Takai town is a local government area within Kano city. The majority of its people are Fulani and Hausa, both light- and dark-skinned. Wherever you find Hausa and Fulani together, their main occupations are farming and cattle rearing. Farmers and herders make up about eighty percent of the town’s population. Everyone knows the people of Takai for their unity, mutual support, dislike of idleness, and reliance on self-sustaining trades, especially buying and selling the farm produce and livestock raised by their own efforts.
In Takai, everyone struggles for their own livelihood without depending on others—not only men but also women, elders, children, maidens, and young men. It is hard to find anyone without an occupation because each person strives to support themselves, their parents, or their families.
The market day in Takai is on Tuesday. As usual on a Tuesday, Malam Rashidu sat at the market gate with his wares: bowls filled with sweet potatoes. From ten in the morning until two in the afternoon, no one had approached him, let alone bought anything. He sat on his sack under the scorching sun, without even an umbrella, head bent onto his knees as though about to burst into tears, his eyes sunken from hunger and distress.
What troubled him most was not the lack of food for himself and his family but the school fees for his daughter Rahane. She had been sent away from school the day before for failing to pay. It was not that she was lazy, but because of repeated expulsions for non-payment, she had been falling behind.
Even as late as four o’clock, he was still sitting without selling a single tuber. He stood to pray Asr on his mat when suddenly a noisy Akori-Kura truck parked near him. The driver was Ado, a cattle dealer from Takai who also traveled south. He was Malam Rashidu’s neighbor and had given Rashidu and his family a house to live in rent-free. For that reason, Rashidu deeply respected Ado, even though Ado was younger.
After prayer, Ado glanced at the heap of potatoes before Rashidu and said,
“It seems your sweet potatoes never finish.”
Rashidu replied sorrowfully, “What can I do? That’s just how the market is. I only thank Allah.”
“How much is all of them?” Ado asked.
“They are five hundred naira in total,” Rashidu answered.
“Pack them all into sacks for me,” Ado said.
Rashidu, overwhelmed with disbelief, packed the potatoes into two bags, tied them tightly, and loaded them onto Ado’s truck. Ado handed him the money and said, “I’ll take these home to my family. You should go home and rest. If you want, I’ll even give you a ride to spare you the struggle of cycling back.”
Tears welled in Rashidu’s eyes as he thanked him. “I came by bicycle, and I want to pick up some grains for my mother before going home.”
As Ado started his noisy truck, he added, “Don’t thank me like that, Rashidu. I didn’t give them to you for free—I bought your goods.”
Still holding the truck door, Rashidu said, “Even so, you helped me, Ado. May Allah reward you, protect you front and back.”
“Amin,” Ado replied, driving off.
Rashidu packed up his things, balanced them on his bicycle, and bought millet, sorghum, maize, and some cooking ingredients. He saved the remaining money and cycled home slowly. By the time he arrived, it was Maghrib prayer time. His daughter Rahane rushed out to greet him and help carry the items. She wore a faded green wax print wrapper, already worn thin.
Rahane was not strikingly beautiful nor ugly, but she had the build of a tall young woman with budding maidenhood. She was calm, quiet, and modest, unlike her peers who liked to show off. Her lack of energy was not pride but due to poor nutrition—she ate mainly carbohydrates without proteins, vitamins, or minerals.
The Story of Malam Rashidu and His Late Wife Yalwati
Malam Rashidu was originally from Tsangaya, a village under Albasu Local Government. He came to Takai as an Almajiri student and survived through menial jobs at the market while studying. Over time, he saved money from selling small farm products like groundnuts, onions, and sweet potatoes.
In Takai, he met Yalwati, a Fulani girl, whom he married. Her parents insisted she remain in Takai, so Rashidu rented a small mud house of two rooms. He later brought his widowed mother, Iya Bilki, from Tsangaya to live with them. They lived modestly without electricity or a well, fetching water from afar and bathing in a simple pit latrine Rashidu had dug.
Yalwati was wise and hardworking. She lived in harmony with her mother-in-law and supported the home by selling spices, condiments, and other essentials. She also raised goats, chickens, and other small animals, which multiplied with blessings. Rashidu loved her dearly, for she never disrespected him, and she bore him a daughter, Rahane. Sadly, Yalwati died shortly after childbirth without seeing her baby’s face.
