From the moment you enter the neighborhood, you can tell a celebration is underway, especially at the fifth house along the street. The street is filled with children, young women, and adults, both men and women. The main activity is centered around the large courtyard of the mosque adjacent to the grand house, whose imposing gate alone indicates its extraordinary size and splendor.
Three canopies are set up, each filled with neatly arranged white chairs. The first canopy is occupied by prominent scholars from the country and some from abroad, particularly from Muslim nations. The second canopy is exclusively for women, ranging from young girls to adults. The third canopy houses men, both young and old.
The most striking and beautiful aspect is the grace and dignity displayed by the people present. Despite the festive gathering, everyone is modestly dressed, with no one engaging in behavior that could be considered shameful or inappropriate in the name of celebration.
Even with the crowd outside, the house itself is bustling with people. Truly, it is a grand house, one that at first glance you can tell is a family compound, far too large to belong to a single person. From the gate, you can see the numerous sections of the house, likely five or six, all built in a uniform style with no apparent differences from a distance. Only upon entering do you realize each section is tailored to the specific needs of its occupants.
At that moment, I couldn’t discern what was happening inside or what had been planned. So, I followed the stream of people moving toward the second section, which seemed to attract the most visitors. Since everyone was gathered in the mosque’s courtyard where the wedding feast (walima) was to take place, I had the chance to slip into the room where I heard the bride was staying.
Inside were about ten to fifteen young women, each busy preparing herself according to her needs, dressed in long, milk-colored gowns adorned with golden floral patterns and stones on the front and sleeves. Their chatter was filled with laughter, making it hard to catch what anyone was saying.
“Oh Allah, marriage really unsettles everyone. Did you hear Yah Ab... ate the bitter kola until he died?” one of the girls, wearing a small golden veil, said, bursting into laughter. Almost simultaneously, they all turned to look at the girl lying on the bed, who had her back to them. She was lying face down, wearing a tight top and a small hijab. “Haha! Honestly, Iman, you saw how he ate the bitter kola yesterday until he passed out,” another girl responded, laughing as she approached the bed, while the others joined in, laughing and moving toward the bed. They surrounded her and shouted in unison, “Tomorrow, she’ll burst!!!” clapping and laughing uncontrollably.
A girl sitting by the mirror, applying makeup, let out a small scoff, pursed her lips, and with teary eyes full of anger, put down her powder and stormed out of the room. The others didn’t notice her departure, as their attention was fixed on the bride, continuing to chant, “Tomorrow, she’ll burst! Tomorrow, she’ll burst!” They shouted loudly, laughing mischievously in the playful way young girls, likely no older than 16 or 17, often do.
Tears, which she had been holding back for a while, slowly rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t move or open her eyes to look at her friends teasing her. Only she knew the weight in her heart since the previous night. This was the day she had long dreamed of, being united with her beloved Yah Abdallah, even before she fully understood her own feelings. Yet, she didn’t know why her body felt cold since the wedding week began. She knew it was likely due to the new life she would embark on tomorrow, God willing. She wiped away the hot tears, drawing a deep breath that made the veins in her neck stand out.
“Ya Salam! Are you girls okay?!” a voice called out sharply from behind them. The room fell silent, and everyone turned to look at the speaker. She clapped her hands again, holding her cheeks. “Oh, you lot, she hasn’t even finished preparing, and you’re here making noise like experts?”
“Sorry, Addah,” one of the girls said, scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment. Addah shook her head and approached the bed. “Alright, I’ve heard you. Now leave and give me space to get her ready.” One by one, they filed out, muttering softly in reluctance, but knowing Addah was in no mood for nonsense today, no one dared say a word. Addah paid them no mind, as she wasn’t in the mood for games. She gently took hold of the beautiful young woman, sat her up, and said, “Get up, dear, that’s enough crying. You’re a bride, my precious bride with a wonderful husband like Abdallah. Or do you want to cancel the wedding?”
The young woman pushed her lips forward, tears welling up again, and then threw herself into Addah’s arms, bursting into sobs. Addah laughed at first, patting her back. “Oh Lord, today Nu’aymah, the queen of mischief in our house, has softened because of marriage,” she said. Nu’aymah only cried harder, melting into Addah’s embrace. They stayed like that for about four minutes before Addah lifted her up, smiling broadly, and sat her down properly. She took the edge of her headscarf and wiped the tears from Nu’aymah’s face, though a few still trickled down.
