Slowly, he was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, listening to his friend, his closest companion, and cousin, who sat lazily in the passenger seat. After a moment, he hissed softly, shook his head, and said calmly, “Ahmad, honestly, you should change that story of yours. I don’t see the point in it at all.”
His friend Ahmad laughed. “Well, it makes perfect sense to me since I love her, and I want to marry her. Look, Captain, please drop your pride and tell me — what exactly is wrong with Maryam? I really want to know.”
The one he called Captain ran a hand through his soft hair. “You know what?” he said. Ahmad just looked at him, waiting for his response.
Captain continued, “I just don’t get why you Hausas don’t discuss anything beyond love. There are so many meaningful, educational things people could talk about to learn from… yet all you do is talk about love! Did you know that just recently, while studying, I discovered airplane water is full of bacteria? Not only that, but I also found out that—”
Ahmad, rolling his eyes, interrupted him. “This, right here, is why people like you don’t get it. What you’re saying adds no value to people like me, honestly.”
Captain turned his full attention back to driving, saying nothing. Ahmad spoke again, “Every time I bring up Maryam, you always find a way to avoid the conversation. Why’s that?”
Captain replied, “Okay, fine. You asked about her flaws, right?”
“Yes,” Ahmad said. “So?”
“Alright, here goes,” Captain said. “First of all, she’s local. Secondly, she has no special qualities that would make you obsessed with her. Just imagine — an undergraduate? And worst of all, she’s not even that beautiful. There are bigger, classier babes back in Abuja. Plus…” he paused, “her hygiene is nothing to write home about — absolutely nothing. That’s actually my biggest problem.”
Ahmad stared at him in disbelief. At first, he couldn’t even speak. Finally, he asked, “What kind of uncleanliness did you ever see in her?”
Captain glanced at him briefly and said, “You’ll see it one day.”
Ahmad shook his head. “You’re talking nonsense. Maryam has the qualities I want, and that’s all that matters. You, on the other hand — if you dislike something, you’ll never see any good in it. You just keep discouraging people.”
Captain nodded. “Exactly. So please, let’s drop the subject.”
Ahmad was about to speak again when he spotted a woman frying awara (tofu) by the roadside. Excitedly, he said, “Captain, please stop for a bit. I want to buy some. I haven’t eaten awara in a long time — not since before I traveled to the UK.”
Captain glanced briefly at the spot, then accelerated. “God forbid. Just because I picked you up from the railway station doesn’t mean you’ll turn us into roadside loafers. Awara? Seriously?”
Ahmad laughed. “Then drop me off. I didn’t beg you to pick me up; you volunteered.”
Captain lowered his voice as he slowed the car. “Ahmad, do you even know how they process that stuff? This is a ghetto, man. Just wait until you get home and have it prepared properly. I can’t stand your local habits.”
Calmly, Ahmad said, “So, the people in this area aren’t humans, Abuturrab?”
Captain replied, “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about hygiene. They don’t care about it.”
Ahmad laughed. “Everything with you is hygiene, hygiene. Alright then, Mr. Clean Freak. I’m still buying it — none of your business.”
Seeing Ahmad’s insistence, Captain parked by another awara stand. He looked at the young woman frying it and frowned in disgust. To him, no matter how hungry he was, he couldn’t eat something she made. Ahmad opened the door, got out, and walked toward her.
She was sitting alone, surrounded by children and almajiris waiting to buy awara. Ahmad said, “How much is your awara?” Without looking up, she replied, “Twenty naira per piece.”
Ahmad widened his eyes, resting his hands on his waist. “Wow, even awara sellers are this rude now?”
She ignored him and continued serving the children. Captain watched from the car, amused. Ahmad waited patiently until she finished attending to the others. Finally, she looked up at him and asked, “How much should I pack for you?”
“Just five hundred worth,” he said.
“That won’t be enough,” she replied. “You’ll have to wait for the next batch.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll wait in the car.”
He returned to the car while Captain quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the other side of the road. When the girl finished frying, she packed the awara into two small bags, added pepper sauce, combined them into one larger bag, and walked to the car window to hand it over.
Ahmad took it with a smile. “You look like someone who’s had a bad day.”
