I recoiled, compressing my body as tightly as possible into the corner. My wide eyes remained locked onto the massive cat as it displayed a bizarre, supernatural ability to shift and rotate the coloration of its pupils. Its eyes glowed like focused tactical flashlights, their blinding intensity boring directly into mine and blurring my vision. Sweat drenched my skin entirely, leaving me dripping wet as though I had just emerged from a bath. Concurrently, my chest heaved with frantic, shallow gasps, mimicking the desperate respiration of a critical patient hooked up to emergency oxygen tanks. My racing heart stopped dead in its tracks the exact split-second the demonic cat materialized directly in front of my face in the mere blink of an eye. “Take it easy, Suwaiba. How are you feeling now?” The soothing voice of Mamu descended softly upon my eardrums the exact moment I forced my eyelids open. I found my battered body lying flat upon a standard hospital bed. “I need to urinate,” I muttered weakly. Attempting to sit up, Mamu quickly rushed to my side, supporting my frame and helping me stand on my feet. Guiding myself by sliding my palms against the cool walls, I stepped into the dimly lit bathroom. Clutching the rim of the sink, I closed my eyes tightly and began to relieve myself. At that precise moment, a chilling, disembodied voice began whispering rapidly into the deep recesses of my ear: “We know exactly what internal affliction is tearing you apart. Submit to us, and let us help you.” My eyes flew open instantly. My heart pounded with violent, erratic beats against my ribs, yet my rational mind utterly refused to accept the reality of the terrifying audio anomaly I had just experienced. I hurriedly washed myself, exited the bathroom, and found Mamu smoothing out the bedsheets I had just vacated. Spotting my return, she immediately repeated her previous inquiry. “How does your body feel now?” “There is some relief, Mamu. What time is it currently?” She pulled out her compact, vintage Nokia phone, squinting at the small screen before replying, “It is a quarter to three in the morning.”
The Splitting Shadow
Without uttering another syllable, I walked back to the mattress and lay down. Yet, no matter how desperately I tried to induce sleep, rest completely eluded my restless mind. Mamu, on the other hand, nodded off almost instantly. Observing the sheer depth of her exhaustion, it became glaringly obvious that she had not caught a single wink of sleep since the moment they first discovered my critical state. A cold, suffocating dread enveloped me once more as my mind replayed the bizarre phenomena of the past few hours. I began reciting defensive prayers under my breath, and a wave of spiritual calmness slowly washed over me. I remained in this state of quiet vigil until the loud call for the dawn prayer (Fajr) echoed through the air. Moving quietly to avoid waking Mamu, I slipped back into the bathroom to perform my ablutions. Just as I prepared to exit, the heavy wooden bathroom door suddenly slammed shut with immense, unnatural force. With my entire frame trembling violently, I grabbed the metal handle and desperately tried to wrench it open. Yet, the harder I struggled, the tighter the mechanism seemed to bond to the frame, as if fused shut by an invisible hand. My lips quivered as I began weeping, screaming out for Mamu. Suddenly, a cold sensation washed over the back of my neck, making me feel as though a physical entity was reaching out from the dark to seize my flesh. I spun around instinctively to face the mirror. What I witnessed froze the blood in my veins: my reflection stared back at me, but my physical shadow along the wall had split into two distinct, autonomous dark silhouettes. As I watched in absolute horror, the two independent shadows slowly slid across the wall and fused back into a single, dense mass. At that exact moment, my lungs locked up, threatening to cut off my oxygen supply for the second time. Suddenly, the loud click of the bathroom door unlocking echoed through the space, instantly shocking my lungs back into action. I leaped out of the bathroom into the hospital room, gasping for air like a drowning person. To my utter bewilderment, Mamu was still fast asleep, completely undisturbed. I rushed to her side and shook her awake. She startled, her eyes darting around the room in brief disorientation. “It is time for prayer,” I whispered, my voice devoid of energy. She reached beneath the metal hospital frame, pulling out a plastic bag containing my long hijab and a clean prayer mat. I unrolled the fabric and commenced my prayers. During the final prostration (Sujud), I prolonged my stay on the floor, weeping as I poured my heart out in deep, protective supplications before finally concluding the prayer. Mamu followed suit, performing her own prayers. Shortly thereafter, the attending physician entered the room to conduct a final assessment. Satisfied with my vitals, he officially granted our discharge, stating we were free to return home by eight o'clock in the morning.
