I sincerely apologize for the delay. I wrote the book several years ago and unfortunately lost some chapters. My busy schedule with school caused me to forget the storyline, resulting in the need to read the book multiple times in order to come up with a way to rewrite the missing chapters. This has made it challenging for me to write new chapters. But Alhamdulillah am now done with school, so I am determined to complete the book and will put in my best effort to do so. Na gode fatan ana hakuri da rashin editing, though Am trying the my best to improve.
Sa’ada despised the unfortunate situation that made her feel unloved by her biological parents. She couldn’t help but notice the preferential treatment they gave to their spouses, which left her feeling rejected. Her mother had even asked her to stop coming to their place, promising to visit her instead, but that promise remained unfulfilled. This was all due to her stepfather’s disdain for Sa’ada, as he couldn’t bear to see his wife’s daughter from another man.
As Sa’ada grew older, her jealousy towards Zainaba intensified, although she tried her best to hide it. She couldn’t ignore the overwhelming love Zainaba’s parents and siblings showered upon their daughter, while sometimes displaying subtle differences towards her. Sa’ada found it frustrating, Perhaps she was too young to fully understand that it was natural for a mother to love her own flesh and blood more.
Despite Sa’ada’s innate beauty and intelligence, she was often overshadowed by Zainaba’s friendly nature, which garnered her popularity among their teachers and classmates. Sa’ada, on the other hand, was reserved, rarely laughing or speaking first, which led her to believe that people disliked her, including her own parents. She considered herself a bad person, convinced that nobody truly loved her, except for Zainaba and her family. They were her rock, her sole source of unwavering support.
What Sa’ada hated the most was when people asked Umma about their relationship, and Umma would dismissively refer to her as their neighbor’s abandoned daughter. Sa’ada wished Umma would at least once acknowledge her as their own and provide an explanation, even if brief. Sa’ada yearned for Umma to proudly claim her as their own and offer a simple explanation, but that wish remained unfulfilled.
Before her father’s (Abbakar) remarriage, he used to provide for Sa’ada’s needs, despite not living with her. However, after his remarriage, he seemed to have forgotten about having a daughter named Sa’ada.
The financial strain on Zainaba’s parents and Sa’ada’s sense of responsibility towards them forced them to share everything equally. Sometimes, Sa’ada would end up with used items while Umma used the money Baba gave for Zainaba alone. Umma never sought Sa’ada’s opinion on anything, and it was always Zainaba who would ask her what she wanted and convey it as her own. Sa’ada felt overlooked and unheard in that house she always wants to leave but then she has nowhere to go.
Years went by, but Sa’ada’s view of people remained unchanged, and her resentment towards her parents grew stronger. Sa’ada left Zainaba at home sick before going to school.
Sa’ada had been worried the entire day in class about Zainaba’s condition. She had fallen sick and hadn’t been well for two days. In a hurry, Sa’ada made her way to their house, despite not having a phone. She had no choice but to go to their neighbors and inquire if Umma had left the keys there.
Aisha, a girl from the neighborhood, intercepted Sa’ada just as she was about to enter their neighbor’s house.
“Aisha!” Sa’ada called out, her voice trembling. Aisha turned back and hurried towards her. “Are you back from the hospital?” Aisha asked, concerned.
Sa’ada looked at her, confusion etched on her face. “Hospital? What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I thought you knew,” Aisha replied. “Zainaba was taken to Nasarawa Hospital unconscious. Some people even said she seemed dead.”
“Innalillahi!” Sa’ada whimpered, tears streaming down her face. She moved away from Aisha, desperate to find a taxi. She rushed to the roadside, sobbing uncontrollably, oblivious to the curious stares of passersby.
“Please be quiet, we’re almost there,” the taxi driver said, trying to calm Sa’ada.
Her sobs subsided to silence, but tears continued to flow down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Zainaba, the only person who truly loved her. The driver dropped her off at the hospital entrance, and she hurriedly made her way to Zainaba’s room, her heart heavy with fear.
Zainaba lay motionless on the hospital bed, her face pale as if life had abandoned her. Sa’ada’s mind went numb as she approached the bed. She reached out and gently grasped Zainaba’s hand, her voice trembling with desperation, “Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have.”
Realizing that crying wouldn’t solve anything, Sa’ada wiped her tears away. She stood up, determined to take action. She walked over to her Umma, who seemed lost in thought, consumed by worry for her daughter’s condition.
“Umma, what’s wrong with her? Why aren’t there any doctors attending to her?” Sa’ada’s voice cut through her mother’s reverie.
Umma sniffed, trying to regain her composure. “She needs blood, but unfortunately, our blood types don’t match. I’m O+, and her dad is A-. Zainaba has O- blood, inheriting the negative R-factor from her father. None of her siblings are a match.”
