Slowly, she closed the door and turned back, intending to step fully into the room. Her eyes widened as she held her chest and exclaimed, “Innalillahi!” Immediately she turned around, squeezed her eyes shut— all because she had seen Uncle coming out of the bathroom wearing only shorts, drying his body with a towel. She grabbed the doorknob to leave, but he said, “Beby.”
She answered, “Umm… I… I’ll come back when you’re done. I didn’t know you were inside. Please forgive me.”
He replied, “Forgive you for what? Come and do your work, do you hear me?”
She turned back, but she kept her gaze on the floor as she walked, bumping into the bed. Quickly she lifted her eyes and looked at it—surprised at how small it was compared to hers, neatly spread with clean sheets. She raised her head and looked at Uncle, then instantly lowered it again because he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He didn’t care; he continued rubbing lotion on his body.
She stammered, “S-so… the bed has already been arranged?”
He looked at her; she was trembling. He wore his short-sleeved white shirt and walked toward her.
He held her hand, sat her down, and gently held her fingers. She still couldn’t look at him because his shorts didn’t cover his thighs, and his waist was hairy. He rubbed her fingers lightly.
“Beby, it’s not forbidden for you to see my nakedness, or for me to see yours,” he said.
She looked up suddenly.
“Yes,” he continued, “because you and I are lawful for each other.”
She lowered her head again, her heart hoping he would explain more because she didn’t understand him.
He asked, “So Beby, who am I to you? Meaning, what is my position in your life?”
She looked at him, then lowered her head again.
Softly she answered, “Husband.”
He said, “What does husband mean?”
She kept quiet, then replied, “A man who marries. That is a husband.”
Uncle smiled at her innocence.
“What is marriage?”
She said, “Marriage? The way people gather and join them together, then the woman is taken to her home.”
He asked, “Then after that?”
She looked at him then covered her face.
“Tell me, after she gets there, what does she do?”
“She sweeps, washes, cooks… and takes care of the children.”
He rubbed his hand together. “Good. So you know. How does she get those children?”
“Iye!”
“How?”
“She gives birth to them.”
He asked, “Just like that—she gives birth?”
“Yes, when her stomach becomes big.”
He adjusted his sitting position; now they were getting to what he wanted.
“So how does her stomach become big?”
She paused and said, “I don’t know… maybe it’s some kind of food.”
He burst into laughter. Among all the wives he had married, none was as clueless about marriage matters as A’isha, despite being the youngest among them. He looked at her again.
“Do you want to know how a woman becomes pregnant?”
With her head still bowed, she whispered, “Yes.”
He smiled.
“I’ll ask you one question. If you don’t know it, I’ll combine everything and teach you. If you know it, I’ll leave you to figure it out yourself—like an assignment. But you must not ask anybody. Do you agree?”
She asked, “But how will I know if I don’t ask anyone?”
“You will know—today or tomorrow.”
“Okay, ask.”
He asked, “Do you know what menstruation is?”
She instantly buried her face between her knees; he had touched the topic she was most shy about. Even with her mother she struggled to mention it, let alone Uncle whom she hadn’t known long enough to discuss such things.
Laughing softly, he said, “Tell me, Beby. Have you ever had it?”
She jumped up and ran out of the room in panic.
She returned to her room and threw herself on the bed, her heart racing. She felt deep embarrassment—how could Uncle ask her such a question?
Uncle kept laughing. He realized he needed to go slowly with A’isha; he didn’t want to pressure her. He preferred doing things with ease and with proper education.
Jummai’s Jealousy and Growing Danger
Meanwhile, Jummai was in her room filled with mixed emotions. A part of her was happy, but suddenly her mood changed. If she had power, not even a housefly would land on her husband, let alone another woman. She vowed that even if she had to go naked, she would destroy any woman who dared share her husband.
She promised herself A’isha would die the next day—Insha Allah. She paced all night, unable to sleep.
A’isha was praying when suddenly the door was kicked open. Startled, she stood up and saw Hajiya Jummai. Fear gripped her; she began reciting prayers in her heart.
Jummai paused, confused—she was sure she heard a scream from this room.
A’isha responded gently, “Are you sure it was here?”
Jummai hissed. “It’s not here.”
She looked around again; though she strongly believed the scream was A’isha’s, seeing A’isha standing calmly made her doubt herself.
A’isha greeted her, “Good morning, Hajiya.”
Jummai hissed sharply and stormed out, slamming the door.
A’isha sat down puzzled. What did that mean?
Later, she shrugged—only they know.
She began reflecting again on her conversation with Uncle.
She left for the kitchen—not because of Uncle’s question about menstruation (she knew he wasn’t an immoral man), but because she understood Uncle’s character: he wasn’t indecent.
She met Uche working; they greeted each other and she started preparing Uncle’s breakfast. Uche helped her a little. She took the tray to her room, but Uncle was already sitting on his bed, dressed for work.
