I can say that in our area, we didn’t even know what was going on until we heard stories that there had been a grand wedding in Kano. Many people had traveled there for the marriage ceremony — in Sokoto, to be exact.
The bride was first taken there, where they stayed for four days. They were supposed to stay a full week, but after four days they returned to Abuja. Her apartment had already been prepared in advance; decorators were brought in to fix up every corner of the house beautifully.
I was at home with the children, resting after finishing my last night duty. When they arrived that Monday, that same night was my first night back to work.
While sitting with the children, they began to complain that their daddy hadn’t called them. Junior was especially upset about it. Their Aunty, however, just sat quietly, barely eating her food. I had already noticed this new coldness in the house, but I tried to avoid getting involved.
Then Hindatu came into my living room, saying, “Rahama, please, Hussunah is disturbing me. She keeps calling for you, so I brought her here to check what’s wrong.”
I smiled, held the little girl’s hand, and asked, “Is it daddy or Hussuna you want?” Then I pointed to her Aunty sitting in a sad posture on the sofa.
Hindatu said, “Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I thought maybe she has a headache; she keeps saying her head hurts.”
The little girl turned toward her aunt, saying, “Your father got married and released his frustration; I’m fine now.”
From where I sat, I said, “Well, let him deal with his own frustrations since he’s the one who just gave himself more tension again.”
Because I knew that soon enough, she (the new wife) too would start complaining — everyone in this house has their own way of life and stress to bear, so hers would surely come too.
As we were talking, Zulfa entered the room with her baby tied to her back. She asked Hindatu, “Oh, so you’re here?”
“Yes,” Hindatu replied, “I brought this little one because I thought she was sick. But it turns out she’s only missing her father.”
Zulfa laughed sarcastically and said, “Oh, so Hussuna, it’s not only your aunt that your father loves — you too are part of the club. Every day he acts like he doesn’t care about you, yet here you are, missing him.”
She playfully pulled the child’s nose, saying, “Keep missing him, while he’s over there enjoying himself with his young new bride — that fine lady from Shila!”
I smiled and adjusted myself just as Daddy entered. Hindatu scolded, “You shouldn’t say things like that, especially in front of a child. You never know what words might cause trouble later.”
She continued, “Truly, it’s not good. We should have stopped this behavior in this house by now. Otherwise, any new wife who comes in will think we have no respect and start to look down on us.”
She was right — if a woman joins the family and finds us always quarreling, she’ll lose respect for us. But if she comes and finds peace, she’ll naturally blend in.
If, on the other hand, she finds chaos and rivalry, she’ll feel challenged and try to compete, trying to take over the house. Many women have lost control of their homes that way.
When co-wives don’t unite, and everyone is jealous, it gives a new wife room to build her own influence. So imagine a young girl coming among us only to find us constantly fighting and gossiping — what do you think will happen?
Please, let’s stop insulting one another or saying hurtful things.
A man is never just one woman’s husband — sometimes two or three, even four. If we live in peace, everything will go smoothly among us.
Because truly, Daddy isn’t a careless man; he treats us fairly and provides everything we need. We are the ones who haven’t learned to understand each other.
We gossip about each other and teach our children the same behavior. That’s why they grow up thinking quarreling is normal.
Let’s respect ourselves, live in peace, and build love among us. That’s when things will improve in our home.
But, of course, this is just my advice — everyone has their own opinion.
Rahama and Daddy’s Confrontation
Rahama nodded in agreement. “Hmm, Rahama, you’ve spoken the truth,” one of the women said. “If they’re moving the bride into my apartment to live with me, then yes, there might be trouble.”
“There’s no problem,” I replied. “If you can control your mouth and pride, you’ll win her respect.”
We all laughed. “It’s true,” said Anty. “You know, people from the village are smarter than we city women think. Their cleverness is natural.”
I laughed too. “So this is a lecture now, Anty?”
She said, “Wallahi, Rahama, we only act older than you, but honestly, you’re wiser than all of us.”
She reminded me how one of my earlier ideas about handling money had saved us, and now I’d given another smart piece of advice.
We continued chatting for a long time about household issues and how to handle Daddy’s multiple marriages.
Suddenly, Daddy walked in. We were all startled but laughed nervously. He looked surprised to see all of us together like that.
We greeted him warmly, though Anty didn’t even look his way, acting like she didn’t care.
He went to her, saying, “So, a new style of attitude in the house, eh?”
He touched little Hindatu’s cheek, called her name, then moved to Zulfa and tapped her face lightly. Then he lifted Anty’s child, calling her name — “My Saade, that’s my girl!”
The girl pouted, trying to make him put her down. “Ah, my Saade, are you angry too?” he teased.
No one spoke, just polite greetings. When he saw she was serious, he put her down and said, “You’ll follow me.”
Zulfa replied sharply, “Of course, she always follows you — she’s even on your right-hand side!”
Hindatu frowned, “Ah, stop that.”
When Daddy asked, “Where are the other kids?” we told him they were still in school. He nodded and turned to leave. Then Hindatu said, “Daddy, what about the new bride?”
“She’s in her part of the house,” he answered calmly.
I muttered quietly, “So that’s it? She entered like a ghost, no greetings, no announcement. Well, people never change their habits.”
After he left, everyone returned to their rooms. I was exhausted and slept with my children until sunset. Later, I prepared for work.
As I was dressing, Aisha stood beside me saying, “Even last night, Daddy barely slept.”
I replied, “He should get used to it — his wife isn’t one to stay still.”
Just then, Daddy entered. I didn’t turn to him until I finished dressing. The kids greeted him, but I stayed quiet.
He looked at me and said, “Rahama, what’s going on? Everyone’s been to see the new bride, except you.”
I gave him a sharp look. “Why should I go? She came into this house without even greeting me. Should I go running after her? No, Daddy — that’s not my place.”
He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Rahama, Rahama… Sometimes you act so strangely. Why are you so defensive? You could’ve just gone to greet her, that’s all.”
I replied, “I’m not from royalty, but my poverty doesn’t make me desperate. Please, let’s drop it.”
He said, “Rahama, don’t start this new behavior because I took another wife. This isn’t the first time. You didn’t even know her before, yet you’re already angry.”
I said, “So now I’m creating drama because you married again? I didn’t even have a say in the first place. You forced this on me, remember?”
He said, “Okay, if that’s how you feel.”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s not like I have any special power over you. All I can do is be patient. May Allah give me strength to bear this burden — to raise the orphans and continue my studies.”
He sighed, “You’ve never really been jealous, Rahama — that’s what I liked about you.”
I gave a tired smile. “Maybe I’m jealous now, Daddy. Maybe I’ve finally gone mad from it. I feel ashamed loving a man who keeps marrying other women.”
I laughed bitterly, “So I have a new title now — the patient wife in Daddy’s house. From the very beginning, I’ve known something was being planned behind my back. And now I’ve seen it clearly with my own eyes. I never thought I’d see myself become this woman.”
Description
The Return of the Bride and Household Tension
I can say that in our area, we didn’t even know what was going on until we heard stories that there had been a grand wedding in Kano. Many people had traveled there for the marriage ceremony — in Sokoto, to be exact.
The bride was first taken there, where they stayed for four days. They were supposed to stay a full week, but after four days they returned to Abuja. Her apartment had already been prepared in advance; decorators were brought in to fix up every corner of the house beautifully.
I was at home with the children, resting after finishing my last night duty. When they arrived that Monday, that same night was my first night back to work.
While sitting with the children, they began to complain that their daddy hadn’t called them. Junior was especially upset about it. Their Aunty, however, just sat quietly, barely eating her food. I had already noticed this new coldness in the house, but I tried to avoid getting involved.
Then Hindatu came into my living room, saying, “Rahama, please, Hussunah is disturbing me. She keeps calling for you, so I brought her here to check what’s wrong.”
I smiled, held the little girl’s hand, and asked, “Is it daddy or Hussuna you want?” Then I pointed to her Aunty sitting in a sad posture on the sofa.
Hindatu said, “Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I thought maybe she has a headache; she keeps saying her head hurts.”
The little girl turned toward her aunt, saying, “Your father got married and released his frustration; I’m fine now.”
From where I sat, I said, “Well, let him deal with his own frustrations since he’s the one who just gave himself more tension again.”
Because I knew that soon enough, she (the new wife) too would start complaining — everyone in this house has their own way of life and stress to bear, so hers would surely come too.
As we were talking, Zulfa entered the room with her baby tied to her back. She asked Hindatu, “Oh, so you’re here?”
“Yes,” Hindatu replied, “I brought this little one because I thought she was sick. But it turns out she’s only missing her father.”
Zulfa laughed sarcastically and said, “Oh, so Hussuna, it’s not only your aunt that your father loves — you too are part of the club. Every day he acts like he doesn’t care about you, yet here you are, missing him.”
She playfully pulled the child’s nose, saying, “Keep missing him, while he’s over there enjoying himself with his young new bride — that fine lady from Shila!”
I smiled and adjusted myself just as Daddy entered. Hindatu scolded, “You shouldn’t say things like that, especially in front of a child. You never know what words might cause trouble later.”
She continued, “Truly, it’s not good. We should have stopped this behavior in this house by now. Otherwise, any new wife who comes in will think we have no respect and start to look down on us.”
