At exactly 5:48 PM, she parked her car in the parking space and exhaled deeply more than three times before glancing at the documents beside her like someone lost in thought.
After a brief pause, she picked them up, opened the car door, and stepped out.
Slowly, she walked toward the house where her father sat outside, enjoying the evening breeze.
It was his usual habit to sit in the open courtyard every evening — sometimes reading newspapers, and sometimes browsing the internet just to know what was happening in the world.
With a hint of fear in her steps, Namra approached the spot where he sat, her heart heavy with many thoughts.
She removed her shoes before stepping onto the carpet always spread out for him, then greeted softly, her head bowed as if she felt too unworthy to look at him.
“Assalamu Alaikum.”
He didn’t reply to her greeting, and that didn’t surprise her at all — she hadn’t expected him to. So she added quietly,
“Abbah, good evening sir. Hope you had a good day’s rest?”
He delayed his reply for about twenty to twenty-five seconds, then finally muttered faintly,
“Alhamdulillah.”
Namra said nothing more. Weakly, she rose to her feet, slipped her shoes back on, and walked toward her mother’s section of the house.
Tears streamed down her cheeks before she even reached the door. She wiped them away, turned the handle, and entered.
The living room was empty except for the low hum of the air conditioner.
She went straight to her room, her heart aching deeply.
Sitting on the bed, she closed her eyes and listened to her heartbeat. Her father’s harsh words from that morning echoed painfully in her mind.
The way he insulted and belittled her made her clutch her head, and soon she broke down, crying hard as she rubbed the ring on her finger.
She remained in her room all evening until it was time for Maghrib prayer. After praying, she went to the living room, expressionless.
All her younger siblings were watching “Dadin Kowa” on TV. None of them noticed her except her mother, who gave her a long, searching look.
“Anty, good evening,” Namra greeted.
Her mother didn’t answer immediately. She just studied her daughter’s face and finally said,
“Since you came back from school, you’ve locked yourself inside that room. Do you want sadness to consume you?
Today was my turn to cook dinner, but because of you, your father didn’t even come here. I went to his section, and I couldn’t recognize the man I married anymore.
Do you want to destroy my marriage, Namra? Do you prefer following your heart’s desire over your parents’ happiness?
I don’t hate your choice, Namra, but since your father disapproves, leaving it is better.”
Namra pressed herself into the chair, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
When will Father ever understand me? she wondered.
When will he pity my heart?
She felt like if she lost Asim, she would die. She couldn’t imagine herself with another man — not after him.
And if she didn’t marry Asim, she believed even God wouldn’t forgive her, for people would laugh at him, mocking the poor man who thought he could marry a senator’s daughter.
Her eldest siblings — both male and female — had all married people chosen by their father. None ever had the freedom to choose their partner… except her.
Just then, the arrival of Barrister Yasmin and her husband startled Namra.
She quickly wiped her tears and adjusted her face so they wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.
Her mother, Anty Amarya, welcomed them warmly.
“Welcome, our dear lawyers! You came quite late tonight.”
Yasmin smiled, taking a seat beside her, while her husband Uzair sat near the door, his eyes subtly following Namra, who had loosened her headscarf.
“I drove all this way tonight, and the first person you ask about is Afnan? This girl never changes!”
Namra grinned, replying,
“Well, she’s my daughter, so of course she’s the one I’ll ask about!”
Yasmin rolled her eyes. “If you want to see her, just go to Grandma’s house. But if you must talk to me, at least say ‘How are you and your husband?’”
Namra teased, “Well, I don’t even see your husband around.”
Uzair, who had been quietly watching her, said from his seat,
“But I can see you.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Maryam joked, “Maybe your husband is shy — he’s sitting there like a thief!”
Anty Amarya playfully warned,
“Don’t underestimate him because he’s quiet!”
Laughter filled the air as the conversation shifted to Yasmin’s work. Namra then stood to bring them some water from the kitchen — Uzair’s eyes followed her every step until she disappeared inside.
After they drank, Yasmin said,
“Anty, we actually came to borrow Namra. Uzair will be hosting some guests from Abuja, and he wants her to make chicken pie — she’s the best at it.”
Anty Amarya replied, “No problem. She’s all yours.”
Namra frowned slightly — she really didn’t want to go. Ever since Uzair began showing inappropriate attention, she avoided their house as much as possible.