She looked at the clock—quarter to eight.
“You’re already dressed, Uncle?”
She placed the tray before him and prepared his tea. She served him potatoes and eggs, spreading butter on his bread.
He said, “I almost forgot I eat breakfast at home. Let me go downstairs, Beby.”
She spread his prayer mat; he sat and began to eat. She sat beside him and greeted him.
He replied warmly, then teased,
“Beby, were you running away from yesterday’s question? You ran off.”
She hid her face between her knees again.
Why was he discussing such things? It felt immoral to her. Even in school she never talked about such topics with friends.
He asked, “What is so embarrassing, Beby?”
She said, “Uncle please stop that topic.”
He said, “Okay, I’ve stopped. Is that fine?”
She nodded.
“Good. Now eat your food.”
She said she’d eat later.
He corrected her, sharing the Prophet’s (S.A.W.) teaching about moderation in eating. She agreed.
Later, at 9 a.m., Uncle went to Jummai’s room to greet her as he always did before leaving the house.
She looked terrible—angry and filled with bitterness. Her eyes were red.
He dropped his bag, knelt in front of her and said softly,
“Jummai… what is wrong? You’ve lost weight. Look at yourself—like an old woman.”
She hated that word old woman.
Tears finally flowed.
She said bitterly, “Of course you’ll call me old. You’ve found a young girl who can give birth, unlike me.”
He stood up angrily.
“See your problem? You never understand me! I’m asking what's wrong, not insulting you. If you don’t want to tell me your worries, fine.”
She told him to leave.
He picked his bag and left saying, “Allah ya kyauta.”
Jummai screamed.
Suwaiba and Sofy rushed in.
She swore she would kill that girl—A’isha.
They sat with her, plotting.
She even suggested poisoning her.
Karima said they should return to their previous spiritual man for consultation—if that failed, they would go to Niger Republic for a stronger charm-maker.
Meanwhile, A’isha had no idea they were planning her death. She simply cooked food—masa and miyar taushe—for Uncle. Uche and Marka helped her.
When the jealous wives heard, they mocked her cooking, calling her dirty and primitive. They even tried to throw her food away. A’isha quietly took her pots and left, crying.
Uncle came home early because A’isha didn’t answer his calls.
She was unaware—she had misplaced her phone.
When he found her, she was coming out of the bathroom. He noticed she didn’t look okay.
Description
Inside the Room
Slowly, she closed the door and turned back, intending to step fully into the room. Her eyes widened as she held her chest and exclaimed, “Innalillahi!” Immediately she turned around, squeezed her eyes shut— all because she had seen Uncle coming out of the bathroom wearing only shorts, drying his body with a towel. She grabbed the doorknob to leave, but he said, “Beby.”
She answered, “Umm… I… I’ll come back when you’re done. I didn’t know you were inside. Please forgive me.”
He replied, “Forgive you for what? Come and do your work, do you hear me?”
She turned back, but she kept her gaze on the floor as she walked, bumping into the bed. Quickly she lifted her eyes and looked at it—surprised at how small it was compared to hers, neatly spread with clean sheets. She raised her head and looked at Uncle, then instantly lowered it again because he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He didn’t care; he continued rubbing lotion on his body.
She stammered, “S-so… the bed has already been arranged?”
He looked at her; she was trembling. He wore his short-sleeved white shirt and walked toward her.
He held her hand, sat her down, and gently held her fingers. She still couldn’t look at him because his shorts didn’t cover his thighs, and his waist was hairy. He rubbed her fingers lightly.
“Beby, it’s not forbidden for you to see my nakedness, or for me to see yours,” he said.
She looked up suddenly.
“Yes,” he continued, “because you and I are lawful for each other.”
She lowered her head again, her heart hoping he would explain more because she didn’t understand him.
He asked, “So Beby, who am I to you? Meaning, what is my position in your life?”
She looked at him, then lowered her head again.
Softly she answered, “Husband.”
He said, “What does husband mean?”
She kept quiet, then replied, “A man who marries. That is a husband.”
Uncle smiled at her innocence.
“What is marriage?”
She said, “Marriage? The way people gather and join them together, then the woman is taken to her home.”
He asked, “Then after that?”
She looked at him then covered her face.
“Tell me, after she gets there, what does she do?”
“She sweeps, washes, cooks… and takes care of the children.”
He rubbed his hand together. “Good. So you know. How does she get those children?”
“Iye!”
“How?”
“She gives birth to them.”
He asked, “Just like that—she gives birth?”
“Yes, when her stomach becomes big.”
He adjusted his sitting position; now they were getting to what he wanted.
“So how does her stomach become big?”
She paused and said, “I don’t know… maybe it’s some kind of food.”
He burst into laughter. Among all the wives he had married, none was as clueless about marriage matters as A’isha, despite being the youngest among them. He looked at her again.
“Do you want to know how a woman becomes pregnant?”
