YANCIN BAYI 1 Complete Document Written By Surayyerh B abdul


Upon observing the dwelling, the struggles of poverty become unmistakably apparent. Amidst a town adorned with short, crimson buildings, one structure stands apart in its destitution, lacking the opulence of its neighbors. The walls bear the scars of time, weathered and cracked, while the modest mud construction fails to conceal the abject conditions within. Within its confines, a single room suffices for the household’s quarters.

Inhabiting this abode is a young woman, scarcely 18, who rarely ventures beyond its confines. Clad in a uniform, her head wrapped in a makeshift turban, she bears an imposing, robust frame that belies her tender age. Her graceful, cocoa-toned features exude a striking beauty, accentuated by her extraordinarily large, almost drowsy eyes, hinting at a nonchalant demeanor.

Rushing towards the door, she hears her mother’s desperate call, “MUWADAH! MUWADDAH!!” Her response is a playful grin, accompanied by childlike footwork, as she bounds back inside. Behind the veil of a curtain and a threadbare sack, her mother sits with Kofi, her expectant gaze fixed on the entrance, awaiting Muwaddah’s return.

Upon entering, her expression falters, on the verge of tears. “Please, God, allow me to fulfill this without malice,” she pleads, pushing herself forward.

Yet her mother’s gentle smile radiates warmth. “I haven’t seen you truly happy for so long. Why deny yourself happiness? Come, sit with me. Even if I must endure, I don’t want to witness your hunger,” she implores in a feeble voice.

Overwhelmed by her mother’s unwavering compassion, memories flood back, rendering her speechless, tears welling up in her eyes. With a sudden, sharp pain in her chest, she collapses, unable to bear the weight of her emotions. “God, spare my mother!” she wails. “When they hear it, those who only know the cruel Azalumai as anything but the ‘Golden Kingdom,’ they’ll be astounded! Comfort them! I can’t bear to see them suffer!”

With utmost tenderness, her mother pulls her close, wiping the tears from her cheeks, soothing her until the sobs subside. Grasping the cup by her side, she lifts it to Muwaddah’s lips, urging her to drink. Rising to her feet, Muwaddah clings to her mother’s hand, steadying herself. “What are you doing, mother? You need this more,” she murmurs.

Unable to lift the cup, now half-empty, her mother returns it to Muwaddah’s grasp. Accepting it, she bows thrice, her countenance solemn, and sets it down. “Mother, speak to me. Pray that I secure the release of the slaves from the king today. I need to be able to care for you,” she implores.

“Have faith, my daughter. You have been given an opportunity. Don’t be late,” the mother reassures.

Emerging from their abode, a chill grips Muwaddah as she hastens, tears still glistening. Her journey takes her to the entrance of an exquisite abode, seemingly incongruous with the city. It exudes an air of regal magnificence, its imposing facade proudly bearing the inscription ‘GOLDEN KINGDOM.’

Passing the guards, Muwaddah enters to find bustling servants, all clothed in blue attire similar to hers, though the men wear trousers. Radiant faces adorn the workers, diligently tending to their duties.

Navigating through lavish halls bedecked with opulent adornments, she encounters a group of four motionless servants. Standing there for what feels like hours, they avoid meeting her gaze, seemingly lost in their own perplexing deliberations.

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