ZUMA DA MADACI Complete Document Written By Maman Teddy


As I walked swiftly, my feet almost seemed to skim the ground, worn slippers beating against the earth. However, the persistent poverty that shackled me prevented me from acquiring new ones. An inexplicable whisper in my ear caused a shiver to run down my spine. Memories of the events at home clouded my mind, leaving me unable to look ahead; all I desired was to see the comforting sight of our humble abode.

Hajiya Zaituna’s troubling thoughts weighed heavily on me, as I knew that I would surely face repercussions for the tasks I had undertaken for her within her household. With this burden, I arrived home. Observing our house, I murmured silently, “God, the protector of orphans, we are in your care, whether in this world or the next.” The deteriorating bricks and crumbling walls caught my eye, a testament to the passing of time. The door, too, showed signs of wear and tear, revealing the strain of daily use, yet Ankasa had managed to repair it until today.

Shaking my head, I entered the courtyard, finding everything in a spotless condition, as if no one inhabited the place. Hastening into my room, I breathed a sigh of relief as Zaid was nowhere to be found. Standing at the door of my cramped sleeping area, I noticed the absence of cement, the small mattress serving as my bed, and a shabby bag containing my meager belongings, barely amounting to five pieces. The faded and worn-out clothing, along with two uncomfortable rubber sandals, completed my humble wardrobe. I donned a worn white garment, resembling a uniform, as if Hajiya Zaituna needed proof of my presence as a worker in her household.

Suddenly, I heard Zaid’s voice, recounting the hardships he had imposed upon me. Oummah Rabi’s arrival or her bathing interrupted the silence. Oummah Rabi’s glance swept up and down my frame as she muttered, “I don’t know, I am still waiting for my son’s heir.” Trembling, I swiftly exited my room, finding him doing nothing except dancing. I greeted Oummah, trying to take the soiled clothes from her hand, proclaiming my readiness to wash them. Oummah remained silent, her gaze fixed on Suhaimah, seemingly lost in contemplation. Zaid’s voice reverberated, inquiring about the missing money, infusing the atmosphere with tension.

As Oummah left the courtyard, headed to her chamber, memories of Suhaimah flooded my mind, the pain resurfacing. Tears welled up in my eyes as I completed the laundry, not daring to look back. Hurriedly, I made my way to Hajiya Zaituna’s house. From a distance, I could discern the residence, guarded by soldiers, as the owner, General Yak’ub d’Arab, was a high-ranking military officer. Approaching the gate, I heard the soldiers and security guards calling out for Suhaimah. With a faint smile, my dimples surfaced as I entered the premises, greeted by some and acknowledged by others with a cheerful “Good morning.” Among the many serving Hajiya Zaituna, I too was considered one of her laborers. The opulent corridor exuded luxury, a stark contrast to my humble existence. Dr. Zaituna was seated on a chair, tending to her affairs, her demeanor mirroring that of other women in her circle, all chasing wealth and status, their lives defined by the pursuit of material gain.


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