It was a cold season, but today’s cold was harsher than usual.
This morning began with a biting chill that penetrated through every part of the human body. The city was covered in thick fog. Many of the town’s residents, especially those out for their daily businesses, were wrapped in heavy winter clothing, because today’s cold was unlike any other day.
The Ambassadna Neighborhood
There stood a magnificent mansion, and from the very gate, one could tell that the house belonged to someone of great status. A single glance was enough to confirm the owner was no ordinary person.
The house was luxurious, containing everything that brings worldly comfort. Nothing was missing. Everywhere inside was decorated with beautiful, fragrant flowers. A vast garden sprawled within, filled with fruit trees of many kinds—dates, strawberries, grapes, mangoes, sweet lemons, coconuts, and guava.
On one side was an aviary with large cages: ostriches, peacocks, parrots, cockatoos, pigeons, and the African grey parrot (the real talker). The beauty of the house and its features was endless, every detail crafted with excellence, Subhanallah.
Two strong guards in uniform stood watch—clearly Chadian from appearance. There was also a massive open-air sitting area with elegant chairs, next to a vast garage holding about ten luxurious cars in perfect order. Two expensive cars, one pure white and the other jet black, were outside being polished while armed security circled them, sniffing and patrolling with alertness.
The Young Lady Rahma
Inside the mansion, a young girl of about eighteen stood at her bedroom door. Just looking at her doorway showed the wealth and luxury spent on her room and comforts. Though she studied abroad, this was her home.
She wore a soft blue abaya adorned with sparkling white gemstones. A matching headscarf sat perfectly on her. Her long hair flowed down her back. Unlike others, she didn’t feel the biting cold because her room was heated. In fact, she loved cold weather, but tonight hunger had prevented her from sleeping.
Gracefully, she descended the stairs from the second floor. Her walk made her whole body sway gently, her soft pink lips moving slightly as she licked them. Her small, drowsy eyes blinked as she held her iPhone 13 Pro Max.
She was of mixed descent, her appearance showing both Arab and African traits. Her long hair, slim nose, small pink lips, long eyelashes, neat brows, and delicate fair-brown skin made her striking. She wasn’t the “excessively perfect” type of beauty, but still a complete woman. Her height, curves, and well-rounded figure made her captivating. She had full Fulani-like chest, noticeable hips, and a rounded backside, modest yet womanly. She had no dimples, no lower lip mark, but her small, neat, white teeth shone perfectly.
Her personality was quiet, calm, and reserved. She disliked noise, rarely spoke, and preferred her own space. She was kind, generous, and compassionate. She only truly conversed with her father, Abie, though she loved his wife Raiyana deeply, she never opened up to her. Even her grandmother, Jaddatu Rahamu, who was a talkative woman, barely got her to speak—except when something was funny.
As she neared the first floor by her father’s door, she suddenly heard Raiyana’s angry voice. Shocked, she stopped and leaned against the door, intending to go in, thinking maybe the maid Latifa had caused trouble.
But as she listened, her heart pounded violently. Raiyana’s words pierced her ears—she was insulting the very father Rahma loved most. Her body trembled, chest heaving, eyes reddening with rage. Coldness crept into her hands and feet, her teeth clenched tightly, and her whole body shook. She bit her lips hard, closed her ears with her palms, then staggered back upstairs, consumed with bitter hatred toward Raiyana.
Abie, Raiyana, and Jaddatu Rahamu
Inside, Abie stood. A tall, fair Arab man of about fifty, though he looked younger from a life of comfort. Handsome and dignified, with a long face, thick beard, bright golden eyes, and a commanding presence. His smile revealed a single deep dimple. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was captivating.
Dressed in expensive attire, he stood before a mirror spraying fine perfume, speaking calmly in Arabic on the phone, smiling as if he hadn’t just been quarreled with.
From the bathroom emerged Raiyana, a fair, slim Arab woman of about thirty-two. Her long hair reached her back. Her fiery eyes glowed with desire for him, but she held back from embracing him.
