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TSUTSAR NAMA...!! (Even Maggots Are Meat)
By Bilyn Abdull**
Hearing Brother Musaddiq’s voice greeting the household in the living room after the night (*Isha*) prayer forced me to sit up from where I lay shivering from a sudden, intense fever. I knew exactly what had brought this illness upon me—it was nothing other than the brutal beating I had sustained earlier. I had truly taken a merciless thrashing at their hands. From where I lay, I fixed my tear-filled eyes on Brother Musaddiq as he placed a black plastic bag in front of Father. My ears strained to catch his words.
"Father, here is the money for the necklace to give to them. It is exactly four hundred thousand Naira, just as she claimed." With that, he turned on his heel to leave. I hurriedly scrambled out of bed to follow him, completely ignoring the ecstatic gloating of Mom, who had already snatched the money into her hands, not even allowing Father to touch it.
"Brother!" I called out quickly, realizing he didn't know I was trailing behind him. He stopped and turned around to look at me. The moment I reached him, I grabbed his hand, clutching it tightly as I burst into a fit of violent sobbing. He remained completely silent, watching me. After a long minute without a single word, he simply held my hand and led me to his room. He sat me down at the edge of his floor mat and exited the room again without saying a word. I sat there crying until my strength gave out, and I eventually slid down to lie on the floor, yet he still hadn't returned.
Nearly fifteen minutes passed before he finally walked back in, holding a bag of medication and a freshly prepared bowl of Indomie noodles. By then, my tears had subsided, leaving me with nothing but rhythmic, shaky sighs.
He sat directly in front of me and gently coaxed me until we finished the food together. He then handed me the pills, which I swallowed with great difficulty because I absolutely despise medicine—and as for injections, my sheer terror of needles is a story for another day. Seeing that he still had no intention of explaining where the money had come from, I asked with a trembling voice, “Brother, where on earth did you get that kind of money to give them, especially when you know I am completely innocent? This is nothing but a malicious frame-up, or a wicked plot by Mom just to extort money.”
A gentle smile played on his lips as he placed his hand comfortingly on my head. “Calm your heart, and do not distress yourself over what they have done. Since Allah knows you did not steal their property, the burden is entirely theirs. I absolutely cannot stand to see you cry like this. As for the money, it was from the savings account I had set aside specifically for your wedding expenses. Allah will surely provide a way out for us before the time comes, for He is the Most Merciful, the Most Gracious. Even though they have seized this portion, I know we will not be humiliated on your big day with what is left. Do not harbor bitterness in your heart or plot revenge. I know your stubborn nature, but you must let it go. The Lord Himself will avenge this injustice on your behalf. I will never cease laying my complaints before Him. Since He is the absolute King who has forbidden oppression upon Himself and strictly prohibited it among His servants, I know He will not let them get away with this, Samraah. Continue to be patient, my dear. One day, this will all be a distant memory, and everything will pass as though it never happened. After all, how many days do you have left in this house? Two months at most. In fact, Mansoor and I spoke again just this weekend; his parents are coming back to finalize the wedding date. They actually wanted everything settled during their initial visit, but Father wasn't cooperative. Just maintain your patience—as the saying goes, the closer the shave gets to the forehead, the hotter it feels.”
A fresh wave of warm tears spilled down my cheeks. Brother Musaddiq wiped them away with a reassuring smile. However, I knew him too well; his smile was merely a facade to comfort me, while deep down, he was profoundly enraged. His eyes were completely bloodshot…
With great difficulty, Hayatu managed to calm Sani down long enough to explain the situation to him. The sudden notification of 500,000 Naira hitting his bank account had thrown Sani into a state of utter shock and confusion. To make matters even more overwhelming, Hayatu handed him an additional 100,000 Naira in cold cash as a personal bonus, alongside the keys to the vehicle he would be driving for his new assignment. Sani completely broke down and wept. The blessing had come so abruptly, out of absolutely nowhere. In all honesty, he could swear by Allah that he had never seen five hundred thousand Naira tightly lumped together in his entire life. His family was extremely poor; his education had been a grueling, chaotic struggle funded by odd jobs simply because he harbored an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Even then, it was a miracle he finished, sustained only by the exceptional intellect and sharp memory Allah had blessed him with.