With her head still bowed, she whispered, “Yes.”
He smiled.
“I’ll ask you one question. If you don’t know it, I’ll combine everything and teach you. If you know it, I’ll leave you to figure it out yourself—like an assignment. But you must not ask anybody. Do you agree?”
She asked, “But how will I know if I don’t ask anyone?”
“You will know—today or tomorrow.”
“Okay, ask.”
He asked, “Do you know what menstruation is?”
She instantly buried her face between her knees; he had touched the topic she was most shy about. Even with her mother she struggled to mention it, let alone Uncle whom she hadn’t known long enough to discuss such things.
Laughing softly, he said, “Tell me, Beby. Have you ever had it?”
She jumped up and ran out of the room in panic.
She returned to her room and threw herself on the bed, her heart racing. She felt deep embarrassment—how could Uncle ask her such a question?
Uncle kept laughing. He realized he needed to go slowly with A’isha; he didn’t want to pressure her. He preferred doing things with ease and with proper education.
Jummai’s Jealousy and Growing Danger
Meanwhile, Jummai was in her room filled with mixed emotions. A part of her was happy, but suddenly her mood changed. If she had power, not even a housefly would land on her husband, let alone another woman. She vowed that even if she had to go naked, she would destroy any woman who dared share her husband.
She promised herself A’isha would die the next day—Insha Allah. She paced all night, unable to sleep.
A’isha was praying when suddenly the door was kicked open. Startled, she stood up and saw Hajiya Jummai. Fear gripped her; she began reciting prayers in her heart.
Jummai paused, confused—she was sure she heard a scream from this room.
A’isha responded gently, “Are you sure it was here?”
Jummai hissed. “It’s not here.”
She looked around again; though she strongly believed the scream was A’isha’s, seeing A’isha standing calmly made her doubt herself.
A’isha greeted her, “Good morning, Hajiya.”
Jummai hissed sharply and stormed out, slamming the door.
A’isha sat down puzzled. What did that mean?
Later, she shrugged—only they know.
She began reflecting again on her conversation with Uncle.
She left for the kitchen—not because of Uncle’s question about menstruation (she knew he wasn’t an immoral man), but because she understood Uncle’s character: he wasn’t indecent.
She met Uche working; they greeted each other and she started preparing Uncle’s breakfast. Uche helped her a little. She took the tray to her room, but Uncle was already sitting on his bed, dressed for work.
She looked at the clock—quarter to eight.
“You’re already dressed, Uncle?”
She placed the tray before him and prepared his tea. She served him potatoes and eggs, spreading butter on his bread.
He said, “I almost forgot I eat breakfast at home. Let me go downstairs, Beby.”
She spread his prayer mat; he sat and began to eat. She sat beside him and greeted him.
He replied warmly, then teased,
“Beby, were you running away from yesterday’s question? You ran off.”
She hid her face between her knees again.
Why was he discussing such things? It felt immoral to her. Even in school she never talked about such topics with friends.
He asked, “What is so embarrassing, Beby?”
She said, “Uncle please stop that topic.”
He said, “Okay, I’ve stopped. Is that fine?”
She nodded.
“Good. Now eat your food.”
She said she’d eat later.
He corrected her, sharing the Prophet’s (S.A.W.) teaching about moderation in eating. She agreed.
Later, at 9 a.m., Uncle went to Jummai’s room to greet her as he always did before leaving the house.
She looked terrible—angry and filled with bitterness. Her eyes were red.
He dropped his bag, knelt in front of her and said softly,
“Jummai… what is wrong? You’ve lost weight. Look at yourself—like an old woman.”
She hated that word old woman.
Tears finally flowed.
She said bitterly, “Of course you’ll call me old. You’ve found a young girl who can give birth, unlike me.”
He stood up angrily.
“See your problem? You never understand me! I’m asking what's wrong, not insulting you. If you don’t want to tell me your worries, fine.”
She told him to leave.
He picked his bag and left saying, “Allah ya kyauta.”
Jummai screamed.
Suwaiba and Sofy rushed in.
She swore she would kill that girl—A’isha.
They sat with her, plotting.
She even suggested poisoning her.
Karima said they should return to their previous spiritual man for consultation—if that failed, they would go to Niger Republic for a stronger charm-maker.
Meanwhile, A’isha had no idea they were planning her death. She simply cooked food—masa and miyar taushe—for Uncle. Uche and Marka helped her.
When the jealous wives heard, they mocked her cooking, calling her dirty and primitive. They even tried to throw her food away. A’isha quietly took her pots and left, crying.
Uncle came home early because A’isha didn’t answer his calls.
She was unaware—she had misplaced her phone.
When he found her, she was coming out of the bathroom. He noticed she didn’t look okay.
He asked what was wrong.
She tried to brush it off, but he insisted.
She said nothing was wrong.
He asked if she felt pain anywhere.
She shook her head.