“Malam, I’m speaking to you, do you hear me?” she pressed, hands on her waist.
He ended his call and turned, voice sharp:
“Was it you who said such bitter words to me? You disgrace noble women. Do you think being married to me is a favor? No woman who fails my standards will ever last with me. It is only out of respect for my late mother that I keep you here. Otherwise, you’re nothing but a cunning betrayer.”
She trembled but tried to respond:
“Wallahi, I’m close to telling the whole world who you are. I’ll even tell Rahma, your daughter whom you love most.”
Furious, he seized her with raw strength, making her cry out. He raised his hand to slap her but stopped, instead shoving her aside. “Leave my room. If you enter again without permission, you’ll regret it.”
Raiyana, terrified yet still burning with love for him, left quickly, slamming the door behind her. He sighed heavily:
“Astagfirullah! Oh Ummu Aymana, you left me with this chaos. Where will I ever find a woman who will truly understand me?”
He collected his three phones and left, heading toward Rahma’s room, knowing she might still be asleep since she was on a two-month break from school in Spain.
Meanwhile, in the grand sitting room, an elderly woman sat regally. She was about sixty-seven, clearly Arab, dressed in a thick Saudi gown with a heavy shawl. She watched Al Jazeera on a plasma TV, sipping tea and chewing cashew nuts.
When the clock struck 11:00 a.m., she frowned.
“Oh Lord, this boy still hasn’t left for his duties! And tomorrow he departs for Gabon. This spoiled daughter of his wastes his time.”
She called out: “Latifah!”
The maid rushed nervously. “Yes Jaddatu Rahamu, I hope I’ve done no wrong?”
The old woman scolded:
“You always carry hypocrisy in your ways. Why do you assume guilt when I call? Go fetch my phone from the room. If not for Rahma, you’d have long been thrown out of this house.”
Latifah muttered under her breath in Hausa, thinking the old woman wouldn’t understand:
“Staying in this house is just for money. If not for your daughter’s kindness, I would have beaten you and left long ago.”
Description
The City of Ndjamena, Chad
It was a cold season, but today’s cold was harsher than usual.
This morning began with a biting chill that penetrated through every part of the human body. The city was covered in thick fog. Many of the town’s residents, especially those out for their daily businesses, were wrapped in heavy winter clothing, because today’s cold was unlike any other day.
The Ambassadna Neighborhood
There stood a magnificent mansion, and from the very gate, one could tell that the house belonged to someone of great status. A single glance was enough to confirm the owner was no ordinary person.
The house was luxurious, containing everything that brings worldly comfort. Nothing was missing. Everywhere inside was decorated with beautiful, fragrant flowers. A vast garden sprawled within, filled with fruit trees of many kinds—dates, strawberries, grapes, mangoes, sweet lemons, coconuts, and guava.
On one side was an aviary with large cages: ostriches, peacocks, parrots, cockatoos, pigeons, and the African grey parrot (the real talker). The beauty of the house and its features was endless, every detail crafted with excellence, Subhanallah.
Two strong guards in uniform stood watch—clearly Chadian from appearance. There was also a massive open-air sitting area with elegant chairs, next to a vast garage holding about ten luxurious cars in perfect order. Two expensive cars, one pure white and the other jet black, were outside being polished while armed security circled them, sniffing and patrolling with alertness.
The Young Lady Rahma
Inside the mansion, a young girl of about eighteen stood at her bedroom door. Just looking at her doorway showed the wealth and luxury spent on her room and comforts. Though she studied abroad, this was her home.
She wore a soft blue abaya adorned with sparkling white gemstones. A matching headscarf sat perfectly on her. Her long hair flowed down her back. Unlike others, she didn’t feel the biting cold because her room was heated. In fact, she loved cold weather, but tonight hunger had prevented her from sleeping.
Gracefully, she descended the stairs from the second floor. Her walk made her whole body sway gently, her soft pink lips moving slightly as she licked them. Her small, drowsy eyes blinked as she held her iPhone 13 Pro Max.
