The loud, chaotic noise rising from our house drew my attention. Filled with frustration, I got up from my early morning sleep. The commotion in our house is unlike any other family home I’ve ever known or heard about. Every single day feels like a marketplace of quarrels — from the women to the young girls and children — we clash as if we can see each other’s insides. You’d swear we aren’t even from the same bloodline.
Then I heard Maman Safara’u shouting at the top of her voice, followed by Gwaggon Haleema’s voice saying, “Ah, this issue is getting too much! You, Maman Biyu, you really have to change your ways. If you don’t, I swear there’s no way this boy Sadeeq will stop chasing Munaya. Since when did we finish the issue about Shafi’u that you’re now turning it toward Sadeeq again?”
My chest tightened. Eyes wide open, I muttered, “So today’s commotion is about us again?”
I was about to step down from my bed when Munubiya entered, wiping her tears. I watched her until she threw herself on her bed and burst into a painful cry — confirming that the whole house chaos was indeed about us. Furious, I got up and headed for the door (I’m never patient when it comes to anyone insulting our mother — it happens often in this house).
After taking two steps, I felt someone grab me. Without turning, I knew it was Munubiya. “Wallahi, leave me before I start venting my anger on you, Munu! Today, I’ll show every disrespectful woman in this house that—”
Before I could finish, Munubiya quickly covered my mouth with her palm. I struggled to free myself, but she held me tight. My anger burned hotter as I heard Safara’u throwing insults at our mother in the courtyard. I didn’t even know when I flung Munubiya aside and ran out.
No one saw me coming until the sound of the slap I gave Safara’u echoed through the compound. For a moment, silence ruled the house — then noise erupted again as Safara’u and her mother charged toward me.
Suddenly, Baba Ƙarami’s loud, commanding voice silenced everyone:
“No one leaves this place!”
The house went dead silent — hard to believe this was the same house buzzing like a wedding ground moments ago.
Our family’s constant fights are no secret in our neighborhood — they’ve almost become part of our identity. It happens every day, without fail — between wives, children, or both. Sometimes, we’d barely have a moment of peace before another chaos starts. Especially fights involving the children — they always drag the mothers into it. Only our mother and Maman Fauziyya try to avoid these endless troubles that have become as normal as drinking water in this household.
Baba Ƙarami started scolding everyone, his voice echoing from one corner to another. None of us dared to interrupt (he’s known for his temper). After he had said enough, he ordered me and Safara’u to meet him in his sitting room, along with our mothers.
Before Baba Ja’afaru
While all that was happening, our mother quietly continued cooking breakfast in the kitchen. She didn’t utter a word — she knew if she had seen me run out earlier, she wouldn’t have let me.
In Baba Ja’afaru’s living room, the interrogation began. Maman Safara’u spoke first, angrily:
“Alhaji, please intervene between me and Maman Biyu. I can’t stand her behavior anymore. She acts like she owns this house. I won’t tolerate her treating the rest of us like nothing. She knows who my father is!”
Baba raised his hand to stop her.
“Suwaiba, that’s not why I called you here. I just want to know what caused all the noise today.”
Still annoyed, she replied, “It’s about that boy Sadeeq. Everyone knows he visits Safara’u, but yesterday he sent for Munaya instead! And by God’s grace, their secret was exposed because the messenger spoke out in public. Later, Safara’u came home crying and said she saw Sadeeq with one of the twins — laughing and flirting — and even winking at her! I believed her and sent Rahma to confirm. She came back saying she heard Sadeeq himself saying he’d never marry Safara’u but rather one of those hypocritical twins. That’s why we couldn’t sleep all night!”
I sighed deeply, holding my head. They’d completely twisted the story.
Baba looked at me and asked, “Munubiya or Munaya?” (He often couldn’t tell us apart because we resemble each other so much.)
With sadness, I answered, “It’s Munaya, Baba.”
“Good. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s inside, Baba.”
He turned to Safara’u, who was faking tears. “Go call Munubiya.”
A few minutes later, she returned with Munubiya, eyes swollen from crying. I rolled my eyes — her weakness always annoyed me; she’s too gentle, too forgiving, just like our mother.
Baba’s voice pulled me back to attention. “Munaya,” he called.