Her death devastated Rashidu. He stopped bathing, working, and mixing with people. Even prayer in congregation ceased for him. He withdrew completely, grieving bitterly. His mother and neighbors prayed for him, and slowly, with time, he recovered, though he was never the same again.
Iya Bilki raised the baby and named her Rahane after her late mother. Relatives of Yalwati wanted to take the baby, but Iya refused, vowing not to separate Rahane from her father. Through cow milk, bean pudding, and porridge, she nurtured the child. Rahane grew up resembling her mother in looks and behavior.
Though poor, Rashidu cherished his daughter, eventually enrolling her in a distant primary school. Every morning, he carried her on his bicycle to school before heading to the market. School fees were ₦250 every term, which he struggled to pay. Sometimes, she was expelled until he found the money.
Despite persuasion, Rashidu refused to remarry after Yalwati’s death, knowing no woman could match her character. His mother pressured him into marrying Zinaru, Yalwati’s younger sister and a widow with four children. But after two years, she could not bear the poverty and left. Relieved, Rashidu begged never to be forced into marriage again, choosing instead to focus on raising Rahane well, educating her, and preparing her for marriage. His only wish was to finish life peacefully with faith.
The Growth of Rahane
Rahane grew into a modest, soft-spoken girl, more like her late mother every day. Though not lively like her peers, she helped her father diligently—cleaning his room, washing his clothes, fetching water, preparing his bath, and even washing his bicycle. She greeted him joyfully each evening and took over his market load.
She also assisted her grandmother by selling boiled locust beans at the roadside. The earnings went into a savings pot belonging to her as inheritance from her mother.
Over time, her father noticed her devotion and began to love her as though his wife had returned in her. Carrying her to school daily and seeing her grow gave him strength. Though life was difficult, he found comfort in Rahane’s presence.
His only dream was to see her educated, married hon
orably, and for both of them to end life in faith and peace.
Description
Life in Takai Town
Takai town is a local government area within Kano city. The majority of its people are Fulani and Hausa, both light- and dark-skinned. Wherever you find Hausa and Fulani together, their main occupations are farming and cattle rearing. Farmers and herders make up about eighty percent of the town’s population. Everyone knows the people of Takai for their unity, mutual support, dislike of idleness, and reliance on self-sustaining trades, especially buying and selling the farm produce and livestock raised by their own efforts.
In Takai, everyone struggles for their own livelihood without depending on others—not only men but also women, elders, children, maidens, and young men. It is hard to find anyone without an occupation because each person strives to support themselves, their parents, or their families.
The market day in Takai is on Tuesday. As usual on a Tuesday, Malam Rashidu sat at the market gate with his wares: bowls filled with sweet potatoes. From ten in the morning until two in the afternoon, no one had approached him, let alone bought anything. He sat on his sack under the scorching sun, without even an umbrella, head bent onto his knees as though about to burst into tears, his eyes sunken from hunger and distress.
What troubled him most was not the lack of food for himself and his family but the school fees for his daughter Rahane. She had been sent away from school the day before for failing to pay. It was not that she was lazy, but because of repeated expulsions for non-payment, she had been falling behind.
Even as late as four o’clock, he was still sitting without selling a single tuber. He stood to pray Asr on his mat when suddenly a noisy Akori-Kura truck parked near him. The driver was Ado, a cattle dealer from Takai who also traveled south. He was Malam Rashidu’s neighbor and had given Rashidu and his family a house to live in rent-free. For that reason, Rashidu deeply respected Ado, even though Ado was younger.
After prayer, Ado glanced at the heap of potatoes before Rashidu and said,
“It seems your sweet potatoes never finish.”
Rashidu replied sorrowfully, “What can I do? That’s just how the market is. I only thank Allah.”
“How much is all of them?” Ado asked.
“They are five hundred naira in total,” Rashidu answered.
“Pack them all into sacks for me,” Ado said.
Rashidu, overwhelmed with disbelief, packed the potatoes into two bags, tied them tightly, and loaded them onto Ado’s truck. Ado handed him the money and said, “I’ll take these home to my family. You should go home and rest. If you want, I’ll even give you a ride to spare you the struggle of cycling back.”
Tears welled in Rashidu’s eyes as he thanked him. “I came by bicycle, and I want to pick up some grains for my mother before going home.”
As Ado started his noisy truck, he added, “Don’t thank me like that, Rashidu. I didn’t give them to you for free—I bought your goods.”
Still holding the truck door, Rashidu said, “Even so, you helped me, Ado. May Allah reward you, protect you front and back.”
“Amin,” Ado replied, driving off.
Rashidu packed up his things, balanced them on his bicycle, and bought millet, sorghum, maize, and some cooking ingredients. He saved the remaining money and cycled home slowly. By the time he arrived, it was Maghrib prayer time. His daughter Rahane rushed out to greet him and help carry the items. She wore a faded green wax print wrapper, already worn thin.
Rahane was not strikingly beautiful nor ugly, but she had the build of a tall young woman with budding maidenhood. She was calm, quiet, and modest, unlike her peers who liked to show off. Her lack of energy was not pride but due to poor nutrition—she ate mainly carbohydrates without proteins, vitamins, or minerals.
The Story of Malam Rashidu and His Late Wife Yalwati
Malam Rashidu was originally from Tsangaya, a village under Albasu Local Government. He came to Takai as an Almajiri student and survived through menial jobs at the market while studying. Over time, he saved money from selling small farm products like groundnuts, onions, and sweet potatoes.
In Takai, he met Yalwati, a Fulani girl, whom he married. Her parents insisted she remain in Takai, so Rashidu rented a small mud house of two rooms. He later brought his widowed mother, Iya Bilki, from Tsangaya to live with them. They lived modestly without electricity or a well, fetching water from afar and bathing in a simple pit latrine Rashidu had dug.
Yalwati was wise and hardworking. She lived in harmony with her mother-in-law and supported the home by selling spices, condiments, and other essentials. She also raised goats, chickens, and other small animals, which multiplied with blessings. Rashidu loved her dearly, for she never disrespected him, and she bore him a daughter, Rahane. Sadly, Yalwati died shortly after childbirth without seeing her baby’s face.
Her death devastated Rashidu. He stopped bathing, working, and mixing with people. Even prayer in congregation ceased for him. He withdrew completely, grieving bitterly. His mother and neighbors prayed for him, and slowly, with time, he recovered, though he was never the same again.
Iya Bilki raised the baby and named her Rahane after her late mother. Relatives of Yalwati wanted to take the baby, but Iya refused, vowing not to separate Rahane from her father. Through cow milk, bean pudding, and porridge, she nurtured the child. Rahane grew up resembling her mother in looks and behavior.
Though poor, Rashidu cherished his daughter, eventually enrolling her in a distant primary school. Every morning, he carried her on his bicycle to school before heading to the market. School fees were ₦250 every term, which he struggled to pay. Sometimes, she was expelled until he found the money.
Despite persuasion, Rashidu refused to remarry after Yalwati’s death, knowing no woman could match her character. His mother pressured him into marrying Zinaru, Yalwati’s younger sister and a widow with four children. But after two years, she could not bear the poverty and left. Relieved, Rashidu begged never to be forced into marriage again, choosing instead to focus on raising Rahane well, educating her, and preparing her for marriage. His only wish was to finish life peacefully with faith.
The Growth of Rahane
Rahane grew into a modest, soft-spoken girl, more like her late mother every day. Though not lively like her peers, she helped her father diligently—cleaning his room, washing his clothes, fetching water, preparing his bath, and even washing his bicycle. She greeted him joyfully each evening and took over his market load.
She also assisted her grandmother by selling boiled locust beans at the roadside. The earnings went into a savings pot belonging to her as inheritance from her mother.
Over time, her father noticed her devotion and began to love her as though his wife had returned in her. Carrying her to school daily and seeing her grow gave him strength. Though life was difficult, he found comfort in Rahane’s presence.
His only dream was to see her educated, married hon
orably, and for both of them to end life in faith and peace.