The sky was covered with thick clouds, lightning flashing with thunder, cars only seeing ahead through their headlights.
At that very moment, three cars drove down the road in a convoy, clearly announcing the presence of someone important, as people kept moving aside to give them way.
Some by the roadside muttered, “So it’s not even the master himself this time, just that arrogant young wife of his, the one who respects no one.”
The cars pulled into a modern mansion, pausing briefly as if exchanging words with someone inside before driving further in. Security men rushed out to open the door, and out stepped a fair-skinned woman, heavily adorned from head to toe like royalty.
She was tall and striking, though her light complexion was clearly enhanced, only dazzling to those who didn’t look too closely. For real beauty, Nigerian women, with their natural glow, hair, and elegance, needed no such pretenses.
Gracefully, she walked into her wing of the house, stayed briefly inside, then came out calling loudly for one of the maids named Labara.
The maid hurried to her, bowing slightly, “Welcome, madam, hope the journey was smooth. How was the trip?”
The woman snapped back sharply, “Why do I see the lights on in that other wing? Has that shameless woman returned? You mean Fatima, the wife of that relative?”
Hearing her madam being called “Hajiya Babba” (senior madam), Nafisa’s face twisted with anger.
“Yes, she came back on Wednesday. Since the very day after you left, she’s been here,” Labara explained. Nafisa turned away in fury, storming back into her quarters.
Left in disbelief, Labara sighed deeply, whispering, “Ya Allah, why can’t this woman allow peace in her husband’s household?”
Inside, Nafisa seethed with rage. She grabbed her phone and called her husband, though she knew it was late night and he might be asleep. She dialed once—no answer. She dialed again, and just before the line cut, he picked up, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Nafisa, what’s wrong? Why are you calling so late? You know it’s the middle of the night…”
She cut him off sharply: “So you want to deceive me? You knew your wife was back and kept it from me? All this while we were together, you never said a word, only for me to return and find her here.”
He sighed. “Wallahi, I didn’t know she was back. No one informed me. I just found out now myself…” But before he could finish, she angrily hung up.
Throwing the phone aside, she fumed aloud: “I swear, I’ll deal with these old hags. I’ll destroy this marriage if it’s the last thing I do.”
Just then, another woman entered her quarters, modestly dressed in a long gown with a hijab draped over it. With a polite smile she said, “Ah, Abuja people, so you’re back? Hope the journey was safe?”
Nafisa scowled, “Yes, we came back. And since when is it your business? Should I announce to you whenever I travel or return?”
The woman, Fatima, smiled faintly. “I only came to welcome you back, that’s all. Whether you like it or not, our bond remains. We share children, kinship, and a long-standing relationship. Your insecurity doesn’t change that.”
Nafisa sneered, “You think you’ll stay here with me in this house? Over my dead body! I’ll make sure you suffocate before you take a single breath here.”
Fatima shook her head softly, “Allah is with those who stand for truth. I only came out of courtesy. May peace be with you.” With that, she left the room, leaving Nafisa boiling with humiliation and fury.
Later that night, as the rain poured heavily in Kaduna, Nafisa sat watching her children eat, though her mind was elsewhere. Since Fatima’s return, everything in her marriage had changed. Even her children now preferred staying at their grandparents’ home rather than endure the tension at theirs.
Her heart weighed heavy with regret, but jealousy consumed her. Memories returned—how she had met her husband after moving to Kano, how she wormed her way into his life through her Nigerien family’s food business, until she finally became his wife.
Her son Affan tugged at her, breaking her thoughts: “Mama, Daddy hasn’t come home yet. I only saw Aunty Fatima.”
She stroked his head with a sigh, “No, he hasn’t returned, Affan. That was just Aunty you saw.”
The boy frowned, “But Mama, whenever we go to see him, Aunty chases us out, saying we disturb him.”
Her face hardened, “Quiet, Affan! Too much talk will get you in trouble one day. Be careful with your tongue.”
The next morning, she prepared the kids for school but found the kitchen locked. Surprised, she asked Labara the maid why. Labara replied quietly, “It’s Hajiya Karama’s (junior wife’s) order. She locked it herself.”
Nafisa was speechless. “So she now controls even the food in this house?”
The maid only shook her head, “Patience, madam. When someone thinks they’ve gained the upper hand, humility leaves them.”
Nafisa forced a smile, thanked her, and left. She dressed the children herself and sent them off with her husband’s younger brother Salis to collect food from their grandmother’s part of the compound.
Inside, the elders whispered: “This trouble has started again. That Nafisa has no shame. Since she returned, peace has fled this house.”
Even their grandmother, Hajiya Kubura, upon seeing the children, muttered bitterly, “I knew it. That wayward girl is back. This time, I won’t keep silent.”