She was right — if a woman joins the family and finds us always quarreling, she’ll lose respect for us. But if she comes and finds peace, she’ll naturally blend in.
If, on the other hand, she finds chaos and rivalry, she’ll feel challenged and try to compete, trying to take over the house. Many women have lost control of their homes that way.
When co-wives don’t unite, and everyone is jealous, it gives a new wife room to build her own influence. So imagine a young girl coming among us only to find us constantly fighting and gossiping — what do you think will happen?
Please, let’s stop insulting one another or saying hurtful things.
A man is never just one woman’s husband — sometimes two or three, even four. If we live in peace, everything will go smoothly among us.
Because truly, Daddy isn’t a careless man; he treats us fairly and provides everything we need. We are the ones who haven’t learned to understand each other.
We gossip about each other and teach our children the same behavior. That’s why they grow up thinking quarreling is normal.
Let’s respect ourselves, live in peace, and build love among us. That’s when things will improve in our home.
But, of course, this is just my advice — everyone has their own opinion.
Rahama and Daddy’s Confrontation
Rahama nodded in agreement. “Hmm, Rahama, you’ve spoken the truth,” one of the women said. “If they’re moving the bride into my apartment to live with me, then yes, there might be trouble.”
“There’s no problem,” I replied. “If you can control your mouth and pride, you’ll win her respect.”
We all laughed. “It’s true,” said Anty. “You know, people from the village are smarter than we city women think. Their cleverness is natural.”
I laughed too. “So this is a lecture now, Anty?”
She said, “Wallahi, Rahama, we only act older than you, but honestly, you’re wiser than all of us.”
She reminded me how one of my earlier ideas about handling money had saved us, and now I’d given another smart piece of advice.
We continued chatting for a long time about household issues and how to handle Daddy’s multiple marriages.
Suddenly, Daddy walked in. We were all startled but laughed nervously. He looked surprised to see all of us together like that.
We greeted him warmly, though Anty didn’t even look his way, acting like she didn’t care.
He went to her, saying, “So, a new style of attitude in the house, eh?”
He touched little Hindatu’s cheek, called her name, then moved to Zulfa and tapped her face lightly. Then he lifted Anty’s child, calling her name — “My Saade, that’s my girl!”
The girl pouted, trying to make him put her down. “Ah, my Saade, are you angry too?” he teased.
No one spoke, just polite greetings. When he saw she was serious, he put her down and said, “You’ll follow me.”
Zulfa replied sharply, “Of course, she always follows you — she’s even on your right-hand side!”
Hindatu frowned, “Ah, stop that.”
When Daddy asked, “Where are the other kids?” we told him they were still in school. He nodded and turned to leave. Then Hindatu said, “Daddy, what about the new bride?”
“She’s in her part of the house,” he answered calmly.
I muttered quietly, “So that’s it? She entered like a ghost, no greetings, no announcement. Well, people never change their habits.”
After he left, everyone returned to their rooms. I was exhausted and slept with my children until sunset. Later, I prepared for work.
As I was dressing, Aisha stood beside me saying, “Even last night, Daddy barely slept.”
I replied, “He should get used to it — his wife isn’t one to stay still.”
Just then, Daddy entered. I didn’t turn to him until I finished dressing. The kids greeted him, but I stayed quiet.
He looked at me and said, “Rahama, what’s going on? Everyone’s been to see the new bride, except you.”
I gave him a sharp look. “Why should I go? She came into this house without even greeting me. Should I go running after her? No, Daddy — that’s not my place.”
He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Rahama, Rahama… Sometimes you act so strangely. Why are you so defensive? You could’ve just gone to greet her, that’s all.”
I replied, “I’m not from royalty, but my poverty doesn’t make me desperate. Please, let’s drop it.”
He said, “Rahama, don’t start this new behavior because I took another wife. This isn’t the first time. You didn’t even know her before, yet you’re already angry.”
I said, “So now I’m creating drama because you married again? I didn’t even have a say in the first place. You forced this on me, remember?”
He said, “Okay, if that’s how you feel.”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s not like I have any special power over you. All I can do is be patient. May Allah give me strength to bear this burden — to raise the orphans and continue my studies.”
He sighed, “You’ve never really been jealous, Rahama — that’s what I liked about you.”
I gave a tired smile. “Maybe I’m jealous now, Daddy. Maybe I’ve finally gone mad from it. I feel ashamed loving a man who keeps marrying other women.”
I laughed bitterly, “So I have a new title now — the patient wife in Daddy’s house. From the very beginning, I’ve known something was being planned behind my back. And now I’ve seen it clearly with my own eyes. I never thought I’d see myself become this woman.”