Yasmin nudged her.
“It’s just for one day. Today’s Wednesday, and the event is Saturday — you can rest Friday.”
Her mother added,
“Yes, go and help them. You’ll come back early anyway.”
Namra reluctantly agreed, not out of willingness but because refusing would raise suspicion.
After chatting a while longer, Yasmin and Uzair said their goodbyes. Namra escorted them to the car, Yasmin’s arm around her shoulder, whispering words of patience and understanding — she was the only one who truly knew what Namra was going through.
When they left, Namra returned to the parlor looking drained.
“I really don’t want to go to Anty Yasmin’s house,” she murmured, sitting down.
Maryam asked, “Why not?”
Namra stayed silent, pretending to watch TV.
“Go eat something,” Maryam urged.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re fading away, Namra. Look how thin you’ve become.”
“Wallahi, I’m not hungry, Anty.”
“You’ve allowed worry to eat you alive. May Allah make it easy for you.”
Namra didn’t respond. She knew even if she tried explaining, her mother wouldn’t understand.
Just then, Annur entered, holding a bottle of soda.
“Anty Amarya, Abbah said you and Anty Namra should come.”
Their hearts sank. Namra took a deep breath, exchanged glances with her mother, and followed her father’s call.
He was lying down when they arrived, a cup of tea beside him, reading glasses on, flipping through documents. His face was stern, devoid of emotion.
Annur’s mother asked softly, “You called us?”
He didn’t reply immediately — not until he finished reading. Then he removed his glasses, looked straight at Namra, and asked coldly,
“Do you know Alhaji Madu Sanusi?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart thumping hard.
Of course she knew him — her father’s close friend who had visited their house several times recently.
“He spoke to me about you two days ago,” her father continued.
“He wants to marry you as his first lady since his other wives don’t speak English. With the election ahead, he needs an educated wife. I’ve agreed. Tomorrow evening, he’ll come to meet you.”
By the time he finished, tears were already streaming down her face. She barely managed to reply,
“May Allah guide us.”
“Amin,” her mother echoed softly, though her heart was troubled.
She didn’t like how her husband treated their daughter, but she had no power to stop him.
Namra rose abruptly and left the room, trembling, overwhelmed by fear and helplessness.
She couldn’t understand why her father hated Asim so much.
As she reached her room, Alhaji Madu’s name kept ringing in her ears. She collapsed on her bed, tears flowing again.
Picking up her phone, she opened her gallery and stared at Asim’s photo.
“Why must fate be so cruel to me?
You knew I wouldn’t be allowed to love him, yet you brought him into my life.
You knew I wouldn’t marry him, yet you made me love him.
Oh Allah, show me a way out. Don’t leave me alone.”
She hugged her phone tightly, weeping harder as she remembered his words from earlier that day in school:
> “I love you so much, Namra. But my heart tells me you won’t marry me. We’re not from the same world. Your father despises me, and even my mother says you’ll only waste my time. I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll belong to someone else… and people will laugh at me.”
She wept bitterly, trembling all over, her feet stamping the floor in anguish.
The Family of Major Usman Zamau
Major Usman Zamau was a retired soldier with two wives — Hajiya Barau (Mama) and Hajiya Larai (Anty Amarya).
His house was a large compound with three sections: one for the first wife, one for the second, and one for himself.
Mama had nine children — five daughters and four sons — all married now, though some lived nearby with their families.
Anty Amarya, the younger wife, had four daughters: Namra, Maryam, Hindatu, and Aisha.
Namra was the eldest. Her full name was Khadija, but her mother fondly called her Namra, meaning “the first fruit.”
Namra was in her final year (300 level) at the university when she met Asim.
Their love began quietly and grew in secret — no one knew about it until recently, when it became a problem.
Asim came from a poor background — a struggling young man trying to make ends meet — while Namra was the daughter of a wealthy and influential man now contesting for Senator.
Her father owned several companies both within and outside Nigeria.
In their family, he was seen as a man greatly favored by God — respected and admired.
He was also very close to Barrister Yasmin’s mother and Uzair’s mother, since they all shared a common grandparent. He regarded them as women of virtue and had a soft spot for them.
But despite his status and wealth, he failed to understand one thing — the pain of a daughter’s heart torn between love and duty.
