The golden rays of the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow on Usman’s face as he stirred from his slumber. The fragrance of freshly bloomed flowers wafted into the room, filling it with a delicate scent that danced in the air. With a contented sigh, Usman stretched his limbs, embracing the new day that lay before him.
As he prepared for the day, Usman took extra care in grooming himself, ensuring that he looked his best. His reflection in the mirror revealed a young man on the verge of discovering the beauty and mysteries of the world. Today, like every other day, he would set out on his customary journey to catch a glimpse of the enchanting Zainaba as she embarked on her path to knowledge.
Usman reached for his bottle of exquisite perfume, his hand momentarily frozen in mid-air as a melodic voice greeted him. “Assalamu Alaikum,” Zainaba’s voice echoed in his ears, causing him to pause in awe. Was he caught in the web of his imagination once again? A soft gasp escaped his lips, and the perfume bottle slipped from his grasp, forgotten on the countertop.
Stepping out into the parlor, Usman’s heart skipped a beat as he beheld the vision before him. Zainaba stood in all her grace, clad in her school uniform, radiating an ethereal beauty that seemed to transcend reality. It was as if a painting had come to life, captivating his senses and filling the room with an aura of enchantment. Surely, this couldn’t be a figment of his imagination.
Approaching his beloved Granny, Usman greeted her with reverence, his eyes never straying far from Zainaba’s presence. “I’m going out,” he announced, his voice trembling with anticipation. Zainaba’s sweet voice interjected, bidding him a good morning. Startled, he blinked in disbelief. Had she really spoken to him? Was this a dream come true?
A burst of laughter erupted from within him as the realization dawned upon Usman. “Wow! So, kaka, I’m not dreaming, right?” he playfully asked, his heart dancing with joy. Kaka smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously, and responded, “Dreaming about what?”
Grinning like a child, Usman replied, “Wallahi, I thought she wasn’t real since I kept hallucinating about her.” Hajiya Kaka’s giggles filled the air, resonating with the joyous melody of a heart warmed by love. “You must be joking,” she teased, the bond between them growing stronger.
Taking a deep breath, Usman mustered the courage to speak to Zainaba, his voice filled with genuine affection. “Hi,” he greeted her, his words carrying the weight of his admiration and adoration. Zainaba’s radiant smile blossomed in response, illuminating the room and captivating his very soul.
Their encounter was fleeting, as Zainaba’s dedication to her studies urged her onward, never allowing tardiness to tarnish her pursuit of knowledge. With a graceful departure, she left, a trail of her essence lingering in the air. Granny’s knowing gaze met Usman’s, and she broke the silence with a gentle question, “So, it’s true that you love her?”
Usman tenderly touched his forehead, a tender smile playing on his lips. “Yes, kaka. How can I lie about love? Wallahi, I love her. She’s all I want,” he confessed, his voice filled with the sincerity of his emotions. Hajiya Kaka furrowed her brows, a playful frown appearing on her face, as if to challenge his. “And what about me, my dear?” she asked, a playful frown on her face. Usman chuckled and reassured her, “Granny, you hold a special place in my heart. You will always come first.” Granny pretended to be offended, her eyes dancing with mischief. “You rascal,” she said, rising from her seat, and Usman followed suit, their playful banter continuing. “I mean it, Granny. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” he teased, his laughter filling the room. Granny turned around, her eyes sparkling with affectionate humor. “You must be joking. I could never marry a man like you,” she said in jest, as was the tradition between a loving grandmother and her grandchild in their Hausa society. “You better hurry and change your ways before it’s too late,” Granny added with a sly smile, heading towards her room. “Please don’t follow me. I need some rest.”
Briefly about Usman:
Usman’s parents, Amatullah and Bashir, had embarked on a journey of love when they married at a young age. Amatullah was only twelve while Bashir was fifteen, as was customary in the Hausa community at that time. Despite their tender years, their marriage was filled with a deep love and care that bound them together.
However, as the years passed without the blessing of a child, their happiness began to fade. Bashir’s mother, burdened by societal expectations, started expressing her concerns about Amatullah’s inability to conceive. By the time Amatullah was fifteen and Bashir eighteen, mere complaints turned into a cloud of worry that loomed over their lives.
