YA ABIN YAKE Complete Document Written By Nazifa Sabo Nashe
Description
It was as if she had become accustomed to rousing her daughter every morning, and today was no different. Her heart was heavy as she gently prodded her daughter, Hamda, who had barely opened her eyes. The young girl’s body radiated heat, yet she didn’t flinch or budge at her mother’s touch.
Struggling to open her eyes, the pain etched across Hamda’s face seemed to reflect the magnitude of her suffering. Each day started the same for her, where Ammin would awaken at dawn, her demeanor as cold as the early morning frost. Hamda often questioned whether Ammin was truly her sister, for the frigidity that Ammin showed her, even if only in the slightest way, was enough to make her ponder.
Tears streamed down Hamda’s face, the pain of her sister’s aloofness piercing her heart repeatedly. Her body throbbed, and she could hardly sit up on the hard boarding school mattress that served as her bed. Pressing her hands against her throbbing forehead, she implored, “Ammi, I have a terrible headache today. I don’t think I can manage anything.”
Ammin’s response was unsympathetic, her voice tinged with frustration. “My dear, you’ve grown accustomed to working despite the pain in your body. You rose from the day you were born, even though you were never meant to come into this world. By God, you’ve endured much hardship, and this year alone has seen more than its share. Now open your eyes and get on with your chores as usual.”
Summoning her resolve through the weight of her sorrow, Hamda pushed herself up, her spirit heavy with grief as she glanced at the three beds in her brother’s room. The age gap between them was significant – the eldest had nearly a decade on her, the second eldest was eight years her senior, and the third eldest was six years older. They hardly ever spoke, their silence an unspoken testament to the disquiet within the household. Najwa, their sister, was the only married one among them, her absence accentuating the void in their familial bond.
Hamda’s tears flowed freely, her mind preoccupied with the puzzling distance that Ammin had created between her and her brothers. Ammin’s prejudice seemed unprovoked; she hadn’t been put to work, she was the youngest, and yet Ammin subjected her to humiliation and disdain. The rejection cut deep, leaving her with unanswered questions and unrelieved anguish.
Was it because she was darker than her siblings, unlike them, who boasted fair complexions like Ammin? But that couldn’t be the reason, she pondered. She remembered the countless times she had compared herself to Ammin, finding her sister’s beauty unappealing. Perhaps it was this disdain that had spurred Ammin’s coldness, but she couldn’t be certain. Many had commented on her brothers’ attractiveness, citing their fair complexions and Hamda’s darker shade. And yet, the root of Ammin’s resentment remained shrouded in mystery.
Ammi’s scathing remarks lingered in her mind as she reflected on her sister’s open aversion. “You want to confide a secret in me before I met your father, and you were caught working upon his return from the mosque. He scolded me so fiercely on your account.” Tears welled in her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen, the biting cold sending shivers through her body, turning the tap water into an icy flow. The chilling touch exacerbated the fever that already ravaged her body.
With tears in her eyes, she washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen, the pain that wracked her body finding no solace in the chores that consumed her. Munirah used to procure Panadol for her, advising her to hide it from Ammin’s prying eyes, for fear that the discovery would only invite more torment.
After performing ablution in the washroom, she returned to the room, where all her siblings had completed their degrees and remained unmarried. Munirah was the exception, still in her second year of study, having just completed her secondary education. Their aspirations were lofty, dreaming of becoming ministers, senators, or even the president. It was Ammin who held their dreams firmly within her grasp.
Observing her daughter’s plight, Munirah cast a sympathetic gaze, shaking her head before offering, “I’m sorry, little one.”
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