Description
The Burdened Daughter
At exactly 5:48 PM, she parked her car in the parking space and exhaled deeply more than three times before glancing at the documents beside her like someone lost in thought.
After a brief pause, she picked them up, opened the car door, and stepped out.
Slowly, she walked toward the house where her father sat outside, enjoying the evening breeze.
It was his usual habit to sit in the open courtyard every evening — sometimes reading newspapers, and sometimes browsing the internet just to know what was happening in the world.
With a hint of fear in her steps, Namra approached the spot where he sat, her heart heavy with many thoughts.
She removed her shoes before stepping onto the carpet always spread out for him, then greeted softly, her head bowed as if she felt too unworthy to look at him.
“Assalamu Alaikum.”
He didn’t reply to her greeting, and that didn’t surprise her at all — she hadn’t expected him to. So she added quietly,
“Abbah, good evening sir. Hope you had a good day’s rest?”
He delayed his reply for about twenty to twenty-five seconds, then finally muttered faintly,
“Alhamdulillah.”
Namra said nothing more. Weakly, she rose to her feet, slipped her shoes back on, and walked toward her mother’s section of the house.
Tears streamed down her cheeks before she even reached the door. She wiped them away, turned the handle, and entered.
The living room was empty except for the low hum of the air conditioner.
She went straight to her room, her heart aching deeply.
Sitting on the bed, she closed her eyes and listened to her heartbeat. Her father’s harsh words from that morning echoed painfully in her mind.
The way he insulted and belittled her made her clutch her head, and soon she broke down, crying hard as she rubbed the ring on her finger.
She remained in her room all evening until it was time for Maghrib prayer. After praying, she went to the living room, expressionless.
All her younger siblings were watching “Dadin Kowa” on TV. None of them noticed her except her mother, who gave her a long, searching look.
“Anty, good evening,” Namra greeted.
Her mother didn’t answer immediately. She just studied her daughter’s face and finally said,
“Since you came back from school, you’ve locked yourself inside that room. Do you want sadness to consume you?
Today was my turn to cook dinner, but because of you, your father didn’t even come here. I went to his section, and I couldn’t recognize the man I married anymore.
Do you want to destroy my marriage, Namra? Do you prefer following your heart’s desire over your parents’ happiness?
I don’t hate your choice, Namra, but since your father disapproves, leaving it is better.”
Namra pressed herself into the chair, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
When will Father ever understand me? she wondered.
When will he pity my heart?
She felt like if she lost Asim, she would die. She couldn’t imagine herself with another man — not after him.
And if she didn’t marry Asim, she believed even God wouldn’t forgive her, for people would laugh at him, mocking the poor man who thought he could marry a senator’s daughter.
Her eldest siblings — both male and female — had all married people chosen by their father. None ever had the freedom to choose their partner… except her.
Just then, the arrival of Barrister Yasmin and her husband startled Namra.
She quickly wiped her tears and adjusted her face so they wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.
Her mother, Anty Amarya, welcomed them warmly.
“Welcome, our dear lawyers! You came quite late tonight.”
Yasmin smiled, taking a seat beside her, while her husband Uzair sat near the door, his eyes subtly following Namra, who had loosened her headscarf.
“Anty Barrister, where’s Afnan?” Namra asked playfully.
Yasmin laughed.
“I drove all this way tonight, and the first person you ask about is Afnan? This girl never changes!”
Namra grinned, replying,
“Well, she’s my daughter, so of course she’s the one I’ll ask about!”
Yasmin rolled her eyes. “If you want to see her, just go to Grandma’s house. But if you must talk to me, at least say ‘How are you and your husband?’”
Namra teased, “Well, I don’t even see your husband around.”
Uzair, who had been quietly watching her, said from his seat,
“But I can see you.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Maryam joked, “Maybe your husband is shy — he’s sitting there like a thief!”
Anty Amarya playfully warned,
“Don’t underestimate him because he’s quiet!”
Laughter filled the air as the conversation shifted to Yasmin’s work. Namra then stood to bring them some water from the kitchen — Uzair’s eyes followed her every step until she disappeared inside.
After they drank, Yasmin said,
“Anty, we actually came to borrow Namra. Uzair will be hosting some guests from Abuja, and he wants her to make chicken pie — she’s the best at it.”
Anty Amarya replied, “No problem. She’s all yours.”
Namra frowned slightly — she really didn’t want to go. Ever since Uzair began showing inappropriate attention, she avoided their house as much as possible.
