The girl burst into tears before the doctor, exclaiming,
"I swear by Almighty God, Doctor, I have never had sex in my life! I don’t know how this pregnancy happened—unless someone forced it into me."
Dr. Kamal remained silent, studying her with a look of disbelief and contempt. Her appearance already told him she wasn’t modest: tight pencil trousers, a monkey jacket, and her hair styled in flashy Ghana weaving made of maroon and black attachments. Even her nails and eyelashes were exaggerated and artificial. She didn’t appear respectful or sincere.
He looked back at the results in his hand confirming a 2-week pregnancy, and handed them to her, saying:
"The scanning machine will never lie. This is the third scan. I even took you personally for the last one to confirm it. The result remains the same. Now it’s up to you to reflect on how you got pregnant. Many patients are waiting outside. I’m done with you."
He pointed to the door. He had been holding back his anger. He hated disrespectful women. She broke down crying again, trying to plead—
"Please, Doct—"
But before she could finish, he barked,
"Out of my sight right now before I call security! You girls chase after men for worldly pleasures. Then when you get pregnant, you cry and pretend like you don’t know how it happened. If we give you sympathy, you start begging for abortion. God should take your lives during the abortion process! You shameless things!"
Walking in the Rain
Frightened by the doctor’s outburst, she hurriedly grabbed her handbag and papers, then rushed out of the hospital. Once far from the building, she sat under a tree and cried heavily. A car sped by, then reversed back toward her. The driver lowered the window and whistled,
"Ssssss, hi babe!"
She looked up with an angry glare, then buried her face between her knees, sobbing. The man drove off, leaving dust behind. She stood and began walking again—just as a loud thunderclap signaled heavy rain was near.
Within five steps, the sky opened up. She didn’t look for shelter—she kept walking, feeling like the rain might wash away her sorrow. It poured for nearly an hour. Eventually, she found refuge under a small shed with a few commercial motorcyclists and passengers. By the time the rain eased, it was almost time for Maghrib prayer.
Soaked to the bone, she walked all the way from a private hospital near Tudun Nupawa to Jos Road by Abeokuta Street. Rain dripped from her head down to her underwear.
Back at Home
When she arrived home, the compound was empty as expected. She quickly went to her room where her sister Na’ima was lying on the bed, giggling and chatting on the phone. Without a word, she placed her handbag on the drawer, took off her wet clothes one by one, and wrapped a wrapper around her waist.
She threw her wet clothes—including her soaked panties and bra—into a yellow bucket marked “Maggi Star.” She grabbed a towel and went outside to urinate, performed ablution, and returned.
From the wardrobe, she took a long jallabiya, dried her braided attachment hair, put on a hijab, spread her prayer mat, and prayed Maghrib. Throughout the prayer, Na’ima continued her phone call, full of dirty talk with a guy.
After prayer, she unplugged the kettle as the power returned. She sat alone, thinking,
"How did I get pregnant without ever being penetrated by a man? What will I tell him now? The wedding is in four weeks. I swore to him I’ve never been touched. Now this… He’ll leave like the others. I’m doomed! I’ll never get married like my sisters."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Discovery and Betrayal
When the water boiled, she poured it into a bucket, added cold water from the pump, and went to bathe. While she was in the bathroom, Na’ima snooped through her bag and found the pregnancy result. When she returned, Sarah found Na’ima holding the paper. Furious, she snatched it and glared at her.
Na’ima, equally angry, shouted:
"Hypocrite! So, you’ve been secretly messing around while pretending to be righteous. Your secret is out! I’m telling Lami!"
She stormed out, calling for their mother.
Family Uproar
Lami, their mother, came out shocked.
"Na’ima, what’s happening? Is something good or bad going on?"
Their other sisters—Nuratu, Hassana, and Marfu’a—also came out.
Na’ima shouted:
"There’s lightning in this house today! Miss Holy is about to give birth to a bastard child!"
Everyone was stunned. Nuratu said,
"So the one shaming us all this while is the worst of us. If she even insults my children again, I’ll deal with her!"
Then Lami exploded,
"So this is who you really are, Sarah? You denied me any benefit from what you earn outside, while your sisters all bring home something! I gave birth to six daughters so God could heal the heartbreak your father caused me. But you—shameless girl—you follow around one useless boy, insisting he’s the only one you’ll marry? You will reveal who got you pregnant today! I will write a list of what he must provide for this house. I won’t raise your child along with your siblings’ children, especially when you never give anything. You must talk, or I’ll come in there and drag it out of you!"
