She entered the house compound cautiously, her eyes scanning for any sign of activity. It was Friday, and at this time, men, children, and adults alike were at the mosque for the evening prayer, led by Baba Mallam. Thursday and Friday were the only days when students had time to assist their parents with chores, as there were no Boko school sessions. After the Maghrib prayer, it was study time, and after Isha prayer, students would engage in schoolwork, wash their school supplies, do laundry, and other tasks, often working until 10 o’clock at night. The rule of the house of BABA MALLAM and BABA SA”IDU was strict, and everyone knew it well.

As she snapped back to reality, she took in her neighborhood. It was unusually quiet; the children were indoors, and the adults were at work. She noticed the mosque’s door looming in the distance. The evening Quranic class must be in session, which is why she avoided passing in front of the mosque. She preferred the longer route to avoid confrontations with the boys who teased her.

She adjusted the black bag on her back, holding it in one hand before releasing it. She was a tall girl, no less than fifteen, with big eyes and a long face. Her mouth was often set in a serious expression. She wore a white dress, a white hijab, and white canvas Combas school shoes for women with socks.

From her posture, one could sense her apprehension. She stood at the small gate of their brown-colored house, hesitant to enter. She was afraid of encountering someone inside.

She thought to herself, standing up straight as if mustering courage, “I’m not afraid to enter the house. I’m AMIN (faithful). Amen. I’m just scared of my father. Whom should I listen to? I don’t like arguments, mother, and father. I don’t like how she confronts me. She’s the one I try to avoid. Controversies!”

Deep in thought, she walked toward their house, pondering if HANNE was there. She muttered, “You never know, maybe this time, because mother is wearing Idon Yaya Abida.”

As she approached the small gate in front of their house, she noticed it was part of the same building as the beautiful mosque, *SHEIK YUNUS ABDURRAHAMAN BAZANGA MOSQUE.*

However, the house next to the mosque appeared smaller, not as grand as the others. She decided she had no choice but to enter the house. With determination, she pushed the gate open and stepped inside.

There were cars parked, one belonging to Siyana’s family, used to take them to school, and another, a larger one, likely for emergencies or when the patriarch of the family, ABA, was ill. Their house parking area was often full, and the car sometimes extended beyond it. JAAFAR, their son, was known to not complete parking properly, but they managed with it. Mr. Daya, on the other hand, was a strict presence in their lives.

She spotted a door leading to a long corridor paved with interlocking tiles. It had four locked rooms, presumably the rooms of male family members or guests. She pushed open another door with her strength and ventured further. There was no one in the house except HAMIDA, who stood by the water pump washing school clothes. The kitchen was on the west side, well-maintained. To the left were four toilets and two outdoor bathrooms, while to the east, there was a row of four rooms, one slightly apart from the rest. It seemed like the inner and living room while the others were bedrooms.

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