As soon as she stepped out, he locked the gate while she got onto the road and began driving. She turned up the car’s volume, and the sound of Bracket’s “Me and You” filled the air as she enjoyed the beat. She picked up her phone and called her friend Khady.
“Hello besty, where are you?”
I don’t know what the other person said, but I heard her reply:
“Honestly, I’m not feeling too good. Okay, I’ll be there soon, I’m coming. Bye.”
She hung up and continued driving calmly, nodding her head to the rhythm of the music. Slowly, she parked in front of a big store. After about ten minutes inside, she came out, locked her car, and confidently walked toward the store, her fragrance drawing everyone’s attention.
She shopped for many items and came out with an attendant who helped her carry her goods. She threw him ₦5,000 saying, “For carrying the stuff.” Then she entered her car and drove home.
It was Monday — the same day Fahima was scheduled to attend a seminar she had been invited to at FUD. She dressed neatly in an atamfa blouse and skirt, fully matched with perfect makeup. She stepped out, entered a big Venza car — the kind that anyone who saw would know Fahima couldn’t possibly afford, not even to drive, except maybe a wealthy man. But Fahima had her ways.
Calmly, she entered the university compound. Everyone turned to look at her, but they couldn’t tell who was inside because the car windows were tinted. She parked in front of Sarki Tata Hall. For 30 minutes, she sat inside the car without stepping out, even though everyone was waiting for her to begin the program.
She turned up the music again, attracting attention as people wondered who could be inside the car. Her phone started ringing several times, but she ignored it until the third call. Then she picked it up and said nothing. Suddenly she shouted,
“You expect me to come meet you? Should I carry my handbag myself or what? What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, ma!” was all the voice on the other side kept saying.
Then six men came out of another car and approached hers. Fahima smiled and said,
“I’m just 20, but look at the kind of men that walk behind me.”
She wore her glasses, and one of them opened the car door for her. Fahima stepped out gracefully, and they all greeted her respectfully. Smiling, she walked while they followed behind. One of them carried her handbag and locked the car, holding the key in his hand.
Everyone around stared in disbelief — some were jealous, others admired her. She found a special seat, and the program began. Later, students were divided into groups, each assigned a supervisor and contact number. One group, consisting of all girls and just one boy studying Software Engineering, was placed under Fahima’s supervision.
When the program ended, each group gathered with their supervisor — except Fahima’s. She didn’t even look at them, let alone talk. They followed her to her car, but she didn’t care to know their names. She started her engine and drove off.
“Farouq, what do we do now? From the look of that girl, she’s arrogant and disrespectful. Honestly, we’re older than her!” one of them complained.
Farouq sighed and said, “We’ll just be patient and endure whatever humiliation she gives us. Let’s pray she doesn’t block us from defending our project — or else we’ll have to repeat a whole year.”
They all fell silent, fear and frustration written on their faces.
“Don’t worry,” Farouq said, “I’ll go to her house myself. We’ll figure it out.”
And with that, they dispersed, all worried about how to handle Fahima.
When Fahima got home, she threw her bag on the chair and fell asleep, pretending to be tired. A while later, her mother, Ammi, came in and said,
“Oh Fahima, sleeping like this with your full clothes on?”
She began removing Fahima’s glasses and headscarf. Suddenly, the phone rang. Ammi checked — it was a new number. She left it, knowing Fahima wouldn’t want to be woken up because of a call.
The phone kept ringing. Fahima hissed, turned over, and angrily grabbed the phone.
“Farouq?” she said in a sleepy voice — something I never expected her to do so softly.
I don’t know what he said, but she snapped:
“Idiot! Who gave you the guts to call me?” Then she paused and continued,
“And then? Just because I’m supposed to check your project, you’re disturbing me while I’m sleeping? What nonsense is this?”
He kept apologizing. Finally, she said,
“Come this Thursday by 4:30 p.m.”
She hung up with a short hiss and kept mumbling to herself.
My pen’s up! âœï¸
Let’s meet on the next page — what will happen between Farouq and Fahima? And who exactly is Farouq?
The Visit to Fahima’s House
By: Cwtjiddah 💖
Dedication: To Ummee Garkuwa
Title: Babban Rabo (An Untouchable Desire)
It was around 4 p.m. when Farouq arrived at Fahima’s house. He paid the okada rider and knocked at the gate. The gatekeeper came out and asked, “Who are you looking for?”
“Fahima,” Farouq replied.
“Fahima?” the man repeated, staring at him in surprise.
“Yes,” Farouq confirmed.
“Well, as far as I know, Madam never said she was expecting anyone. You better leave before I get into trouble,” the gatekeeper said, trying to close the gate.
Quickly, Farouq stopped him. “Please, sir. I swear she told us to come. It’s about our school project — she’s our supervisor. My teammates are on their way.”
“That’s your problem, not mine,” the gatekeeper replied. “I can’t let you in without her permission.”
He slammed the gate shut.
“Oh God,” Farouq muttered, just as the other girls arrived.
