Despite how fast she was walking, it didn’t stop her from turning back toward the car with its black-tinted glass. She stood there, as usual, checking herself in the reflection with the playful stubbornness children often have.
This habit of Maryamu never changed—she could never pass by a mirror or glass without stopping to look at herself or even write her name MARYAMU on it in crooked letters like someone still learning how to write in primary school.
She didn’t care whose car it was or where it came from. Her childish mischief pushed her to do it anytime she wished.
When she finished, she adjusted the aluminum plate on her head and rushed ahead. The person sitting inside the car—whom she didn’t even notice—adjusted himself in surprise, watching the little girl.
From the moment she arrived and started her antics, he wanted to step out and scold her, but he stopped and simply watched, shocked until she walked away. His surprise didn’t fade because the whole thing was strange to him.
He eventually stepped out of the car, worried that neighborhood kids might scratch the back of his vehicle, especially after seeing this one already drawing on the front. He proceeded to the house he wanted to enter, pushing aside the thought of the little girl.
It was a house built like the modern mud-style structures of Daurawa—old but still showing traces of modernization. You could tell time had passed since it was built, yet the upgrades made it look better than others. He stayed inside for a long time, and when he came out the sun was scorching hot. He entered his vehicle, turned on the AC, and left the neighborhood with heavy thoughts on his mind.
His mind was occupied with what his father had said about traveling abroad to further his studies—a dream he held onto—yet his father strongly opposed it. His father wanted him to stay in Nigeria, study here, and also help with the small business he started after retirement.
Truthfully, business wasn’t his passion. He preferred education and wished to become a government worker and benefit from his learning.
This was why he had gone to his grandfather, Malam Inuwa—to tell him the situation between him and his father. Luckily, his grandfather supported his desire to travel.
The grandfather gave him a message to deliver to his father once he returned home. That was what he kept thinking about—how he would face his father and speak to him, especially since he had gone to his grandfather without informing him.
After completing everything for the day and returning home after the Isha prayer, he went directly to his mother’s door and greeted her, waiting for permission before entering.
He entered and greeted her again before sitting down. She asked,
“Where have you been? Since morning I sent someone to check on you twice and you were not around.”
He replied,
“I’ve been home since after Asr. I only stepped out briefly to greet Malam and pray Asr there. He said I should tell Baba he wants to discuss something with him.”
She threw him a questioning look as if she wanted to say something but held back. After a moment she asked,
“So you didn’t eat lunch there?”
“That’s why I didn’t come looking for lunch here. You know Malam—when you visit his house you must eat something, either tuwo or fura.”
“That’s how it should be. Anyone who respects guests behaves that way. But nowadays, some people can’t even offer their visitor a cup of water. That’s not hospitality.”
She continued,
“Malam still holds firmly to traditional Hausa hospitality mixed with religion. Nowadays, people only imitate culture on the surface. Even Christians living in the North share similar cultural traits with us. Sometimes you can’t even tell who is Muslim or not because of how similar our cultural practices are.”
“Even names sometimes look fully Muslim, yet the religion is different. That’s why some southern people misunderstand us—they think northerners are careless with religion. They don’t believe we practice Islam properly.”
He replied,
“They think so, Mama, because in their minds any northerner who doesn’t strictly follow Islamic teachings is irresponsible. But the truth is, we’ve lived alongside them for years—they know Islam well but simply choose not to follow it.”
Just then, his stepmother Inna’s voice echoed from the other room talking to her children. His mother told him,
“Alhaji has returned. Go and give him Malam’s message.”
He stood up, and at that moment the door curtain was lifted and the father entered, saying,
“You are inside? With this heat, I don’t understand what these NEPA people mean. They don’t give light, yet at the end of the month they’ll come knocking, demanding payment even with disrespect.”
The son immediately bent down.
“Baba, good evening.”
The father looked at him coldly.
“You again? Where were you? You didn’t go to the market?”
He scratched his head and lowered his gaze.
“I overslept in the morning. Later, I went to greet Malam and prayed Asr there. He asked me to tell you he wants to see you.”
“So Malam wants to see me? We just met last year… No problem. I’ll go tomorrow. Allah willing.”
He dropped the curtain and left. His wife followed him to serve him, as the Hausa tradition requires: when the man of the house returns from work, the wife attends to him—water, food, bath, and anything else necessary.
May Allah help us preserve the path of righteousness, Ameen.
