The bus rattled down the road, filled with voices and laughter. Some students gushed about finally seeing their parents, others whispered about upcoming weddings. Most were already mapping out their next step—Polytechnic, University, Nursing school.
Sa’adatu, sitting beside me, leaned close.
“Hafsy, please, come to A.B.U. Zaria. We can meet there again.”
I gave her a small, tired smile. “Getting into A.B.U. isn’t like going to Bakori. Even if I get in, I doubt they’ll let me go.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls they’ll stop and send off to a husband?”
I sighed. “Just pray for me, Sa’a. May Allah make it possible. I truly want to finish my education.”
Jamila, overhearing, turned in her seat. “Hafsy, you always surprise me with this dream of yours. I think school will finish you before you finish it. Time isn’t waiting for you, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Madam, I didn’t ask for your opinion. Aren’t you the one always talking about marriage?”
“Yes,” Jamila said with a proud toss of her head. “But marriage won’t stop me. I’ll marry and still study.”
Sa’a shook her head. “It’s harder than you think. Once you’re pregnant, the books will gather dust.”
I laughed lightly. “We’ve barely started our schooling and you’re already talking like it’s impossible.”
Sa’a softened. “Well… may Allah grant everyone’s good intentions.”
“Amin,” I murmured.
After a while, the bus grew quiet. My thoughts wandered to my father. Without Allah’s help, I knew convincing him to let me continue school would be like moving a mountain.
The Return
We dropped off the Zaria students first, then headed for Kaduna. From there, the Bakori school bus took us all the way home.
As soon as we stopped, the younger children’s voices rang out. “Hafsat is here!”
My mother rushed out and pulled me into a hug. Luggage thudded to the ground as the boys who had carried it asked for their fifty naira. Mama untied the corner of her wrapper and handed it over.
Inside, the house smelled warm and familiar. Mama set a bowl of alala before me.
“It’s fresh,” she said with a smile.
I raised an eyebrow. “You still make alala?”
“It finished days ago. But Uncle Bako said you’d be done soon, so I made more for the children in the evenings.”
We talked until I asked about my elder brother. Mama explained he hadn’t been home all day—he was busy with a motorcycle they’d bought from inheritance money, so he could work as a commercial rider when electrical repair jobs were scarce. I told her it was a smart idea.
Then I heard footsteps. My father walked in. I greeted him nervously, bracing for a frown, but he surprised me with a brief smile.
“You came back safely?”
Mama told him I’d finished secondary school. His face changed instantly.
“Now that she’s done, I’ll find her a suitor. Maybe a relative of Sakina’s husband, so I can rest.”
Mama tried to speak up about furthering my education, but he cut her off with a sharp look.
“I don’t want her in school anymore,” he said flatly.
My throat tightened. I blinked back tears and made a silent decision: I would speak to Munnir—my suitor—and have him send his elders to ask for my hand. Maybe then, I could still study from his house.
The Meeting
That evening, one of the younger boys came running. “Someone’s calling you outside.”
I knew it was Munnir. I’d already written to tell him I was home. I dabbed on perfume, adjusted my scarf, and stepped outside.
He sat on the hood of his black Toyota Camry, dressed in black jeans and a white shirt.
“Welcome back,” he said warmly. “Come inside the car.”
I hesitated. “I’ll sit here.”
He grinned. “What, afraid your father will see me in casual clothes?”
Reluctantly, I got in. He talked about how much he loved me, but I raised a hand. “Remember—no touching. It’s haram before marriage.”
He waved it off. “We’re getting married anyway.”
I told him plainly, “We should marry soon. My father might stop me from studying.”
But instead of concern, his eyes lit up with mischief. “I was planning a big graduation party for you first. Then we’ll talk about marriage.”
“Munnir, I’m serious,” I pressed.
He sighed. “My parents want me to finish my master’s first. Don’t worry—you’ll take JAMB soon, and you’ll work in the media like you dream.”
The next day, he came again to take me shopping for the party. In the boutique, I rejected the revealing dresses he picked, and he grew annoyed. We left.
On the way, he suggested ice cream. I shook my head. “Take me home—Mama will be angry if I’m late.”
He laughed. “You’re always scared,” he teased, but he turned the car toward my house.
