NANCY YAR KARYA Complete Document Written By Mom Islma



I spotted a strikingly beautiful young woman wearing a dress I recognized well. Despite her skinny appearance, her beauty still shone through, and even her ragged clothes couldn’t diminish her charm. The young woman seemed to be around fifteen years old and walked hurriedly through the village of ZANKANA. Known for her eccentricity, she passed by a group of young men drinking sugarcane, who called out, “Hey, Duduwa!” She muttered to herself, “By God, whoever calls me ‘Saiyayi,’ I know them.” Just as she spoke, a young man approached her, saying, “You look lovely.” She chuckled and flashed her teeth, replying, “Mr. Yasir, take care of yourself.”

As they strolled and conversed, they arrived at the door of a house in Duduwa, a place with a substantial courtyard that, while not luxurious, was still significant. Upon arrival, Duduwa’s expression soured, and she muttered, “Umma, won’t you ever stop eating? She’s always here. By God, I’m in trouble,” she muttered to herself. Umma, Duduwa’s mother, remained unfazed and continued with her chores as Duduwa retreated to her room.

In her room, she found a piece of cloth stuck to her leg, which she swiftly removed. When Umma noticed, she offered Duduwa some advice. Umma called her, but Duduwa hesitated before responding. After wiping her hands, she left to fetch Oman.

Approaching Umma, she said, “Here you are,” as if about to announce something. Umma, looking annoyed, retorted, “I don’t want to talk now. I’ll be back later.” With a scornful glance, Duduwa stopped in her tracks. After the Isha prayer, a boy arrived, bidding farewell. Umma replied to the greeting, asking, “Who?” The boy introduced himself as Duduwa, but before he could finish saying her name, Umma appeared agitated, demanding, “Who’s Duduwar?” Duduwa’s silence was met with Umma’s stern gaze. The boy, trembling, stammered, “It’s Yasir.” Duduwa grinned, and Umma, her demeanor suddenly shifting, exclaimed, “I’m coming.”

Once the boy departed, Umma turned her attention to Duduwa, advising her, “Protect your honor, my child. You’re a vulnerable young woman.” Ever since Umma began offering her advice, Duduwa mused, “Umma, no matter what I say, you already know. ‘If the little girl goes missing, knowing her ways and Umma’s tactics.” With that, she returned to her room while Duduwa got dressed, donned her prayer attire, and headed to Yasir’s place. Her sister smiled and lowered her gaze, though she remained silent, as he hadn’t wiped his face. Amid her teasing, he playfully chided, “Give me your hand,” prompting laughter. After a while, they bid each other farewell joyfully.

The next morning, after Duduwa’s prayers, she greeted Umma. Following their exchange, Umma instructed, “Get up and do the laundry, as I intend to go to Anguja today.” Though initially disappointed, hearing about Umma’s plan made Duduwa happy. She swiftly rose and prepared the meal. While Umma readied herself, Duduwa meticulously cooked lunch, determined to finish before Umma’s return to share the news. As Umma set off, she bid Duduwa farewell and left for the neighborhood.

Duduwa slept from morning until midnight, awakening to the sounds of their pets. Grasping the money Umma had misplaced, she visited the shop, purchasing tea, bread, and a hundred naira’s worth of sweets, followed by fifty naira’s worth of milk and a hundred naira’s worth of eggs. Upon her return, she offered the treats to her sister, prompting her to exclaim, “Ah, lovely, you brought us sweets!” She laughed and said, “Abdul’s hungry; I thought I’d fetch some tea.” He glanced at the lid and agreed, “Yes, let’s have some bread.” Playfully, she nudged his shoulder, laughing.

Back home, she lit the stove, brewed tea, and prepared Indomie noodles. As the rain began, Umma grabbed a small cloth and hurried to wash the dishes…

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