Since Hayatu had gone personally to Sani's family home to inform his father that his boss had officially hired Sani as a personal driver, no one questioned him when he drove the luxury vehicle home. Instead, his family was ecstatic for his good fortune. As for the cash, on Hayatu's explicit advice, he immediately deposited the bulk of it into his bank account. He walked into their house holding only twenty thousand Naira. Throughout that entire day, he could not wipe the massive grin off his face. He took the vehicle to a mechanic for a comprehensive inspection just as Hayatu had instructed, and once it was verified to be in pristine condition, he returned home with it.
On the other hand, regarding Hayatu and their boss, Maash—none of the staff laid eyes on him again until the late afternoon (*Asr*) prayer. Maash never trifled with his religious obligations; anyone who knew him recognized this absolute devotion. He was an incredibly devout man. Even if he was in the dead center of a high-profile international summit with foreign investors, the moment the call to prayer sounded, he would politely excuse himself to perform his worship, regardless of the business stakes. Even if it meant losing a multi-million Naira deal, it did not bother him in the slightest. After finishing his prayers, he would simply retreat to his private quarters.
It wasn't until they returned from the night (*Isha*) prayer that Hayatu officially briefed him on a correspondence from Alheri TV. The network expressed immense gratitude that he had accepted their exclusive interview invitation. They requested that he select any one-hour slot of his preference, anytime from eight o'clock tomorrow morning until nine o'clock at night.
Maash paused for a long moment, staring blankly as if he wouldn't reply, before checking his luxury wristwatch. In his signature suave manner, he partially closed his eyes, raised his head, and asked, “What time is Abubakar scheduled to arrive?”
“Yes, Sir, he mentioned he should arrive around 4:00 PM. He plans to leave Abuja by 3:00 PM.”
“Is there any other engagement on my schedule before then?”
“No, Sir, nothing else. There is only the scheduled meeting with Senator Kibiya, and you explicitly instructed Juliet to handle those discussions directly with him.”
“Very well. Tell the TV network to slot the interview from ten to eleven in the morning. I can carve out exactly one hour for them.”
"Fantastic, Sir, they will be extremely grateful," Hayatu replied, successfully masking his inner astonishment. Maash offered no further comment, so Hayatu quietly exited the room to allow his boss to rest…
### PAGE 26
The following morning, Monday, I had to forcefully suppress the raging turmoil in my heart just to complete my household chores before preparing to leave. I only did the work out of profound respect for Brother Musaddiq’s heartfelt advice. The moment I finished, I marched straight out of the house without eating a single bite of breakfast. I found Brother Musaddiq already fully dressed and prepared to leave. He had mentioned earlier that he had a tight schedule, as he needed to finalize repairs on a client's vehicle because the owner was arriving first thing in the morning to retrieve it. From the moment our journey commenced, an absolute silence hung between us following my initial morning greetings; we didn't exchange another syllable until we arrived. As he dropped me off, he handed me 1,500 Naira. I voiced my gratitude, stepped out of the vehicle, and he drove off.
Sani, who had been systematically tailing us from a discreet distance ever since we left the house, carefully parked his vehicle. He reclined his seat fully, relaxing comfortably as he activated his mobile data on the brand-new smartphone he had purchased just yesterday. Since his grueling days of hard labor were officially over, he finally had the luxury of continuous leisure time! (😂)
The very moment I walked into our news department, I received an urgent summons to the Managing Director’s (MD) office. A wave of bitter frustration washed over me, and I was highly tempted to refuse the order, but I forced myself to walk over, knowing that insubordination would be highly unprofessional. Following my usual protocol, I knocked and waited for his explicit permission before stepping inside. Inside the office, I encountered a fellow female colleague named Bashira. Ever since I commenced my employment at this media house, the office gossip was that Bashira was desperately, blindly infatuated with the MD, though he consistently rejected her advances. The moment I crossed the threshold, she pierced me with a venomous glare. It was almost comical, but I swiftly averted my gaze and ignored her completely, as she was entirely irrelevant to me. Keeping my protective face mask firmly in place, I said, “Good morning, Sir.”
