In the name of Allah,

As I passed through the town and many villages in Kebbi state, I found myself walking in a forested area. Amidst the green trees, water sources, and fields cultivated by local residents, I spotted scattered houses. The town seemed to thrive with the blessings of nature.

My attention was drawn to a young Fulani girl dressed in traditional attire. She appeared to be in her mid-teens and had a tall and slender frame. Her hair, which cascaded down her back, bore a unique color that was neither black nor red. Her nose was long, but her eyes were strikingly beautiful, adorned with long black eyelashes. She had a set of dark pink lips, and despite her tattered clothes, she exuded a sense of cleanliness, though it was evident she was facing hardship.

This young girl was in charge of three cows: a cow, a bull, and a calf. She led them to a small hut enclosed by a low wall. Near the hut, there was a simple toilet and a kitchen area with a few pots and utensils.

I waited for someone to come out of the hut, but there was silence. The girl proceeded to untie her cows and change into a cotton shirt. She washed herself using water from a nearby container, then applied Vaseline using a cotton ball. She put on a red T-shirt and a cotton wrap skirt. Afterward, she undressed and washed her clothes with green soap, hanging them out to dry.

For dinner, she cooked plain rice and a dish seasoned with manja and spices. After her meal, she filled a bucket with water, lit a lamp in her humble abode, and retrieved some books. Among them, I noticed “Brighter Grammar” and books for learning to read and write in Hausa. She also had two notebooks in which she diligently recorded her studies. Eventually, she completed her studies and recited verses from the Quran, her voice filled with devotion.

She continued to pray, performing her evening prayers with tears in her eyes. Once she finished, she prepared for bed and soon drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, she woke up early for her morning prayer and Azkar (remembrance of Allah). After her afternoon prayer, she emerged from her hut, got ready for the day, and brushed her teeth with an old toothbrush. She then went to her kitchen, lit a fire, and prepared a pot of cow’s milk, which she drank after it had cooled.

After breakfast, she washed her dishes and clothes, and I observed her taking a metal bottle with her as she headed out. When she reached the town, she greeted the locals who had gathered, and they tossed items her way. She knelt down and thanked them, mentioning that she would send them some millet later in the day.

Returning home, she milked her cow and secured them in her hut without letting them graze. It seemed like this was her daily routine, ensuring the cows’ well-being.

She then prepared a meal of Fura, a nutritious dish made from millet. Her home was adorned with new beds and shelves, all well-kept and beautiful. She dressed in lovely attire and a pair of rubber shoes before heading to the market.

As she walked along the road, some people referred to her as “Ramata’s daughter,” yet others simply continued on their way, seemingly uninterested. I couldn’t help but wonder about this girl’s background and what led her to this solitary but determined life.

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