“Come on, Nu’aymah, daughter of Abbah, enough crying. Has something happened to you?” Nu’aymah shook her head, letting out a shaky breath. “Is something hurting you?” Again, she shook her head. “By Allah’s power, then why are you crying like this? Aren’t you marrying for love, Nu’aymah? Look, everyone in this family is overjoyed about your wedding. Relatives from all over are arriving, and tomorrow, God willing, is all we’re waiting for. Your mother, Hajjo, your father, and everyone else are filled with joy over this blessing. Just earlier, we spoke with the groom, and he’s coming with three cars from Abuja with his friends. Honestly, today is your day of joy, Nu’aymah, our one-of-a-kind. Hmm?”
Nu’aymah wiped her tears with her hand and, in a trembling voice, said, “Addah, I’m just scared.” Addah, surprised, replied, “Scared, Nu’aymah? Scared of what? Has something happened that we don’t know about?” Nu’aymah shook her head, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath.
Addah sighed, shaking her head, and placed a hand on Nu’aymah’s cheek, lifting her face. “Look at me, Nu’aymah.” Slowly, she raised her large eyes, now red and swollen from crying, and looked at Addah. “Enough crying, daughter. Clear your mind; nothing bad will happen, only good. Cast out all the fear in your heart and be happy, for tomorrow is your day, God willing. Our prayer is that Allah blesses this union, grants you peace and good offspring, and makes this marriage a blessing for our family in this world and the hereafter.”
In her heart, Nu’aymah said “Amen,” but outwardly, she lowered her eyes, weighed down by her emotions. Noticing this, Addah smiled and playfully tugged at her long braid. “Alright, Hajjo’s little beauty, get up and get ready. The walima has already started, and there’s no bride!”
Nu’aymah managed a small smile and stood up at Addah’s command. She had already bathed earlier, so she washed her face again and returned to where Addah was waiting. A young woman helped with her makeup, keeping it light, before dressing her in a peach-colored gown with maroon stripes. The outfit fit her perfectly, accentuating her slender yet curvaceous figure. Nu’aymah wasn’t thin, nor could she be called overweight, but her body was soft and smooth, with no signs of thinness despite her youth. She wore a black gown with a flowing veil adorned with peach threads and stones, lightly perfumed, and slipped into flat black shoes that complemented her fair feet, slightly reddened with henna. “Masha Allah, my Abdallah’s bride,” Addah said, giving her a thumbs-up. Nu’aymah smiled shyly and lowered her head.
The girl who had been by the window, silently watching and wiping her tears, had overheard everything between Addah and Nu’aymah. She bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to overwhelm her.
Without wasting time, Addah helped Nu’aymah out to the courtyard, where they met five elderly women. One of them, with a hint of excitement, shot them a glance and said, “Why is the bride still inside when the walima is about to start, Fauza?” Addah, respectfully, replied, “Sorry, Hajjo, we were delayed with preparations.”
“What preparations? She looks like she’s ready to be taken to her husband’s room today. Come on, Zainabu,” the woman said, taking Nu’aymah’s hand. Addah smiled, watching them as they walked toward the gate. She let out a sigh and started to follow them.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand. Addah turned quickly, but seeing who it was, she held back from saying anything. She glanced around, noticing people passing by, and her face tightened as she looked at the girl.
“What’s wrong, Adawiya? What’s happened to Fauza?” Addah asked, startled, pulling her hand away from Adawiya and giving her a sharp look before softening her expression toward the speaker. “Oh, leave that stubborn girl alone. I don’t know what’s bothering her and Nu’aymah. I found them in the room crying instead of getting ready. Their antics are starting to scare me, honestly. And now the person sharing the gifts has arrived…” Addah trailed off, wiping her tears as she looked at Adawiya, who was sobbing uncontrollably in Umm’s arms.
The strikingly beautiful woman, who resembled Nu’aymah, smiled warmly and hugged Adawiya tightly, fighting back her own tears. “Enough crying, daughter. Be patient. I promise, God willing, I’ll do everything to ensure you follow your sister and continue your studies together, just as you started before Allah gave you your own husband to celebrate.”
Instead of cheering up, Adawiya burst into tears again, clinging to Umm.
“Oh Allah, enough, daughter. Are you trying to make us cry too?” Umm said. As Adawiya lifted her head to speak, Addah quickly cut her off with a sharp glance, whispering, “Tell her, Umm. She’s been given a solution, but she refuses to be patient. I don’t tolerate nonsense. Are you going to ruin Nu’aymah’s joy like this? Come on!”
“No, Addah, that’s enough,” Umm interjected. “Let her feel what’s troubling her, for Allah’s sake. Come, my daughter, let’s get you ready. We’ll go to the walima together after Asr prayer.” Adawiya stole a glance at Addah, noticing the subtle glare, and quickly nodded to Umm. Umm led her away, leaving Addah behind, who watched them with a faint, satisfied smile.
