Since Kusulmu had been alive, she had never experienced such a pleasant and luxurious trip. The air conditioner blew all over her body, mixed with the sweet fragrance of car freshener, producing an air that was refreshing to breathe inside the car. She had once traveled to Gombe with her sister-in-law, Hajiya Rakiya, but the condition of the vehicles and the overall experience could not be compared to this one. This was a modern, well-maintained car of high standard.
They did not reach the Federal Capital Territory (where Hajiya Nasara lived) until late evening. The driver headed straight to an exclusive neighborhood known as Brains & Hammers. Kusulmu leaned against the car door in deep exhaustion, caused by the more than five hours she had spent sitting without rest—since they left, they only stopped briefly at a filling station. Along the way, she marveled at the wonders of Abuja: towering modern buildings everywhere, cars of various models on the wide roads, and bridges both overhead and underground that she had never seen before. She opened her eyes, mouth, and nose wide, determined not to miss a single thing.
When the driver finally stopped at the entrance of Hajiya Nasara’s house, her eyes confirmed the reality: these were real houses, not fantasy. Even in Hausa films that she and her friend Batulu watched, she had never seen such beauty and design. Hajiya Nasara’s home, though not excessively large, was a stylish penthouse.
A young maid from the Igala tribe came out to welcome them. She collected their bags, bowed respectfully to Hajiya Nasara, and then looked at Kusulmu, saying, “Welcome Ma.” Kusulmu smiled, understanding that it was a greeting. Hajiya gave instructions in English:
> “Serah, take her bag to the room next to Nasma’s. Make sure she eats, takes a bath, and rests. I hope the room is ready?”
Serah replied, “Yes Ma, I cleaned it today.”
Kusulmu, however, stood transfixed, staring around as if in disbelief. Her heart filled with awe and fear of God. She could hardly believe that her grandmother had such connections with someone like Hajiya Nasara. In her village, the greatest sign of wealth was the palace of Sarkin Gaya. If not for the stories her grandmother often told her about Nasara, she would have sworn this was all a mistake.
Serah gently held her hand and said, “Let’s go to your room and freshen up before I bring your food, okay?”
Inside, Kusulmu thought to herself, “I am a woman, not a man. Why call me ‘ka ji’ like that?”
The room was medium-sized with a soft, well-laid bed and duvet, a wardrobe, dressing mirror, and stool. White curtains surrounded the room, and shiny tiles covered the floor. Yet her village instincts overwhelmed her when she entered the bathroom. She didn’t know how to use anything. When Serah returned with food, she found Kusulmu still inside, confused.
Serah knocked, and Kusulmu quickly called out, “Please show me how to bathe. I don’t know how to turn on the shower.”
Serah was surprised, asking, “You mean you haven’t bathed yet?”
Kusulmu rolled her eyes and snapped, “Didn’t I tell you? I don’t know how to fetch the water.”
Patiently, Serah showed her everything—even how to flush the toilet—then left. Finally, Kusulmu immersed herself in the warm bathtub. The water soaked her skin as she closed her eyes, lost in thoughts of this new world she had entered. She prayed quietly, asking God to keep her faith strong and not let worldly pleasure mislead her.
Bonding with Hajiya Nasara
After the night prayer, Hajiya Nasara entered her room.
> “I hope you prayed, Kusulmu, and that there’s no problem?”
Kusulmu, sitting on her prayer mat deep in reflection, replied softly, “Yes, Hajiya, I prayed, and there’s no problem.”
She admired Nasara’s humility. Despite the wealth surrounding her, Nasara was down-to-earth, unlike what she had expected. Nasara then said:
> “Now listen, I need to discuss something important with you.”
She began her story:
Her name was Nasara, married to Alhaji Muhammad Bello, a native of Kano. Her late mother, Yakumbo Sa’a, was the full sister of Kusulmu’s grandmother. She had been married off at the age of fifteen in Kano, gave birth to her first son at seventeen, and then to her daughter Sakinah at twenty. Years later, she had Nasma, but afterward suffered fibroid, leading to the removal of her womb.
Her husband had worked at NNPC headquarters in London, where she lived for many years and gave birth to her last two daughters, Sakeenah and Nasma. Only the eldest was born in Kano before they relocated.