The Witch's Trap
The moment our discharge hour arrived, Mamu and I exited the clinic, flagged down a tricycle taxi (Adaidaita), and made our way back to our family compound. As we approached the main entrance, we encountered Abba aggressively trying to kick-start his motorcycle. He paused, addressing us before we could even utter a greeting. “Have they discharged you already?” “Yes,” Mamu replied coldly. Without expanding on her answer, she tightly grasped my hand and led me past him into the compound. In the center of the courtyard sat Lantana—our stepmother, whom we called Mama—surrounded by her biological daughters, processing a massive pile of groundnuts. Mamu offered a polite greeting, which the daughters returned with wide, cheerful smiles. Mama Lantana immediately stood up, rushing toward me to seize my hands in an exaggerated display of maternal affection. “Oh, my dear daughter! How is your body feeling now?” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Your Abba only just informed me this morning that you suffered a severe fainting spell in the dead of night! What a miraculous stroke of luck that your Mamu happened to enter your room to request her contribution money for the women's savings circle (Adashe), only to discover you lay there entirely breathless!” I managed nothing more than a strained, hollow smile. Mamu, however, calmly stepped in to clarify the sequence of events. “It wasn't even that late in the evening. Sulaimanu unexpectedly returned home last night. I only entered Suwaiba's room to retrieve the keys to the refrigerator so I could fetch him a cold bottle of juice.” As Mamu narrated the events, I kept my eyes fixed on Mama Lantana. I instantly noticed a sharp, subtle shift in her demeanor. Her cheerful expression faltered, and she swallowed hard, her eyes widening slightly. “Sulaimanu... has returned?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave. Sensing her odd reaction, Mamu looked at her with a hint of confusion. “Do you mean to tell me Surajo didn't inform you? They entered the compound together last night; in fact, he was the one who drove him home.” Mama Lantana’s eyes instantly flushed a deep, malevolent crimson. “And yet, Zainaba, you didn't think to call me out to inform me? I assume he is in perfect health, yes?” Mamu paused, observing her stepwoman's intense reaction before offering a clipped, defensive response: “Alhamdulillah (Praise be to God).” The entire time Mama Lantana held my hands, a bizarre, foreign sensation—resembling a cold, static current—began creeping up my arms. Without a second thought, I violently yanked my hands out of her grip, bypassed the group, and marched straight toward our private quarters. Upon entering our living room, the first object I encountered was Yaya Sulaimanu’s heavy travel suitcase. I collapsed onto the sofa, exhaling deeply as I tried to calm my racing mind. Moments later, Mamu strode into the room. She slammed the plastic bag she was carrying onto the table, muttering under her breath in a fit of suppressed rage: “Your own biological daughter is fighting for her life in a hospital, yet you lack the basic decency to step out of your room and escort us to the clinic, simply because you are huddled away in the quarters of another woman! Hmph! True illness is a visitor that knows the door to every household; we shall see how long this neglect lasts.” “Mamu,” I interrupted softly, “why is it that you always place the absolute entirety of the blame on Abba, yet you choose to blindly trust Mama Lantana? No matter what the circumstances were last night, it is glaringly obvious that she was the one who actively prevented him from stepping out to help us.” “Just lie down and rest your body,” Mamu sighed, waving her hand dismissively. “You are far too young to truly comprehend the deep, calculated nature of that father of yours.” With that, she turned on her heel and exited the room.
