Kano:

In the Court Road area, the High Court was filled with tension as the judge delivered the verdict:

“After carefully considering the evidence presented in this court and with the medical certificate confirming Hauwa Sada’s mental competence, indicating she does not suffer from any mental health issues, the court extends leniency to Hauwa for her cooperation in facing the charges against her. This court hereby sentences Hauwa to life imprisonment.” The sound of the judge’s gavel echoed through the courtroom, marking the end of the trial.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and the weight of the moment felt too heavy to convey in words. Aminu, standing beside me, had red eyes, showing the intensity of his emotions. My gaze shifted to my daughters, and I couldn’t help but convey something I’d never stop expressing to them. On the other side was my younger brother, whom I had cared for as both mother and father since we were orphans, even though each of us now had our own families. I glanced at the crowd, all these people who are, at their core, human beings.

Is this the world now? Is my life forever confined to this one place, ending without movement? A tall woman approached me, dressed in an official robe, and pushed my clothes. We were surrounded by police officers, ensuring security. The sounds of lamentation from my family and loved ones filled my ears. If I looked at them for too long, I couldn’t bear it. My stomach churned, as if I had a fever, and pain wracked my body. The heaviest sensation was in my chest, a pain that had persisted since the moment my fate had taken this cruel turn.

We exited the courtroom, and the journalists swarmed around, eager to capture the moment. The female officer escorting me intervened, “Please, there’s nothing she can say right now. Give us some space to process what has just happened,” Aminu added, addressing the persistent reporters. He looked at Mardiyya, our father’s wife, who was holding my daughter.

The female officer guided me toward the waiting car that would transport me to prison. Although I was destined for the prison, I was still in the holding area, not yet within the prison yard.

My body trembled, and I cautiously lifted my foot to enter the car and took my seat. I lifted my head one last time to cast a glance at my beloved family. Aminu saw Mardiyya cradling my daughter, his eyes filled with sorrow. He murmured, “We are in a state of weakness.”

“This is your fate, Hawa. Seek forgiveness, and then implore for mercy. God hears the cries of His servants and does not forsake them.”

Fresh tears welled up, and I longed for Aminu deeply. I left my family in the company of my children, assured that they would be cared for.

The driver closed the door and began to pull away from the courthouse.

Amen.

Aminu’s stoic demeanor was an attempt to hide his tears from his children, but it only broke their hearts further, leaving them in tears. It was Hawa’s family that consoled them. As the journalists swarmed around Aminu, they must have heard a shout, and they hardly left any room in the court premises as a convoy of vehicles pulled away.

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