She said nothing. He pulled out ₦2,000 and handed it to her. “Here, take this.”
“You said ₦500,” she replied, glancing at the money.
“Yes, but keep the change, okay?”
She lowered her gaze. “No, just give me ₦500, please.”
Ahmad blinked in surprise. “You’re refusing a gift?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who I’d even say gave me money at home,” she said quietly.
Smiling, Ahmad dropped the cash on the ground. “Alright then. Take care, awara seller. May God bring you more customers.”
Captain still didn’t look at her. He started the car, and they drove off.
As they approached the end of the area, Ahmad said thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s her situation that forced her to fry awara under the sun. Things are really hard for the poor these days.”
Captain remained silent. Ahmad spoke again, lowering his tone, “Honestly, I pity the poor in this country. What else but hardship would make her parents let her sit by the roadside doing this kind of work? May God protect everyone.”
Captain still said nothing until they entered Unguwan Sarki. He finally asked, “Should we go straight home?”
Ahmad adjusted his seat. “No, drop me off to see my mother first. I’ll come by later this evening.”
Captain nodded and drove until they reached his aunt’s house — Hajiya Ramlah, Ahmad’s mother. Parking at the gate, he said, “We’re here.”
“You’re not coming in?” Ahmad asked.
“No,” Captain replied. “I was here just yesterday.”
Ahmad teased, “Maybe if Ummi sent you, you’d have come willingly.”
Captain rubbed his head, widening his eyes but saying nothing. Ahmad smirked, got out of the car, and began walking toward the gate. Captain called out, “Hey, you forgot your awara!” Ahmad shot him a look, grabbed the bag, and walked inside. Captain watched him go, smiling, before switching off the car and following slowly behind.
Inside, Siyama, Ahmad’s younger sister, greeted Captain warmly with a hug. “Welcome, brother!”
“How are you, Siyama?” he asked.
“I’m fine. You?”
“I’m good. Where are Maimuna and the others?”
“They went to Islamiyya.”
“And you?”
“Did you forget I told you I was sick yesterday?”
“Oh, right. May Allah grant you healing. What about Umma?”
“She’s in her room.”
Ahmad had already gone to his mother’s room, and Captain followed behind.
Later, after Maghrib, Captain and Ahmad left the house and drove to their own home in Malali — a large duplex with a spacious compound. Captain parked in one of the two parking lots, and they both got out.
“Abba isn’t around, right?” Ahmad asked.
“No, he’s away,” Captain replied.
She sat in a small, tight courtyard with a bowl of tuwo before her, though she wasn’t eating. Her hand just rested inside the bowl. A young woman, sitting inside one of the three tiny rooms around the yard, held a fan in one hand, tied a wrapper around her chest, and looked exhausted.
In the courtyard sat a middle-aged man, not more than fifty-eight years old, on a mat. From inside, the woman shouted angrily, “You hypocrite! Every time I talk, you just sit there like a fool. You’ll die stubborn and wicked! And by the way, where’s the fifty naira I gave you earlier? You rat-like thief! It really hurts me today because even your useless father hasn’t given me a single naira for food! Why?”
The young woman said nothing. Her hand was still buried in the bowl, appetite gone.
The older woman — Hansatu — stormed out, fixing her wrapper tightly around her chest. Seeing a passing almajiri, she shouted, “Hey, come here and take this food.”
The man on the mat, Mallam Isuhu, said, “And what about her? Has she eaten, Hansatu?”
Hansatu shot him a glare. “She’ll eat the one you provided yourself,” she said, pouring the food into the boy’s bowl before storming back inside.
The man said nothing. Slowly, the young woman stood up, carried the bowl to the washing area, and began cleaning the dishes quietly. When she was done, her father pulled ₦50 from his pocket and said gently, “Here, Jiddah, go buy some fried potatoes to eat.”
She took it respectfully. “Thank you, Baba,” she said softly.
Before she could finish, Hansatu rushed out, snatched the money, and glared at him. “Where’s the remaining ₦450 I asked for to cook food?!” she snapped, stuffing the money into her wrapper and storming back inside.
Jiddah turned away quietly, walking to her room, fighting back the tears welling in her eyes.