The Blood Pacts of Malam Yawale
I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text message to my closest confidante, Ubaidah. Within seconds, my phone vibrated with her incoming call. We began exchanging light pleasantries before I detailed the terrifying paranormal events that had transpired at the clinic. Ubaidah let out a low, knowing sigh through the receiver. “Hmph! If I tell you right now that I literally witnessed this exact sequence of events in a vivid dream last night, you would probably accuse me of fabricating stories, wouldn't you? Wallahi, Suby, this isn't the first time the spiritual realm has shown me these visions. I routinely see a dark, sinister woman relentlessly pursuing you with dark witchcraft. Do you want to know exactly who my suspicions rest upon?” “No,” I replied hesitantly. “Mama Lantana,” Ubaidah declared flatly. “That is the precise reason I absolutely despise that woman and stopped visiting your family compound altogether. Without fail, every single time I set foot in that house and lock eyes with her, I spend the rest of the day bedridden with an agonizing, blinding migraine.” Before I could formulate a response, Mamu re-entered the room holding a plastic bag. She handed it to me, saying, “Here, eat this food immediately. The moment you finish, take your prescribed medication.” I nodded, accepting the meal, and she stepped back out to tend to her chores. I took a deep breath and spoke back into the phone. “My dear friend, if you can find any free time, please come over to my house tonight. Come under the cover of darkness so you can avoid running into her entirely. There is a matter of monumental importance that I desperately need to discuss with you face-to-face.” “No,” Ubaidah countered, “it makes far more sense for you to come over to my place instead. Better yet, just wait until SUL leaves, and you can ride along with him to my house.” A soft smile spread across my face. “Wait, did he actually inform you that he had arrived? He and I haven't even had a chance to see each other since he got back.” “He only just informed me this morning,” Ubaidah replied. “He mentioned that his stay will be incredibly brief and he needs to return to his station almost immediately.” “And knowing that, you still expect me to tag along and disrupt your private time together? Am I not imposing on you guys?” “Oh, cut the drama and just come over! Do you not know how SUL is? Getting that man to utter a single sentence is like pulling teeth.” “Alright, fine, no problem,” I laughed. We shifted our conversation to mundane school gossip until her phone credit finally expired, bringing our call to an abrupt end. Opening the plastic bag Mamu had brought, I found a fresh serving of Waina (Hausa rice cakes) drowned in savory meat sauce. I emptied the contents into a bowl, ate until I was completely full, washed down my pills, and lay down to rest. My plans for peace were instantly cut short as Yaya Sulaimanu walked through the door. I scrambled off the sofa, throwing my arms tightly around his neck in an explosion of pure joy, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. A warm, gentle smile spread across his face—a face that mirrored my own features so perfectly it was uncanny, though I possessed a softer, more refined beauty. “Mamu’s spoiled little princess,” he murmured softly, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears of joy streaming down my face. He was my only sibling, my older brother from the exact same womb. He was the one who had practically raised me, shielding me from the world and spoiling me to a fault. “Na’am (Yes, big brother),” I replied, before falling silent. He took my hand, guiding me to sit beside him on the sofa. He held both of my palms firmly within his own, gazing deeply into my eyes. It was a look that only he could give—a look that effortlessly read the hidden anxieties of my soul. As I had grown older, I had consciously stopped burdening him with my internal struggles, primarily because I realized he carried a massive, silent burden of his own that he endured entirely alone. “What exactly caused you to lose consciousness last night?” he fired the question at me completely out of nowhere. Attempting to deflect the heavy topic, I countered with a pout: “Why didn't you come to visit me while I was stranded at the hospital?” “I was the one who drove you and Mamu to the emergency room in the first place,” he answered softly. “I only departed the clinic because I received an urgent, unavoidable work call that required my immediate attention.” “I just got off the phone with Ubaidah,” I stated, locking my eyes with his. “She suggested that when you prepare to leave town, I should travel alongside you.” “She mentioned that to me as well,” Sulaimanu nodded, “but we can only make that trip tomorrow. Today, there is a specific destination I must visit first.” My face fell into a deep frown. “Then drive me over to her place first before you attend to your meetings. On your way back out of town, you can simply stop by and pick me up.” “He should pick you up from where?” Mamu questioned as she stepped into the living room. “From Ubaidah’s family house. You know those two girls are practically inseparable, like identical twins.” Mamu’s face instantly erupted into a wide, beaming smile. “How wonderful! Just yesterday, I ran into Ubaidah's mother, and she actively brought up the topic of officially setting the wedding date! I told her the ball is entirely in their court, seeing as they are the ones who hold the bride.” Sulaimanu lowered his head shyly, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “That is precisely the core reason I journeyed back home, Mamu. Unfortunately, because of the chaos last night, I didn't get a single chance to initiate the formal discussion.” Hearing this, Mamu eagerly took a seat opposite us. Sulaimanu gently released my hands from his grip, shifting his entire body to face Mamu directly. “Mamu, my primary goal is for us to finalize the wedding arrangements post-haste. The moment the ceremonies conclude and everything is legally bound, I intend to immediately relocate Ubaidah to live with me at my official work station.” “That is an excellent plan, my son! I shall call your paternal uncle immediately to inform him of your decision. He can then personally visit her parents' compound to deliver our formal intentions.” “Yes, that would be absolutely perfect,” Sulaimanu sighed with immense relief. From that point on, Mamu began bombarding him with detailed questions regarding his employment and career progression. I listened to their rhythmic chatter until my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The Shadow Over the Courtyard
