I listened quietly to everything Baba Umaru was saying—that I had turned everything into “nothing,” and that I should put my trust in fate. If only he knew what I felt in my heart at the moment he spoke those careless words! I felt like grabbing his neck until he stopped breathing, that’s how much anger burned inside me.
Despite my warnings, he continued:
"I know you’re still upset and drowning in worry. But understand this—it is your destiny. It was written. And I fulfilled the promise I made to my late wife, Hajara, before she passed away."
At his words, I quickly turned to face him. A promise from Ummah? So it was true then—that day, when she told us to leave the room because she was preparing for death, she must have whispered something to him. I asked myself silently, but had no answer.
I rose to leave. At that moment, I needed no company, no conversations, nothing that would pull me further into this mess. For years I had lived in ignorance, blind to the truth of my own life.
Back in my room, I found some relief in the emptiness. The house was quiet—after three days of wedding celebrations, everyone had scattered. I reluctantly went to bathe, though I hadn’t since the wedding day. My body felt heavy, burning with heat.
When I returned, I saw Inna Rabi’s clothes neatly placed by my corner—a sign she had been staying here since the marriage rites. I looked around the room, bitterness rising in my chest. I had wanted to fix this room, to make it my private space, but now it seemed even that freedom was being taken from me.
Still, my mind was elsewhere. My only desire was to uncover the truth about Sameer. Now I knew he wasn’t truly my blood. Since being forced into marriage with him, I had made a vow: I would never submit until they told me the full truth.
Across the three houses of new brides, none of them had been properly welcomed. Why? Because everything the husbands wanted, they had already taken long before the wedding night. One of them was even married to a widow, so he hardly cared for formalities.
Zainab’s Frustration and Inna Laraba’s Wrath
Zainab watched her husband Yunusa buttoning his police uniform, preparing to leave.
"So this is the kind of husband you are? We’ve barely spent a week of marriage, and you’re already running off to work? And now your mother expects me to cook the family meal today?" she snapped, waving a small pestle in her hand like a weapon.
But Yunusa ignored her, polishing his shoes calmly.
"Oh, so you won’t even answer me? Let me tell you this—I didn’t come here to be treated like a servant. If you think I’ll cook for them, you’re wrong. I’m not a sack of rice they dragged home. Tell them yourself!"
Yunusa laughed bitterly.
"Then you won’t eat either. And don’t expect bread from me tonight—I had to borrow just to buy yesterday’s. I’ve given you three nights already; that should be enough. From now on, either you cook, or you starve."
With that, he slammed his shoes on, picked up his cap, and stormed out—leaving his bride in tears.
Zainab sighed heavily, clutching her forehead with one hand and the pestle with the other. Already, the weight of marriage pressed on her chest like a curse. Still, knowing she had no choice, she forced herself to greet her mother-in-law.
From a distance, she heard Inna Laraba’s angry voice. The old woman was scolding another daughter-in-law:
"Get up from here, lazy woman! Your husband gives me money, and you sit here doing nothing but eating, drinking, and stinking up the house. Look at you, filthy as always! Here, take fifty naira and buy tetracycline for your child’s diarrhea—since it’s your fault anyway."
As Zainab entered, Inna Laraba’s piercing eyes landed on her.
"And you—what do you want? Standing there like you wear iron trousers, eh?"
Zainab quickly bent down in respect.
"Inna, good morning."
The old woman frowned before replying coldly,
"Good. Now listen—Yunusa has already told you today is your turn to cook. If he hasn’t, then let me repeat it: every bride has three days of grace, after which she must join the cooking rotation. Do you understand?"
Zainab nodded quickly, her chest trembling. She had not expected it this soon. Her courage melted away in front of this fierce mother-in-law.
Hajiyah Mairo’s Power and Sameerah’s Humiliation
Click, clack, clack! went the sharp heels descending from the upstairs quarters. Hajiyah Mairo appeared, dressed in expensive foreign clothes, gold chain glittering on her neck. Salma, watching from the doorway, was stunned at the woman’s presence and wealth.
This was the first time she had truly seen Hajiyah Mairo. Since the wedding, no one had entered her quarters except the maids delivering food. Now here she was, radiant and commanding.
