It was around six o’clock in the morning, in a neighborhood called Auckland Road, Smethwick (West Midlands), in the city of Birmingham, England. It was the peak of winter, the season of biting cold. Snow was falling heavily on rooftops, roads, and everywhere else. On the hills, it lay thick and smooth, the kind of scenery tourists love to photograph, even filmmakers from the Indian subcontinent.
The house was a small two-storey building, similar to all the others on Auckland Road—uniform in size and design. In front was a small driveway serving as a parking space, leading to the entrance door. Once inside, a staircase led upstairs to two bedrooms. Beneath the stairs was a moderately sized living room, beautifully furnished with soft leather sofas, a television set, and a room heater. There was also a small inner room with a compact bathroom.
The kitchen door lay to the southeast of the room. Inside the kitchen was another door that opened into a garden carpeted with lush green grass. From the wide kitchen window, one could see the entire garden clearly. Everything in the kitchen was spotless and well organized—no clutter anywhere. It contained a tall fridge, a freezer, a gas cooker with cabinets arranged around it, a microwave, a blender, and a washing machine. On one side was a water dispenser that supplied both hot and cold water. Cooking ingredients—salt, seasoning cubes, cooking oil, Western and traditional spices—were neatly arranged in a cupboard. The sink had two taps for hot and cold water. The kitchen was so clean that one would never think an elderly woman used it. A dining table with four chairs stood neatly to one side.
Upstairs were the two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small terrace. The terrace had a large window covered with clean white curtains, overlooking the street with cars and passersby moving about. It contained a long relaxation sofa and a small glass table, always filled with fruits in a basket, because the owner loved eating fruits day and night. This habit kept him energetic, healthy, and well built—neither fat nor skinny.
One bedroom was his, the other belonged to his late wife. In her absence, he had turned it into a study and gym, equipping it with exercise machines and computers for research and reading.
A Life of Faith, Loss, and Purpose
He had already performed his dawn prayers around three o’clock in the night, the usual time for Fajr. He offered long supplications and extra prayers, never missing a day without praying for his father and his wife—his beloved, the mother of his child—asking Allah to grant her mercy and forgiveness.
Afterward, he logged onto the internet and continued working on his project, which would qualify him for the FWACP (Fellow of the West African College of Physicians) in Psychiatry—his greatest life ambition. Beyond this, his only wish was to serve humanity with the knowledge and perseverance he had gained over many years, and to ask Allah to grant his mother, Nanna, long life and good health so she could continue caring for him and for the half of his soul, the light of his eyes—his son, Suhail. He prayed that Suhail would grow with good character and faith like his late wife, Suhaila.
Allah had fulfilled most of his worldly wishes—health, a comfortable home, rare and valuable knowledge. Marriage was no longer part of his plans. He was among the most respected psychiatrists in Birmingham, a full-time NHS doctor working with Tavistock and Portman, and a part-time doctor at the prestigious Spire–Little Aston Hospital.
His greatest joy was that Allah made him a Muslim, a true Hausa-Fulani, blessed him with a compassionate and prayerful mother, and granted him true love in Suhaila—his late wife. Her memory lived permanently in his heart, and because of losing her, he had vowed never to remarry. He waited patiently for his own death, hoping to reunite with her in the hereafter, where separation would no longer exist.
Yet Allah did not leave him comfortless. He gave him solace through Suhail, their son. Whenever he looked at him, calmness filled his heart. Suhail carried Suhaila’s face, her dimples, her smile, her cleft chin, and even the small gap between her teeth. Apart from his mother Nanna (Aisha), Suhail was the most precious thing in his life.
By five o’clock in the morning, daylight had already broken through the white curtains of his room. He turned off his computer, pushed his wheeled chair back, stretched, and exercised for twenty minutes despite the bone-piercing cold. Wearing a thick sweater, blue jeans, and with the room heater working nonstop, he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and bathed with hot water until steam filled the room. He dried himself with a towel and stepped out.
From downstairs, he heard Suhail crying and Nanna’s voice singing a lullaby as if soothing an adult. Smiling to himself, he said softly,
“Nanna, Suhail’s bride.”
He quickly got ready, sprayed a little perfume (Boss Intense), wore his white doctor’s coat over his suit, picked up his medicated lenses, packed his things into a black shoulder bag, locked his room, and calmly walked downstairs.
