ZEENAT YAR JARIDA Book Complete Document .txt
<p>Her mother slowly lifted her eyes to look at her, studying her expression for a few seconds. Then, with a hidden sigh, she gently called her name.</p><p>“Kaltume… This house you’re talking about, isn’t my own mother in it? Have you forgotten?”</p><p>For the first time, Kaltume averted her gaze from her mother’s swollen leg, which she had been staring at since earlier, as if looking away might somehow ease the pain.</p><p>“I know, Umma, I know. But please forgive me, because I won’t stop saying such things. What I’m saying is the truth and exactly how I feel deep in my heart. Unless she changes, unless she stops, I don’t think I’ll change either, Umma.”</p><p>Her mother looked at her intently, then opened her mouth and softly said,</p><p>“Kaltume…”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Umma,” Kaltume quickly interjected, not allowing her mother to finish.</p><p>Her mother sighed deeply and turned her eyes away from her daughter’s face. She knew Kaltume was quick-tempered and easily angered when provoked, but she also knew her daughter had a kind and compassionate side when it mattered.</p><p>Silence lingered for several minutes before her mother spoke again, her voice soft.</p><p>“What happened between you and her this time?”</p><p>“As always, the same thing she usually does to me,” Kaltume began. “I went to see Uncle Labaran; he overheard me speaking with her. He took out some money to give me, but she snatched it and said he shouldn’t give it to me. She claimed that if I got any money, I’d only end up spending it at home on our needs. Umma, why does she hate me so much? Is she really my grandmother?”</p><p>Her mother gave her a look that stopped her from finishing her thought. Even though this wasn’t the first time Kaltume was sharing such an experience, the story still weighed heavily on her. Despite being accustomed to her grandmother’s behavior, each incident felt like a fresh wound.</p><p>“Hmm…” her younger sister, Habiba, who had been sitting quietly beside their mother, muttered. Habiba was a patient person, much calmer than Kaltume. She spoke little and was gentle by nature, much like their mother. But even Habiba was deeply affected by the situation, though she rarely voiced her frustrations. However, when she and Kaltume were alone, she would sometimes open up.</p><p>Kaltume glanced at her, noticing from her expression that she, too, was upset. Realizing that continuing the conversation wouldn’t lead anywhere, Kaltume decided to shift the focus to finding a solution.</p><p>“So, Umma, what should we do now?”</p><p>Her mother remained silent for a few moments before replying,</p><p>“There’s no problem. I’ll keep trying until God provides for us. If I don’t succeed, I’ll just keep using the medicine and leave the rest to Allah.”</p><p>Kaltume swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she glanced toward the cooking area, which was empty, with no signs of food being prepared. She turned back to her mother.</p><p>“Baba hasn’t returned yet? I noticed you haven’t started cooking.”</p><p>Her mother responded as though the question wasn’t significant.</p><p>“He hasn’t come back yet, but I know he’s on his way, Insha’Allah.”</p><p>Kaltume stood up, her frustration building. She knew her mother had only said that to defend him in their eyes. But there was nothing left to defend. He had already destroyed everything and humiliated himself countless times. She couldn’t even count how many times she had braided hair for people and brought the money home so they could eat. What was left to defend?</p><p>She picked up a water container, preparing to head to the backyard, but before she left, she turned to her mother.</p><p>“Umma, where’s Bilal?”</p><p>“He left shortly before you arrived,” her mother replied. “He told me he was going to see Dan Bala, saying there might be some work for them today.”</p><p>Kaltume simply nodded, her anger increasing. Bilal, who wasn’t even fifteen years old, already knew the harsh realities of life. He seemed immune to pain or comfort. God had blessed him with compassion for their mother and a sense of responsibility toward his siblings. He would do any kind of work, no matter how difficult—molding mud bricks, working on construction sites, digging pits, or even herding animals if someone needed help. All he cared about was earning money to make sure they had food to eat. Over time, he had grown so used to the struggle that even exhaustion became normal for him.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
