“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un… La haulawala quwwata…”
A young man kept repeating these words as the corpse was pushed into the emergency room. Beside him was a pregnant woman holding her stomach, tears pouring from her eyes. She bit her lips in pain as sharp cramps tore through her back and abdomen. Everyone around them was crying, panicking, and calling on Allah. She clung to the hospital wall, bending over, crying as though she would collapse.
A short distance away, an elderly woman was also crying bitterly.
“I wronged myself! I oppressed you, Lamido. I wronged your wife Hannatu. I wronged you! I wronged myself, and Allah will not leave me! Shefatu has ruined me—may Allah judge between us. She separated me from my son, she took my happiness away…” she cried uncontrollably.
A nurse stepped forward and handed them the newborn, wrapped in a clean white towel. The baby slept peacefully, unaware of the tragedy around him.
The pregnant woman attempted to stand, drawing the nurse’s attention.
Preparations were already being made to take the corpse for washing and burial. Their minds were split in two—part grief, part confusion. The elderly woman insisted they should go ahead, saying she would stay behind to care for the pregnant woman. The young man gave her a hard, unsettling look, his eyes red.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips before he exhaled deeply and shook his head.
“Thank you, Mamie. Leave her. I’ll bring someone to look after her. Don’t bring more trouble on yourself. It’s enough.”
He followed the nurse, holding the pregnant woman’s hand.
“Meesha, Insha Allah you will deliver safely,” he whispered.
She nodded weakly.
“Lamido… where is Ijilal? I didn’t see her. Please take good care of her. If I live or if I don’t…”
She inhaled sharply, then continued,
“…ask Allah to forgive us. Truly… we wronged Hanan.”
She was taken into the labour room.
When Lamido stepped out of the hospital, he saw Mamie standing there. He looked away, walking past her as though he hadn’t seen her. She wiped her tears, shrinking into a corner.
Pity washed over him.
“Come… let’s go home. She will be properly taken care of.”
She followed silently, trembling inside. How could she explain to Lamido that she wasn’t the one responsible for what he suspected? How could she prove her innocence in the mess Shefatu and Ramlat created? Yes, she hated Lamido’s wives… but what gain was there in harming them? Especially when all she prayed for was to have a child of her own.
They followed the ambulance carrying Hannatu’s corpse. Lamido and Mamie sat quietly—he crying silently in his heart, she crying loudly with sobs. The sound of her crying pained him, but he had no solution. Every time he looked at her, he wondered how his own mother couldn’t understand that everything in life is destiny.
He shook his head slowly.
“Mamie, please… stop crying. I’m already drowning in the pain of losing Hannatu, and Aishatu is in a critical state. Don’t add more burden on me. Please…”
She wiped her tears and said in a trembling voice,
“Ibrahim, I know I wronged you terribly. But wallahi, I didn’t know about the poison Hannatu ate. I swear, I found her already suffering when I got there…”
He hit the steering violently, breathing heavily.
“Enough, Mamie. You know what—”
He suddenly went quiet. The car swerved dangerously. He clutched his chest, his vision blurring, his tongue heavy.
“M–Mamie… hold the… wheel… don’t let me hurt you… Ma…mie…”
She grabbed the steering.
“Ibrahim! Press the brake! Allah will protect you! Hold on, my son!”
She drove with trembling hands.
At home, his security officers rushed toward them—they could tell something was wrong. His friends, colleagues, and relatives hurried over too.
Mamie cried,
“Please save him! He is in danger!”
They forced the door open and carried him out. He convulsed in their arms. Khalifa ran inside, grabbed his medical kit, and administered first aid. His blood pressure had skyrocketed. They set up a drip and left him alone with Khalifa.
Inside, Hannatu’s body had been washed. Relatives on her father’s side from Yola had arrived. Older women around Mamie’s age—Himla, Bishara, Sajida—helped prepare the body. As soon as they finished, they burst into tears, asking for her forgiveness.
Himla sobbed,
“Hannatu, forgive us. We wronged you. We didn’t know your life would be short. We should have treated you better. Astagfirullah… may Allah forgive us…”
She covered her mouth and cried harder. One elderly woman shot her a harsh look before walking out. Sajida and Bishira couldn’t even speak from how hard they were crying.
Soon, Muhsin, Arif, and some of Lamido’s friends arrived. They placed the body in the coffin.
Arif approached a woman and said,
“Goggo Habi, Aunty Meesha is alone at the hospital.”
She stood abruptly.
“Let’s go to her. Allah have mercy on Aishatu.”
She turned to her sister,
“Will you stay, Aminatu, or come?”
“I’ll stay. Go,” Aminatu replied.
Just then, Mamie entered the room crying and wailing,
“Put her down—let me ask her forgiveness! Allah will not spare me. I carried her rights upon myself. I’m ruined!”
They walked past her, carrying the coffin. Muhsin cried too, moved by the open confession of his mother.