Description
Slowly, he was driving, his eyes fixed on the road, listening to his friend, his closest companion, and cousin, who sat lazily in the passenger seat. After a moment, he hissed softly, shook his head, and said calmly, “Ahmad, honestly, you should change that story of yours. I don’t see the point in it at all.”
His friend Ahmad laughed. “Well, it makes perfect sense to me since I love her, and I want to marry her. Look, Captain, please drop your pride and tell me — what exactly is wrong with Maryam? I really want to know.”
The one he called Captain ran a hand through his soft hair. “You know what?” he said. Ahmad just looked at him, waiting for his response.
Captain continued, “I just don’t get why you Hausas don’t discuss anything beyond love. There are so many meaningful, educational things people could talk about to learn from… yet all you do is talk about love! Did you know that just recently, while studying, I discovered airplane water is full of bacteria? Not only that, but I also found out that—”
Ahmad, rolling his eyes, interrupted him. “This, right here, is why people like you don’t get it. What you’re saying adds no value to people like me, honestly.”
Captain turned his full attention back to driving, saying nothing. Ahmad spoke again, “Every time I bring up Maryam, you always find a way to avoid the conversation. Why’s that?”
Captain replied, “Okay, fine. You asked about her flaws, right?”
“Yes,” Ahmad said. “So?”
“Alright, here goes,” Captain said. “First of all, she’s local. Secondly, she has no special qualities that would make you obsessed with her. Just imagine — an undergraduate? And worst of all, she’s not even that beautiful. There are bigger, classier babes back in Abuja. Plus…” he paused, “her hygiene is nothing to write home about — absolutely nothing. That’s actually my biggest problem.”
Ahmad stared at him in disbelief. At first, he couldn’t even speak. Finally, he asked, “What kind of uncleanliness did you ever see in her?”
Captain glanced at him briefly and said, “You’ll see it one day.”
Ahmad shook his head. “You’re talking nonsense. Maryam has the qualities I want, and that’s all that matters. You, on the other hand — if you dislike something, you’ll never see any good in it. You just keep discouraging people.”
Captain nodded. “Exactly. So please, let’s drop the subject.”
Ahmad was about to speak again when he spotted a woman frying awara (tofu) by the roadside. Excitedly, he said, “Captain, please stop for a bit. I want to buy some. I haven’t eaten awara in a long time — not since before I traveled to the UK.”
Captain glanced briefly at the spot, then accelerated. “God forbid. Just because I picked you up from the railway station doesn’t mean you’ll turn us into roadside loafers. Awara? Seriously?”
Ahmad laughed. “Then drop me off. I didn’t beg you to pick me up; you volunteered.”
Captain lowered his voice as he slowed the car. “Ahmad, do you even know how they process that stuff? This is a ghetto, man. Just wait until you get home and have it prepared properly. I can’t stand your local habits.”
Calmly, Ahmad said, “So, the people in this area aren’t humans, Abuturrab?”
Captain replied, “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about hygiene. They don’t care about it.”
Ahmad laughed. “Everything with you is hygiene, hygiene. Alright then, Mr. Clean Freak. I’m still buying it — none of your business.”
Seeing Ahmad’s insistence, Captain parked by another awara stand. He looked at the young woman frying it and frowned in disgust. To him, no matter how hungry he was, he couldn’t eat something she made. Ahmad opened the door, got out, and walked toward her.
She was sitting alone, surrounded by children and almajiris waiting to buy awara. Ahmad said, “How much is your awara?” Without looking up, she replied, “Twenty naira per piece.”
Ahmad widened his eyes, resting his hands on his waist. “Wow, even awara sellers are this rude now?”
She ignored him and continued serving the children. Captain watched from the car, amused. Ahmad waited patiently until she finished attending to the others. Finally, she looked up at him and asked, “How much should I pack for you?”
“Just five hundred worth,” he said.
“That won’t be enough,” she replied. “You’ll have to wait for the next batch.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll wait in the car.”
He returned to the car while Captain quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the other side of the road. When the girl finished frying, she packed the awara into two small bags, added pepper sauce, combined them into one larger bag, and walked to the car window to hand it over.
Ahmad took it with a smile. “You look like someone who’s had a bad day.”
