The sharp, piercing voice of Binta dragged him out of the deep thoughts he had sunk into. He shifted and sat upright, biting his lip because of the sharp pain in his back. He had not been able to sit for long ever since the accident he had 10 years ago on his way to Kaduna for the funeral of Alhaji Zakariyya, Binta’s father. Despite medical reports showing nothing serious, he knew his body had never been the same — and age worsening it only made the pain more unbearable.
“Alhaji, are you alright? I’ve been standing here talking to you for almost ten minutes. You kept quiet; if not that your eyes were open, I would have thought you were dead.” Binta repeated as she sat beside him.
He stared at her, wondering why she never missed a chance to bring up the topic of his death — as if she was eagerly waiting for the day it would finally happen. He didn’t know what her problem was, or why she seemed so bothered about his existence.
“Have you eaten? Though it’s already late afternoon, at least you should have eaten lunch.” She asked, then answered herself. She stood up and walked to the fridge in his large bedroom that looked like a palace chamber. She took a bottle of water and a brass cup, poured him some, and handed it over. He accepted without hesitation; he needed the water.
“So, how did it go? Did the money come out?” she asked, finally bringing out the real reason she came.
He drank the water, adjusted himself, and said,
“No, it didn’t. He said he doesn’t know where the money went. But I believe Aminu didn’t steal from me. So that matter is closed. Whoever is responsible — God will expose them one day.”
“What did you just say?! Two hundred and one million naira — and you’re saying you left everything to God? Alhaji, are you serious?! Wait — so you’re even defending Aminu? Since when did you know him so well that you can swear he didn’t steal from you?” Binta flared up.
Alhaji Audu looked at her sharply and said,
“What exactly is your share in that money, Binta? You’re acting more worried than even I am.”
“It is my money! Don’t forget you have ten children in this house, eight alive, and six of them — all boys — belong to me. I have a share in your wealth! I won’t sit and watch someone cheat us and you’ll just say ‘leave him to God!’” she answered, shaking her body dramatically like a little girl rolling her eyes.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Momy’s greeting at the door stopped him. He swallowed his words and returned the greeting as she walked in carrying a large tray. She placed it on the center table without sparing Binta a glance.
“I didn’t know you were back. I kept asking why the house was so quiet. And Baba Bilki said she heard you come in earlier, that’s why she didn’t tell me anything,” she said calmly as she served his food. When she finished arranging everything, she pushed the tray close to him so he could eat comfortably. She brought him another cold drink from the fridge.
Binta kept glaring at her, wondering how this shameless woman still had the courage to remain in the house after almost forty years as co-wives.
“I’ll pray Asr first before eating,” Alhaji said and walked into the bathroom attached to his bedroom.
Momy sat on one of the long couches while Hajiya sat on the bed, secretly observing Momy like a hunter watching prey. When Alhaji finished praying and returned to his food, Binta stayed put — Momy didn’t tell her to leave, though her presence irritated her.
To this day, after many years, no one dared enter Alhaji’s chamber on Hajiya Binta’s cooking days — except Momy. She could walk in even if they were lying down. And now Alhaji wanted to correct that imbalance. But it was too late; Binta had already lost respect for him. She did as she pleased whether he liked it or not.
As for Momy, she couldn’t understand the kind of woman Binta was — she had never seen such audacity in any wife who dared to act like the owner of the entire household.
The Hidden Conversation
“So, what brought you here?” Alhaji’s voice cut through the room.
Momy looked up from her phone, trying to understand who he was addressing — the cook or Binta who came to cause trouble?
Binta quickly adjusted herself, thinking he meant her, until he repeated the question while looking directly at Momy. She opened her mouth to answer rudely, but remembered she had her own plans, so she stood with a smile and said,
“Well then, let me leave. I even forgot where I was.”
As she stepped out, Momy’s phone rang. Hajiya slipped outside but remained by the door, ears pressed closely. Listening had become her addiction — whether gossip, whispers or even random murmurs in the street.
Inside, Momy put the phone on speaker because of an ear pain she had. Ahmad’s voice came through:
“Momy, have you talked to him?”
“Not yet,” she answered. “If you’re in such a hurry, go to him yourself and talk to him. Or do you expect me to turn you into a houseboy before you act?”
Outside, Binta pressed her ear tighter to the door, curious about what discussion involved Ahmad and someone else.
Ahmad pleaded,
“Sweet mother, my half of life, you know I can’t face him. Jafar spoke to him and he said he’d get back to us, and it’s almost a month now — nothing. Time is running out for me, Momy. If he won’t help, I need another alternative. Please understand.”
He coughed hard after speaking.
“Did you even go to the hospital I told you to?” she asked.
“I did, Momy. They gave me medicine. Please talk to him today.”
“I will,” she said shortly and ended the call.
Alhaji continued eating while listening. He had already understood what Ahmad was begging for. He drank some water and looked at her, saying—
(translation ends here because the original text ends mid-sentence)
Description
Binta’s Confrontation
“Alhaji! Alhaji!! Alhaji!!!”
