Her mouth was pouted forward as she slept, wriggling softly, hugging herself in one place while pushing her lips outward again. She turned over and stretched her arms as if to hug someone, still pushing out her lips.
An elderly woman stepped out of a room after taking a bath with tarwada leaves, wearing an old T-shirt and a wrapper made of bright red atamfa. Both the wrapper and the shirt looked exhausted, weak, and completely worn out. The neckline of the shirt had torn, and around the collar it looked as if a rat had chewed it. She had no headscarf on, and her hair looked like the feathers of a vulture—old, thinning braids scattered from lack of hair. Even the braids themselves looked ancient and withered.
A young girl, not more than 19 years old, slept on a worn-out mat under a mango tree. The old woman rushed toward her, calling loudly:
“Farida… Farida… hey Faridaaaa!”
Startled, the girl woke up suddenly, sat up with a shy smile, looked down, and froze in place. “Hajiya… Hajiya, it was a dream, wallahi it was a dream. That same dream again—the sweet, perfect, breathtaking charming prince, the handsome prince, the honey prince, the amazing prince, Hajiya!”
“Iyeeeee!” Hajiya exclaimed, grinning widely as if she were the one that had the dream.
Farida continued, “Hajiya, don’t try to imagine him like a jinn because of how extremely handsome he is—so fair, glowing with a brightness that dazzles the eyes!”
Hajiya shook her head to the side, overwhelmed with joy, admiring her daughter. “Iyyeee… I’m listening, Farida my daughter.”
Farida continued, “Today’s dream was different from the usual ones. Today, in another world, I saw both of us—me and him—dressed in pure white clothes. He was wearing a mind-blowing white suit worth about fifty million!”
“Eyemmm!” Hajiya screamed loudly, smiling with all her teeth.
“And Hajiya, I went to him in a car—black—worth at least a hundred million! And he arrived in a white car worth around three hundred and seventy million with some extras.”
Hajiya burst into dancing and spinning from excitement, singing:
"Lale iye rambada,
Lale iye rambada!"
She shouted, “Wallahi my daughter has soared high! Very soon I’ll start wearing lace and big shaddas! Even the governor’s wife would be jealous! Very soon you’ll tear down this poor house and build us a mansion. May your steps be blessed, Princess Farida!”
Farida blushed even more from the praises. “Hajiya wait, let me tell you the end of the dream!”
Hajiya screamed, “I’m listening, my daughter, the crown of my head!”
Farida said, “When I arrived with my hundred-million car and he also came with his three-hundred-million-plus car, we came out together. Hajiya, I’m shy to say this, but I won’t hide anything from you….”
Hajiya quickly widened her mouth, “Farida, what will you hide from me? I’m your mother and your best friend! If this dream comes true, I’ll enter paradise on earth. Tell me—did you marry in the dream?”
Farida laughed happily. “You’re smart, Hajiya. Yes, we married! We were in love. He hugged me tightly—”
Hajiya covered her mouth but couldn’t stop laughing. “Money is on the way! We are almost rich! But wait—did you give birth in the dream?”
Farida replied, “No, we only had the wedding. He hugged me, kissed me like crazy and I found myself in a paradise made entirely of US dollars—they covered the whole ground like grass!”
Hajiya started dancing again out of pure joy.
Farida continued, “Then he said, ‘Baby, give me your Jerusalem.’”
Hajiya screamed, “Wayyo! This one knows love! I understand the Jerusalem he meant. With money, what would stop you?”
Farida clapped her hands happily, stood up and began posing and catwalking.
Hajiya stared proudly, saying, “Look at you, princess! Your steps blessed by Allah! Your journey will take you to the capital city!”
Farida said, “Hmm, but before I gave him my ‘Jeru,’ Hajiya, I woke up.”
Hajiya, disappointed, said, “Wayyooo that’s sad. But don’t worry. We MUST go to Mallam Haru. He must interpret this dream. It shouldn’t continue for almost two years without us knowing its meaning. I know it—he’s your destined husband. From the moment I gave birth to you, I knew you were made for greatness. You’re our ticket to wealth. He will soon come for you.”
Farida ran excitedly to the end of the compound and back, panting. “Hajiya, I should start practicing walking in high heels! I need to learn classy steps and gestures because I want everyone to know I’m not a local woman. My speech must sound like a city lady so the prince won’t find me too village-like.”
Hajiya added, “Not only you, Farida—even me! I must change so his parents won’t find me sounding local.” She tried practicing an accent.
“Welcome…welcome…”
Farida corrected her, “No! Say it in English: ‘Hey, come in!’”
