He cleared his throat, greeted, and entered a large sitting room they call Shakallo, a private chamber only special people are permitted to enter. The room was built in a way that looked like a museum—very wide, beautifully decorated, with ornaments made of gold and a massive carpet covering every inch of the hall. Large, stuffed pillows designed with royal patterns were arranged neatly on the carpet.
Five people were sitting in the room—four men and one elderly woman. The elderly woman was the Mai Babban Daki, the highest-ranking older woman in the palace. She looked about 76 years old, with sharp eyes, wearing an alkayyabba, holding tissue and prayer beads in her hands. The others were Waziri, Wambai, Makama, and Sarkin Dawaki. After a moment, two more elderly men who resembled the Mai Babban Daki entered and sat down as well.
His heart dropped at the sight of this gathering because these were the most powerful people in the palace after the king. He moved to the center of the room, found a place to sit, then looked at the Mai Babban Daki and said:
“Grandmother, were you the one who sent for me?”
She shook her head, then slowly placed the tissue on her face, wiped her tears, and said:
“Your father’s closest advisors asked that you be called, as the first son of the king, Kabeer.”
He quickly raised his head and looked at the others in the room staring at him. He said:
“Alright.”
Calmly, Makama, the eldest among them, asked:
“Have all your brothers arrived? By four o’clock we will perform the King’s final rites.”
With composure, he replied:
“Prince Halilu and Ibrahima are already here. Munir just called me, his plane has landed in Abuja. Umaru’s plane has just taken off from Lagos and he…”
He paused. All of them in the room asked together:
“What about Prince Riyad?”
He exhaled a subtle, hidden sigh and said:
“I’ve called him countless times, I can’t reach him.”
The Mai Babban Daki exclaimed:
“I’ve never seen a wayward boy like Riyad. One day he’s in Egypt, tomorrow Cyprus, next Oman, then Zanzibar. Another time China or Iceland. Ah, me Shatu! Maybe he’s in France today—try calling his French number. And if you don’t have it, go to Fulani (his mother) and get it.”
In a soft voice, Dan Buri (Kabeer) replied:
“Grandmother, you know he never stays in one place for even a month. Even his own mother, Fulani, doesn’t know where he is. She has also been calling him and he doesn’t answer. I don’t understand what Riyad’s problem is—he prefers roaming the world instead of staying in the land of his birth. He has grown, yet he—”
Wambai raised his hand to stop him.
“That is enough.”
Kabeer sighed and Wambai continued:
“For his sake, we cannot delay the rites due to the King. Wherever he is in the world he will see the news of his father’s death, so he will come. For now, get up and go.”
Kabeer stood up slowly and left, muttering under his breath once he stepped outside.
One of the angry men in the room said:
“Grandmother, I’ve said this countless times to His Majesty—he should call Riyad to order. Among all the King’s children, none is as wayward as Riyad. He refuses to stay and learn our traditions. What will people say when they see he is the only one missing?”
Everyone watched him, until the one beside him, called Usmanu, said:
“No, elder brother. Riyad is a calm boy; we all know his business takes him to those countries. And His Majesty himself approved it because he saw Riyad had passion for business. Riyad is kind and well-mannered—we all know that.”
Hambali, the elder brother, snapped:
“So you’re the one answering me now, Usmanu?”
Just as they were about to argue, the Mai Babban Daki said:
“Quiet! Hambali, Usmanu—do you realize your father has died? And you are arguing because of his son?”
They all fell silent.
---
Kabeer went directly to his mother’s private flat. She was the senior wife. The house was so big that walking from one part to another felt like going to a different neighborhood. From the structure alone you could tell the royal family was extremely wealthy.
Even though some women were crying and wailing outside, he ignored them and entered her rooms.
She sat among her attendants, crying. She signaled with her eyes for him to come upstairs. A woman who looked about 48 stood up, adjusted her wrapper, and followed him. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
He opened her room door and entered quickly, she followed, and he locked the door behind them. In a lowered voice—very different from the woman who was crying loudly a few minutes ago—she asked:
“What happened? What did they tell you?”
He smiled and said:
“They still haven’t found Riyad, Mama. I’m happy about that.”
She clenched her fist and threw a small punch into the air:
“Good! Alhamdulillah! Riyad is the only problem, my Dan Buri. Among all the King’s children, you have more money, more education, and more connections. You come from a noble lineage—my lineage—and you are the most respected in the palace. Only Riyad tries to overshadow you with his wealth and high level of education since he now has a PhD. But aside from that, what does he have? He doesn’t even have a wife, and people gossip that he’s unhealthy because of his refusal to marry.”
She continued:
“Ask anyone—your brothers, the courtiers, the palace staff—they all prefer that you become the next King. You are the firstborn son. Behave like it and take your rightful place. Once they bury the King later today, I will personally go to the Mai Babban Daki. Apart from Riyad, your uncle Hambali is also your rival, but I will remove him by any means necessary. Hurry and go out so the people can see you and accept you. Greet your brothers and sisters warmly when they arrive—hug them, show love. Act like you are in charge of everything. That will make people like you more.”
She added:
“And keep me updated on everything. Even if you’re far away, send me updates. His Majesty has already gone; we shall meet again in the hereafter. But this kingdom—before his body reaches the grave—I will make sure you are already moving in the corridors of power. You are my firstborn. You are the heir.”
He smiled widely, even laughed a little.
She quickly touched his face:
“Stop smiling! Keep your face sad—as if you are the only one deeply hurt by his death.”
He nodded, adjusted his face to look sorrowful, as if he might burst into tears. Then he walked out of the room.