“Farouq, what’s going on?” they asked.
“The gatekeeper said she didn’t inform him about any visitors,” he replied.
“Then call her,” one suggested.
“I don’t want to call her now,” he said nervously. “If the time isn’t exactly right, she might get angry.”
At exactly 4:29, he called. She ignored five missed calls before finally answering. The sound of her voice made him nervous.
“Who’s this?” she asked sharply.
“It’s Farouq, ma’am,” he stammered.
“Farouq?” she repeated, as though she didn’t recognize him. After his explanation, she said,
“Come in.”
Farouq quickly replied, “But ma’am, the gatekeeper won’t let us in.”
She said nothing and hung up.
He told his teammates what happened, and they tried to think of what to do next. Meanwhile, Fahima called one of her housemaids and instructed her to “Go and let the visitors in.”
The maid obeyed immediately.
When she reached the gate, she teased the gatekeeper a bit, saying, “Madam said you should let them in.”
He shrugged and opened the gate.
She led them inside. They looked around in awe — the house was indeed elegant and reflected Fahima’s personality. Refreshments were served, and they ate to their fill. Though Fahima was arrogant, no visitor ever left her house hungry.
After about fifty minutes, Fahima came out dressed in a blue and white atamfa. She wore no scarf, only the matching head-tie on her head. She had white glasses on, her face barely made-up, her hair flowing over her shoulders, and she smelled heavenly. She walked in with a confident gait and greeted them.
They all stood respectfully. She sat down gracefully, while they followed suit. They were shocked at how young she looked.
Then one by one, they greeted her politely — she didn’t respond to any of them. In fact, she didn’t even look up; her eyes stayed glued to her phone.
Finally, she said coldly, “I’m listening.”
Farouq, who had been nervous since she entered, spoke softly:
“My name is Farouq Ahmad, this is Amra Sopyaan, and Amina Abdullahi. I’m the project leader. We came so you could give us the topic for our final project.”
Fahima frowned slightly, then said arrogantly,
“E-Verification System. Make sure you finish it without errors. I’ll only check it once; I don’t waste time on nonsense.”
Then she stood up and left, leaving them speechless.
Farouq gathered himself and said politely, “Thank you, ma’am.” The others followed him out.
Farouq didn’t contact her again for three weeks until she fixed a new time and told him to come the next evening. He went as told. This time, things went more smoothly — she welcomed him warmly, received the project file, and said she would review it.
He could return the day after tomorrow. Then she left, and he too went home.
Description
Fahima’s Daily Life and Attitude
As soon as she stepped out, he locked the gate while she got onto the road and began driving. She turned up the car’s volume, and the sound of Bracket’s “Me and You” filled the air as she enjoyed the beat. She picked up her phone and called her friend Khady.
“Hello besty, where are you?”
I don’t know what the other person said, but I heard her reply:
“Honestly, I’m not feeling too good. Okay, I’ll be there soon, I’m coming. Bye.”
She hung up and continued driving calmly, nodding her head to the rhythm of the music. Slowly, she parked in front of a big store. After about ten minutes inside, she came out, locked her car, and confidently walked toward the store, her fragrance drawing everyone’s attention.
She shopped for many items and came out with an attendant who helped her carry her goods. She threw him ₦5,000 saying, “For carrying the stuff.” Then she entered her car and drove home.
It was Monday — the same day Fahima was scheduled to attend a seminar she had been invited to at FUD. She dressed neatly in an atamfa blouse and skirt, fully matched with perfect makeup. She stepped out, entered a big Venza car — the kind that anyone who saw would know Fahima couldn’t possibly afford, not even to drive, except maybe a wealthy man. But Fahima had her ways.
Calmly, she entered the university compound. Everyone turned to look at her, but they couldn’t tell who was inside because the car windows were tinted. She parked in front of Sarki Tata Hall. For 30 minutes, she sat inside the car without stepping out, even though everyone was waiting for her to begin the program.
She turned up the music again, attracting attention as people wondered who could be inside the car. Her phone started ringing several times, but she ignored it until the third call. Then she picked it up and said nothing. Suddenly she shouted,
“You expect me to come meet you? Should I carry my handbag myself or what? What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, ma!” was all the voice on the other side kept saying.
Then six men came out of another car and approached hers. Fahima smiled and said,
“I’m just 20, but look at the kind of men that walk behind me.”
She wore her glasses, and one of them opened the car door for her. Fahima stepped out gracefully, and they all greeted her respectfully. Smiling, she walked while they followed behind. One of them carried her handbag and locked the car, holding the key in his hand.
Everyone around stared in disbelief — some were jealous, others admired her. She found a special seat, and the program began. Later, students were divided into groups, each assigned a supervisor and contact number. One group, consisting of all girls and just one boy studying Software Engineering, was placed under Fahima’s supervision.
When the program ended, each group gathered with their supervisor — except Fahima’s. She didn’t even look at them, let alone talk. They followed her to her car, but she didn’t care to know their names. She started her engine and drove off.
