Passing through the gate, she began to scan the courtyard of the house, although no one had noticed her presence on this Friday. It was a time when both young and old gathered at the mosque to receive evening prayer lessons from Baba Mallam. Thursdays and Fridays were days when everyone remained at home, providing them with the opportunity to assist their parents, as they were free from attending Boko school. Between Maghrib and Isha, it was study time, and once Isha prayer concluded, everyone engaged in their schoolwork, cleaned their school supplies, did laundry, and performed other chores, often continuing until as late as 10 o’clock at night. The house rules of Baba Mallam and Baba Sa”idu were clear – no one was exempt, and adherence to these rules was expected from all.

Her thoughts reverted to her mission of safeguarding their neighborhood. Silence prevailed; the children were indoors, and the adults were at work. She glanced towards the mosque’s entrance from her vantage point.

She knew it was the time for evening prayer, which was why she refrained from walking in front of the mosque or crossing the road despite the distance. She preferred to keep her distance from those who had oppressed her within the mosque, hoping they would leave her be, as they once did.

The young girl adjusted the black bag strapped to her back, holding it with one hand before releasing it. She appeared to be no older than fifteen, a tall girl with prominent eyes and a long face. Her facial expression hinted at her unease, her lips dry and tightly sealed as she stood by the small gate of their brown house. She hesitated to enter, fearing she might encounter someone inside.

Gathering her courage, Kadai stood upright, much like Tsaka Afili, and muttered, “I’m not afraid to go inside… I AM AMIN Amen. I’m afraid of my father. Whom should I obey? I despise the commotion, mother, father. I detest how she stares at me. She’s the one I try to avoid. The conflict…”

As she strolled through Ranta, she contemplated whether she should visit HANNE’s house. Her quick response was, “You never know… because HANNE wears Idon Yaya Abida.”

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