The sharp, piercing voice of Binta dragged him out of the deep thoughts he had sunk into. He shifted and sat upright, biting his lip because of the sharp pain in his back. He had not been able to sit for long ever since the accident he had 10 years ago on his way to Kaduna for the funeral of Alhaji Zakariyya, Binta’s father. Despite medical reports showing nothing serious, he knew his body had never been the same — and age worsening it only made the pain more unbearable.
“Alhaji, are you alright? I’ve been standing here talking to you for almost ten minutes. You kept quiet; if not that your eyes were open, I would have thought you were dead.” Binta repeated as she sat beside him.
He stared at her, wondering why she never missed a chance to bring up the topic of his death — as if she was eagerly waiting for the day it would finally happen. He didn’t know what her problem was, or why she seemed so bothered about his existence.
“Have you eaten? Though it’s already late afternoon, at least you should have eaten lunch.” She asked, then answered herself. She stood up and walked to the fridge in his large bedroom that looked like a palace chamber. She took a bottle of water and a brass cup, poured him some, and handed it over. He accepted without hesitation; he needed the water.
“So, how did it go? Did the money come out?” she asked, finally bringing out the real reason she came.
He drank the water, adjusted himself, and said,
“No, it didn’t. He said he doesn’t know where the money went. But I believe Aminu didn’t steal from me. So that matter is closed. Whoever is responsible — God will expose them one day.”
“What did you just say?! Two hundred and one million naira — and you’re saying you left everything to God? Alhaji, are you serious?! Wait — so you’re even defending Aminu? Since when did you know him so well that you can swear he didn’t steal from you?” Binta flared up.
Alhaji Audu looked at her sharply and said,
“What exactly is your share in that money, Binta? You’re acting more worried than even I am.”
“It is my money! Don’t forget you have ten children in this house, eight alive, and six of them — all boys — belong to me. I have a share in your wealth! I won’t sit and watch someone cheat us and you’ll just say ‘leave him to God!’” she answered, shaking her body dramatically like a little girl rolling her eyes.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Momy’s greeting at the door stopped him. He swallowed his words and returned the greeting as she walked in carrying a large tray. She placed it on the center table without sparing Binta a glance.
“I didn’t know you were back. I kept asking why the house was so quiet. And Baba Bilki said she heard you come in earlier, that’s why she didn’t tell me anything,” she said calmly as she served his food. When she finished arranging everything, she pushed the tray close to him so he could eat comfortably. She brought him another cold drink from the fridge.
Binta kept glaring at her, wondering how this shameless woman still had the courage to remain in the house after almost forty years as co-wives.
“I’ll pray Asr first before eating,” Alhaji said and walked into the bathroom attached to his bedroom.
Momy sat on one of the long couches while Hajiya sat on the bed, secretly observing Momy like a hunter watching prey. When Alhaji finished praying and returned to his food, Binta stayed put — Momy didn’t tell her to leave, though her presence irritated her.
To this day, after many years, no one dared enter Alhaji’s chamber on Hajiya Binta’s cooking days — except Momy. She could walk in even if they were lying down. And now Alhaji wanted to correct that imbalance. But it was too late; Binta had already lost respect for him. She did as she pleased whether he liked it or not.
As for Momy, she couldn’t understand the kind of woman Binta was — she had never seen such audacity in any wife who dared to act like the owner of the entire household.
The Hidden Conversation
“So, what brought you here?” Alhaji’s voice cut through the room.
Momy looked up from her phone, trying to understand who he was addressing — the cook or Binta who came to cause trouble?
Binta quickly adjusted herself, thinking he meant her, until he repeated the question while looking directly at Momy. She opened her mouth to answer rudely, but remembered she had her own plans, so she stood with a smile and said,
“Well then, let me leave. I even forgot where I was.”
As she stepped out, Momy’s phone rang. Hajiya slipped outside but remained by the door, ears pressed closely. Listening had become her addiction — whether gossip, whispers or even random murmurs in the street.
Inside, Momy put the phone on speaker because of an ear pain she had. Ahmad’s voice came through:
“Momy, have you talked to him?”
“Not yet,” she answered. “If you’re in such a hurry, go to him yourself and talk to him. Or do you expect me to turn you into a houseboy before you act?”
Outside, Binta pressed her ear tighter to the door, curious about what discussion involved Ahmad and someone else.
Ahmad pleaded,
“Sweet mother, my half of life, you know I can’t face him. Jafar spoke to him and he said he’d get back to us, and it’s almost a month now — nothing. Time is running out for me, Momy. If he won’t help, I need another alternative. Please understand.”
He coughed hard after speaking.
“Did you even go to the hospital I told you to?” she asked.
“I did, Momy. They gave me medicine. Please talk to him today.”
“I will,” she said shortly and ended the call.
Alhaji continued eating while listening. He had already understood what Ahmad was begging for. He drank some water and looked at her, saying—
(translation ends here because the original text ends mid-sentence)