Smiling, she turned and looked at her mother. As Inna approached, she pulled her slightly toward the inside of the house, saying in a persuasive tone, "WUJDANE, don’t go out there and be rude to him. In this entire street, this servant of Allah is the only one who has shown interest and persisted. Don't let your beautiful features lead you astray; the world today is beyond your imagination. Wujdane, pray to finish your time in this world in peace; do not be disrespectful to him. One does not treat a human being like that, especially when you don't know the blessings Allah has bestowed upon him." With her head bowed as if she were truly listening to her mother, she obeyed. It was the teacher’s rule: no conversations at night, only in the morning or evening. This was why Sule, the talkative one, chose the morning for his visit, arriving to face her usual tantrums and drama. She stepped out wearing a black hijab that reached the floor—the same hijab from their school days that Malan had bought for them from a local shop. She glared at him from a distance before finally approaching. Arriving with a moody expression, she muttered, "Good morning." Filled with joy at seeing her, he answered and began to tease her as he usually did. To his surprise, today she didn't yell at him to stop. Instead, she kept glancing at a certain spot, turning her head slightly to look at him every now and then. In her mind, she was thinking: He doesn’t suit me at all. He isn’t tall, and his eyes are tiny. Besides that, he has a wicked personality. His wife, Aliya, is a troublemaker; even though she’s wary of Wujdane, she does nothing but cause scenes. Slowly, she turned and said, "I’m going to the ‘Gidan Yawa’ (the rowdy house)." Smiling, he replied, "Alright, no problem. I hope today you'll finally accept my money." He spoke while handing her some fifty-naira notes, enough to compensate for any trouble she’d faced. She stared at the money. Wujdane never begged her brothers or parents for money; she had her faults, but greed was not one of them. She looked up with those startling eyes that many were afraid to look into, brushed him aside without a word, and headed toward the "Gidan Yawa."
Who is Wujdane?
Wujdane is the granddaughter of the late Malan Hamza, the father of Nana Fatima, who is the wife of Malan Laminu. Malan Hamza was one of those holy men who inherited his father's position in a village north of Maiduguri. He was a pure Fulani, very fair-skinned, with a unique eye structure. His pupils were like those of a cat or a snake—distinct and shimmering. Malan Hamza had four wives, but none had ever conceived except his first wife, whom they called "Ya." Allah blessed her with a pregnancy just when they had given up hope. Malan Hamza, who had many students (almajirai), lived in a house full of them. He often went into the wilderness for months to seclude himself. He stayed there so long that people began to call him "The Spirit Man" (Aljan) because the forest he frequented was terrifying. During one of his trips, Ya was three months pregnant, but she didn't tell him because she couldn't believe it herself; they had lost all hope. This trip lasted seven months. When he returned, he found that the other wives had treated Ya like an outcast because she had finally conceived. Eventually, living with the other wives became impossible. they harassed Hamza, Ya, and their little daughter, whom he named after the Prophet's daughter, Nana Fadima. One by one, the other wives left his house because they felt he didn't want children with them. Malan Hamza’s household was left with only Ya, their daughter Fadima, and the young students. Fadima grew up cherished and educated. Among the students, there was one who was very close to the family, almost like a son, named Laminu. As Fadima grew, she became exceptionally beautiful, with eyes exactly like her father’s. Many young men admired her face, but the color of her eyes caused people to spread superstitions. Families forbade their sons from marrying her, claiming her looks shared an ancestry with snakes. In a village where girls are married off at ten or eleven—thirteen at the latest—Fadima reached fifteen with no suitors. It became a matter of ridicule; whenever she left the house, she returned crying because of the insults she endured. This deeply troubled Malan Hamza. Seeing his daughter suffer in this way ate at him, and he often lamented the situation to Laminu. One day, Laminu approached him with news that he had found a job in the city as a gatekeeper for a wealthy man (Elhaj). Malan was overjoyed and gave him his blessings. Since Laminu moved, he found a good position and was well-received. He sent word to Malan every month and sent "city food" like bouillon cubes, macaroni, and rice to Ya. This pleased Malan greatly, seeing that Laminu had not forgotten his roots. Laminu was an orphan; his parents and their livestock had been lost to a flood when he was young. On one of his visits, Laminu asked to marry Fadima—not out of pity, but out of genuine love. Malan performed a spiritual consultation (istihara), and seeing nothing but goodness in the union, he married them off. Laminu took his wife to the city, where they lived in a small rented house. Slowly, Fadima gave birth to her first son, whom Malan named Hamza. Two years later, they had another boy, Abdul Fatah. Around that time, Malan built a modest house in a poor neighborhood, and they moved in. It had four rooms, a kitchen, a courtyard, and a well. After Abdul Fatah, seven years passed without another child. Fadima thought she was done, but then she conceived again. As her pregnancy progressed to nine months, tragic news arrived: her father passed away, and a week later, her mother followed. Despite her resilience, she cried bitterly. Shortly after, she gave birth to a girl. Malan named her Aisha. Before she could even finish her postpartum period, Aisha passed away. Eventually, she conceived again, and this time she gave birth to Wujdane. When Wujdane was three, another girl was born, and Malan named her Aisha after "Ya." After that, Fadima had no more children. Malan Laminu’s sons grew up well-educated and disciplined. In their neighborhood, few even knew there were two girls in the house because they rarely went out. By God’s will, they were blessed with a quiet life, except for Wujdane. Wujdane was a troublemaker. She poked her nose into things that didn't concern her and even looked for fights. No matter how big you were, she would fight you and, by God’s power, knock you down. Wujdane inherited all her grandfather's beauty, including his eyes. She was of medium height—neither too tall nor too short. She wasn't thin; she had a well-proportioned, solid build. Her hair wasn't black; it was a reddish color. Because it wasn't black, she often applied black henna to it, but within a week, it would return to its natural color. Her hair reached her back and was difficult to braid, so her mother ordered her to always keep it wrapped up. Every single day, someone brought a complaint about Wujdane. She never let anything slide. She frequented the "Gidan Yawa"—a house of ill repute where no one was disciplined. It was a place where younger siblings insulted older ones, and if a mother interfered, she was insulted too. That was where Wujdane’s friend lived, and that was where she learned her rudeness and defiance. If there was anything her brother Abdul Fatah hated more than her behavior, it was the fire of Hell. He despised her attitude and would beat her severely. You would swear she’d never do it again, but the next time, her actions would be twice as bad. Her brother Hamza and her father often warned her, but her mother, Inna, always wondered: What kind of person is Wujdane? If it weren't for the fact that SHE HAD NO CHOICE, she would have distanced herself from Wujdane long ago. 01 Written by SAJIDA In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. A message to my readers: Warm greetings and much gratitude. Here is a new story; I hope you enjoy it. Yours truly, SAJIDA. Author of: Yar Mahau kaciya, Duk Karya Kada, Daga Tafiya Daukar Soja, Neman Na Kaina... I HAVE NO CHOICE (Insha Allah) She sat by the well after drawing water to fill a kettle. She held her cheeks in her hands, staring at the front door. She was a middle-aged woman, around forty. She looked completely distressed and was not in good health. A young girl walked up slowly and knelt beside her. "INNA, get up and perform your ablution. You usually do it early. Look, the call to Maghrib prayer has started. Malan said at school that one should hurry to break the fast and delay the pre-dawn meal." The woman looked up, her cat-like eyes resting on her daughter. She sighed and asked, "Aisha, when you went out, didn't you tell ‘Uwa’ (Wujdane) that I was looking for her?" Aisha exhaled in frustration. "Inna, I told her. Let me go back; maybe something held her up." Inna nodded, trying to stand. "Go pray first. It’s not good to miss the start of Maghrib." She entered their mud bathroom, which was low to the ground but covered with a cloth for privacy. "Did you insult my mother? You, Binta, you know I’m ruder than you! I’ll beat you even in front of your mother! I warned you about Hamza—do you think you’re good enough for him? I said I don't want him, so why should you? Hamza should go marry someone else, just not from this street! And because I said that, you say my