Description
Homecoming
The bus rattled down the road, filled with voices and laughter. Some students gushed about finally seeing their parents, others whispered about upcoming weddings. Most were already mapping out their next step—Polytechnic, University, Nursing school.
Sa’adatu, sitting beside me, leaned close.
“Hafsy, please, come to A.B.U. Zaria. We can meet there again.”
I gave her a small, tired smile. “Getting into A.B.U. isn’t like going to Bakori. Even if I get in, I doubt they’ll let me go.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls they’ll stop and send off to a husband?”
I sighed. “Just pray for me, Sa’a. May Allah make it possible. I truly want to finish my education.”
Jamila, overhearing, turned in her seat. “Hafsy, you always surprise me with this dream of yours. I think school will finish you before you finish it. Time isn’t waiting for you, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Madam, I didn’t ask for your opinion. Aren’t you the one always talking about marriage?”
“Yes,” Jamila said with a proud toss of her head. “But marriage won’t stop me. I’ll marry and still study.”
Sa’a shook her head. “It’s harder than you think. Once you’re pregnant, the books will gather dust.”
I laughed lightly. “We’ve barely started our schooling and you’re already talking like it’s impossible.”
Sa’a softened. “Well… may Allah grant everyone’s good intentions.”
“Amin,” I murmured.
After a while, the bus grew quiet. My thoughts wandered to my father. Without Allah’s help, I knew convincing him to let me continue school would be like moving a mountain.
The Return
We dropped off the Zaria students first, then headed for Kaduna. From there, the Bakori school bus took us all the way home.
As soon as we stopped, the younger children’s voices rang out. “Hafsat is here!”
My mother rushed out and pulled me into a hug. Luggage thudded to the ground as the boys who had carried it asked for their fifty naira. Mama untied the corner of her wrapper and handed it over.
Inside, the house smelled warm and familiar. Mama set a bowl of alala before me.
“It’s fresh,” she said with a smile.
I raised an eyebrow. “You still make alala?”
“It finished days ago. But Uncle Bako said you’d be done soon, so I made more for the children in the evenings.”
We talked until I asked about my elder brother. Mama explained he hadn’t been home all day—he was busy with a motorcycle they’d bought from inheritance money, so he could work as a commercial rider when electrical repair jobs were scarce. I told her it was a smart idea.
Then I heard footsteps. My father walked in. I greeted him nervously, bracing for a frown, but he surprised me with a brief smile.
“You came back safely?”
Mama told him I’d finished secondary school. His face changed instantly.
“Now that she’s done, I’ll find her a suitor. Maybe a relative of Sakina’s husband, so I can rest.”
Mama tried to speak up about furthering my education, but he cut her off with a sharp look.
“I don’t want her in school anymore,” he said flatly.
My throat tightened. I blinked back tears and made a silent decision: I would speak to Munnir—my suitor—and have him send his elders to ask for my hand. Maybe then, I could still study from his house.
The Meeting
That evening, one of the younger boys came running. “Someone’s calling you outside.”
I knew it was Munnir. I’d already written to tell him I was home. I dabbed on perfume, adjusted my scarf, and stepped outside.
He sat on the hood of his black Toyota Camry, dressed in black jeans and a white shirt.
“Welcome back,” he said warmly. “Come inside the car.”
I hesitated. “I’ll sit here.”
He grinned. “What, afraid your father will see me in casual clothes?”
Reluctantly, I got in. He talked about how much he loved me, but I raised a hand. “Remember—no touching. It’s haram before marriage.”
He waved it off. “We’re getting married anyway.”
I told him plainly, “We should marry soon. My father might stop me from studying.”
But instead of concern, his eyes lit up with mischief. “I was planning a big graduation party for you first. Then we’ll talk about marriage.”
“Munnir, I’m serious,” I pressed.
He sighed. “My parents want me to finish my master’s first. Don’t worry—you’ll take JAMB soon, and you’ll work in the media like you dream.”
The next day, he came again to take me shopping for the party. In the boutique, I rejected the revealing dresses he picked, and he grew annoyed. We left.
On the way, he suggested ice cream. I shook my head. “Take me home—Mama will be angry if I’m late.”
He laughed. “You’re always scared,” he teased, but he turned the car toward my house.