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TSUTSAR NAMA...!! (Even Maggots Are Meat)
By Bilyn Abdull*
As usual, Mansoor drove me home today. When I walked inside, the house was dead silent. I didn't bother looking for anyone and went straight to the bedroom, where I found my youngest brother (*Auta*) fast asleep. His notebooks were scattered all around him, a clear sign that he had been in the middle of his homework when sleep overtook him. I gently lifted him and placed him properly on the mattress. After reviewing his work, I gathered his books and set them aside for him. The boy is incredibly intelligent; if it isn't me taking the time to guide him through his homework, nobody else bothers, unless Father occasionally steps in. Sometimes he even finishes it entirely on his own before I return, leaving me with just a few minor corrections to make.
I attempted to go take a shower, but I found the bathroom in an absolute state. I knew without a doubt that this was Bibaa's handiwork and no one else's. I honestly don't know what is wrong with that girl's head, but I am going to teach her a hard lesson in discipline. She has a whole bedroom to herself, but out of sheer maliciousness, she claimed she was too scared to sleep there. That was why Father instructed her to move into our room, claiming she should stay with us until she grows a bit older. At first, I took his words at face value, but I later realized it was a calculated move orchestrated by Mom. She put her up to it so she could monitor my every move and report back to them. I figured this out a while ago when I accidentally overheard her relaying a phone conversation I had with Mansoor to Mom. After thoroughly scrubbing and cleaning the bathroom, I finally took my shower. Even after I came out and finished getting dressed, I still didn't hear a sound from anyone.
The living room wasn't particularly messy today, so I proceeded straight to the kitchen. The kitchen, however, was piled high with dirty dishes, ranging from the morning breakfast cups to the plates from the lunch they had eaten. I shook my head in pity for Bibaa and Baby’s future. Mom genuinely believes she is doing them a favor by coddling them, entirely blind to the fact that she is ruining their lives. This is how life unfolds in this house every single day; if I complete the morning chores and head out, they will not lift a single finger to tidy up until I return to do it all over again. If I hadn't hardened my stance, I would have ended up cooking their lunch too before leaving. It was only after I showed them that I could be just as stubborn that they backed off. Because of that, they never have a proper lunch prepared in this house unless it's instant noodles, couscous, macaroni, or spaghetti. The only time you'll see them boil plain white rice is if there is already a leftover stew in the fridge. And even then, I am always the one forced to make the stew. Mom flatly refuses to hire a housemaid, claiming it triggers her jealousy. Once I get married, I truly wonder who on earth is going to do all this heavy lifting for them.
I began gathering the dishes and washing them, my legs aching terribly from the prolonged standing. I forced myself to endure it until I finished, returning every utensil to its proper place before thoroughly cleaning the kitchen itself. I boiled two small packs of instant noodles, splitting them into two portions—I ate mine right there and transferred Auta's portion onto a plate for him. By that time, still no one had returned. I was struck with fresh bewilderment, wondering where on earth they could have gone.
By the time the evening (*Magrib*) prayer concluded, it was still just the two of us alone in the house. It wasn't until after the prayer that Father finally walked in. Auta, who had just woken up, and I went out to the living room to greet him. I fetched him some water and promptly retreated back to my room, leaving them alone in the living room.
When the call for the night (*Isha*) prayer sounded and they went out to the mosque, I stood up to perform my own prayers. Just as I was about to begin, I heard a loud commotion indicating Mom and the girls had returned. I ignored them completely and commenced my prayer. It was only after completing my obligatory prayers along with the supplementary *Shafa'i* and *Wutiri* prayers that I stepped out to welcome them back.
I found the living room completely cluttered with piles of shopping bags. There were luxury clothes, cosmetics, and various assorted snacks—a clear indication that they were returning from a massive shopping spree. Realizing their attention was entirely elsewhere, as Mom barely acknowledged my greeting with a cold nod, I turned around and walked away in deep thought. It was painfully obvious that yesterday's money from Brother Musaddiq had funded this entire shopping spree. A wave of intense anger washed over me, so I walked right past them. Even then, they didn't look my way, entirely consumed by their ecstatic squeals over their new purchases.