Nasara emphasized that her children were her greatest treasure and confidants. Most of her family had passed away, leaving only Kusulmu’s grandmother. She explained why she had brought Kusulmu:
> “I want you to further your education. The pain of men is not yours yet—you are too young. Focus on your studies. Live honestly with everyone you meet, and I will ensure you receive quality education like my own children. May Allah bless our bond.”
Kusulmu replied quietly, “Ameen.” She waited, expecting Nasara to mention her health issue, but when she didn’t, Kusulmu asked gently:
> “Hajiya, I have a condition. Didn’t Goggo tell you?”
Smiling, Nasara replied without raising her head from her phone:
> “She told me, and insha’Allah you will be healed. My daughter Sakeenah is a gynecologist. She will examine you when she returns to Nigeria in two weeks. By Allah’s will, this problem will end. I once tried to adopt your late mother, Sugrah, but your uncle refused, saying he would marry her off. May Allah have mercy on her soul.”
Kusulmu whispered, “Ameen.” Longing for the mother she never met overwhelmed her, and she prayed for her in every salah.
Her uncle had also approved of her trip, hoping education and a new life would relieve her from the pains of her failed marriage.
Struggles, Secrets, and Acceptance
Later, while admiring the luxurious bed and duvet, Kusulmu thought of her biggest struggle—her urinary incontinence. The shame of it made her feel truly helpless. She followed Nasara to her room, finding her speaking on the phone with one of her children, most likely Tawfeeq, who complained about loneliness in the UK and planned to return home.
When Nasara ended the call, Kusulmu timidly admitted, “I was admiring the bedding.”
Nasara immediately understood and said with empathy:
> “You don’t have to worry. If you feel the urge, just relieve yourself on it. The room is yours. Tomorrow you can clean it or leave it dirty if you wish. I want to see what kind of person you are.”
Kusulmu covered her face, laughing. “Hajiya! But I do clean well. Haven’t you seen how spotless Goggo’s house is?”
Nasara laughed, teasing her, “Oho! Go figure it out yourself, Kusulmu the bed-wetter!”
The teasing made Kusulmu laugh until tears filled her eyes. But beneath the laughter was the truth—her real name, Kulsumu Mai Amalala (the bed-wetter), had followed her even here. At eighteen, it was no small burden, and she wondered: How could any man ever accept her, let alone a prince like Turaki?
Description
The Journey and Arrival in Abuja
Since Kusulmu had been alive, she had never experienced such a pleasant and luxurious trip. The air conditioner blew all over her body, mixed with the sweet fragrance of car freshener, producing an air that was refreshing to breathe inside the car. She had once traveled to Gombe with her sister-in-law, Hajiya Rakiya, but the condition of the vehicles and the overall experience could not be compared to this one. This was a modern, well-maintained car of high standard.
They did not reach the Federal Capital Territory (where Hajiya Nasara lived) until late evening. The driver headed straight to an exclusive neighborhood known as Brains & Hammers. Kusulmu leaned against the car door in deep exhaustion, caused by the more than five hours she had spent sitting without rest—since they left, they only stopped briefly at a filling station. Along the way, she marveled at the wonders of Abuja: towering modern buildings everywhere, cars of various models on the wide roads, and bridges both overhead and underground that she had never seen before. She opened her eyes, mouth, and nose wide, determined not to miss a single thing.
When the driver finally stopped at the entrance of Hajiya Nasara’s house, her eyes confirmed the reality: these were real houses, not fantasy. Even in Hausa films that she and her friend Batulu watched, she had never seen such beauty and design. Hajiya Nasara’s home, though not excessively large, was a stylish penthouse.
A young maid from the Igala tribe came out to welcome them. She collected their bags, bowed respectfully to Hajiya Nasara, and then looked at Kusulmu, saying, “Welcome Ma.” Kusulmu smiled, understanding that it was a greeting. Hajiya gave instructions in English:
> “Serah, take her bag to the room next to Nasma’s. Make sure she eats, takes a bath, and rests. I hope the room is ready?”
Serah replied, “Yes Ma, I cleaned it today.”
Kusulmu, however, stood transfixed, staring around as if in disbelief. Her heart filled with awe and fear of God. She could hardly believe that her grandmother had such connections with someone like Hajiya Nasara. In her village, the greatest sign of wealth was the palace of Sarkin Gaya. If not for the stories her grandmother often told her about Nasara, she would have sworn this was all a mistake.
Serah gently held her hand and said, “Let’s go to your room and freshen up before I bring your food, okay?”