Description
From the moment you enter the neighborhood, you can tell a celebration is underway, especially at the fifth house along the street. The street is filled with children, young women, and adults, both men and women. The main activity is centered around the large courtyard of the mosque adjacent to the grand house, whose imposing gate alone indicates its extraordinary size and splendor.
Three canopies are set up, each filled with neatly arranged white chairs. The first canopy is occupied by prominent scholars from the country and some from abroad, particularly from Muslim nations. The second canopy is exclusively for women, ranging from young girls to adults. The third canopy houses men, both young and old.
The most striking and beautiful aspect is the grace and dignity displayed by the people present. Despite the festive gathering, everyone is modestly dressed, with no one engaging in behavior that could be considered shameful or inappropriate in the name of celebration.
Even with the crowd outside, the house itself is bustling with people. Truly, it is a grand house, one that at first glance you can tell is a family compound, far too large to belong to a single person. From the gate, you can see the numerous sections of the house, likely five or six, all built in a uniform style with no apparent differences from a distance. Only upon entering do you realize each section is tailored to the specific needs of its occupants.
At that moment, I couldn’t discern what was happening inside or what had been planned. So, I followed the stream of people moving toward the second section, which seemed to attract the most visitors. Since everyone was gathered in the mosque’s courtyard where the wedding feast (walima) was to take place, I had the chance to slip into the room where I heard the bride was staying.
Inside were about ten to fifteen young women, each busy preparing herself according to her needs, dressed in long, milk-colored gowns adorned with golden floral patterns and stones on the front and sleeves. Their chatter was filled with laughter, making it hard to catch what anyone was saying.
“Oh Allah, marriage really unsettles everyone. Did you hear Yah Ab... ate the bitter kola until he died?” one of the girls, wearing a small golden veil, said, bursting into laughter. Almost simultaneously, they all turned to look at the girl lying on the bed, who had her back to them. She was lying face down, wearing a tight top and a small hijab. “Haha! Honestly, Iman, you saw how he ate the bitter kola yesterday until he passed out,” another girl responded, laughing as she approached the bed, while the others joined in, laughing and moving toward the bed. They surrounded her and shouted in unison, “Tomorrow, she’ll burst!!!” clapping and laughing uncontrollably.
A girl sitting by the mirror, applying makeup, let out a small scoff, pursed her lips, and with teary eyes full of anger, put down her powder and stormed out of the room. The others didn’t notice her departure, as their attention was fixed on the bride, continuing to chant, “Tomorrow, she’ll burst! Tomorrow, she’ll burst!” They shouted loudly, laughing mischievously in the playful way young girls, likely no older than 16 or 17, often do.
Tears, which she had been holding back for a while, slowly rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t move or open her eyes to look at her friends teasing her. Only she knew the weight in her heart since the previous night. This was the day she had long dreamed of, being united with her beloved Yah Abdallah, even before she fully understood her own feelings. Yet, she didn’t know why her body felt cold since the wedding week began. She knew it was likely due to the new life she would embark on tomorrow, God willing. She wiped away the hot tears, drawing a deep breath that made the veins in her neck stand out.
“Ya Salam! Are you girls okay?!” a voice called out sharply from behind them. The room fell silent, and everyone turned to look at the speaker. She clapped her hands again, holding her cheeks. “Oh, you lot, she hasn’t even finished preparing, and you’re here making noise like experts?”
“Sorry, Addah,” one of the girls said, scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment. Addah shook her head and approached the bed. “Alright, I’ve heard you. Now leave and give me space to get her ready.” One by one, they filed out, muttering softly in reluctance, but knowing Addah was in no mood for nonsense today, no one dared say a word. Addah paid them no mind, as she wasn’t in the mood for games. She gently took hold of the beautiful young woman, sat her up, and said, “Get up, dear, that’s enough crying. You’re a bride, my precious bride with a wonderful husband like Abdallah. Or do you want to cancel the wedding?”
The young woman pushed her lips forward, tears welling up again, and then threw herself into Addah’s arms, bursting into sobs. Addah laughed at first, patting her back. “Oh Lord, today Nu’aymah, the queen of mischief in our house, has softened because of marriage,” she said. Nu’aymah only cried harder, melting into Addah’s embrace. They stayed like that for about four minutes before Addah lifted her up, smiling broadly, and sat her down properly. She took the edge of her headscarf and wiped the tears from Nu’aymah’s face, though a few still trickled down.