eyes are as big as an owl’s and look like a cat’s? Me??" SLAP! She was cut off by a sharp slap. She looked up to see her brother, Abdul Fatah. She quickly wrapped her hijab and bolted. He looked at Binta, who was sprawling on the ground wiping tears. He shook his head. "Get up and have patience, okay?" Binta smiled weakly. "It’s nothing, Abdul Fatah. She just misunderstood, and then Anasiya told her I insulted her." He shook his head and went after Wujdane. When he got home, he waited for her to finish praying in the room she shared with her sister. She took so long it was as if she were reciting the entire Quran. He wanted to finish with her before their brother Hamza and their father, Malan Laminu, returned and stopped him from giving her a beating. He turned to his mother and sat near her, greeting her after the fast. She responded kindly and pushed some watermelon toward him—a Ramadan treat he had brought. She saw his moody expression and smiled, knowing his anger was about his sister. "Assalamu Alaikum Warahmatullah." They answered as Malan entered with his prayer beads. He had finished the Isha prayer before coming home. Behind him was Hamza, carrying his prayer rug. They sat and greeted him. Inna stood up to serve the break-fast meal—boiled local potatoes with sliced raw tomatoes and onions. Malan smiled and thanked her, but he didn't see WUJDANE. He looked at Aisha. "My daughter, where is your sister? Hasn’t she come home?" Inna turned away with a sigh. Aisha stood up. "Let me check, Aba. She might be finishing her prayers. She’s here." Malan smiled, happy she was home early. "Masha Allah." He noticed Abdul Fatah’s angry face and prayed in his heart for his children’s guidance. Wujdane slowly emerged in her old black hijab. She knelt near her father with a fake show of respect. "Welcome, Baba. Did you break your fast well?" He smiled. "Very well, Wujdane. How is the house? Is everyone fine?" She answered calmly. He looked at Inna. "May Allah guide you, Wujdane. May He give you more maturity." Inna replied coolly, "Uhum. Malan, is it maturity or hypocrisy?" He looked at her, signaling her to stop; he didn't like having such conversations in front of the children. Later, when they were alone, he said, "I don't need to ask; I know she acted up again today. But it's better since I didn't find people waiting for me at the door to complain. Fatima, Allah tests his servants in different ways to measure their faith. If they are patient and leave their affairs to Him, He will purify their hearts. Of all our children, none is as sharp-witted as Wujdane, even if Western education didn't work out for her. This behavior of hers... if it were a boy, we’d be worried, let alone a girl. We must take it as our test and keep praying for her." Inna sighed. "Malan, I HAVE NO CHOICE. But I fear for Wujdane's life. A woman? And such a vulnerable one? At eighteen, she should be in her husband's house, but with this trouble she carries, what can we do?" Malan closed his eyes. "Prayer. We will continue to pray. A delay is not a denial. Allah will guide her and give her a good husband." It was a rule: at 4:00 AM, Wujdane would wake up. She was the one who went to her brothers' rooms to wake them so they could study in the courtyard before going to the mosque for Subh prayer. Today was no different. They sat studying quietly. Malan was to the side with his Quran, and Inna was on her prayer rug with her beads. Wujdane looked at her mother, then turned to her father. "Baba, why doesn't Inna join the recitation?" He gestured for her to focus on her own studies without saying a word. She went back to her book, ignoring the glares Abdul Fatah was sending her. By morning, she was out cleaning the courtyard. Wujdane was troublesome, but she was obsessively clean. At 10:00 AM, a boy arrived at the door. Seeing Wujdane, he cringed in fear. She looked up from her sweeping and glared. "You, with the head like a globe! What are you looking for at this house so early? Did you come to see if we have breakfast or not??" The boy started trembling. "Mama..." (This was the name she forced every child in the neighborhood to call her. If anyone dared use her real name, she’d practically break their neck. Even the kids who called their own mothers by name called her ‘Mama’ out of fear). He continued, "Mama, Brother Sule is at the door asking for you." Her eyes widened. "By God! What does he want at our door this early? Today he’ll realize he has no sense!" She rushed to grab her hijab to go out, while Inna hurried out to stop her. Just as she stepped into the entrance hall, she heard Inna’s voice: "WUJDANE! WUJDANE!"
I Have No Choice (Bani Da Zabi)
Smiling, she turned and looked at her mother.