I marched over to Brother Musaddiq's room. He was standing near his bed, clearly having just returned from the mosque. Seeing my visibly upset expression, he asked with concern, “Are you feeling sick again?”
I shook my head, taking a seat. With deep resentment, I said, “I swear by Allah, Brother, that entire story about the missing necklace was a complete setup. Do you know that woman and her daughters spent the entire day at the market? They are out there right now, spreading out piles of luxury items in the living room like they're trying to open a boutique. You know very well there is absolutely no way this would happen if Mom had truly lost a valuable necklace; she would never squander money so carelessly like that if her story were true.”
A calm, gentle smile spread across Brother Musaddiq's face as he sat down beside me. Softening his voice, he took my hand in his and murmured, “Cool down, sweetheart. They are the ones digging their own graves. Haven't you heard the famous musician Shata's proverb about warning the one who digs a pit of malice? I knew from the very beginning that even if a necklace had actually been misplaced, it wasn't worth anywhere near the exorbitant amount she claimed. But it doesn't matter; Allah will bless us with far better. In fact, Father just left this room moments before you walked in.”
"Why did he come in here?" I asked in surprise, knowing there had to be an underlying motive.
He released my hand and stood up, a subtle, cynical smile playing on his lips. He unbuttoned his traditional *jallabiya*, set it aside, and sat back down, dressed in his white t-shirt and long trousers. “He came to confront me, claiming that since he now sees I possess such substantial funds, I should be the one to fully sponsor your entire wedding expenses. He explicitly stated that he is drowning in severe financial hardship. He admitted that was the real reason he refused to let his family finalize a wedding date when Mansoor's parents visited. But now that he knows I have this kind of money at my disposal, he feels we can proceed to finalize everything. Consequently, he plans to invite them back this coming weekend to officially set the wedding date. He also 'borrowed' 200,000 Naira from me, promising to pay it back sometime in the future...”
“What on earth?! What a shameless man! Honestly, what is wrong with Father? Even if he hadn't said a word, who was actually expecting a single dime of assistance from him anyway? Good riddance. But Brother, did you actually agree to give him that money as a loan?”
Brother Musaddiq burst into a hearty laugh, shaking his head. “My goodness, you are a remarkably fiery girl! It's only people who don't know you intimately that mistake you for a quiet, endlessly patient person. I swear to Allah, I am already starting to pity that poor servant of Allah, Mansoor—the man possesses an incredibly gentle and passive nature.”
I pouted playfully and retorted, “Oh come on, Brother! Am I really that fiery?”
“You are a force to be reckoned with, absolutely. Sometimes when you take charge of matters, I feel like you are the older sibling here. That's exactly why Hafizzullah always jokes that if you were our mother, we would be in serious trouble.”
I burst into a vibrant laugh. “That boy is just a little troublemaker. But seriously, Brother, we absolutely must go visit him in Katsina this coming weekend, since we missed the last one. I swear to Allah, I miss him terribly.”
“Don't worry, we will definitely go, by the grace of Allah. I have already finalized purchasing all the school provisions and supplies he requested.”
Filled with immense joy, I exclaimed, “Fantastic! You are truly our protective brother and our father all in one. But now, Brother, what exactly did you tell Father in response?”
He smiled warmly and said, “What else could I possibly tell him, Samraah? I looked him in the eye and explained that the money I handed to Mom yesterday was the absolute entirety of my savings. I told him that my remaining balance didn't exceed forty thousand Naira, and I had already withdrawn a portion of that to purchase Hafizzullah's provisions. I explained that I had painstakingly accumulated those funds specifically to present to him and Mom so they could handle the traditional wedding preparations. And look at how that turned out. The moment I told him that, he immediately launched into a furious tirade against me! He swore that I had better find a way to secure fresh funds from wherever I could, because he doesn't have a single kobo to contribute to this wedding, nor does he have any means of generating it. He even threatened that if I don't produce the money, you will just have to be escorted to your husband's house empty-handed, without any traditional furniture or bridal gifts... But his angry words went in through one ear and came right out the other.”
I burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, eventually collapsing backward onto the bed with tears streaming down my face. Brother Musaddiq simply leaned back against the wall, watching my dramatic display. Once he saw that my laughter had escalated to absolute madness, he asked amusingly, “Samraah, have you completely lost your mind?”
“I haven't lost my mind at all, Brother! It's just that the entire unfolding drama is incredibly satisfying. Father and his crew tried to play a clever game to extort free money. Their scheme completely backfired, and it ended with him throwing an embarrassing tantrum out of sheer humiliation. Seriously, who told him that I care about being sent off with an abundance of bridal furniture? Even if they don't buy a single spoon for my new home, who exactly is going to feel humiliated?”
"Foolishness is truly your only remedy, I see," Brother Musaddiq remarked, shaking his head in amusement.
I quickly chimed in, “Brother, I am speaking the absolute truth! I swear by Allah, I don't care in the slightest whether they provide bridal furniture or not. All that matters is that my Mansoor and I genuinely love each other.”
“You truly have no shame, professing your deep love for a man right to my face like that.”
I covered my blushing face with both hands, laughing joyfully, and he joined in on the laughter…
The following morning, after completing my chores and getting fully dressed, I walked out into the living room and found Father seated there. I extended my morning greetings to him, but he completely ignored me, refusing to utter a sound. Without letting it bother me in the slightest, I turned on my heel and walked out of the house. Brother Musaddiq was already waiting outside to pick me up, and as we drove off, I recounted the morning's incident to him, laughing about it. He simply offered a serene smile and murmured, “May Allah rectify our affairs.”
That was how life continued to unfold in Father's house—devoid of peace or comfort, sustained entirely by divine patience. Meanwhile, at my workplace, the professional responsibilities were piling up heavily.
Just as we had meticulously planned, we set out on Saturday to Katsina to visit Hafizzullah at his boarding school. Mom openly displayed her intense malice and bitter opposition regarding the trip. She aggressively tried to instigate Father into forbidding us from embarking on the journey. However, Brother firmly stood his ground, making it explicitly clear to them that absolutely nothing would make us cancel our plans. Ultimately, we departed while Mom continued her dishonest, loud complaints.
Hafizzullah was absolutely ecstatic to see us, even shedding tears of pure joy upon our arrival. He had leaned out quite a bit due to the rigorous academic schedule, so I relentlessly teased him, and we quickly slipped into our usual playful bickering. We spent the entire day tightly bonded by his side. When it came time for us to head to our temporary lodging for the night, he adamantly insisted on coming along to sleep at our hotel. We stayed up past midnight, sharing stories and laughing, before he and Brother Musaddiq finally retreated to their room to sleep. Left alone in my room, I settled into bed and had a long, affectionate phone call with Mansoor. He happily informed me that all the traditional arrangements were fully set, and by tomorrow, by the grace of Allah, the wedding date would be officially fixed. A whirlwind of intense emotions washed over me, but deep down in my soul, I felt an overwhelming sense of profound happiness. If nothing else, this marriage would finally grant me my absolute freedom, and it would allow me to establish a secure sanctuary for my brothers. By the grace of Allah, Hafizzullah will move directly into my new marital home, and as for Brother Musaddiq, I will continue to persistently pressure him until he finally finds a good woman and gets married... ✍️
AGE 30
The following day, exactly as Mansoor had predicted, while we were on our journey back home, a text message notification chimed on my phone. It was a beautifully written, extensive message from him, filled with profound gratitude to Allah. He officially informed me that the elders had set the wedding date for exactly one month from now—in precisely thirty days, by the grace of Allah, I would legally become his wife. He noted that I would be spending the upcoming holy month of Ramadan entirely in his house. Although a wave of intense joy washed over me, I deliberately withheld a reply because I was caught in a somber, melancholy mood over parting ways with Hafizzullah. We had left him at the school gates with tears streaming down his face.