In their fourth year of marriage, Bashir’s mother’s impatience reached its peak. She compared their childless state to the joyous news of their peers becoming parents and yearned for the joy of grandmotherhood. In her mind, the blame fell solely on Amatullah, convinced that her daughter-in-law was barren.
One fateful Sunday, Bashir’s mother visited their home and unleashed a storm of insults upon Amatullah, accusing her of infertility. Bashir, who happened to be in his room at the time, emerged with a mix of anger and sadness. He despised seeing his mother mistreat his beloved wife.
“Mum, what are you doing? How many times must I tell you that she is not infertile? We need to be patient,” he pleaded. Amatullah, her voice laced with weariness, joined her husband in the defense. “You see, Mother? We need prayers and patience.”
“Do you see?” his mother exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. “Is this the woman you call your wife? The one who insults her own mother-in-law?” Sobbing uncontrollably, she continued, “Innalillah, has the world truly changed? Is there now a time when a child chooses his wife over his mother?”
Bashir wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hand trembling. “Mother, please, cease these accusations. How can I ever choose someone over you?”
A gentle smile replaced his mother’s tears. “Are you sure?” she asked, wiping away the remnants of her distress. Bashir shook his head, his voice filled with earnestness. “You know better than anyone that I would never lie to you. I love you more than anything.”
“Very well, then prove your words,” his mother suddenly challenged.
Bashir looked at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty, yet determined. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to divorce that barren woman and put an end to this marriage. Since you have no children, there is no reason to continue,” his mother declared, her tone devoid of empathy.
Bashir stood up, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, Mother. I cannot divorce her. She is the woman with whom I believe I can find true happiness.”
His mother broke into tears once more. “Fine, then cling to your marriage and find another mother. Wallahi, if you don’t rid yourself of that useless woman today, I will never see you as my son again. We shall become strangers. I am done,” she declared, making her way out, leaving Bashir in a state of turmoil.
Amatullah, wrapped in a cocoon of sadness, sought solace in a corner of the house. As her tears fell, she summoned the strength to approach Bashir and tenderly grasp his hand. “Please, Bashir, heed her words. She is your mother, the key to Jannah. You can find another wife, but you will never find another mother like her.”
Bashir’s sobs intensified. “But why would she choose divorce? She knows that the problem may lie with me, not with you.”
Amatullah gently wiped away his tears. “Please, I implore you, let me go, please.”
“Very well, I, Bashir, divorce you three times,” he uttered, his voice trembling, and their tears mingled in a shared sorrow.
Umma turned around, her face filled with satisfaction. “This is more like my son. You better leave before I bring shame upon you,” Umma proclaimed to Amatullah.
With grace and dignity, Amatullah adjusted her hijab and stepped outside, her tears still streaming down her face. Bashir attempted to follow her, but Umma intercepted him, declaring, “Where do you think you’re going? You better not pursue that witch.”
Bashir paused, his gaze lingering on Umma for a fleeting moment. “I am not following her. I am leaving as well. Perhaps you desire my solitude, as you know she is the only woman I have ever loved, yet it was you who forced me to divorce her.”
“I will find a place where I can be alone, where I will never marry another woman,” he declared, rushing out without heeding Umma’s pleas.
It was only after Amatullah returned home that her parents discovered her pregnancy, a revelation that would change their lives forever. Her father promptly contacted Bashir’s uncle and relayed the news of the impending arrival.
Bashir’s mother wept bitterly, regretting her cruelty and impatience towards them. Her actions had driven her son away, leaving him lost and unfound.
Amatullah gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, bearing a striking resemblance to his father. She named him Usman.
Hope flickered within Umma and the others, believing that one day Bashir would return home. But months turned into years, and still, he did not reappear.
When Usman turned three, Amatullah was compelled to marry another man. Despite her affection for her new husband, her heart still held a place for Bashir. Her love for him remained eternal.
Ten long years passed before Bashir finally returned home, unaware of his son’s existence and Amatullah’s subsequent marriage.
His heart overflowed with emotion upon laying eyes on his son. Regret flooded his being, realizing that had he stayed, he could have been the one raising his child. It was his greatest lament.
Nevertheless, he pleaded with Amatullah’s parents to allow him to take Usman with him. Without hesitation, they handed him a letter from Amatullah, which he chose not to read. Bashir’s love for Usman surpassed that of any father for his son.