Yasmin nudged her.
“It’s just for one day. Today’s Wednesday, and the event is Saturday — you can rest Friday.”
Her mother added,
“Yes, go and help them. You’ll come back early anyway.”
Namra reluctantly agreed, not out of willingness but because refusing would raise suspicion.
After chatting a while longer, Yasmin and Uzair said their goodbyes. Namra escorted them to the car, Yasmin’s arm around her shoulder, whispering words of patience and understanding — she was the only one who truly knew what Namra was going through.
When they left, Namra returned to the parlor looking drained.
“I really don’t want to go to Anty Yasmin’s house,” she murmured, sitting down.
Maryam asked, “Why not?”
Namra stayed silent, pretending to watch TV.
“Go eat something,” Maryam urged.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re fading away, Namra. Look how thin you’ve become.”
“Wallahi, I’m not hungry, Anty.”
“You’ve allowed worry to eat you alive. May Allah make it easy for you.”
Namra didn’t respond. She knew even if she tried explaining, her mother wouldn’t understand.
Just then, Annur entered, holding a bottle of soda.
“Anty Amarya, Abbah said you and Anty Namra should come.”
Their hearts sank. Namra took a deep breath, exchanged glances with her mother, and followed her father’s call.
He was lying down when they arrived, a cup of tea beside him, reading glasses on, flipping through documents. His face was stern, devoid of emotion.
Annur’s mother asked softly, “You called us?”
He didn’t reply immediately — not until he finished reading. Then he removed his glasses, looked straight at Namra, and asked coldly,
“Do you know Alhaji Madu Sanusi?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart thumping hard.
Of course she knew him — her father’s close friend who had visited their house several times recently.
“He spoke to me about you two days ago,” her father continued.
“He wants to marry you as his first lady since his other wives don’t speak English. With the election ahead, he needs an educated wife. I’ve agreed. Tomorrow evening, he’ll come to meet you.”
By the time he finished, tears were already streaming down her face. She barely managed to reply,
“May Allah guide us.”
“Amin,” her mother echoed softly, though her heart was troubled.
She didn’t like how her husband treated their daughter, but she had no power to stop him.
Namra rose abruptly and left the room, trembling, overwhelmed by fear and helplessness.
She couldn’t understand why her father hated Asim so much.
As she reached her room, Alhaji Madu’s name kept ringing in her ears. She collapsed on her bed, tears flowing again.
Picking up her phone, she opened her gallery and stared at Asim’s photo.
“Why must fate be so cruel to me?
You knew I wouldn’t be allowed to love him, yet you brought him into my life.
You knew I wouldn’t marry him, yet you made me love him.
Oh Allah, show me a way out. Don’t leave me alone.”
She hugged her phone tightly, weeping harder as she remembered his words from earlier that day in school:
> “I love you so much, Namra. But my heart tells me you won’t marry me. We’re not from the same world. Your father despises me, and even my mother says you’ll only waste my time. I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll belong to someone else… and people will laugh at me.”
She wept bitterly, trembling all over, her feet stamping the floor in anguish.
The Family of Major Usman Zamau
Major Usman Zamau was a retired soldier with two wives — Hajiya Barau (Mama) and Hajiya Larai (Anty Amarya).
His house was a large compound with three sections: one for the first wife, one for the second, and one for himself.
Mama had nine children — five daughters and four sons — all married now, though some lived nearby with their families.
Anty Amarya, the younger wife, had four daughters: Namra, Maryam, Hindatu, and Aisha.
Namra was the eldest. Her full name was Khadija, but her mother fondly called her Namra, meaning “the first fruit.”
Namra was in her final year (300 level) at the university when she met Asim.
Their love began quietly and grew in secret — no one knew about it until recently, when it became a problem.
Asim came from a poor background — a struggling young man trying to make ends meet — while Namra was the daughter of a wealthy and influential man now contesting for Senator.
Her father owned several companies both within and outside Nigeria.
In their family, he was seen as a man greatly favored by God — respected and admired.
He was also very close to Barrister Yasmin’s mother and Uzair’s mother, since they all shared a common grandparent. He regarded them as women of virtue and had a soft spot for them.
But despite his status and wealth, he failed to understand one thing — the pain of a daughter’s heart torn between love and duty.
And Namra… was drowning in that pain.