Description
The Denial at the Clinic
The girl burst into tears before the doctor, exclaiming,
"I swear by Almighty God, Doctor, I have never had sex in my life! I don’t know how this pregnancy happened—unless someone forced it into me."
Dr. Kamal remained silent, studying her with a look of disbelief and contempt. Her appearance already told him she wasn’t modest: tight pencil trousers, a monkey jacket, and her hair styled in flashy Ghana weaving made of maroon and black attachments. Even her nails and eyelashes were exaggerated and artificial. She didn’t appear respectful or sincere.
He looked back at the results in his hand confirming a 2-week pregnancy, and handed them to her, saying:
"The scanning machine will never lie. This is the third scan. I even took you personally for the last one to confirm it. The result remains the same. Now it’s up to you to reflect on how you got pregnant. Many patients are waiting outside. I’m done with you."
He pointed to the door. He had been holding back his anger. He hated disrespectful women. She broke down crying again, trying to plead—
"Please, Doct—"
But before she could finish, he barked,
"Out of my sight right now before I call security! You girls chase after men for worldly pleasures. Then when you get pregnant, you cry and pretend like you don’t know how it happened. If we give you sympathy, you start begging for abortion. God should take your lives during the abortion process! You shameless things!"
Walking in the Rain
Frightened by the doctor’s outburst, she hurriedly grabbed her handbag and papers, then rushed out of the hospital. Once far from the building, she sat under a tree and cried heavily. A car sped by, then reversed back toward her. The driver lowered the window and whistled,
"Ssssss, hi babe!"
She looked up with an angry glare, then buried her face between her knees, sobbing. The man drove off, leaving dust behind. She stood and began walking again—just as a loud thunderclap signaled heavy rain was near.
Within five steps, the sky opened up. She didn’t look for shelter—she kept walking, feeling like the rain might wash away her sorrow. It poured for nearly an hour. Eventually, she found refuge under a small shed with a few commercial motorcyclists and passengers. By the time the rain eased, it was almost time for Maghrib prayer.
Soaked to the bone, she walked all the way from a private hospital near Tudun Nupawa to Jos Road by Abeokuta Street. Rain dripped from her head down to her underwear.
Back at Home
When she arrived home, the compound was empty as expected. She quickly went to her room where her sister Na’ima was lying on the bed, giggling and chatting on the phone. Without a word, she placed her handbag on the drawer, took off her wet clothes one by one, and wrapped a wrapper around her waist.
She threw her wet clothes—including her soaked panties and bra—into a yellow bucket marked “Maggi Star.” She grabbed a towel and went outside to urinate, performed ablution, and returned.
From the wardrobe, she took a long jallabiya, dried her braided attachment hair, put on a hijab, spread her prayer mat, and prayed Maghrib. Throughout the prayer, Na’ima continued her phone call, full of dirty talk with a guy.
After prayer, she unplugged the kettle as the power returned. She sat alone, thinking,
"How did I get pregnant without ever being penetrated by a man? What will I tell him now? The wedding is in four weeks. I swore to him I’ve never been touched. Now this… He’ll leave like the others. I’m doomed! I’ll never get married like my sisters."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Discovery and Betrayal
When the water boiled, she poured it into a bucket, added cold water from the pump, and went to bathe. While she was in the bathroom, Na’ima snooped through her bag and found the pregnancy result. When she returned, Sarah found Na’ima holding the paper. Furious, she snatched it and glared at her.
Na’ima, equally angry, shouted:
"Hypocrite! So, you’ve been secretly messing around while pretending to be righteous. Your secret is out! I’m telling Lami!"
She stormed out, calling for their mother.
Family Uproar
Lami, their mother, came out shocked.
"Na’ima, what’s happening? Is something good or bad going on?"
Their other sisters—Nuratu, Hassana, and Marfu’a—also came out.
Na’ima shouted:
"There’s lightning in this house today! Miss Holy is about to give birth to a bastard child!"
Everyone was stunned. Nuratu said,
"So the one shaming us all this while is the worst of us. If she even insults my children again, I’ll deal with her!"
Then Lami exploded,
"So this is who you really are, Sarah? You denied me any benefit from what you earn outside, while your sisters all bring home something! I gave birth to six daughters so God could heal the heartbreak your father caused me. But you—shameless girl—you follow around one useless boy, insisting he’s the only one you’ll marry? You will reveal who got you pregnant today! I will write a list of what he must provide for this house. I won’t raise your child along with your siblings’ children, especially when you never give anything. You must talk, or I’ll come in there and drag it out of you!"