Father and son became inseparable, their bond unbreakable. They laughed together, cried together, and shared every moment. One day, while organizing his documents, Bashir stumbled upon the letter given to him by Amatullah. Initially, he replaced it without reading, but an inner voice urged him to reconsider.
With trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, its contents written in Hausa. It commenced with Amatullah’s greeting. “How I longed for the day you would return and lay eyes upon our precious gift. Please, Usman’s father, find strength and be the man I know you to be. We are fated to grow old separately. Seek another woman, not for yourself, but for the sake of our child. I am certain he would cherish having half-sisters and half-brothers.”
“I named him after your dearest friend, Usman, who passed away before our divorce. It was your wish to honor him by naming our son. Though I am married to another, and I love him, you will always hold the highest place in my heart. Our love endures, but destiny keeps us apart. Please, Bashir, move forward and find happiness. I will only find solace when you return and embrace a new chapter in your life by remarrying. Yours sincerely, Amatullah, your ex.”
Bashir wiped away his tears, carefully folding the letter and placing it back. The thought of living with another woman as his wife seemed inconceivable, but for Amatullah’s happiness, he would strive to make it possible. Bashir resolved to marry once again, though he saw no woman as a wife. His sole desire was to bring joy to Amatullah, as she had expressed that her happiness depended on his remarriage.
He turned to his mother, entreating her to find a suitable woman for him. Umma rejoiced, witnessing her son’s return to his former self, or so she believed. Initially, his new wife showered Usman with love and care. However, her patience waned as Bashir continued to devote all his attention and time to Usman, neglecting their own children. She held onto the hope that things would change once they had a child together.
But nothing changed. Bashir remained steadfast, his love and devotion centered solely on Usman, even in the presence of his other children. His wife grew frustrated, and though she could endure his neglect, she couldn’t bear to witness her own children suffer. Thus, she made the fateful decision to consult a sorcerer, seeking to ignite Bashir’s resentment towards Usman.
To her dismay, the sorcerer declared that he could not manipulate Bashir’s love for his son. Instead, he proposed a plan to make Bashir care less for Usman, while the underlying love still remained. The sorcerer’s scheme was to transform Usman into a rebellious individual.
Usman began to skip school, associating with delinquent peers, and eventually succumbed to the allure of alcohol. Bashir despised his son’s newfound behaviors. Initially, he attempted to counsel him, but his words fell on deaf ears. At times, he raised his voice in frustration when he found Usman intoxicated, further fueling his son’s resentment, convinced that his father no longer cared.
Usman’s stepmother withheld food from him and fabricated tales to narrate to Bashir, tarnishing Usman’s image. One fateful day, an urgent matter compelled Bashir to embark on a journey, leaving Usman in his wife’s care. Seizing the opportunity, she confined Usman to a room, providing him with a meager portion of white rice.
Unbeknownst to her, the oppressive isolation and malnourishment left Usman gravely ill. He remained hidden away in that room, where he ate, slept, and languished in despair. When Usman’s grandmother from his mother’s side visited, his stepmother displayed an air of trepidation and falsely claimed he was not at home.
Kaka, the grandmother, was about to depart when Kamal, a young boy, spoke up. “Mama, you said Yaya wasn’t home. Did you forget that you locked him up?”
“What? Locked him up?” Kaka exclaimed in disbelief. “Kamal, can you show me where he is?”
Taking her hand, the boy led her to the closed door. “He’s inside,” Kamal affirmed.
Kaka turned back and commanded, “Aisha, come and open this door.”
“He’s lying! How could I lock a human being? Pay no attention to him; he’s just a child,” Aisha retorted, her voice trembling.
“Open the door, or shall I summon the authorities?” Kaka’s voice resonated with determination.
Hajiya Kaka wept inconsolably upon witnessing her grandchild in such a pitiful state—unconscious and teetering on the edge of death. She rushed outside, urgently calling upon the youths in the vicinity to assist her in transporting Usman to the hospital. Bashir nearly divorced Aisha for the cruelty she had inflicted upon his son.
That heart-wrenching incident led Kaka to take Usman into her care after he was discharged, and for the next ten years, he resided in her loving embrace.