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the compound, Mama Lantana had abruptly abandoned her daughters—Hassana, Hussaina, and Ramatu—leaving them to finish processing the mountain of groundnuts alone. She paced around her private quarters like a wild animal trapped in a cage, her mind consumed by frantic, chaotic thoughts. Pulling out her mobile device, she aggressively scrolled through her contact registry until she located the specific entry she desired. She slammed the dial button. Within seconds, the name Malam Yawale flashed across the small digital screen. The line connected after a mere two rings. Without bothering to utter a single greeting, she dropped her voice to a sinister, hushed whisper: “Malam, we have a catastrophic emergency on our hands. Sulaimanu unexpectedly returned to the compound last night.” “He has returned?” the sorcerer’s raspy voice echoed through the speaker. “Are you absolutely certain? And have you been strictly performing the daily occult chants (wuridi) that I specifically prescribed to you?” “I performed the chants this very morning, Malam!” Lantana hissed desperately. “Right now, my absolute priority is for us to completely renew and fortify the spiritual hex against him. That is all I care about.” “I can easily renew the curse,” Malam Yawale replied coldly, “but a disruption of this magnitude requires a blood sacrifice this time around. You must immediately procure three solid-red roosters, alongside one vial of pure red musk oil and two vials of white musk.” “I will transfer the funds to your account immediately so you can personally purchase every single item required for the ritual,” Lantana stated textually. She severed the call, slamming her palm against her chest to steady her racing heart, which felt as though it would burst through her ribcage ever since she first received confirmation of Sulaimanu's return. “Hassana!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Outside in the courtyard, Hassana scrambled to her feet, running into her mother's room to answer the urgent summons. “I am here, Mama,” she panted. Mama Lantana reached for an old plastic container where she secretly hoarded her physical currency. She pulled out a stack of bills, meticulously counting the cash before thrusting it into her daughter's palm. “Take this cash immediately and transfer it directly to Malam Yawale’s mobile account. Move with absolute speed and return here post-haste; we need to head out to the commercial grinding mill.” Hassana accepted the money, a slight frown crossing her face. “But Mama... he still hasn't sent us the fresh batch of liquid charms (rubutu) we requested for our protection.” “He will send them; I was the one who explicitly told him to hold off on the delivery,” Mama Lantana snapped. Hassana’s frown deepened. “But Mama, if we don't get them soon...” Before she could finish her sentence, Lantana sharply cut her off, her eyes blazing with fury: “For the sake of your father's soul! Where exactly in this crowded compound do you intend to perform an occult spiritual bath? In the middle of the open courtyard for everyone to see? I am purposely waiting for your grandmother to return from her travels. The moment she arrives, you girls will relocate to her private residence, where you can perform the full ritual baths in absolute privacy and peace of mind!” Hearing this, Hassana’s face instantly erupted into a wide grin. She grabbed her hijab and sprinted out of the compound to execute the financial transaction. Moments later, Mama Lantana’s phone vibrated; it was an incoming call from Malam Yawale, confirming that the digital banking alert had successfully hit his account. She answered the call, remaining dead silent. “By the grace of the powers,” Malam Yawale intoned with absolute arrogance, “I guarantee you that the exact second the blood of these three red roosters spills onto the dirt tonight, Sulaimanu will be violently compelled to abandon the city and flee back to the safety of his remote village.” A twisted, malicious grin spread across Mama Lantana’s face. “Thank you immensely, Malam. Tomorrow morning, I shall personally visit your shrine to finalize the specialized rituals regarding my twin daughters' fortunes.” “Very well, Hajiya,” the sorcerer replied before hanging up. Mama Lantana stepped out into the open courtyard, a move that coincided precisely with Sulaimanu emerging from his family quarters. The absolute second his eyes locked onto her frame, a familiar, deep-seated dread washed over his soul, accompanied by a violent palpitation in his chest. Shaken by her mere presence, he hurried toward her, lowering his head out of absolute, terrified submission, completely unable to maintain eye contact. Mama Lantana unleashed a deeply calculated, deceptive smile, realizing with supreme satisfaction that the residual dark magic she had previously woven into his psyche was still highly effective. “Welcome home, Manu! What an unexpected surprise. You returned to town without dropping a single hint of your arrival?” Sulaimanu’s internal panic intensified under her gaze; he felt a terrifying sensation