He responded with a surprisingly warm and cheerful, "How are you?"—acting as though he wasn't the very same man who had launched a furious tirade against me yesterday and practically kicked me out of his office.
I gave a curt, professional reply: “Alhamdulillah, Sir. I was informed that you requested my presence.”
“Yes, please have a seat.”
Without any hesitation, I sat down, taking particular note of how Bashira was visibly swelling with uncontained rage. Once seated, I cast a cold, detached glance at her and muttered a flat, "Morning," despite her being my senior in rank. This clearly pushed her buttons even further. However, before she could utter a word of protest, the MD sharply cut her off, saying, “Uhmm, I believe we are completely finished here, Bashira. You may leave now. I will drop by your department later in the day to inspect your progress on the current project.”
She hesitated as if she wanted to refuse, but ultimately spun around furiously, snapped a bitter "Okay," and stormed out of the office, slamming the heavy door behind her with a resounding *thud*. Both the MD and I instinctively stared at the vibrating door. He shook his head in sheer disapproval while I simply scoffed internally. He then turned his gaze back to me, letting out a small, condescending chuckle. “She has absolutely no class or decorum. I have an absolute disdain for foolish, unrefined women of her caliber.”
I offered no comment whatsoever, knowing their private affairs were absolutely none of my business. Besides, being a man, he was highly capable of slandering me in an even worse manner behind my back. Sensing my complete lack of engagement, he quickly abandoned the topic and pivoted to the main matter at hand. In a highly placating tone, he said, "Samraah, I am profoundly displeased with your utterly disrespectful behavior yesterday toward an illustrious dignitary like Professor K/Mashi. He is a man of exceptional integrity and refined nobility. He is absolutely nothing like the malicious image you have formed of him. Furthermore, he extended that massive financial gift to us with absolutely no sinister ulterior motives, but purely because of your stellar performance during his grandson's corporate launch. He was deeply impressed by how your questioning compelled him to speak publicly, to the point that he finally agreed to grant an exclusive interview to our television station. You should know that this interview wasn't scrambled together yesterday; we have been dispatching formal invitation letters to his estate for the past three months, dating back to the two-month academic strike when he made a highly controversial public statement regarding the Northern Governors that stirred up a massive political storm. He consistently begged our indulgence back then because he was out of the country, receiving medical treatment in India. In fact, he arrived directly from the airport yesterday specifically to celebrate his grandson's new corporate venture and to finally honor our media invitation. The only unexpected variable is that he explicitly declared he will not sit for an interview with any journalist besides you, because your brilliant composure yesterday thoroughly captivated his interest." ... ✍️
For the very first time, I let out a soft, compliant sigh. I spoke up in a calm, measured tone, “Please accept my humble apologies, Sir. There was simply a grave misunderstanding because you failed to brief me on any of these background details beforehand. Furthermore, my refusal of his financial gift was not born out of any malice or arrogance; it is simply that the salary this station pays me is entirely sufficient for my needs.”
“Humm, yet he has returned the exact sum to me, adamantly insisting that I restore it to your hands. He explicitly asked me to convey his apologies and to beg you, for the sake of Allah, to accept it.”
“In all honesty, Sir, I absolutely cannot accept it. Please understand. My brother would be profoundly upset with me. Furthermore, I have made a personal vow to myself regarding such matters, so please forgive me.”
The MD fell completely silent, staring at me intently. I could read the absolute shock at my stubborn resilience written all over his face, and his expression began to sour with creeping frustration. However, he chose not to press the financial matter any further, shifting instead to the schedule. “Very well, if you insist. Now, onto the matter of your designated interviewee. Yesterday evening, his Personal Assistant (PA) officially transmitted their formal acceptance letter. They granted us a flexible timeline, provided it does not exceed today. In short, he has officially confirmed that he will arrive at our studios before 11:00 AM, but he will grant us exactly one hour of his time. Therefore, you must go and prepare yourself immediately. I have already instructed the technical crew, led by Tsanyawa, to fully prep the recording equipment and prime the main studio hall for the broadcast. By the grace of Allah, they have already commenced preparations.”