“Yes, Baba.”
Turning to Safara’u, he asked, “So which one of them did you see with Sadeeq?”
Safara’u looked at us, then said tearfully, “Baba, I can’t tell them apart unless they’re separated.”
He said nothing — he already knew that was true. Then he looked at us again, waiting.
Munubiya quickly said, “It was me, Baba.”
I immediately countered, “That’s a lie! I was the one Sadeeq sent for — but not for what they’re accusing me of! He only wanted to know what Safara’u loves most so he could surprise her on her birthday. We were laughing because I jokingly told him to buy her fried groundnuts — her favorite snack. That’s when I saw her walking in, and I winked teasingly. She must have misunderstood everything! And Rahma is lying — when she saw me, I was just delivering Sadeeq’s clothes before he went for prayers.”
Safara’u and her mother glared at me, and of course, I glared back.
Baba interrupted sharply, “So that’s what really happened?”
“Yes, Baba,” I replied, lowering my head.
Our mother sighed softly, relieved that I wasn’t guilty of what they accused me of.
Then Baba Ja’afaru threw a deadly glare at Maman Safara’u.
“Suwaiba! May Allah guide you. Next time, investigate before you accuse anyone. You’ve seen the truth now. And you, Safara’u, since you lack manners enough to insult Aisha, you’ll see how Abdulhameed will deal with you and Rahma today! Aisha, please forgive them.”
Our mother tried to stand up, saying gently, “It’s alright, Babansu. May Allah remove this trouble from our home.”
“Amin,” we all echoed as we followed her out of the room.
Outside, the women of the house stared at us as if seeing us for the first time. In my heart, I said, Hypocrites — you’ll all end up the same way.
Our mother was deeply hurt, though she didn’t show it. But I and Munubiya couldn’t hide our pain. We knew this humiliation came from our grandmother herself — she was the one who gave others the right to treat us this way. Since we were born, our mother has faced nothing but insults and disrespect from our grandmother and our father’s wives — even his brothers’ wives. We have no freedom like other children. Our mother isn’t treated as a respected wife — and that’s where it all began…
Description
The Chaos Within Our Family
The loud, chaotic noise rising from our house drew my attention. Filled with frustration, I got up from my early morning sleep. The commotion in our house is unlike any other family home I’ve ever known or heard about. Every single day feels like a marketplace of quarrels — from the women to the young girls and children — we clash as if we can see each other’s insides. You’d swear we aren’t even from the same bloodline.
Then I heard Maman Safara’u shouting at the top of her voice, followed by Gwaggon Haleema’s voice saying, “Ah, this issue is getting too much! You, Maman Biyu, you really have to change your ways. If you don’t, I swear there’s no way this boy Sadeeq will stop chasing Munaya. Since when did we finish the issue about Shafi’u that you’re now turning it toward Sadeeq again?”
My chest tightened. Eyes wide open, I muttered, “So today’s commotion is about us again?”
I was about to step down from my bed when Munubiya entered, wiping her tears. I watched her until she threw herself on her bed and burst into a painful cry — confirming that the whole house chaos was indeed about us. Furious, I got up and headed for the door (I’m never patient when it comes to anyone insulting our mother — it happens often in this house).
After taking two steps, I felt someone grab me. Without turning, I knew it was Munubiya. “Wallahi, leave me before I start venting my anger on you, Munu! Today, I’ll show every disrespectful woman in this house that—”
Before I could finish, Munubiya quickly covered my mouth with her palm. I struggled to free myself, but she held me tight. My anger burned hotter as I heard Safara’u throwing insults at our mother in the courtyard. I didn’t even know when I flung Munubiya aside and ran out.
No one saw me coming until the sound of the slap I gave Safara’u echoed through the compound. For a moment, silence ruled the house — then noise erupted again as Safara’u and her mother charged toward me.
Suddenly, Baba Ƙarami’s loud, commanding voice silenced everyone:
“No one leaves this place!”
The house went dead silent — hard to believe this was the same house buzzing like a wedding ground moments ago.
Our family’s constant fights are no secret in our neighborhood — they’ve almost become part of our identity. It happens every day, without fail — between wives, children, or both. Sometimes, we’d barely have a moment of peace before another chaos starts. Especially fights involving the children — they always drag the mothers into it. Only our mother and Maman Fauziyya try to avoid these endless troubles that have become as normal as drinking water in this household.