Description
By the Car
Despite how fast she was walking, it didn’t stop her from turning back toward the car with its black-tinted glass. She stood there, as usual, checking herself in the reflection with the playful stubbornness children often have.
This habit of Maryamu never changed—she could never pass by a mirror or glass without stopping to look at herself or even write her name MARYAMU on it in crooked letters like someone still learning how to write in primary school.
She didn’t care whose car it was or where it came from. Her childish mischief pushed her to do it anytime she wished.
When she finished, she adjusted the aluminum plate on her head and rushed ahead. The person sitting inside the car—whom she didn’t even notice—adjusted himself in surprise, watching the little girl.
From the moment she arrived and started her antics, he wanted to step out and scold her, but he stopped and simply watched, shocked until she walked away. His surprise didn’t fade because the whole thing was strange to him.
He eventually stepped out of the car, worried that neighborhood kids might scratch the back of his vehicle, especially after seeing this one already drawing on the front. He proceeded to the house he wanted to enter, pushing aside the thought of the little girl.
It was a house built like the modern mud-style structures of Daurawa—old but still showing traces of modernization. You could tell time had passed since it was built, yet the upgrades made it look better than others. He stayed inside for a long time, and when he came out the sun was scorching hot. He entered his vehicle, turned on the AC, and left the neighborhood with heavy thoughts on his mind.
His mind was occupied with what his father had said about traveling abroad to further his studies—a dream he held onto—yet his father strongly opposed it. His father wanted him to stay in Nigeria, study here, and also help with the small business he started after retirement.
Truthfully, business wasn’t his passion. He preferred education and wished to become a government worker and benefit from his learning.
This was why he had gone to his grandfather, Malam Inuwa—to tell him the situation between him and his father. Luckily, his grandfather supported his desire to travel.
The grandfather gave him a message to deliver to his father once he returned home. That was what he kept thinking about—how he would face his father and speak to him, especially since he had gone to his grandfather without informing him.
After completing everything for the day and returning home after the Isha prayer, he went directly to his mother’s door and greeted her, waiting for permission before entering.
He entered and greeted her again before sitting down. She asked,
“Where have you been? Since morning I sent someone to check on you twice and you were not around.”
He replied,
“I’ve been home since after Asr. I only stepped out briefly to greet Malam and pray Asr there. He said I should tell Baba he wants to discuss something with him.”
She threw him a questioning look as if she wanted to say something but held back. After a moment she asked,
“So you didn’t eat lunch there?”
“That’s why I didn’t come looking for lunch here. You know Malam—when you visit his house you must eat something, either tuwo or fura.”
“That’s how it should be. Anyone who respects guests behaves that way. But nowadays, some people can’t even offer their visitor a cup of water. That’s not hospitality.”
She continued,
“Malam still holds firmly to traditional Hausa hospitality mixed with religion. Nowadays, people only imitate culture on the surface. Even Christians living in the North share similar cultural traits with us. Sometimes you can’t even tell who is Muslim or not because of how similar our cultural practices are.”
“Even names sometimes look fully Muslim, yet the religion is different. That’s why some southern people misunderstand us—they think northerners are careless with religion. They don’t believe we practice Islam properly.”
He replied,
“They think so, Mama, because in their minds any northerner who doesn’t strictly follow Islamic teachings is irresponsible. But the truth is, we’ve lived alongside them for years—they know Islam well but simply choose not to follow it.”
Just then, his stepmother Inna’s voice echoed from the other room talking to her children. His mother told him,
“Alhaji has returned. Go and give him Malam’s message.”
He stood up, and at that moment the door curtain was lifted and the father entered, saying,
“You are inside? With this heat, I don’t understand what these NEPA people mean. They don’t give light, yet at the end of the month they’ll come knocking, demanding payment even with disrespect.”
The son immediately bent down.
“Baba, good evening.”
The father looked at him coldly.
“You again? Where were you? You didn’t go to the market?”
He scratched his head and lowered his gaze.
“I overslept in the morning. Later, I went to greet Malam and prayed Asr there. He asked me to tell you he wants to see you.”
“So Malam wants to see me? We just met last year… No problem. I’ll go tomorrow. Allah willing.”
He dropped the curtain and left. His wife followed him to serve him, as the Hausa tradition requires: when the man of the house returns from work, the wife attends to him—water, food, bath, and anything else necessary.
May Allah help us preserve the path of righteousness, Ameen.