When we finally arrived back at the house, we found the living room completely packed with traditional engagement gifts: assortments of sweets, biscuits, stacks of crates of drinks, traditional kola nuts, and two massive, high-end bridal suitcases. Since absolutely no one in the house spoke to me regarding the arrival of the gifts, I chose to maintain an absolute silence and didn't mention it to anyone either. It was only my youngest brother (*Auta*) who later whispered to me that Uncle Mansoor had explicitly called to inform him that those gorgeous suitcases belonged to me. Meanwhile, Baby spent the entire evening dropping bitter, passive-aggressive remarks around the house, visibly consumed by an intense rage. A single glance at her swollen face confirmed she had spent hours crying over the news. I completely ignored her tantrums, as she was entirely irrelevant to my life.
The following morning, Monday, I headed out to work exceptionally early. Upon my return later that afternoon, I was delighted to find that Gwaggo Gudidi had arrived all the way from Dawanau. She is our maternal grand-aunt—specifically, the younger sister of our late maternal grandmother, making her a matriarch to both Father and our late mother. She rarely visited our house due to the severe disrespect and hostile treatment she constantly received from Mom. Furthermore, Father had strictly forbidden us from visiting her estate in the village; fortunately, now that Brother Musaddiq was an independent adult capable of making his own decisions, he visited her frequently. In fact, he was the one who had secretly contacted her and detailed our current domestic situation, realizing that Father had absolutely no intention of involving a single member of our maternal extended family in my wedding proceedings. The greedy relatives from Gwarzo had already swooped in the previous day, packed up their designated shares of the engagement gifts meant for distribution, and vanished before we even returned from Katsina.
I was profoundly happy to see Gwaggo Gudidi. I immediately swung into action, catering to her every need, especially after realizing that nobody in the house had bothered to serve her a decent meal. Despite the furious glares Mom kept hurling in my direction, I completely ignored her and focused entirely on pampering our grandmother. Following the night (*Isha*) prayer, Brother Musaddiq returned home bearing an assortment of delicacies and snacks for her. He sat down with us, and we engaged in a warm, lively conversation. His presence forced Father to join the gathering as well, sitting down to converse with his aunt. Mom and her daughters, on the other hand, swiftly retreated to their respective bedrooms in a huff, leaving only Auta and the ever-nosy Bibaa hovering around the living room to eavesdrop.
We didn't disband our gathering until midnight. As for Father, his wife had marched into the living room around eleven o'clock and bluntly summoned him to bed, completely devoid of any respect for Gwaggo Gudidi's elder status or our presence as his children. I insisted on vacating my bed for Gwaggo, especially after Brother Musaddiq brought in his thickest luxury blanket for her comfort. Just as I was preparing to lay a simple mat on the floor to sleep, she firmly commanded me to come up and share the blanket with her on the bed. Though I hesitated, I ultimately complied out of respect. We opened up a fresh chapter of old family stories, laughing quietly until around one in the morning, when sleep finally claimed her. I quietly slipped out of bed, performed my ablutions, and observed my late-night prayers (*Naflat*) as was my consistent routine before finally sleeping.
Despite the late hour, my internal clock successfully woke me up at exactly 3:30 AM to commence my heavy household chores. In a remarkably short time, I had completely swept, dusted, and finalized everything. I even prepared a comprehensive meal for Gwaggo and locked it safely inside an insulated flask in my room, knowing with absolute certainty that they wouldn't feed her properly during the day while I was away at work. I also laid out a generous, hearty breakfast for her. When she woke up, she began fondly scolding me, deeply concerned about how I managed such an exhausting workload so early in the morning before heading out for a full day of professional work. I offered no explanation, merely flashing her a warm, reassuring smile.
Later that morning, Brother Musaddiq stepped into the house to formally greet her before work. He presented her with an assortment of breakfast provisions, a large loaf of fresh bread, and a plate of neatly fried eggs. She showered us with endless maternal blessings before we bid her farewell and headed out to ensure we wouldn't be late for our jobs.
Gwaggo Gudidi took absolute charge of meticulously distributing the traditional engagement gifts and sweets. She even had Auta systematically deliver packages to every single neighbor in our immediate vicinity. Furthermore, she painstakingly packaged designated shares for every single branch of our maternal extended family. She had Brother Musaddiq drive her personally to deliver the gifts to every relative residing within Kano city. Afterward, they drove all the way to Gwarzo to