Baba Ƙarami started scolding everyone, his voice echoing from one corner to another. None of us dared to interrupt (he’s known for his temper). After he had said enough, he ordered me and Safara’u to meet him in his sitting room, along with our mothers.
Before Baba Ja’afaru
While all that was happening, our mother quietly continued cooking breakfast in the kitchen. She didn’t utter a word — she knew if she had seen me run out earlier, she wouldn’t have let me.
In Baba Ja’afaru’s living room, the interrogation began. Maman Safara’u spoke first, angrily:
“Alhaji, please intervene between me and Maman Biyu. I can’t stand her behavior anymore. She acts like she owns this house. I won’t tolerate her treating the rest of us like nothing. She knows who my father is!”
Baba raised his hand to stop her.
“Suwaiba, that’s not why I called you here. I just want to know what caused all the noise today.”
Still annoyed, she replied, “It’s about that boy Sadeeq. Everyone knows he visits Safara’u, but yesterday he sent for Munaya instead! And by God’s grace, their secret was exposed because the messenger spoke out in public. Later, Safara’u came home crying and said she saw Sadeeq with one of the twins — laughing and flirting — and even winking at her! I believed her and sent Rahma to confirm. She came back saying she heard Sadeeq himself saying he’d never marry Safara’u but rather one of those hypocritical twins. That’s why we couldn’t sleep all night!”
I sighed deeply, holding my head. They’d completely twisted the story.
Baba looked at me and asked, “Munubiya or Munaya?” (He often couldn’t tell us apart because we resemble each other so much.)
With sadness, I answered, “It’s Munaya, Baba.”
“Good. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s inside, Baba.”
He turned to Safara’u, who was faking tears. “Go call Munubiya.”
A few minutes later, she returned with Munubiya, eyes swollen from crying. I rolled my eyes — her weakness always annoyed me; she’s too gentle, too forgiving, just like our mother.
Baba’s voice pulled me back to attention. “Munaya,” he called.
“Yes, Baba.”
Turning to Safara’u, he asked, “So which one of them did you see with Sadeeq?”
Safara’u looked at us, then said tearfully, “Baba, I can’t tell them apart unless they’re separated.”
He said nothing — he already knew that was true. Then he looked at us again, waiting.
Munubiya quickly said, “It was me, Baba.”
I immediately countered, “That’s a lie! I was the one Sadeeq sent for — but not for what they’re accusing me of! He only wanted to know what Safara’u loves most so he could surprise her on her birthday. We were laughing because I jokingly told him to buy her fried groundnuts — her favorite snack. That’s when I saw her walking in, and I winked teasingly. She must have misunderstood everything! And Rahma is lying — when she saw me, I was just delivering Sadeeq’s clothes before he went for prayers.”
Safara’u and her mother glared at me, and of course, I glared back.
Baba interrupted sharply, “So that’s what really happened?”
“Yes, Baba,” I replied, lowering my head.
Our mother sighed softly, relieved that I wasn’t guilty of what they accused me of.
Then Baba Ja’afaru threw a deadly glare at Maman Safara’u.
“Suwaiba! May Allah guide you. Next time, investigate before you accuse anyone. You’ve seen the truth now. And you, Safara’u, since you lack manners enough to insult Aisha, you’ll see how Abdulhameed will deal with you and Rahma today! Aisha, please forgive them.”
Our mother tried to stand up, saying gently, “It’s alright, Babansu. May Allah remove this trouble from our home.”
“Amin,” we all echoed as we followed her out of the room.
Outside, the women of the house stared at us as if seeing us for the first time. In my heart, I said, Hypocrites — you’ll all end up the same way.
Our mother was deeply hurt, though she didn’t show it. But I and Munubiya couldn’t hide our pain. We knew this humiliation came from our grandmother herself — she was the one who gave others the right to treat us this way. Since we were born, our mother has faced nothing but insults and disrespect from our grandmother and our father’s wives — even his brothers’ wives. We have no freedom like other children. Our mother isn’t treated as a respected wife — and that’s where it all began…