excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she mentioned Usman’s name, drawing sharp looks from both Ammy and Zainab.