Description
The sky was covered with thick clouds, lightning flashing with thunder, cars only seeing ahead through their headlights.
At that very moment, three cars drove down the road in a convoy, clearly announcing the presence of someone important, as people kept moving aside to give them way.
Some by the roadside muttered, “So it’s not even the master himself this time, just that arrogant young wife of his, the one who respects no one.”
The cars pulled into a modern mansion, pausing briefly as if exchanging words with someone inside before driving further in. Security men rushed out to open the door, and out stepped a fair-skinned woman, heavily adorned from head to toe like royalty.
She was tall and striking, though her light complexion was clearly enhanced, only dazzling to those who didn’t look too closely. For real beauty, Nigerian women, with their natural glow, hair, and elegance, needed no such pretenses.
Gracefully, she walked into her wing of the house, stayed briefly inside, then came out calling loudly for one of the maids named Labara.
The maid hurried to her, bowing slightly, “Welcome, madam, hope the journey was smooth. How was the trip?”
The woman snapped back sharply, “Why do I see the lights on in that other wing? Has that shameless woman returned? You mean Fatima, the wife of that relative?”
Hearing her madam being called “Hajiya Babba” (senior madam), Nafisa’s face twisted with anger.
“Yes, she came back on Wednesday. Since the very day after you left, she’s been here,” Labara explained. Nafisa turned away in fury, storming back into her quarters.
Left in disbelief, Labara sighed deeply, whispering, “Ya Allah, why can’t this woman allow peace in her husband’s household?”
Inside, Nafisa seethed with rage. She grabbed her phone and called her husband, though she knew it was late night and he might be asleep. She dialed once—no answer. She dialed again, and just before the line cut, he picked up, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Nafisa, what’s wrong? Why are you calling so late? You know it’s the middle of the night…”
She cut him off sharply: “So you want to deceive me? You knew your wife was back and kept it from me? All this while we were together, you never said a word, only for me to return and find her here.”
He sighed. “Wallahi, I didn’t know she was back. No one informed me. I just found out now myself…” But before he could finish, she angrily hung up.
Throwing the phone aside, she fumed aloud: “I swear, I’ll deal with these old hags. I’ll destroy this marriage if it’s the last thing I do.”
Just then, another woman entered her quarters, modestly dressed in a long gown with a hijab draped over it. With a polite smile she said, “Ah, Abuja people, so you’re back? Hope the journey was safe?”
Nafisa scowled, “Yes, we came back. And since when is it your business? Should I announce to you whenever I travel or return?”
The woman, Fatima, smiled faintly. “I only came to welcome you back, that’s all. Whether you like it or not, our bond remains. We share children, kinship, and a long-standing relationship. Your insecurity doesn’t change that.”
Nafisa sneered, “You think you’ll stay here with me in this house? Over my dead body! I’ll make sure you suffocate before you take a single breath here.”
Fatima shook her head softly, “Allah is with those who stand for truth. I only came out of courtesy. May peace be with you.” With that, she left the room, leaving Nafisa boiling with humiliation and fury.
Later that night, as the rain poured heavily in Kaduna, Nafisa sat watching her children eat, though her mind was elsewhere. Since Fatima’s return, everything in her marriage had changed. Even her children now preferred staying at their grandparents’ home rather than endure the tension at theirs.
Her heart weighed heavy with regret, but jealousy consumed her. Memories returned—how she had met her husband after moving to Kano, how she wormed her way into his life through her Nigerien family’s food business, until she finally became his wife.
Her son Affan tugged at her, breaking her thoughts: “Mama, Daddy hasn’t come home yet. I only saw Aunty Fatima.”
She stroked his head with a sigh, “No, he hasn’t returned, Affan. That was just Aunty you saw.”
The boy frowned, “But Mama, whenever we go to see him, Aunty chases us out, saying we disturb him.”
Her face hardened, “Quiet, Affan! Too much talk will get you in trouble one day. Be careful with your tongue.”
The next morning, she prepared the kids for school but found the kitchen locked. Surprised, she asked Labara the maid why. Labara replied quietly, “It’s Hajiya Karama’s (junior wife’s) order. She locked it herself.”
Nafisa was speechless. “So she now controls even the food in this house?”
The maid only shook her head, “Patience, madam. When someone thinks they’ve gained the upper hand, humility leaves them.”
Nafisa forced a smile, thanked her, and left. She dressed the children herself and sent them off with her husband’s younger brother Salis to collect food from their grandmother’s part of the compound.
Inside, the elders whispered: “This trouble has started again. That Nafisa has no shame. Since she returned, peace has fled this house.”
Even their grandmother, Hajiya Kubura, upon seeing the children, muttered bitterly, “I knew it. That wayward girl is back. This time, I won’t keep silent.”