Inside, Kusulmu thought to herself, “I am a woman, not a man. Why call me ‘ka ji’ like that?”
The room was medium-sized with a soft, well-laid bed and duvet, a wardrobe, dressing mirror, and stool. White curtains surrounded the room, and shiny tiles covered the floor. Yet her village instincts overwhelmed her when she entered the bathroom. She didn’t know how to use anything. When Serah returned with food, she found Kusulmu still inside, confused.
Serah knocked, and Kusulmu quickly called out, “Please show me how to bathe. I don’t know how to turn on the shower.”
Serah was surprised, asking, “You mean you haven’t bathed yet?”
Kusulmu rolled her eyes and snapped, “Didn’t I tell you? I don’t know how to fetch the water.”
Patiently, Serah showed her everything—even how to flush the toilet—then left. Finally, Kusulmu immersed herself in the warm bathtub. The water soaked her skin as she closed her eyes, lost in thoughts of this new world she had entered. She prayed quietly, asking God to keep her faith strong and not let worldly pleasure mislead her.
Bonding with Hajiya Nasara
After the night prayer, Hajiya Nasara entered her room.
> “I hope you prayed, Kusulmu, and that there’s no problem?”
Kusulmu, sitting on her prayer mat deep in reflection, replied softly, “Yes, Hajiya, I prayed, and there’s no problem.”
She admired Nasara’s humility. Despite the wealth surrounding her, Nasara was down-to-earth, unlike what she had expected. Nasara then said:
> “Now listen, I need to discuss something important with you.”
She began her story:
Her name was Nasara, married to Alhaji Muhammad Bello, a native of Kano. Her late mother, Yakumbo Sa’a, was the full sister of Kusulmu’s grandmother. She had been married off at the age of fifteen in Kano, gave birth to her first son at seventeen, and then to her daughter Sakinah at twenty. Years later, she had Nasma, but afterward suffered fibroid, leading to the removal of her womb.
Her husband had worked at NNPC headquarters in London, where she lived for many years and gave birth to her last two daughters, Sakeenah and Nasma. Only the eldest was born in Kano before they relocated.
Nasara emphasized that her children were her greatest treasure and confidants. Most of her family had passed away, leaving only Kusulmu’s grandmother. She explained why she had brought Kusulmu:
> “I want you to further your education. The pain of men is not yours yet—you are too young. Focus on your studies. Live honestly with everyone you meet, and I will ensure you receive quality education like my own children. May Allah bless our bond.”
Kusulmu replied quietly, “Ameen.” She waited, expecting Nasara to mention her health issue, but when she didn’t, Kusulmu asked gently:
> “Hajiya, I have a condition. Didn’t Goggo tell you?”
Smiling, Nasara replied without raising her head from her phone:
> “She told me, and insha’Allah you will be healed. My daughter Sakeenah is a gynecologist. She will examine you when she returns to Nigeria in two weeks. By Allah’s will, this problem will end. I once tried to adopt your late mother, Sugrah, but your uncle refused, saying he would marry her off. May Allah have mercy on her soul.”
Kusulmu whispered, “Ameen.” Longing for the mother she never met overwhelmed her, and she prayed for her in every salah.
Her uncle had also approved of her trip, hoping education and a new life would relieve her from the pains of her failed marriage.
Struggles, Secrets, and Acceptance
Later, while admiring the luxurious bed and duvet, Kusulmu thought of her biggest struggle—her urinary incontinence. The shame of it made her feel truly helpless. She followed Nasara to her room, finding her speaking on the phone with one of her children, most likely Tawfeeq, who complained about loneliness in the UK and planned to return home.
When Nasara ended the call, Kusulmu timidly admitted, “I was admiring the bedding.”
Nasara immediately understood and said with empathy:
> “You don’t have to worry. If you feel the urge, just relieve yourself on it. The room is yours. Tomorrow you can clean it or leave it dirty if you wish. I want to see what kind of person you are.”
Kusulmu covered her face, laughing. “Hajiya! But I do clean well. Haven’t you seen how spotless Goggo’s house is?”
Nasara laughed, teasing her, “Oho! Go figure it out yourself, Kusulmu the bed-wetter!”
The teasing made Kusulmu laugh until tears filled her eyes. But beneath the laughter was the truth—her real name, Kulsumu Mai Amalala (the bed-wetter), had followed her even here. At eighteen, it was no small burden, and she wondered: How could any man ever accept her, let alone a prince like Turaki?