It was a medium-sized room surrounded by expensive curtains, containing a large mattress, some decorative display items to the side, and a single luxurious cushion.
An elderly woman, no older than fifty-five, sat in the room with her chin resting on her palm. She said,
> “Well, we’ll never tire of praying. May the Almighty grant her health. Next month we’re hoping everything will be fine, right?”
The young woman beside her smiled slightly and replied,
> “That’s what the doctors said, God willing. But you know, you can try your best, yet God has the final say. This surgery will be the last one they’ll perform if God permits. We just hope it works.”
Yakumbo responded,
> “Insha’Allah it will. That’s what we’ve been asking God for every day. No one in our whole extended family has this condition, so it’s not hereditary. What about in yours?”
The young woman laughed.
> “No, Yakumbo.”
Yakumbo said,
> “Exactly. May God save us from suffering. And may He grant you safe delivery too. So you’ll be returning to India for the surgery?”
The woman replied,
> “Amen. Yes, that’s where we’re going.”
Yakumbo said,
> “Then, Insha’Allah, that’ll be the end of your troubles.”
They talked until Yakumbo glanced at the clock.
> “Amina, are you sure your trip is still happening today? Umar still hasn’t shown up.”
Amina also looked at the time.
> “I called him earlier but couldn’t reach him. I think he’s in a meeting. Honestly, I’ve given up on seeing him today.”
Yakumbo nodded.
> “Just wait until tomorrow evening then. This place isn’t safe to travel in the dark with all these outbreaks of disease…”
Amina agreed.
Then Yakumbo changed the topic.
> “I heard Salihu’s wife has been looking for you to quarrel. Don’t you dare pay her any attention. She and Asama’u are all just jealous, thinking you’re living better in your husband’s home. They forget it’s God who blessed you.”
Amina smiled but didn’t respond. Yakumbo continued,
> “And they say you’re hiding your daughter so no one can see her?”
Amina replied,
> “That’s not true, Yakumbo. You’ve known since she was little that she’s rarely out in public. She’s always either in the room with me, with her caregiver, or her teacher. Even now, most of the neighbors don’t know what Heedayah looks like. Sometimes visitors come and leave without ever seeing her, and that’s why people think we’re hiding her.”
Yakumbo nodded.
> “Better that way. You never know who wishes you harm. Protecting her is more important than anything.”
Amina stayed silent. Yakumbo asked,
> “So she even gets her schooling at home?”
Amina replied,
> “Yes, even her Islamic studies.”
Yakumbo approved.
> “Good. That’s best. But check on her—she’s been quiet for too long. I hope my troublesome neighbor’s kids haven’t lured her outside.”
Amina stood quickly and went to the courtyard.
> “Heedayah?”
There was silence. On the mat lay her large baby doll, the comb, and her hat—but no Heedayah. Yakumbo followed her, already grumbling about the neighbor’s unruly children.
The Kidnapping
Amina rushed out with her hijab, Yakumbo close behind. They searched from house to house, but Heedayah was nowhere. Then a woman said,
> “I saw her earlier heading towards the market with Hinde, Bibalo, and Fatu—about six of them in total.”
Yakumbo gasped.
> “Her father is in Abuja, and she’s his only child—twelve years old and blind. And those reckless children dragged her to the market? That road is dangerous with all the thefts and abductions lately.”
Soon, villagers rushed toward the market. They found a group of girls under a mango tree—five on the ground, two up in the branches picking mangoes. Among them was a light-skinned girl, clearly Fulani, with strikingly white eyes that saw nothing but darkness—Heedayah.
Suddenly, a black car pulled up. Two large men jumped out. The children fled in panic. Fatu yanked her hand from Heedayah’s grasp and ran. The men grabbed three girls and lifted Heedayah into the car. She screamed for her mother.
One of the men pulled out a gun, motioning for silence. The other beat Heedayah when she kept shouting. Finally, they pressed a cloth with some substance over her face, and she went limp.
When the villagers found the remaining children, they told what happened. Amina fainted. Yakumbo broke down crying, fearing it was the work of kidnappers or ritual killers.
In Captivity
The kidnappers drove for about an hour before stopping near a forest. A dispute broke out—one man suggested killing Heedayah because she was blind and would be troublesome to move. Another refused, saying they had already promised to bring ten children and only had four. He insisted they take her.
Eventually, she was carried into the dense forest until they reached an unfinished building where other captives—men, women, and children—were held.
Inside, the leader questioned whether Heedayah was among the “planned” victims. When told she wasn’t, he said they would still need her body parts. She was pushed to the ground.
The night passed with the prisoners comforting each other. Around dawn, Heedayah awoke and began calling for her mother. Zulai, another girl, whispered for her to keep quiet because they were in the hands of killers. But Heedayah cried even louder.
A prisoner tried to calm her, assuring her she would go home. Later, she told them she was hungry. Around 10 a.m., three armed men entered, tossing loaves of bread from a bag to the captives…
Description
The Living Room Conversation
It was a medium-sized room surrounded by expensive curtains, containing a large mattress, some decorative display items to the side, and a single luxurious cushion.