His words struck a nerve deep within my soul, but I maintained a completely detached exterior, offering a simple, compliant nod. He didn't say another word, merely sliding a detailed file across the desk toward me. “Analyze these background notes thoroughly. If you have any unique questions or creative ideas, integrate them into the script and bring it back to my office for final approval in an hour. You are excused.”
I immediately stood up and walked out of the office without casting a single backward glance. My mind was racing with intense anxiety. The moment I stepped out, I hurled a fierce glare at the reception desk, instantly locking eyes with Bashira, who was still standing there, refusing to leave. I completely ignored her existence; she was beneath my notice. I marched past her, thinking to myself, *What a pathetic, foolish attention-seeker.*
When I returned to our communal office, any hope of finding a quiet space to organize my thoughts was instantly obliterated. Rukayya and the rest of the staff immediately swarmed my desk, launching into an endless, dramatic gossip session about that notorious, ruthless young billionaire whom they openly labeled a cold-blooded tyrant—a man whose actual name I hadn't even bothered to memorize, nor did I have any desire or interest in doing so. Consequently, I blocked out their chatter entirely, focusing all my energy on refining the interview script before me. The moment my one-hour deadline expired, I stood up and returned to the MD's office to hand over the finalized file.
The moment I saw the massive, triumphant grin spreading across his face, I knew my work had thoroughly impressed him. He immediately picked up his desk phone, summoning the rest of the production crew. He systematically briefed us on the operational workflow, emphasizing that every segment must be flawlessly executed to elevate the premium status of our media station. Watching his frantic excitement made me want to punch him; I immediately added the MD to my personal list of money-hungry sycophants. Look at how he was practically dancing with joy, acting as though he was about to conquer the world. The moment he dismissed us, we proceeded directly to the newly renovated studio hall. When the station's professional makeup artist approached me, I flatly refused any heavy application, opting instead to heavily spray myself with my premium perfume. It took an intense amount of pleading from the MD before I reluctantly agreed to a light dusting of powder and a subtle swipe of lip gloss. After that, I ignored everyone else, found a secluded corner in the studio, and sat down.
At exactly 10:42 AM, his arrival was officially announced. The MD frantically commanded every single person present in the studio to march out to the lobby to receive him. I did not move a single muscle; I had absolutely no intention of doing so. Sensing that the MD was about to direct his frustrated attention toward me, I swiftly stood up and announced that I needed to use the restroom. They couldn't possibly argue with a biological necessity, so they were forced to let me exit to the executive restroom while the rest of the management team hurried out to welcome him. I intentionally dragged my feet in the restroom for five full minutes, ensuring that despite his massive, arrogant security detail, he would be safely seated inside the MD's office before I emerged.
My protective face mask was firmly secure, completely obscuring my facial expressions. Long before I even reached the studio corridor, I encountered his towering, heavily built security guards. I cast a singular, detached glance at them and swiftly averted my eyes; their mere presence irritated me to no end. Honestly, what a complete lack of faith in divine protection! Why surround yourself with an entire army when you are neither a national law enforcement chief nor a direct heir to a ruling royal throne? It was nothing but the pure intoxication of immense wealth and desperate vanity. Then again, perhaps it was an inherited family trait, considering his grandfather marched around with an identical circus just two days ago.
Maintaining a completely poised, measured gait that everyone in the office viewed as a display of immense elegance and class, I walked straight back into the main studio hall. Only our internal production staff were inside, finalizing the lighting adjustments. I let out a quiet, internal sigh of relief and walked deeper into the room, refusing to ask anyone whether our high-profile guest had arrived.
Usman suddenly burst into the room, declaring excitedly, “Sam-G, get into position immediately! Our distinguished guest is currently in the MD's office, and they will be walking through those doors in a matter of minutes.”
With a sharp roll of my eyes, I retorted, "Unless it is the An