She said nothing. He pulled out ₦2,000 and handed it to her. “Here, take this.”
“You said ₦500,” she replied, glancing at the money.
“Yes, but keep the change, okay?”
She lowered her gaze. “No, just give me ₦500, please.”
Ahmad blinked in surprise. “You’re refusing a gift?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who I’d even say gave me money at home,” she said quietly.
Smiling, Ahmad dropped the cash on the ground. “Alright then. Take care, awara seller. May God bring you more customers.”
Captain still didn’t look at her. He started the car, and they drove off.
As they approached the end of the area, Ahmad said thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s her situation that forced her to fry awara under the sun. Things are really hard for the poor these days.”
Captain remained silent. Ahmad spoke again, lowering his tone, “Honestly, I pity the poor in this country. What else but hardship would make her parents let her sit by the roadside doing this kind of work? May God protect everyone.”
Captain still said nothing until they entered Unguwan Sarki. He finally asked, “Should we go straight home?”
Ahmad adjusted his seat. “No, drop me off to see my mother first. I’ll come by later this evening.”
Captain nodded and drove until they reached his aunt’s house — Hajiya Ramlah, Ahmad’s mother. Parking at the gate, he said, “We’re here.”
“You’re not coming in?” Ahmad asked.
“No,” Captain replied. “I was here just yesterday.”
Ahmad teased, “Maybe if Ummi sent you, you’d have come willingly.”
Captain rubbed his head, widening his eyes but saying nothing. Ahmad smirked, got out of the car, and began walking toward the gate. Captain called out, “Hey, you forgot your awara!” Ahmad shot him a look, grabbed the bag, and walked inside. Captain watched him go, smiling, before switching off the car and following slowly behind.
Inside, Siyama, Ahmad’s younger sister, greeted Captain warmly with a hug. “Welcome, brother!”
“How are you, Siyama?” he asked.
“I’m fine. You?”
“I’m good. Where are Maimuna and the others?”
“They went to Islamiyya.”
“And you?”
“Did you forget I told you I was sick yesterday?”
“Oh, right. May Allah grant you healing. What about Umma?”
“She’s in her room.”
Ahmad had already gone to his mother’s room, and Captain followed behind.
Later, after Maghrib, Captain and Ahmad left the house and drove to their own home in Malali — a large duplex with a spacious compound. Captain parked in one of the two parking lots, and they both got out.
“Abba isn’t around, right?” Ahmad asked.
“No, he’s away,” Captain replied.
She sat in a small, tight courtyard with a bowl of tuwo before her, though she wasn’t eating. Her hand just rested inside the bowl. A young woman, sitting inside one of the three tiny rooms around the yard, held a fan in one hand, tied a wrapper around her chest, and looked exhausted.
In the courtyard sat a middle-aged man, not more than fifty-eight years old, on a mat. From inside, the woman shouted angrily, “You hypocrite! Every time I talk, you just sit there like a fool. You’ll die stubborn and wicked! And by the way, where’s the fifty naira I gave you earlier? You rat-like thief! It really hurts me today because even your useless father hasn’t given me a single naira for food! Why?”
The young woman said nothing. Her hand was still buried in the bowl, appetite gone.
The older woman — Hansatu — stormed out, fixing her wrapper tightly around her chest. Seeing a passing almajiri, she shouted, “Hey, come here and take this food.”
The man on the mat, Mallam Isuhu, said, “And what about her? Has she eaten, Hansatu?”
Hansatu shot him a glare. “She’ll eat the one you provided yourself,” she said, pouring the food into the boy’s bowl before storming back inside.
The man said nothing. Slowly, the young woman stood up, carried the bowl to the washing area, and began cleaning the dishes quietly. When she was done, her father pulled ₦50 from his pocket and said gently, “Here, Jiddah, go buy some fried potatoes to eat.”
She took it respectfully. “Thank you, Baba,” she said softly.
Before she could finish, Hansatu rushed out, snatched the money, and glared at him. “Where’s the remaining ₦450 I asked for to cook food?!” she snapped, stuffing the money into her wrapper and storming back inside.
Jiddah turned away quietly, walking to her room, fighting back the tears welling in her eyes.