Nanna was carrying Suhail on her back while frying bean cakes in hot oil on the gas cooker. The moment Suhail saw his father, he wriggled excitedly, stretching out his hands toward him. Standing at the doorway, he laughed and began to speak…
Description
A Winter Morning in Birmingham
It was around six o’clock in the morning, in a neighborhood called Auckland Road, Smethwick (West Midlands), in the city of Birmingham, England. It was the peak of winter, the season of biting cold. Snow was falling heavily on rooftops, roads, and everywhere else. On the hills, it lay thick and smooth, the kind of scenery tourists love to photograph, even filmmakers from the Indian subcontinent.
The house was a small two-storey building, similar to all the others on Auckland Road—uniform in size and design. In front was a small driveway serving as a parking space, leading to the entrance door. Once inside, a staircase led upstairs to two bedrooms. Beneath the stairs was a moderately sized living room, beautifully furnished with soft leather sofas, a television set, and a room heater. There was also a small inner room with a compact bathroom.
The kitchen door lay to the southeast of the room. Inside the kitchen was another door that opened into a garden carpeted with lush green grass. From the wide kitchen window, one could see the entire garden clearly. Everything in the kitchen was spotless and well organized—no clutter anywhere. It contained a tall fridge, a freezer, a gas cooker with cabinets arranged around it, a microwave, a blender, and a washing machine. On one side was a water dispenser that supplied both hot and cold water. Cooking ingredients—salt, seasoning cubes, cooking oil, Western and traditional spices—were neatly arranged in a cupboard. The sink had two taps for hot and cold water. The kitchen was so clean that one would never think an elderly woman used it. A dining table with four chairs stood neatly to one side.
Upstairs were the two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small terrace. The terrace had a large window covered with clean white curtains, overlooking the street with cars and passersby moving about. It contained a long relaxation sofa and a small glass table, always filled with fruits in a basket, because the owner loved eating fruits day and night. This habit kept him energetic, healthy, and well built—neither fat nor skinny.
One bedroom was his, the other belonged to his late wife. In her absence, he had turned it into a study and gym, equipping it with exercise machines and computers for research and reading.
A Life of Faith, Loss, and Purpose
He had already performed his dawn prayers around three o’clock in the night, the usual time for Fajr. He offered long supplications and extra prayers, never missing a day without praying for his father and his wife—his beloved, the mother of his child—asking Allah to grant her mercy and forgiveness.
Afterward, he logged onto the internet and continued working on his project, which would qualify him for the FWACP (Fellow of the West African College of Physicians) in Psychiatry—his greatest life ambition. Beyond this, his only wish was to serve humanity with the knowledge and perseverance he had gained over many years, and to ask Allah to grant his mother, Nanna, long life and good health so she could continue caring for him and for the half of his soul, the light of his eyes—his son, Suhail. He prayed that Suhail would grow with good character and faith like his late wife, Suhaila.
Allah had fulfilled most of his worldly wishes—health, a comfortable home, rare and valuable knowledge. Marriage was no longer part of his plans. He was among the most respected psychiatrists in Birmingham, a full-time NHS doctor working with Tavistock and Portman, and a part-time doctor at the prestigious Spire–Little Aston Hospital.
His greatest joy was that Allah made him a Muslim, a true Hausa-Fulani, blessed him with a compassionate and prayerful mother, and granted him true love in Suhaila—his late wife. Her memory lived permanently in his heart, and because of losing her, he had vowed never to remarry. He waited patiently for his own death, hoping to reunite with her in the hereafter, where separation would no longer exist.
Yet Allah did not leave him comfortless. He gave him solace through Suhail, their son. Whenever he looked at him, calmness filled his heart. Suhail carried Suhaila’s face, her dimples, her smile, her cleft chin, and even the small gap between her teeth. Apart from his mother Nanna (Aisha), Suhail was the most precious thing in his life.
By five o’clock in the morning, daylight had already broken through the white curtains of his room. He turned off his computer, pushed his wheeled chair back, stretched, and exercised for twenty minutes despite the bone-piercing cold. Wearing a thick sweater, blue jeans, and with the room heater working nonstop, he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and bathed with hot water until steam filled the room. He dried himself with a towel and stepped out.
From downstairs, he heard Suhail crying and Nanna’s voice singing a lullaby as if soothing an adult. Smiling to himself, he said softly,
“Nanna, Suhail’s bride.”
He quickly got ready, sprayed a little perfume (Boss Intense), wore his white doctor’s coat over his suit, picked up his medicated lenses, packed his things into a black shoulder bag, locked his room, and calmly walked downstairs.
Nanna was carrying Suhail on her back while frying bean cakes in hot oil on the gas cooker. The moment Suhail saw his father, he wriggled excitedly, stretching out his hands toward him. Standing at the doorway, he laughed and began to speak…