As Inna approached, she pulled her slightly toward the inside of the house, saying in a persuasive tone, "WUJDANE, don’t go out there and be rude to him. In this entire street, this servant of Allah is the only one who has shown interest and persisted. Don't let your beautiful features lead you astray; the world today is beyond your imagination. Wujdane, pray to finish your time in this world in peace; do not be disrespectful to him. One does not treat a human being like that, especially when you don't know the blessings Allah has bestowed upon him."
With her head bowed as if she were truly listening to her mother, she obeyed. It was the teacher’s rule: no conversations at night, only in the morning or evening. This was why Sule, the talkative one, chose the morning for his visit, arriving to face her usual tantrums and drama.
She stepped out wearing a black hijab that reached the floor—the same hijab from their school days that Malan had bought for them from a local shop. She glared at him from a distance before finally approaching.
Arriving with a moody expression, she muttered, "Good morning."
Filled with joy at seeing her, he answered and began to tease her as he usually did. To his surprise, today she didn't yell at him to stop. Instead, she kept glancing at a certain spot, turning her head slightly to look at him every now and then.
In her mind, she was thinking: He doesn’t suit me at all. He isn’t tall, and his eyes are tiny. Besides that, he has a wicked personality. His wife, Aliya, is a troublemaker; even though she’s wary of Wujdane, she does nothing but cause scenes.
Slowly, she turned and said, "I’m going to the ‘Gidan Yawa’ (the rowdy house)."
Smiling, he replied, "Alright, no problem. I hope today you'll finally accept my money." He spoke while handing her some fifty-naira notes, enough to compensate for any trouble she’d faced.
She stared at the money. Wujdane never begged her brothers or parents for money; she had her faults, but greed was not one of them. She looked up with those startling eyes that many were afraid to look into, brushed him aside without a word, and headed toward the "Gidan Yawa."
Who is Wujdane?
Wujdane is the granddaughter of the late Malan Hamza, the father of Nana Fatima, who is the wife of Malan Laminu.
Malan Hamza was one of those holy men who inherited his father's position in a village north of Maiduguri. He was a pure Fulani, very fair-skinned, with a unique eye structure. His pupils were like those of a cat or a snake—distinct and shimmering. Malan Hamza had four wives, but none had ever conceived except his first wife, whom they called "Ya." Allah blessed her with a pregnancy just when they had given up hope.
Malan Hamza, who had many students (almajirai), lived in a house full of them. He often went into the wilderness for months to seclude himself. He stayed there so long that people began to call him "The Spirit Man" (Aljan) because the forest he frequented was terrifying.
During one of his trips, Ya was three months pregnant, but she didn't tell him because she couldn't believe it herself; they had lost all hope. This trip lasted seven months. When he returned, he found that the other wives had treated Ya like an outcast because she had finally conceived.
Eventually, living with the other wives became impossible. they harassed Hamza, Ya, and their little daughter, whom he named after the Prophet's daughter, Nana Fadima. One by one, the other wives left his house because they felt he didn't want children with them. Malan Hamza’s household was left with only Ya, their daughter Fadima, and the young students.
Fadima grew up cherished and educated. Among the students, there was one who was very close to the family, almost like a son, named Laminu. As Fadima grew, she became exceptionally beautiful, with eyes exactly like her father’s. Many young men admired her face, but the color of her eyes caused people to spread superstitions. Families forbade their sons from marrying her, claiming her looks shared an ancestry with snakes.
In a village where girls are married off at ten or eleven—thirteen at the latest—Fadima reached fifteen with no suitors. It became a matter of ridicule; whenever she left the house, she returned crying because of the insults she endured.
This deeply troubled Malan Hamza. Seeing his daughter suffer in this way ate at him, and he often lamented the situation to Laminu. One day, Laminu approached him with news that he had found a job in the city as a gatekeeper for a wealthy man (Elhaj). Malan was overjoyed and gave him his blessings.
Since Laminu moved, he found a good position and was well-received. He sent word to Malan every month and sent "city food" like bouillon cubes, macaroni, and rice to Ya. This pleased Malan greatly, seeing that Laminu had not forgotten his roots. Laminu was an orphan; his parents and their livestock had been lost to a flood when he was young.
