<p> </p><p>They were sitting in a luxurious and spacious living room, a room furnished with high-quality furniture. Anyone who entered this living room wouldn’t want to leave. A pleasant scent filled the air, and the room was cool. A family of six sat quietly, with only a little girl, the seventh member, playing on the floor. Bob Marley’s music played on a large plasma TV with such clarity that it felt like he was there in person.</p><p>The entire family was silent, their moods somber. Ahmad was slouched in a plush chair, nodding his head, clearly intoxicated. His eyes showed he was not in his right mind, and he was singing along to the music. No one dared to tell him to stop or lower the volume—he never listened to anyone.</p><p>Their mother, an elderly woman, sighed heavily, her face filled with worry. “Ahmad, you are our eldest son, but look at what you have turned yourself into—completely useless! We are tired of advising you. We've come all the way from Lagos to Kaduna just to talk to you, yet you refuse to listen. Since that’s the case, we are leaving this evening.”</p><p>A bright smile spread across Ahmad’s handsome face as he stood up excitedly. “Wow! Mama the Mama! So you are finally leaving today? That’s great news! I can finally have my freedom. You people have been disturbing me for the past two days.”</p><p>"Shut up!" his father snapped. “You useless, disrespectful child!”</p><p>Ahmad smirked. "Daddy, I know you never liked me anyway," he said as he sank back into his seat, singing along to Bob Marley’s song. Just then, the TV channel changed, and an advertisement for a body lotion appeared.</p><p>Ahmad suddenly roared, pointing at the TV in his drunken state. “Hey! Change this nonsense! We don’t want to see all this Daudu stuff here! We are here for real business, not to see effeminate men advertising beauty products! Get lost with that nonsense! Here in Nigeria, we have our own body lotion—Habiba! Yes, we use Habiba lotion, and it makes our skin glow naturally!”</p><p>Everyone in the room burst into laughter, even his father. His father then turned to him and said, “Ahmad, you are as fair as an Arab, so where exactly do you apply this Habiba lotion?”</p><p>Their mother sighed. “May Allah guide you, my son.”</p><p>Ahmad pouted and adjusted his sitting position in his crazy jeans.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Meanwhile, a sleek Honda car pulled up in front of a restaurant. A beautiful young lady stepped out, wiping sweat from her face with a handkerchief. She clapped her hands rhythmically, singing, “Welcome back, my dear… Oyoyo, my charming one… Welcome back, my sweet darling… My love, I missed you!”</p><p>A tall, extremely skinny young man emerged from the car, trying to act cool. His neck was long and thin like an umbrella handle, his waist so tiny that it seemed it could snap in half. His lips were thin and dry, and his front teeth protruded slightly.</p><p>He looked at the lady with disdain. "You lack manners," he said. "How can I, your boyfriend, love you, yet you disrespect me like this?" He removed his sunglasses and looked her up and down. “You, a poor girl from a low-class background, dare to call me your 'sweetheart'? Do you think someone like me would waste time with a commoner like you?”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