“Let them try mine. My dad is also negative, like my mom. I don’t know my blood type for certain, but I’m confident it’s also negative,” Sa’ada said eagerly, her eyes filled with determination.
“No, Sa’ada. You’re too young and female to donate blood,” Umma replied, attempting to dismiss the idea.
“A healthy woman can donate blood, and I’m 18 now. Please, let them test my blood. Pray that it matches,” Sa’ada insisted, making her way to the lab.
Fortunate circumstances aligned as Sa’ada’s blood turned out to be a match, and she was healthy enough to donate. From that day on, Sa’ada never left the hospital, tirelessly caring for Zainaba until her full recovery. When Zainaba was finally discharged, they returned home together, their bond stronger than ever.
Sa’ada and Zainaba were having a discussion about the kind of man they wanted as their life partner.
“Do you know something?” Zainaba asked, looking at Sa’ada.
“Just look at you. How would I know?” Sa’ada replied, grinning.
“None of the men approaching me are my type. I’ve decided to focus on my education after completing SSCE until I meet someone who fits my criteria,” Sa’ada burst into laughter.
“You must be joking! Did you forget about our community? We’re in a Hausa community, where women only marry the men who want them, not someone they consider their ‘type.’ You better change your mind before Baba decides to marry you off to Malan Musa,” Zainaba said, referring to one of their neighbors who had expressed interest in marrying her.
“Allah ya sawwake (May God forbid)! How could I marry that old man? But he loves you, Sa’ada,” Zainaba said, trying to tease her. “To hell with the love,” Zainaba said furiously.
“Insha Allah, I will marry the man of my choice and my type, even if we’re in a Hausa community. Just wait and see,” Zainaba declared, leaving the room.
Sa’ada followed her, saying, “Sorry, Madam Musa. Just calm down and love him,” teasing Zainaba further. Zainaba closed her ears with a pillow, saying, “Keep wasting your energy saying nonsense.” Umma smiled happily, witnessing their sisterly bond and contentment.
Sa’ada sat beside Zainaba and said, “May I tell you something?” Her tone turned serious.
Zainaba adjusted the pillow to its original position and replied, “So you’re finally back to being human?”
“What?” Sa’ada said, raising her eyebrows. “What do you mean? Am I an animal or something?”
“Whatever you decide,” Sa’ada shook her head and rose to leave.
“Sorry, madam. I was just kidding. What is it you wanted to say?” Zainaba asked.
“Are you sure you were only kidding? Nothing more?” Sa’ada asked, looking serious.
“Yes, oya, apologize,” Zainaba replied, stepping down from the bed and folding her hands together.
“Sorry, Madam Sa’ada,” they all laughed for a few seconds before lying back on the bed, sniffling.
Zainaba looked at her and asked, “So, what is it that you wanted to say?”
“Well, there is this man I actually love,” Sa’ada said happily.
“What?” Zainaba widened her eyes. “Who is he? What is his name? Do I know him?” she bombarded Sa’ada with questions.
Sa’ada looked up, her finger on her mouth, contemplating for a moment before lowering her gaze. “Kaii, Zainaba. All these questions for me? I don’t think you know him, as I don’t know his name. I only see him on our way to school and back. Haven’t you ever noticed a handsome man on our route?”
Zainaba composed herself and replied, “Let me see,” rubbing her forehead. “Well, I don’t think I have, gaskiya.”
“Alright then, I’ll make sure you see him during our way to Islamiyya. You can then decide if he’s worth loving. And if you think I’m too good for him, you better come up with some clever plans to make him notice me,” Sa’ada said, a twinkle in her eyes.
Days passed, and Zainaba fully recovered. The two were in their room, engaged in their individual activities. Zainaba was writing, while Sa’ada immersed herself in a Hausa novel. Suddenly, Fatima, (Sa’ada’s half-sister,) barged into the room without any warning.
“Sa’ada!” Fatima exclaimed, disregarding any sense of privacy. “What is this? How can you come to people’s rooms without announcing yourself? It’s disrespectful!”Zainaba said
Zainaba’s irritation grew, but she maintained her composure, realizing that Fatima was Sa’ada’s half-sister. She suppressed the urge to retaliate physically, though it took all her self-control.
Sa’ada interjected, looking at Fatima, her voice steady but firm. “What brings you here? Hoping she didn’t sounds badly She didn’t want to say anything that could lead the girl to fabricate lies or create stories to her mom, which would result in her dad punishing her.
Fatima curled her lips and rolled her eyes dismissively. “Mum wants to see you. She wants you to come and wash our clothes,” she said, her tone laced with rudeness. Withouts waiting for a reply, Fatima left the room, leaving a tense atmosphere behind.