“Farouq, what do we do now? From the look of that girl, she’s arrogant and disrespectful. Honestly, we’re older than her!” one of them complained.
Farouq sighed and said, “We’ll just be patient and endure whatever humiliation she gives us. Let’s pray she doesn’t block us from defending our project — or else we’ll have to repeat a whole year.”
They all fell silent, fear and frustration written on their faces.
“Don’t worry,” Farouq said, “I’ll go to her house myself. We’ll figure it out.”
And with that, they dispersed, all worried about how to handle Fahima.
When Fahima got home, she threw her bag on the chair and fell asleep, pretending to be tired. A while later, her mother, Ammi, came in and said,
“Oh Fahima, sleeping like this with your full clothes on?”
She began removing Fahima’s glasses and headscarf. Suddenly, the phone rang. Ammi checked — it was a new number. She left it, knowing Fahima wouldn’t want to be woken up because of a call.
The phone kept ringing. Fahima hissed, turned over, and angrily grabbed the phone.
“Farouq?” she said in a sleepy voice — something I never expected her to do so softly.
I don’t know what he said, but she snapped:
“Idiot! Who gave you the guts to call me?” Then she paused and continued,
“And then? Just because I’m supposed to check your project, you’re disturbing me while I’m sleeping? What nonsense is this?”
He kept apologizing. Finally, she said,
“Come this Thursday by 4:30 p.m.”
She hung up with a short hiss and kept mumbling to herself.
My pen’s up! âœï¸
Let’s meet on the next page — what will happen between Farouq and Fahima? And who exactly is Farouq?
The Visit to Fahima’s House
By: Cwtjiddah 💖
Dedication: To Ummee Garkuwa
Title: Babban Rabo (An Untouchable Desire)
It was around 4 p.m. when Farouq arrived at Fahima’s house. He paid the okada rider and knocked at the gate. The gatekeeper came out and asked, “Who are you looking for?”
“Fahima,” Farouq replied.
“Fahima?” the man repeated, staring at him in surprise.
“Yes,” Farouq confirmed.
“Well, as far as I know, Madam never said she was expecting anyone. You better leave before I get into trouble,” the gatekeeper said, trying to close the gate.
Quickly, Farouq stopped him. “Please, sir. I swear she told us to come. It’s about our school project — she’s our supervisor. My teammates are on their way.”
“That’s your problem, not mine,” the gatekeeper replied. “I can’t let you in without her permission.”
He slammed the gate shut.
“Oh God,” Farouq muttered, just as the other girls arrived.
“Farouq, what’s going on?” they asked.
“The gatekeeper said she didn’t inform him about any visitors,” he replied.
“Then call her,” one suggested.
“I don’t want to call her now,” he said nervously. “If the time isn’t exactly right, she might get angry.”
At exactly 4:29, he called. She ignored five missed calls before finally answering. The sound of her voice made him nervous.
“Who’s this?” she asked sharply.
“It’s Farouq, ma’am,” he stammered.
“Farouq?” she repeated, as though she didn’t recognize him. After his explanation, she said,
“Come in.”
Farouq quickly replied, “But ma’am, the gatekeeper won’t let us in.”
She said nothing and hung up.
He told his teammates what happened, and they tried to think of what to do next. Meanwhile, Fahima called one of her housemaids and instructed her to “Go and let the visitors in.”
The maid obeyed immediately.
When she reached the gate, she teased the gatekeeper a bit, saying, “Madam said you should let them in.”
He shrugged and opened the gate.
She led them inside. They looked around in awe — the house was indeed elegant and reflected Fahima’s personality. Refreshments were served, and they ate to their fill. Though Fahima was arrogant, no visitor ever left her house hungry.
After about fifty minutes, Fahima came out dressed in a blue and white atamfa. She wore no scarf, only the matching head-tie on her head. She had white glasses on, her face barely made-up, her hair flowing over her shoulders, and she smelled heavenly. She walked in with a confident gait and greeted them.
They all stood respectfully. She sat down gracefully, while they followed suit. They were shocked at how young she looked.
Then one by one, they greeted her politely — she didn’t respond to any of them. In fact, she didn’t even look up; her eyes stayed glued to her phone.
Finally, she said coldly, “I’m listening.”
Farouq, who had been nervous since she entered, spoke softly:
“My name is Farouq Ahmad, this is Amra Sopyaan, and Amina Abdullahi. I’m the project leader. We came so you could give us the topic for our final project.”
Fahima frowned slightly, then said arrogantly,
“E-Verification System. Make sure you finish it without errors. I’ll only check it once; I don’t waste time on nonsense.”
Then she stood up and left, leaving them speechless.
Farouq gathered himself and said politely, “Thank you, ma’am.” The others followed him out.
Farouq didn’t contact her again for three weeks until she fixed a new time and told him to come the next evening. He went as told. This time, things went more smoothly — she welcomed him warmly, received the project file, and said she would review it.
He could return the day after tomorrow. Then she left, and he too went home.