On one of his visits, Laminu asked to marry Fadima—not out of pity, but out of genuine love. Malan performed a spiritual consultation (istihara), and seeing nothing but goodness in the union, he married them off. Laminu took his wife to the city, where they lived in a small rented house.
Slowly, Fadima gave birth to her first son, whom Malan named Hamza. Two years later, they had another boy, Abdul Fatah. Around that time, Malan built a modest house in a poor neighborhood, and they moved in. It had four rooms, a kitchen, a courtyard, and a well.
After Abdul Fatah, seven years passed without another child. Fadima thought she was done, but then she conceived again. As her pregnancy progressed to nine months, tragic news arrived: her father passed away, and a week later, her mother followed. Despite her resilience, she cried bitterly. Shortly after, she gave birth to a girl. Malan named her Aisha.
Before she could even finish her postpartum period, Aisha passed away. Eventually, she conceived again, and this time she gave birth to Wujdane. When Wujdane was three, another girl was born, and Malan named her Aisha after "Ya." After that, Fadima had no more children.
Malan Laminu’s sons grew up well-educated and disciplined. In their neighborhood, few even knew there were two girls in the house because they rarely went out. By God’s will, they were blessed with a quiet life, except for Wujdane.
Wujdane was a troublemaker. She poked her nose into things that didn't concern her and even looked for fights. No matter how big you were, she would fight you and, by God’s power, knock you down. Wujdane inherited all her grandfather's beauty, including his eyes. She was of medium height—neither too tall nor too short. She wasn't thin; she had a well-proportioned, solid build.
Her hair wasn't black; it was a reddish color. Because it wasn't black, she often applied black henna to it, but within a week, it would return to its natural color. Her hair reached her back and was difficult to braid, so her mother ordered her to always keep it wrapped up.
Every single day, someone brought a complaint about Wujdane. She never let anything slide. She frequented the "Gidan Yawa"—a house of ill repute where no one was disciplined. It was a place where younger siblings insulted older ones, and if a mother interfered, she was insulted too. That was where Wujdane’s friend lived, and that was where she learned her rudeness and defiance.
If there was anything her brother Abdul Fatah hated more than her behavior, it was the fire of Hell. He despised her attitude and would beat her severely. You would swear she’d never do it again, but the next time, her actions would be twice as bad. Her brother Hamza and her father often warned her, but her mother, Inna, always wondered: What kind of person is Wujdane? If it weren't for the fact that SHE HAD NO CHOICE, she would have distanced herself from Wujdane long ago.
01
Written by SAJIDA
In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
A message to my readers: Warm greetings and much gratitude. Here is a new story; I hope you enjoy it. Yours truly, SAJIDA.
Author of: Yar Mahau kaciya, Duk Karya Kada, Daga Tafiya Daukar Soja, Neman Na Kaina...
I HAVE NO CHOICE (Insha Allah)
She sat by the well after drawing water to fill a kettle. She held her cheeks in her hands, staring at the front door. She was a middle-aged woman, around forty. She looked completely distressed and was not in good health.
A young girl walked up slowly and knelt beside her. "INNA, get up and perform your ablution. You usually do it early. Look, the call to Maghrib prayer has started. Malan said at school that one should hurry to break the fast and delay the pre-dawn meal."
The woman looked up, her cat-like eyes resting on her daughter. She sighed and asked, "Aisha, when you went out, didn't you tell ‘Uwa’ (Wujdane) that I was looking for her?"
Aisha exhaled in frustration. "Inna, I told her. Let me go back; maybe something held her up."
Inna nodded, trying to stand. "Go pray first. It’s not good to miss the start of Maghrib." She entered their mud bathroom, which was low to the ground but covered with a cloth for privacy.
"Did you insult my mother? You, Binta, you know I’m ruder than you! I’ll beat you even in front of your mother! I warned you about Hamza—do you think you’re good enough for him? I said I don't want him, so why should you? Hamza should go marry someone else, just not from this street! And because I said that, you say my eyes are as big as an owl’s and look like a cat’s? Me??"
SLAP! She was cut off by a sharp slap. She looked up to see her brother, Abdul Fatah. She quickly wrapped her hijab and bolted.