Description
The Chaos at the Hospital
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un… La haulawala quwwata…”
A young man kept repeating these words as the corpse was pushed into the emergency room. Beside him was a pregnant woman holding her stomach, tears pouring from her eyes. She bit her lips in pain as sharp cramps tore through her back and abdomen. Everyone around them was crying, panicking, and calling on Allah. She clung to the hospital wall, bending over, crying as though she would collapse.
A short distance away, an elderly woman was also crying bitterly.
“I wronged myself! I oppressed you, Lamido. I wronged your wife Hannatu. I wronged you! I wronged myself, and Allah will not leave me! Shefatu has ruined me—may Allah judge between us. She separated me from my son, she took my happiness away…” she cried uncontrollably.
A nurse stepped forward and handed them the newborn, wrapped in a clean white towel. The baby slept peacefully, unaware of the tragedy around him.
The pregnant woman attempted to stand, drawing the nurse’s attention.
Preparations were already being made to take the corpse for washing and burial. Their minds were split in two—part grief, part confusion. The elderly woman insisted they should go ahead, saying she would stay behind to care for the pregnant woman. The young man gave her a hard, unsettling look, his eyes red.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips before he exhaled deeply and shook his head.
“Thank you, Mamie. Leave her. I’ll bring someone to look after her. Don’t bring more trouble on yourself. It’s enough.”
He followed the nurse, holding the pregnant woman’s hand.
“Meesha, Insha Allah you will deliver safely,” he whispered.
She nodded weakly.
“Lamido… where is Ijilal? I didn’t see her. Please take good care of her. If I live or if I don’t…”
She inhaled sharply, then continued,
“…ask Allah to forgive us. Truly… we wronged Hanan.”
She was taken into the labour room.
When Lamido stepped out of the hospital, he saw Mamie standing there. He looked away, walking past her as though he hadn’t seen her. She wiped her tears, shrinking into a corner.
Pity washed over him.
“Come… let’s go home. She will be properly taken care of.”
She followed silently, trembling inside. How could she explain to Lamido that she wasn’t the one responsible for what he suspected? How could she prove her innocence in the mess Shefatu and Ramlat created? Yes, she hated Lamido’s wives… but what gain was there in harming them? Especially when all she prayed for was to have a child of her own.
They followed the ambulance carrying Hannatu’s corpse. Lamido and Mamie sat quietly—he crying silently in his heart, she crying loudly with sobs. The sound of her crying pained him, but he had no solution. Every time he looked at her, he wondered how his own mother couldn’t understand that everything in life is destiny.
He shook his head slowly.
“Mamie, please… stop crying. I’m already drowning in the pain of losing Hannatu, and Aishatu is in a critical state. Don’t add more burden on me. Please…”
She wiped her tears and said in a trembling voice,
“Ibrahim, I know I wronged you terribly. But wallahi, I didn’t know about the poison Hannatu ate. I swear, I found her already suffering when I got there…”
He hit the steering violently, breathing heavily.
“Enough, Mamie. You know what—”
He suddenly went quiet. The car swerved dangerously. He clutched his chest, his vision blurring, his tongue heavy.
“M–Mamie… hold the… wheel… don’t let me hurt you… Ma…mie…”
She grabbed the steering.
“Ibrahim! Press the brake! Allah will protect you! Hold on, my son!”
She drove with trembling hands.
At home, his security officers rushed toward them—they could tell something was wrong. His friends, colleagues, and relatives hurried over too.
Mamie cried,
“Please save him! He is in danger!”
They forced the door open and carried him out. He convulsed in their arms. Khalifa ran inside, grabbed his medical kit, and administered first aid. His blood pressure had skyrocketed. They set up a drip and left him alone with Khalifa.
Inside, Hannatu’s body had been washed. Relatives on her father’s side from Yola had arrived. Older women around Mamie’s age—Himla, Bishara, Sajida—helped prepare the body. As soon as they finished, they burst into tears, asking for her forgiveness.
Himla sobbed,
“Hannatu, forgive us. We wronged you. We didn’t know your life would be short. We should have treated you better. Astagfirullah… may Allah forgive us…”
She covered her mouth and cried harder. One elderly woman shot her a harsh look before walking out. Sajida and Bishira couldn’t even speak from how hard they were crying.
Soon, Muhsin, Arif, and some of Lamido’s friends arrived. They placed the body in the coffin.
Arif approached a woman and said,
“Goggo Habi, Aunty Meesha is alone at the hospital.”
She stood abruptly.
“Let’s go to her. Allah have mercy on Aishatu.”
She turned to her sister,
“Will you stay, Aminatu, or come?”
“I’ll stay. Go,” Aminatu replied.
Just then, Mamie entered the room crying and wailing,
“Put her down—let me ask her forgiveness! Allah will not spare me. I carried her rights upon myself. I’m ruined!”
They walked past her, carrying the coffin. Muhsin cried too, moved by the open confession of his mother.