“Come on, Nu’aymah, daughter of Abbah, enough crying. Has something happened to you?” Nu’aymah shook her head, letting out a shaky breath. “Is something hurting you?” Again, she shook her head. “By Allah’s power, then why are you crying like this? Aren’t you marrying for love, Nu’aymah? Look, everyone in this family is overjoyed about your wedding. Relatives from all over are arriving, and tomorrow, God willing, is all we’re waiting for. Your mother, Hajjo, your father, and everyone else are filled with joy over this blessing. Just earlier, we spoke with the groom, and he’s coming with three cars from Abuja with his friends. Honestly, today is your day of joy, Nu’aymah, our one-of-a-kind. Hmm?”
Nu’aymah wiped her tears with her hand and, in a trembling voice, said, “Addah, I’m just scared.” Addah, surprised, replied, “Scared, Nu’aymah? Scared of what? Has something happened that we don’t know about?” Nu’aymah shook her head, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath.
Addah sighed, shaking her head, and placed a hand on Nu’aymah’s cheek, lifting her face. “Look at me, Nu’aymah.” Slowly, she raised her large eyes, now red and swollen from crying, and looked at Addah. “Enough crying, daughter. Clear your mind; nothing bad will happen, only good. Cast out all the fear in your heart and be happy, for tomorrow is your day, God willing. Our prayer is that Allah blesses this union, grants you peace and good offspring, and makes this marriage a blessing for our family in this world and the hereafter.”
In her heart, Nu’aymah said “Amen,” but outwardly, she lowered her eyes, weighed down by her emotions. Noticing this, Addah smiled and playfully tugged at her long braid. “Alright, Hajjo’s little beauty, get up and get ready. The walima has already started, and there’s no bride!”
Nu’aymah managed a small smile and stood up at Addah’s command. She had already bathed earlier, so she washed her face again and returned to where Addah was waiting. A young woman helped with her makeup, keeping it light, before dressing her in a peach-colored gown with maroon stripes. The outfit fit her perfectly, accentuating her slender yet curvaceous figure. Nu’aymah wasn’t thin, nor could she be called overweight, but her body was soft and smooth, with no signs of thinness despite her youth. She wore a black gown with a flowing veil adorned with peach threads and stones, lightly perfumed, and slipped into flat black shoes that complemented her fair feet, slightly reddened with henna. “Masha Allah, my Abdallah’s bride,” Addah said, giving her a thumbs-up. Nu’aymah smiled shyly and lowered her head.
The girl who had been by the window, silently watching and wiping her tears, had overheard everything between Addah and Nu’aymah. She bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to overwhelm her.
Without wasting time, Addah helped Nu’aymah out to the courtyard, where they met five elderly women. One of them, with a hint of excitement, shot them a glance and said, “Why is the bride still inside when the walima is about to start, Fauza?” Addah, respectfully, replied, “Sorry, Hajjo, we were delayed with preparations.”
“What preparations? She looks like she’s ready to be taken to her husband’s room today. Come on, Zainabu,” the woman said, taking Nu’aymah’s hand. Addah smiled, watching them as they walked toward the gate. She let out a sigh and started to follow them.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand. Addah turned quickly, but seeing who it was, she held back from saying anything. She glanced around, noticing people passing by, and her face tightened as she looked at the girl.
“What’s wrong, Adawiya? What’s happened to Fauza?” Addah asked, startled, pulling her hand away from Adawiya and giving her a sharp look before softening her expression toward the speaker. “Oh, leave that stubborn girl alone. I don’t know what’s bothering her and Nu’aymah. I found them in the room crying instead of getting ready. Their antics are starting to scare me, honestly. And now the person sharing the gifts has arrived…” Addah trailed off, wiping her tears as she looked at Adawiya, who was sobbing uncontrollably in Umm’s arms.
The strikingly beautiful woman, who resembled Nu’aymah, smiled warmly and hugged Adawiya tightly, fighting back her own tears. “Enough crying, daughter. Be patient. I promise, God willing, I’ll do everything to ensure you follow your sister and continue your studies together, just as you started before Allah gave you your own husband to celebrate.”
Instead of cheering up, Adawiya burst into tears again, clinging to Umm.
“Oh Allah, enough, daughter. Are you trying to make us cry too?” Umm said. As Adawiya lifted her head to speak, Addah quickly cut her off with a sharp glance, whispering, “Tell her, Umm. She’s been given a solution, but she refuses to be patient. I don’t tolerate nonsense. Are you going to ruin Nu’aymah’s joy like this? Come on!”
“No, Addah, that’s enough,” Umm interjected. “Let her feel what’s troubling her, for Allah’s sake. Come, my daughter, let’s get you ready. We’ll go to the walima together after Asr prayer.” Adawiya stole a glance at Addah, noticing the subtle glare, and quickly nodded to Umm. Umm led her away, leaving Addah behind, who watched them with a faint, satisfied smile.