Hajiya tried again, “Hey, come in—welcome!”
Farida added, “Then say wow!”
Hajiya sighed, “Farida, look at you—black beauty! Your siblings Manal and Yazed are the only fair ones. I won’t allow this prince to take you away from us. Tomorrow we go to Mallam for interpretation.”
The Troubled Home and Yazed’s Compassion
Inside a half-collapsed room—cracked everywhere despite being supposedly built with cement blocks—a man was banging on the locked door from inside. Only then did Hajiya and Farida glance toward it and hiss in annoyance.
Hajiya said, “I truly hate that old man. I don’t know what fate made me marry him. Since I was born, only now do I realize he has no respect at all.”
Farida added, “It’s you, Hajiya, who ruined our lives! You could’ve married a rich man, then we would’ve been born into wealth. But instead, you ended up with a Mallam! And he’s supposed to be our father. Wallahi I’m ashamed to even acknowledge him! That’s why I don’t let my friends visit. How can they see him as my father? Are we Alhaqatu or Masatura children?”
Hajiya replied, “They are all in Quranic school. Only Falaqi is sick with fever in his room. Where is that useless Yazed?”
Farida said, “He’s at his lecture. He doesn’t come back early because he’s trying to finish his degree. Useless boy. Once he finishes, he’ll bring the certificate for me to give him a job.”
A little girl around 9 years old ran in. Farida said, “Sa’iha is back!” She lifted the girl happily as they both laughed.
Meanwhile, the man inside kept banging loudly, yet nobody answered him until Yazed finally returned from his lecture, wearing his worn-out clothes that showed signs of poverty. But he was very handsome—fair-skinned and the most refined person in the house.
He ran quickly to the room, opened the door, and found the elderly man fallen off his wheelchair—though not physically disabled in his legs, he couldn’t control his body except his slightly functioning hands.
Yazed said, “Malam, where do you want to go? Please forgive me. I wasn’t home—I was in school.”
The old man looked at him with deep affection. Struggling to speak, he said, “Allah bless you, Yazed. You are among those I wronged in the past, but today—you are my only helper.”
He burst into tears.
Yazed comforted him, saying, “Malam, stop worrying. I hold no grudge. You’re my father and I don’t like seeing you cry.”
Description
Farida’s Dream and Hajiya’s Excitement
Her mouth was pouted forward as she slept, wriggling softly, hugging herself in one place while pushing her lips outward again. She turned over and stretched her arms as if to hug someone, still pushing out her lips.
An elderly woman stepped out of a room after taking a bath with tarwada leaves, wearing an old T-shirt and a wrapper made of bright red atamfa. Both the wrapper and the shirt looked exhausted, weak, and completely worn out. The neckline of the shirt had torn, and around the collar it looked as if a rat had chewed it. She had no headscarf on, and her hair looked like the feathers of a vulture—old, thinning braids scattered from lack of hair. Even the braids themselves looked ancient and withered.
A young girl, not more than 19 years old, slept on a worn-out mat under a mango tree. The old woman rushed toward her, calling loudly:
“Farida… Farida… hey Faridaaaa!”
Startled, the girl woke up suddenly, sat up with a shy smile, looked down, and froze in place. “Hajiya… Hajiya, it was a dream, wallahi it was a dream. That same dream again—the sweet, perfect, breathtaking charming prince, the handsome prince, the honey prince, the amazing prince, Hajiya!”
“Iyeeeee!” Hajiya exclaimed, grinning widely as if she were the one that had the dream.
Farida continued, “Hajiya, don’t try to imagine him like a jinn because of how extremely handsome he is—so fair, glowing with a brightness that dazzles the eyes!”
Hajiya shook her head to the side, overwhelmed with joy, admiring her daughter. “Iyyeee… I’m listening, Farida my daughter.”
Farida continued, “Today’s dream was different from the usual ones. Today, in another world, I saw both of us—me and him—dressed in pure white clothes. He was wearing a mind-blowing white suit worth about fifty million!”
“Eyemmm!” Hajiya screamed loudly, smiling with all her teeth.
“And Hajiya, I went to him in a car—black—worth at least a hundred million! And he arrived in a white car worth around three hundred and seventy million with some extras.”
Hajiya burst into dancing and spinning from excitement, singing:
"Lale iye rambada,
Lale iye rambada!"
She shouted, “Wallahi my daughter has soared high! Very soon I’ll start wearing lace and big shaddas! Even the governor’s wife would be jealous! Very soon you’ll tear down this poor house and build us a mansion. May your steps be blessed, Princess Farida!”