She sat gracefully before Salma, scanning her like prey. Before she could speak, Sameerah entered with her husband Umaruje, dressed neatly like a glowing bride. She greeted shyly, lowering her head.
"Good morning, Mom," Umaruje said.
"Morning, son. How are you?"
"Normal, Mom. And your co-wife?" he asked teasingly.
"Ask her yourself," Hajiyah replied with a smirk.
Sameerah added softly,
"Good morning, Mom."
"Morning," the woman replied curtly, barely glancing her way.
The conversation turned when Hajiyah Mairo announced:
"My son, you will travel to Dubai soon. You’ll finish your studies there. Once you return, my plans for you remain."
"But Mom, Sameerah and I should go together. I’ll be away for six months," Umaruje protested.
Sameerah’s heart leapt with joy at the thought of such a trip. She had already begun to imagine the life they would build there. But Hajiyah Mairo’s next words crushed her:
"You will not take her. You need freedom, not a child dragging you down. This marriage was never my plan—I promised Suhaila to you. She will return from abroad when you do. That is the future I see for you."
The words stabbed Sameerah like knives. Never in her life had she been humiliated so openly. Meanwhile, Salma’s heart soared with secret joy, watching her rival brought low.
Umaruje, embarrassed, made his excuses and left.
Before dismissing them, Hajiyah Mairo declared her authority:
"From today, I have dismissed all housemaids. You, the brides, will handle everything—cooking, cleaning, charity meals. If you cannot, you may pack and return to your parents immediately."
Salma almost spoke back, but fear froze her tongue. Sameerah left the room trembling, her heart racing. For the first time, she realized she truly loved Umaruje, and now that love was under threat.
Moments later, Alhaji Bala emerged, adjusting his clothes. He sat beside Hajiyah Mairo, whispering sweet words. Salma watched with disgust as he clung to her like a child.
When they finished, Salma asked coldly:
"So, what work do you want me to do before I leave?"
"You may go now," Hajiyah said, dismissing her like a servant.
Her plan was working—control of the household was now in her hands. She quickly phoned Hajiyah Laila, boasting of her success.
Description
A Father’s Words and a Daughter’s Anger
I listened quietly to everything Baba Umaru was saying—that I had turned everything into “nothing,” and that I should put my trust in fate. If only he knew what I felt in my heart at the moment he spoke those careless words! I felt like grabbing his neck until he stopped breathing, that’s how much anger burned inside me.
Despite my warnings, he continued:
"I know you’re still upset and drowning in worry. But understand this—it is your destiny. It was written. And I fulfilled the promise I made to my late wife, Hajara, before she passed away."
At his words, I quickly turned to face him. A promise from Ummah? So it was true then—that day, when she told us to leave the room because she was preparing for death, she must have whispered something to him. I asked myself silently, but had no answer.
I rose to leave. At that moment, I needed no company, no conversations, nothing that would pull me further into this mess. For years I had lived in ignorance, blind to the truth of my own life.
Back in my room, I found some relief in the emptiness. The house was quiet—after three days of wedding celebrations, everyone had scattered. I reluctantly went to bathe, though I hadn’t since the wedding day. My body felt heavy, burning with heat.
When I returned, I saw Inna Rabi’s clothes neatly placed by my corner—a sign she had been staying here since the marriage rites. I looked around the room, bitterness rising in my chest. I had wanted to fix this room, to make it my private space, but now it seemed even that freedom was being taken from me.
Still, my mind was elsewhere. My only desire was to uncover the truth about Sameer. Now I knew he wasn’t truly my blood. Since being forced into marriage with him, I had made a vow: I would never submit until they told me the full truth.
Across the three houses of new brides, none of them had been properly welcomed. Why? Because everything the husbands wanted, they had already taken long before the wedding night. One of them was even married to a widow, so he hardly cared for formalities.
Zainab’s Frustration and Inna Laraba’s Wrath
Zainab watched her husband Yunusa buttoning his police uniform, preparing to leave.
"So this is the kind of husband you are? We’ve barely spent a week of marriage, and you’re already running off to work? And now your mother expects me to cook the family meal today?" she snapped, waving a small pestle in her hand like a weapon.
But Yunusa ignored her, polishing his shoes calmly.
