YARIMA AHMED Complete Document Written By mman Nurul Huda


It wasn’t unusual for her to sell water by the roadside, but when the child’s cries pierced the air, she hurriedly set aside her water jugs to tend to him. Dropping to her knees, she gently shook him, soothing his back as she offered him cool water to drink. But his silence in response only brought tears to her eyes; she held him close, knowing his hunger but struggling to pacify him. Her heart ached as she cradled him, for she despised seeing Amed in distress. Exhausted, she settled him on her lap, tears streaming down her face. Despite her weariness, she fed him until his hunger was sated.

As she watched him sleep, a wave of sorrow washed over her. She ought to worry about him now; Taya’s money would sustain them. Yet, marrying Father Musa Wanda, a man nearly seventy, was no life for her. Despite her father’s disapproval, tradition dictated an eight-year-old girl be wed to an elderly man. She shook her head, recalling the plight of other girls in similar marriages, their lives fraught with hardship. But life seemed determined to corner her.

Straightening up, she checked on Amed, only to find him burning with fever. Abandoning her sales, she hurried to fetch medicine, then returned home to tend to him.

Upon her return, she found a man speaking their native tongue at her doorstep. The woman behind him eyed her, distressed, as she explained the man’s demands for payment. Tears welled in Saida’s eyes as Amed cried anew, the situation escalating beyond her control.

Nibras begged and pleaded, but to no avail; her hijab was removed, and she was locked away as her son cried himself to sleep.

As the night wore on, Saida wrestled with her thoughts. Would marrying Bashir be any different? He loved her, and he was young, unlike the elderly suitors forced upon her. With resolve, she fled into the night, her heart heavy with uncertainty.

Her journey led her to her grandmother’s house at dawn, seeking refuge from the oppressive traditions that bound her.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Nigeria, a man sat by the roadside with his son, awaiting the mechanic’s arrival. Gazing into his son’s eyes, tears mingled with the sweat on his face. He rose abruptly, his heart racing, and turned on the bedside lamp, pondering why Kai was sharing a bed with someone else. 

Slipping into his slippers and a simple jallabiya, he sprayed perfume and donned long sports pants, the room silent save for his restless thoughts.

Author Handles


Some of related Hausa Novels

with Us


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *