SAKACINA Complete Document Written By Mujahida Matar Malam


Frantically, she sprinted, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, desperately trying to elude the sinister figure cloaked in her Abaya. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she continued her escape.

Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Razane stole a quick glance over her shoulder. What she saw was the very entity she had been fleeing, trailing her with relentless determination.

Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from her lips, a nervous reaction to the tension that had built within her. Not due to any gust of wind, but an involuntary response to the fear that had consumed her.

In the distance, a cry for help pierced the air, drawing Razane’s attention. Sitting beside Atare, she could hear the urgency in the voice, instantly compelling her to react.

Despite the biting cold that enveloped the room, she was drenched in sweat, trembling in a desperate attempt to maintain her composure.

A Zama approached her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, dear? What happened?” he inquired, his voice laced with concern.

Sam attempted to soothe her, yet Balantana, seemingly in a state of shock, couldn’t comprehend why Ansa was clutching onto her with such intensity, her body trembling uncontrollably. Sam’s attempts to calm her proved futile.

Observing Sam’s prayer and spitting ritual, she couldn’t fathom why he was invoking Ayatul Kursiyu, as well as verses from Suratul Bakara, to ease his distress. Despite his efforts, her fear remained palpable, as if an invisible force were constricting her very being.

Bashida’s devotion was a testament to his unwavering commitment, his body humbly dedicated to his spiritual practice.

Slowly stirring awake, they realized it was already 8:00 AM. As the sunlight gently filtered through the curtains, they blinked, attempting to adjust to the new day. Sensing her movement, he settled back, trying to make space for her as she stretched.

At the sound of his stirring, she settled back with closed eyes, murmuring softly, “My dear, love.”

Yariga Yamike made his way to the bathroom for prayer, joined by his friend Saida, who hurriedly performed ablution and urged him to hasten, citing the obvious daylight as a reminder of their lateness.

Spreading the prayer mat, she stood up after ablution, engrossed in her devotions. Uninterrupted, she continued, her devotion unwavering until she eventually succumbed to sleep on the bed.

Observing her, a wave of sorrow washed over him, prompting him to pat her gently on the back. She stirred slightly, a sleepy smile gracing her lips as she murmured, “My dear, it’s the weekend. Let me rest, please, and watch over me.”

“Why don’t you rest after your prayers, my dear wife? Why this neglect? This is one of your biggest issues. These negligent actions of yours,” he voiced his frustration, shaking his head in dismay before leaving the room.

Refusing to eat food prepared by the workers, he made his way to the kitchen, a place where he could prepare his meals in solitude, away from the day’s tensions.


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