"Oh, so you won’t even answer me? Let me tell you this—I didn’t come here to be treated like a servant. If you think I’ll cook for them, you’re wrong. I’m not a sack of rice they dragged home. Tell them yourself!"
Yunusa laughed bitterly.
"Then you won’t eat either. And don’t expect bread from me tonight—I had to borrow just to buy yesterday’s. I’ve given you three nights already; that should be enough. From now on, either you cook, or you starve."
With that, he slammed his shoes on, picked up his cap, and stormed out—leaving his bride in tears.
Zainab sighed heavily, clutching her forehead with one hand and the pestle with the other. Already, the weight of marriage pressed on her chest like a curse. Still, knowing she had no choice, she forced herself to greet her mother-in-law.
From a distance, she heard Inna Laraba’s angry voice. The old woman was scolding another daughter-in-law:
"Get up from here, lazy woman! Your husband gives me money, and you sit here doing nothing but eating, drinking, and stinking up the house. Look at you, filthy as always! Here, take fifty naira and buy tetracycline for your child’s diarrhea—since it’s your fault anyway."
As Zainab entered, Inna Laraba’s piercing eyes landed on her.
"And you—what do you want? Standing there like you wear iron trousers, eh?"
Zainab quickly bent down in respect.
"Inna, good morning."
The old woman frowned before replying coldly,
"Good. Now listen—Yunusa has already told you today is your turn to cook. If he hasn’t, then let me repeat it: every bride has three days of grace, after which she must join the cooking rotation. Do you understand?"
Zainab nodded quickly, her chest trembling. She had not expected it this soon. Her courage melted away in front of this fierce mother-in-law.
Hajiyah Mairo’s Power and Sameerah’s Humiliation
Click, clack, clack! went the sharp heels descending from the upstairs quarters. Hajiyah Mairo appeared, dressed in expensive foreign clothes, gold chain glittering on her neck. Salma, watching from the doorway, was stunned at the woman’s presence and wealth.
This was the first time she had truly seen Hajiyah Mairo. Since the wedding, no one had entered her quarters except the maids delivering food. Now here she was, radiant and commanding.
She sat gracefully before Salma, scanning her like prey. Before she could speak, Sameerah entered with her husband Umaruje, dressed neatly like a glowing bride. She greeted shyly, lowering her head.
"Good morning, Mom," Umaruje said.
"Morning, son. How are you?"
"Normal, Mom. And your co-wife?" he asked teasingly.
"Ask her yourself," Hajiyah replied with a smirk.
Sameerah added softly,
"Good morning, Mom."
"Morning," the woman replied curtly, barely glancing her way.
The conversation turned when Hajiyah Mairo announced:
"My son, you will travel to Dubai soon. You’ll finish your studies there. Once you return, my plans for you remain."
"But Mom, Sameerah and I should go together. I’ll be away for six months," Umaruje protested.
Sameerah’s heart leapt with joy at the thought of such a trip. She had already begun to imagine the life they would build there. But Hajiyah Mairo’s next words crushed her:
"You will not take her. You need freedom, not a child dragging you down. This marriage was never my plan—I promised Suhaila to you. She will return from abroad when you do. That is the future I see for you."
The words stabbed Sameerah like knives. Never in her life had she been humiliated so openly. Meanwhile, Salma’s heart soared with secret joy, watching her rival brought low.
Umaruje, embarrassed, made his excuses and left.
Before dismissing them, Hajiyah Mairo declared her authority:
"From today, I have dismissed all housemaids. You, the brides, will handle everything—cooking, cleaning, charity meals. If you cannot, you may pack and return to your parents immediately."
Salma almost spoke back, but fear froze her tongue. Sameerah left the room trembling, her heart racing. For the first time, she realized she truly loved Umaruje, and now that love was under threat.
Moments later, Alhaji Bala emerged, adjusting his clothes. He sat beside Hajiyah Mairo, whispering sweet words. Salma watched with disgust as he clung to her like a child.
When they finished, Salma asked coldly:
"So, what work do you want me to do before I leave?"
"You may go now," Hajiyah said, dismissing her like a servant.
Her plan was working—control of the household was now in her hands. She quickly phoned Hajiyah Laila, boasting of her success.