An elderly woman, no older than fifty-five, sat in the room with her chin resting on her palm. She said,
> “Well, we’ll never tire of praying. May the Almighty grant her health. Next month we’re hoping everything will be fine, right?”
The young woman beside her smiled slightly and replied,
> “That’s what the doctors said, God willing. But you know, you can try your best, yet God has the final say. This surgery will be the last one they’ll perform if God permits. We just hope it works.”
Yakumbo responded,
> “Insha’Allah it will. That’s what we’ve been asking God for every day. No one in our whole extended family has this condition, so it’s not hereditary. What about in yours?”
The young woman laughed.
> “No, Yakumbo.”
Yakumbo said,
> “Exactly. May God save us from suffering. And may He grant you safe delivery too. So you’ll be returning to India for the surgery?”
The woman replied,
> “Amen. Yes, that’s where we’re going.”
Yakumbo said,
> “Then, Insha’Allah, that’ll be the end of your troubles.”
They talked until Yakumbo glanced at the clock.
> “Amina, are you sure your trip is still happening today? Umar still hasn’t shown up.”
Amina also looked at the time.
> “I called him earlier but couldn’t reach him. I think he’s in a meeting. Honestly, I’ve given up on seeing him today.”
Yakumbo nodded.
> “Just wait until tomorrow evening then. This place isn’t safe to travel in the dark with all these outbreaks of disease…”
Amina agreed.
Then Yakumbo changed the topic.
> “I heard Salihu’s wife has been looking for you to quarrel. Don’t you dare pay her any attention. She and Asama’u are all just jealous, thinking you’re living better in your husband’s home. They forget it’s God who blessed you.”
Amina smiled but didn’t respond. Yakumbo continued,
> “And they say you’re hiding your daughter so no one can see her?”
Amina replied,
> “That’s not true, Yakumbo. You’ve known since she was little that she’s rarely out in public. She’s always either in the room with me, with her caregiver, or her teacher. Even now, most of the neighbors don’t know what Heedayah looks like. Sometimes visitors come and leave without ever seeing her, and that’s why people think we’re hiding her.”
Yakumbo nodded.
> “Better that way. You never know who wishes you harm. Protecting her is more important than anything.”
Amina stayed silent. Yakumbo asked,
> “So she even gets her schooling at home?”
Amina replied,
> “Yes, even her Islamic studies.”
Yakumbo approved.
> “Good. That’s best. But check on her—she’s been quiet for too long. I hope my troublesome neighbor’s kids haven’t lured her outside.”
Amina stood quickly and went to the courtyard.
> “Heedayah?”
There was silence. On the mat lay her large baby doll, the comb, and her hat—but no Heedayah. Yakumbo followed her, already grumbling about the neighbor’s unruly children.
The Kidnapping
Amina rushed out with her hijab, Yakumbo close behind. They searched from house to house, but Heedayah was nowhere. Then a woman said,
> “I saw her earlier heading towards the market with Hinde, Bibalo, and Fatu—about six of them in total.”
Yakumbo gasped.
> “Her father is in Abuja, and she’s his only child—twelve years old and blind. And those reckless children dragged her to the market? That road is dangerous with all the thefts and abductions lately.”
Soon, villagers rushed toward the market. They found a group of girls under a mango tree—five on the ground, two up in the branches picking mangoes. Among them was a light-skinned girl, clearly Fulani, with strikingly white eyes that saw nothing but darkness—Heedayah.
Suddenly, a black car pulled up. Two large men jumped out. The children fled in panic. Fatu yanked her hand from Heedayah’s grasp and ran. The men grabbed three girls and lifted Heedayah into the car. She screamed for her mother.
One of the men pulled out a gun, motioning for silence. The other beat Heedayah when she kept shouting. Finally, they pressed a cloth with some substance over her face, and she went limp.
When the villagers found the remaining children, they told what happened. Amina fainted. Yakumbo broke down crying, fearing it was the work of kidnappers or ritual killers.
In Captivity
The kidnappers drove for about an hour before stopping near a forest. A dispute broke out—one man suggested killing Heedayah because she was blind and would be troublesome to move. Another refused, saying they had already promised to bring ten children and only had four. He insisted they take her.
Eventually, she was carried into the dense forest until they reached an unfinished building where other captives—men, women, and children—were held.
Inside, the leader questioned whether Heedayah was among the “planned” victims. When told she wasn’t, he said they would still need her body parts. She was pushed to the ground.
The night passed with the prisoners comforting each other. Around dawn, Heedayah awoke and began calling for her mother. Zulai, another girl, whispered for her to keep quiet because they were in the hands of killers. But Heedayah cried even louder.
A prisoner tried to calm her, assuring her she would go home. Later, she told them she was hungry. Around 10 a.m., three armed men entered, tossing loaves of bread from a bag to the captives…