Description
He cleared his throat, greeted, and entered a large sitting room they call Shakallo, a private chamber only special people are permitted to enter. The room was built in a way that looked like a museum—very wide, beautifully decorated, with ornaments made of gold and a massive carpet covering every inch of the hall. Large, stuffed pillows designed with royal patterns were arranged neatly on the carpet.
Five people were sitting in the room—four men and one elderly woman. The elderly woman was the Mai Babban Daki, the highest-ranking older woman in the palace. She looked about 76 years old, with sharp eyes, wearing an alkayyabba, holding tissue and prayer beads in her hands. The others were Waziri, Wambai, Makama, and Sarkin Dawaki. After a moment, two more elderly men who resembled the Mai Babban Daki entered and sat down as well.
His heart dropped at the sight of this gathering because these were the most powerful people in the palace after the king. He moved to the center of the room, found a place to sit, then looked at the Mai Babban Daki and said:
“Grandmother, were you the one who sent for me?”
She shook her head, then slowly placed the tissue on her face, wiped her tears, and said:
“Your father’s closest advisors asked that you be called, as the first son of the king, Kabeer.”
He quickly raised his head and looked at the others in the room staring at him. He said:
“Alright.”
Calmly, Makama, the eldest among them, asked:
“Have all your brothers arrived? By four o’clock we will perform the King’s final rites.”
With composure, he replied:
“Prince Halilu and Ibrahima are already here. Munir just called me, his plane has landed in Abuja. Umaru’s plane has just taken off from Lagos and he…”
He paused. All of them in the room asked together:
“What about Prince Riyad?”
He exhaled a subtle, hidden sigh and said:
“I’ve called him countless times, I can’t reach him.”
The Mai Babban Daki exclaimed:
“I’ve never seen a wayward boy like Riyad. One day he’s in Egypt, tomorrow Cyprus, next Oman, then Zanzibar. Another time China or Iceland. Ah, me Shatu! Maybe he’s in France today—try calling his French number. And if you don’t have it, go to Fulani (his mother) and get it.”
In a soft voice, Dan Buri (Kabeer) replied:
“Grandmother, you know he never stays in one place for even a month. Even his own mother, Fulani, doesn’t know where he is. She has also been calling him and he doesn’t answer. I don’t understand what Riyad’s problem is—he prefers roaming the world instead of staying in the land of his birth. He has grown, yet he—”
Wambai raised his hand to stop him.
“That is enough.”
Kabeer sighed and Wambai continued:
“For his sake, we cannot delay the rites due to the King. Wherever he is in the world he will see the news of his father’s death, so he will come. For now, get up and go.”
Kabeer stood up slowly and left, muttering under his breath once he stepped outside.
One of the angry men in the room said:
“Grandmother, I’ve said this countless times to His Majesty—he should call Riyad to order. Among all the King’s children, none is as wayward as Riyad. He refuses to stay and learn our traditions. What will people say when they see he is the only one missing?”
Everyone watched him, until the one beside him, called Usmanu, said:
“No, elder brother. Riyad is a calm boy; we all know his business takes him to those countries. And His Majesty himself approved it because he saw Riyad had passion for business. Riyad is kind and well-mannered—we all know that.”
Hambali, the elder brother, snapped:
“So you’re the one answering me now, Usmanu?”
Just as they were about to argue, the Mai Babban Daki said:
“Quiet! Hambali, Usmanu—do you realize your father has died? And you are arguing because of his son?”
They all fell silent.
---
Kabeer went directly to his mother’s private flat. She was the senior wife. The house was so big that walking from one part to another felt like going to a different neighborhood. From the structure alone you could tell the royal family was extremely wealthy.
Even though some women were crying and wailing outside, he ignored them and entered her rooms.
She sat among her attendants, crying. She signaled with her eyes for him to come upstairs. A woman who looked about 48 stood up, adjusted her wrapper, and followed him. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
He opened her room door and entered quickly, she followed, and he locked the door behind them. In a lowered voice—very different from the woman who was crying loudly a few minutes ago—she asked:
“What happened? What did they tell you?”
He smiled and said:
“They still haven’t found Riyad, Mama. I’m happy about that.”
She clenched her fist and threw a small punch into the air:
“Good! Alhamdulillah! Riyad is the only problem, my Dan Buri. Among all the King’s children, you have more money, more education, and more connections. You come from a noble lineage—my lineage—and you are the most respected in the palace. Only Riyad tries to overshadow you with his wealth and high level of education since he now has a PhD. But aside from that, what does he have? He doesn’t even have a wife, and people gossip that he’s unhealthy because of his refusal to marry.”
She continued:
“Ask anyone—your brothers, the courtiers, the palace staff—they all prefer that you become the next King. You are the firstborn son. Behave like it and take your rightful place. Once they bury the King later today, I will personally go to the Mai Babban Daki. Apart from Riyad, your uncle Hambali is also your rival, but I will remove him by any means necessary. Hurry and go out so the people can see you and accept you. Greet your brothers and sisters warmly when they arrive—hug them, show love. Act like you are in charge of everything. That will make people like you more.”
She added:
“And keep me updated on everything. Even if you’re far away, send me updates. His Majesty has already gone; we shall meet again in the hereafter. But this kingdom—before his body reaches the grave—I will make sure you are already moving in the corridors of power. You are my firstborn. You are the heir.”
He smiled widely, even laughed a little.
She quickly touched his face:
“Stop smiling! Keep your face sad—as if you are the only one deeply hurt by his death.”
He nodded, adjusted his face to look sorrowful, as if he might burst into tears. Then he walked out of the room.