She was of mixed descent, her appearance showing both Arab and African traits. Her long hair, slim nose, small pink lips, long eyelashes, neat brows, and delicate fair-brown skin made her striking. She wasn’t the “excessively perfect” type of beauty, but still a complete woman. Her height, curves, and well-rounded figure made her captivating. She had full Fulani-like chest, noticeable hips, and a rounded backside, modest yet womanly. She had no dimples, no lower lip mark, but her small, neat, white teeth shone perfectly.
Her personality was quiet, calm, and reserved. She disliked noise, rarely spoke, and preferred her own space. She was kind, generous, and compassionate. She only truly conversed with her father, Abie, though she loved his wife Raiyana deeply, she never opened up to her. Even her grandmother, Jaddatu Rahamu, who was a talkative woman, barely got her to speak—except when something was funny.
As she neared the first floor by her father’s door, she suddenly heard Raiyana’s angry voice. Shocked, she stopped and leaned against the door, intending to go in, thinking maybe the maid Latifa had caused trouble.
But as she listened, her heart pounded violently. Raiyana’s words pierced her ears—she was insulting the very father Rahma loved most. Her body trembled, chest heaving, eyes reddening with rage. Coldness crept into her hands and feet, her teeth clenched tightly, and her whole body shook. She bit her lips hard, closed her ears with her palms, then staggered back upstairs, consumed with bitter hatred toward Raiyana.
Abie, Raiyana, and Jaddatu Rahamu
Inside, Abie stood. A tall, fair Arab man of about fifty, though he looked younger from a life of comfort. Handsome and dignified, with a long face, thick beard, bright golden eyes, and a commanding presence. His smile revealed a single deep dimple. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was captivating.
Dressed in expensive attire, he stood before a mirror spraying fine perfume, speaking calmly in Arabic on the phone, smiling as if he hadn’t just been quarreled with.
From the bathroom emerged Raiyana, a fair, slim Arab woman of about thirty-two. Her long hair reached her back. Her fiery eyes glowed with desire for him, but she held back from embracing him.
“Malam, I’m speaking to you, do you hear me?” she pressed, hands on her waist.
He ended his call and turned, voice sharp:
“Was it you who said such bitter words to me? You disgrace noble women. Do you think being married to me is a favor? No woman who fails my standards will ever last with me. It is only out of respect for my late mother that I keep you here. Otherwise, you’re nothing but a cunning betrayer.”
She trembled but tried to respond:
“Wallahi, I’m close to telling the whole world who you are. I’ll even tell Rahma, your daughter whom you love most.”
Furious, he seized her with raw strength, making her cry out. He raised his hand to slap her but stopped, instead shoving her aside. “Leave my room. If you enter again without permission, you’ll regret it.”
Raiyana, terrified yet still burning with love for him, left quickly, slamming the door behind her. He sighed heavily:
“Astagfirullah! Oh Ummu Aymana, you left me with this chaos. Where will I ever find a woman who will truly understand me?”
He collected his three phones and left, heading toward Rahma’s room, knowing she might still be asleep since she was on a two-month break from school in Spain.
Meanwhile, in the grand sitting room, an elderly woman sat regally. She was about sixty-seven, clearly Arab, dressed in a thick Saudi gown with a heavy shawl. She watched Al Jazeera on a plasma TV, sipping tea and chewing cashew nuts.
When the clock struck 11:00 a.m., she frowned.
“Oh Lord, this boy still hasn’t left for his duties! And tomorrow he departs for Gabon. This spoiled daughter of his wastes his time.”
She called out: “Latifah!”
The maid rushed nervously. “Yes Jaddatu Rahamu, I hope I’ve done no wrong?”
The old woman scolded:
“You always carry hypocrisy in your ways. Why do you assume guilt when I call? Go fetch my phone from the room. If not for Rahma, you’d have long been thrown out of this house.”
Latifah muttered under her breath in Hausa, thinking the old woman wouldn’t understand:
“Staying in this house is just for money. If not for your daughter’s kindness, I would have beaten you and left long ago.”