<p> </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Selling Fried Bean Cakes (Awara) at the Doorstep</p><p>I was selling awara (fried bean cakes) at the doorstep when a group of men gathered around, chatting. I overheard one of them say,</p><p>“Nafisa, I've been talking to you since I arrived, but you've been silent even though you can hear me.”</p><p>I lifted my head and replied softly, “Oh, I didn't hear you. What do you want to buy?”</p><p>He smiled and said, “Give me awara worth fifty naira.”</p><p>“Bring the money.”</p><p>He chuckled and said, “That's what I like about you—you act smart. Do you think I’ll run away with your money? Just give it to me, I'm really hungry.”</p><p>I looked at him again and said, “Musa, you always do this. You take the awara and run off without paying, but you know I won’t chase after you.”</p><p>He glared at me and muttered, "Hmm, that’s why I prefer going to Hinde, the other awara seller. She makes hers tastier, and she even follows me home to deliver it. You should ask her—she never hesitates to give me awara. But you, you act too traditional and rigid." He finished with another glare.</p><p>I ignored him and continued attending to my customers who paid for their awara. I had already gotten used to the rough talk from the young men in our neighborhood. Before I left the house each day, my mother would always warn me not to give anyone awara on credit.</p><p>As I kept selling, Musa and his friends sat a short distance away, talking loudly. They probably didn’t realize I could hear them. One of them said,</p><p>“I swear, Musa, I really like that girl. From the first time I saw her, I was drawn to her. You said she’s from the village and isn’t into relationships, so what should I do? I really want to have her.”</p><p>They all burst into laughter. Another one added,</p><p>“You're right! I feel the same way. We should find a way to make it happen.”</p><p>The first guy responded sharply, “Hey, don’t joke with me. If I say I like a girl, don’t claim her too! I take these things seriously.”</p><p>That statement made the others go silent.</p><p>Then Musa walked back toward me and said,</p><p>“Baby, I see you're busy. How's the day going?”</p><p>I just glanced at him and continued my work. Suddenly, I felt someone tap my back. Startled, I turned around, only to see my friend, Farida. I relaxed and smiled as we exchanged greetings.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Message to My Fans</p><p>My dear fans, I hope you're all doing well.</p><p>For this new book, I’d love to see more comments and engagement instead of just reaction emojis like ????❤????. It’s not that I don’t appreciate them, but comments mean more to me. Thank you so much for your support—may our bond remain strong!</p><p>By: (United we stand and succeed in entertaining and motivating the minds of readers)</p><p>Dedicated to my beloved sister, Ayshat M Zazzau—may our love remain strong! ❤</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Back to the Story</p><p>Mahbub ran out of the house toward a man who had just left. When he realized the man’s car was gone, he turned to me and asked,</p><p>“Aunty, has Uncle left? I don’t see him.”</p><p>I ignored him, and he called me again. When I still didn’t respond, he walked up to me. Annoyed, I shot him a glare and said,</p><p>“Are you crazy? Why are you shouting my name like that? Don’t you see I’m working?”</p><p>I turned away and continued selling awara.</p><p>He went back inside but returned shortly, crouching beside me.</p><p>“Aunty, Mom said you should come inside. She’s calling you.”</p><p>Fear gripped me as I asked, “Mahbub, what did you tell her I did?”</p><p>His eyes widened. “I swear, Aunty, I didn’t say anything! She just said you should come inside.”</p><p>Without another word, I stood up and walked into the house, my heart pounding.</p><p>When I entered, my mother was standing there waiting, her face stern. I instinctively took a step back and smiled nervously.</p><p>“Mother, I’m here.”</p><p>She shot me a sharp look and asked, “Who was that man?”</p><p>Placing my hand on my chest, I asked, “Which man, Mother? I don’t understand.”</p><p>“The man who was buying awara. Who is he? I don’t like dishonesty, Nafisa. Tell me the truth—who is he, and what is your relationship with him?”</p><p>My stomach churned with anxiety, and I held it tightly as I stammered,</p><p>“I swear to God, Mother, I don’t know him personally. He just comes to buy awara, and that’s it. I have no other relationship with him. But… but…”</p><p>I stopped speaking.</p><p>She raised her voice, “But what? Speak up! I don’t like dishonesty.”</p><p>I started trembling because my mother had always forbidden me from accepting gifts or favors from men. She was very strict about it.</p><p>Just then, she yelled so loudly that I snapped back to reality. Quickly, I explained everything that had happened, including my trip for JAMB registration, how I brought back some money, and how I planned to give Musa his change when he came back for awara. Then I waited for her reaction.</p><p>She sighed and said,</p><p>"So, you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to interfere? You think I’m being too strict with you regarding men, but I do this for your own good. It’s about discipline and protection. I don’t care how poor we are—I won’t allow you to engage in nonsense.</p><p>“Tomorrow, if he comes back, tell him I want to see him. We won’t take his money unless he comes to collect it himself. Let’s thank him for his business, but we don’t need any extra help from him.”</p><p>At that point, I broke down in tears, kneeling before her and begging for forgiveness. She lifted me up and said,</p><p>“It’s okay. Just be careful. May God protect you.”</p><p>I wiped my tears and returned to my work.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>Who is Nafisa?</p><p>My name is Nafisa Adam Jiggo. My father had only one sibling. They grew up with love and care, even though their father was poor.</p><p>My father sold sugarcane and vegetables at the roadside, while his older brother worked in the marketplace under a wealthy man. Over time, he saved enough money to start his own business.</p><p>Meanwhile, my mother was raised by her widowed mother. When my father met her, they got married along with his brother, who also married around the same time.</p><p>My uncle’s wife had a son first, while my mother struggled to conceive. After three years, she finally had a daughter, but the baby didn’t survive.</p><p>Later, she gave birth to my elder brother, Khalil, who was named after my maternal grandfather. Khalil is six years older than me.</p><p>When my mother was pregnant with my younger brother, Mahbub, my father sadly passed away. Mahbub never got to know him except through pictures. I was nine years old when my father died.</p><p>Now, I am 19, and Mahbub is 9.</p><p>My mother and I started selling awara recently. She used to sell soup ingredients, but after I finished secondary school, I convinced her to let me start selling awara at the doorstep, though she initially refused. Eventually, she agreed, though my older brother Khalil, who had traveled to Lagos to work, doesn’t know about it.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p> </p>