Farida blushed even more from the praises. “Hajiya wait, let me tell you the end of the dream!”
Hajiya screamed, “I’m listening, my daughter, the crown of my head!”
Farida said, “When I arrived with my hundred-million car and he also came with his three-hundred-million-plus car, we came out together. Hajiya, I’m shy to say this, but I won’t hide anything from you….”
Hajiya quickly widened her mouth, “Farida, what will you hide from me? I’m your mother and your best friend! If this dream comes true, I’ll enter paradise on earth. Tell me—did you marry in the dream?”
Farida laughed happily. “You’re smart, Hajiya. Yes, we married! We were in love. He hugged me tightly—”
Hajiya covered her mouth but couldn’t stop laughing. “Money is on the way! We are almost rich! But wait—did you give birth in the dream?”
Farida replied, “No, we only had the wedding. He hugged me, kissed me like crazy and I found myself in a paradise made entirely of US dollars—they covered the whole ground like grass!”
Hajiya started dancing again out of pure joy.
Farida continued, “Then he said, ‘Baby, give me your Jerusalem.’”
Hajiya screamed, “Wayyo! This one knows love! I understand the Jerusalem he meant. With money, what would stop you?”
Farida clapped her hands happily, stood up and began posing and catwalking.
Hajiya stared proudly, saying, “Look at you, princess! Your steps blessed by Allah! Your journey will take you to the capital city!”
Farida said, “Hmm, but before I gave him my ‘Jeru,’ Hajiya, I woke up.”
Hajiya, disappointed, said, “Wayyooo that’s sad. But don’t worry. We MUST go to Mallam Haru. He must interpret this dream. It shouldn’t continue for almost two years without us knowing its meaning. I know it—he’s your destined husband. From the moment I gave birth to you, I knew you were made for greatness. You’re our ticket to wealth. He will soon come for you.”
Farida ran excitedly to the end of the compound and back, panting. “Hajiya, I should start practicing walking in high heels! I need to learn classy steps and gestures because I want everyone to know I’m not a local woman. My speech must sound like a city lady so the prince won’t find me too village-like.”
Hajiya added, “Not only you, Farida—even me! I must change so his parents won’t find me sounding local.” She tried practicing an accent.
“Welcome…welcome…”
Farida corrected her, “No! Say it in English: ‘Hey, come in!’”
Hajiya tried again, “Hey, come in—welcome!”
Farida added, “Then say wow!”
Hajiya sighed, “Farida, look at you—black beauty! Your siblings Manal and Yazed are the only fair ones. I won’t allow this prince to take you away from us. Tomorrow we go to Mallam for interpretation.”
The Troubled Home and Yazed’s Compassion
Inside a half-collapsed room—cracked everywhere despite being supposedly built with cement blocks—a man was banging on the locked door from inside. Only then did Hajiya and Farida glance toward it and hiss in annoyance.
Hajiya said, “I truly hate that old man. I don’t know what fate made me marry him. Since I was born, only now do I realize he has no respect at all.”
Farida added, “It’s you, Hajiya, who ruined our lives! You could’ve married a rich man, then we would’ve been born into wealth. But instead, you ended up with a Mallam! And he’s supposed to be our father. Wallahi I’m ashamed to even acknowledge him! That’s why I don’t let my friends visit. How can they see him as my father? Are we Alhaqatu or Masatura children?”
Hajiya replied, “They are all in Quranic school. Only Falaqi is sick with fever in his room. Where is that useless Yazed?”
Farida said, “He’s at his lecture. He doesn’t come back early because he’s trying to finish his degree. Useless boy. Once he finishes, he’ll bring the certificate for me to give him a job.”
A little girl around 9 years old ran in. Farida said, “Sa’iha is back!” She lifted the girl happily as they both laughed.
Meanwhile, the man inside kept banging loudly, yet nobody answered him until Yazed finally returned from his lecture, wearing his worn-out clothes that showed signs of poverty. But he was very handsome—fair-skinned and the most refined person in the house.
He ran quickly to the room, opened the door, and found the elderly man fallen off his wheelchair—though not physically disabled in his legs, he couldn’t control his body except his slightly functioning hands.
Yazed said, “Malam, where do you want to go? Please forgive me. I wasn’t home—I was in school.”
The old man looked at him with deep affection. Struggling to speak, he said, “Allah bless you, Yazed. You are among those I wronged in the past, but today—you are my only helper.”
He burst into tears.
Yazed comforted him, saying, “Malam, stop worrying. I hold no grudge. You’re my father and I don’t like seeing you cry.”