<p>In our household, Monday was always "Washegari," a day when whoever was responsible for cooking had to wake up early to prepare tea. The person would boil water and set it up in a flask for everyone to take to their rooms and mix their tea. That day, it was Haj Kulu's turn. I waited until she had left before going to get my share. However, when I tried to mix my tea, I realized we were out of milk in the kitchen.</p><p>I quickly headed to my mother's room, where I found her helping Jamila put on her socks. I said, "Mama, there's no milk left." She looked at me and said, "Oh no, I forgot to mention it yesterday. There’s 500 naira on the mirror; take it and buy enough milk. If it’s not enough, let me know before he leaves." I took the money and headed out.</p><p>In the courtyard, I found Mami dressed in her uniform and holding socks. She asked, "Have you had breakfast yet?" I replied, "Not yet. How are you feeling?" She said, "Better. Today, I’ll go to school." I said, “That’s good, but you should check in on me.”</p><p>As I turned to leave, she asked, "Where are you going?" I explained, "To Sanita’s shop for milk." She said, "Wait, let me drop these socks by the window in their room, and I’ll come with you." I asked, "Won’t someone come looking for you?" She replied, “Just let’s go.”</p><p>Sanita’s shop wasn’t far, so we went and returned quickly. As we walked back in, Haj Kulu came out of her room, visibly upset to see me and Mami together. She lashed out at Mami with insults and even threatened to beat her. Just then, Haj Yaya, the first wife and head of the household, came out of her room and reprimanded Haj Kulu, saying, "You baffle me, Kulu. Instead of picking on the troublemaker, you’re attacking the innocent one." She pointed at me and continued, “If you have issues with her mother, face her. She’s the one you should confront, not her child. You know she and her mother are untouchable to some people here.”</p><p>Frightened by the mention of being beaten, I ran to my room without letting Mama know about the incident. Mama hated unnecessary conflict and was at the time listening to Quranic recitation from a cassette tape by Sheikh Sudais.</p><p>We quickly had breakfast to avoid being late. As we were finishing up, Kamal entered, saying, "Hurry up so we can leave. Aunty Mariya is waiting." Mama handed me 50 naira, saying, "Put this in your pocket." I replied, “No need, Mama; I still have yesterday's money.”</p><p>Sagir, my younger brother, interjected, "Why don’t you ever give us money?" Mama replied, “You have a basket full of snacks. When you’re older, I’ll start giving you money.”</p><p>Jamila added, "Mama, don’t give Sagir anything; he’s too little." Mama replied, "Exactly. It’s not good to give small children money." Sagir asked, "Why is that, Mama?" She responded, “That’s just how it is.”</p><p>I urged, "Let’s go; we’re being waited for." Mama said, “Alright, see you later.”</p><p>That’s how our days usually were—always busy and filled with responsibilities. If I wasn’t at school, I was in the kitchen, especially on Mama’s cooking days. Over time, I had learned to cook nearly every dish, whether traditional or modern. I also kept our room, Mama’s room, and the living room clean, even mastering the art of cleaning the bathroom and perfuming it, which made our house always fresh and inviting.</p><p>On Sundays, during our Islamic school holidays, I’d spend the mornings teaching my younger siblings Quranic recitation and helping them with their homework. It was a routine that set us apart in our household—everything we did was clean, neat, and organized.</p><p>One Sunday morning, around 10:30 a.m., I finished my chores and told Mama I’d visit Amira's house. She gave me permission, saying, "Greet Faruq’s mother for me." I agreed and left.</p><p>At Amira’s house, I found her engrossed in reading a Hausa novel in the living room. She didn’t even notice me until I smacked her and snatched the book. I looked at the title: "Allura Cikin Ruwa" (A Needle in Water). I said, “You’re always reading novels!”</p><p>Her mother came out, and I greeted her. She asked about Mama, and I relayed her greetings. Then, I turned to her and said, "Mama, haven’t you stopped Amira from reading these novels?" Amira’s mother replied, “I’ve tried everything, but she won’t stop. Now she hides them from me because she knows I disapprove.”</p><p>Turning to Amira, I scolded her, "Do you see how upset Mama is because of you?" Amira’s mother added, "You have sense, unlike her." Amira stomped off to her room.</p><p>She later looked at me and said, "You’re happy now, aren’t you? You got me in trouble with Mama." I replied, “Amira, if our parents tell us to stop something, we should listen. It’s better to obey them than risk the consequences.”</p><p>She sighed and took me to her room, where she tried to justify her actions. I interrupted her, saying, “Look at me. Whatever Mama tells me to stop, even if it costs me everything, I stop it because I have no one else like her in my life.”</p><p>Tears welled up in my eyes as I added, “Amira, you don’t understand because you still have both your parents alive and together. You’ve never experienced what it means to grow up without a parent.”</p><p>I went on to recount my story. My real name is Amina, and I was named after my paternal grandmother. My parents hail from Wudil, specifically a small village called Indabo in Kano State.</p><p>My father’s family comes from a lineage of chiefs, as my grandfather was the village head. Meanwhile, my mother’s family are scholars; her father was the village Imam. My father’s name is Idris, and he’s the fourth child in his family. His elder brothers are Yaya Samaila and Yaya Musa, while his younger brothers are Bala and Sani, making them six children in total.</p><p>Their household was harmonious despite having two wives—my grandmother Amina (my namesake) and her co-wife Basira. This unity was reflected in the strong bond among the children and their collective respect for their father.</p><p>My mother’s family, however, was smaller. She had three brothers: Bashir, Aminu, and Kabiru. When her mother passed away, her eldest brother, Bashir, took her in and raised her. He was a respected scholar who lived in Tudun Wada, Kaduna, with his wife, Baba Uwa, who was unable to have children.</p><p>Bashir ensured Mama continued her education, enrolling her in primary school while she lived with him. Meanwhile, my father moved to Kano for Quranic studies under Malam Bashir’s tutelage. It was during one of his visits home that he met my mother and began to develop feelings for her. My father sought permission from Malam Bashir to pursue a small business while continuing his Quranic studies. With Malam’s blessing, he started a trading business in Kasuwar Bacci, eventually becoming successful.</p><p>Their paths crossed again through a mutual neighbor, Alhaji Adamu, and the rest, as they say, is history.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