He looked at Binta, who was sprawling on the ground wiping tears. He shook his head. "Get up and have patience, okay?"
Binta smiled weakly. "It’s nothing, Abdul Fatah. She just misunderstood, and then Anasiya told her I insulted her." He shook his head and went after Wujdane.
When he got home, he waited for her to finish praying in the room she shared with her sister. She took so long it was as if she were reciting the entire Quran. He wanted to finish with her before their brother Hamza and their father, Malan Laminu, returned and stopped him from giving her a beating.
He turned to his mother and sat near her, greeting her after the fast. She responded kindly and pushed some watermelon toward him—a Ramadan treat he had brought. She saw his moody expression and smiled, knowing his anger was about his sister.
"Assalamu Alaikum Warahmatullah."
They answered as Malan entered with his prayer beads. He had finished the Isha prayer before coming home. Behind him was Hamza, carrying his prayer rug. They sat and greeted him. Inna stood up to serve the break-fast meal—boiled local potatoes with sliced raw tomatoes and onions.
Malan smiled and thanked her, but he didn't see WUJDANE. He looked at Aisha. "My daughter, where is your sister? Hasn’t she come home?"
Inna turned away with a sigh. Aisha stood up. "Let me check, Aba. She might be finishing her prayers. She’s here."
Malan smiled, happy she was home early. "Masha Allah." He noticed Abdul Fatah’s angry face and prayed in his heart for his children’s guidance.
Wujdane slowly emerged in her old black hijab. She knelt near her father with a fake show of respect. "Welcome, Baba. Did you break your fast well?"
He smiled. "Very well, Wujdane. How is the house? Is everyone fine?" She answered calmly.
He looked at Inna. "May Allah guide you, Wujdane. May He give you more maturity."
Inna replied coolly, "Uhum. Malan, is it maturity or hypocrisy?"
He looked at her, signaling her to stop; he didn't like having such conversations in front of the children. Later, when they were alone, he said, "I don't need to ask; I know she acted up again today. But it's better since I didn't find people waiting for me at the door to complain. Fatima, Allah tests his servants in different ways to measure their faith. If they are patient and leave their affairs to Him, He will purify their hearts. Of all our children, none is as sharp-witted as Wujdane, even if Western education didn't work out for her. This behavior of hers... if it were a boy, we’d be worried, let alone a girl. We must take it as our test and keep praying for her."
Inna sighed. "Malan, I HAVE NO CHOICE. But I fear for Wujdane's life. A woman? And such a vulnerable one? At eighteen, she should be in her husband's house, but with this trouble she carries, what can we do?"
Malan closed his eyes. "Prayer. We will continue to pray. A delay is not a denial. Allah will guide her and give her a good husband."
It was a rule: at 4:00 AM, Wujdane would wake up. She was the one who went to her brothers' rooms to wake them so they could study in the courtyard before going to the mosque for Subh prayer.
Today was no different. They sat studying quietly. Malan was to the side with his Quran, and Inna was on her prayer rug with her beads.
Wujdane looked at her mother, then turned to her father. "Baba, why doesn't Inna join the recitation?"
He gestured for her to focus on her own studies without saying a word. She went back to her book, ignoring the glares Abdul Fatah was sending her.
By morning, she was out cleaning the courtyard. Wujdane was troublesome, but she was obsessively clean. At 10:00 AM, a boy arrived at the door. Seeing Wujdane, he cringed in fear.
She looked up from her sweeping and glared. "You, with the head like a globe! What are you looking for at this house so early? Did you come to see if we have breakfast or not??"
The boy started trembling. "Mama..." (This was the name she forced every child in the neighborhood to call her. If anyone dared use her real name, she’d practically break their neck. Even the kids who called their own mothers by name called her ‘Mama’ out of fear). He continued, "Mama, Brother Sule is at the door asking for you."
Her eyes widened. "By God! What does he want at our door this early? Today he’ll realize he has no sense!"
She rushed to grab her hijab to go out, while Inna hurried out to stop her. Just as she stepped into the entrance hall, she heard Inna’s voice: "WUJDANE! WUJDANE!"