that if he dared to cross her or speak out of turn, he might literally forfeit his life. With a trembling, submissive voice, he stammered, “Please forgive me, Mama. I apologize for arriving without formally notifying you first.” “Oh, it is absolutely no issue at all, my dear boy! May Allah shower his continuous blessings upon you. I am deeply, genuinely overjoyed to behold your face,” Mama Lantana declared, intentionally raising her voice to a theatrical pitch as she spotted Mamu stepping out into the courtyard. She reached out, gently caressing Sulaimanu’s hair. Mamu, completely oblivious to the dark undercurrents, offered a warm, innocent smile. This theatrical display of affection was no anomaly; anyone who visited the compound was routinely subjected to Mama Lantana’s exaggerated displays of maternal love toward Sulaimanu. In turn, Sulaimanu obeyed her every command with absolute, unswerving devotion. To an outside observer, it appeared as though Mama Lantana was his biological mother, completely erasing Mamu from the equation. Without an ounce of suspicion, Mamu chuckled warmly, teasing, “Well, it appears your beloved son has returned to town for the sole purpose of officially carting his bride away!” Hearing this, a violent surge of bitter envy and black malice consumed Mama Lantana’s heart, yet her face remained an absolute mask of joy. She let out a loud, high-pitched traditional ululation (Guɗa), spinning around in a joyful dance. Hassana, who had just returned from transferring the funds, walked into the courtyard and laughed, “Mama, what on earth is causing you to dance like this?” “Your older brother's wedding is finally official!” Lantana cheered. As the ancient proverb goes: “The gazelle does not leap without its offspring learning to sprint.” Mama Lantana had meticulously trained her biological daughters in the dark arts of deception and malice. Instantly picking up on her cue, the daughters erupted into a grand, artificial celebration. The display successfully warmed Sulaimanu’s naive heart; he stood there watching his paternal half-sisters celebrate his fortune, completely put at ease as they began loudly discussing the specific uniform fabrics (Anko) they would select for the upcoming ceremonies. Mamu happily joined the circle of women, completely engulfed in planning the colors and designs of the wedding uniforms. Standing right in front of them, she pulled out her phone and dialed their paternal uncle—their father's younger brother—to officially deliver the news. The exact moment Mamu concluded her call and put her phone away, Mama Lantana quietly slipped back into her private room to make a call of her own. She dialed Malam Yawale—a sorcerer so notorious that his mere name struck absolute terror and dread into the hearts of every resident in his district.
The Prophecy of the Crushed Mirror
My name is Suwaiba. I have no concept of how many hours I spent trapped in that deep, heavy slumber. The moment I finally blinked my eyes open, I grabbed a plastic water kettle (Buta) and stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. Upon exiting, I found Mamu hovering over the stove in the kitchen and inquired about the meal she was preparing. “Rice and beans,” she replied softly. The moment the words left her lips, an icy grip squeezed my heart. A sudden, terrifying premonition flashed through my mind, and before I could even process my actions, a desperate prayer slipped from my lips: “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un (To Allah we belong, and to Him we shall return)!” At that exact split-second, Abba burst through the front gates in a state of absolute, wild panic, screaming frantically for Mama Lantana. Mamu rushed out of the kitchen, still clutching a metal spoon coated in cooking oil. “Malam, what on earth is happening? Speak to me!” “How can anything be normal?!” Abba gasped, his chest heaving. “It’s Isiyaku! A speeding vehicle completely crushed him down on the main road just moments ago! He didn't even survive long enough to draw a final breath!” Mamu’s fingers lost all strength; the oil-stained spoon slipped from her hand, clattering heavily onto the concrete floor. “The children's uncle... is dead? But... we literally just hung up the phone a moment ago!” Abba nodded frantically. “He called me immediately after hanging up with you! He explicitly confirmed that you two had just spoken, and he was on his way to contact Ubaidah's parents to finalize the wedding dates. He told me he wanted to touch base with me before heading over... but alas, destiny had no share in his arrival.” My legs instantly turned into jelly, trembling so violently that they could no longer support my weight. I collapsed to the floor, weeping with a raw, agonizing intensity as if my very soul was being ripped from my physical chest. In their minds, my family assumed my explosive tears were a standard reaction to the sudden, tragic demise of my beloved uncle. But they were entirely wrong. I was not weeping for the dead; I was weeping for the terrifying, catastrophic events that were actively rushing toward our household in the near future—events that would inevitably manifest if my prophetic nightmares continued to translate into absolute reality. Misunderstanding my grief, my parents swarmed around my collapsed frame, offering soft reassurances and counseling me to accept the divine decree. Mama Lantana slowly stepped out of her room. She locked her eyes onto my face, delivering a cold, piercing glare that sent a violent jolt of pure terror straight down my spine. “What exactly is causing all this commotion?” she demanded. Abba quickly detailed the tragic news of the accident. “May Allah have mercy on his soul,” Mama Lantana uttered flatly. Turning toward Mamu, she ordered, “Zainaba, pack up the rice and beans into the insulated coolers immediately; we must transfer the food to the funeral house and depart post-haste.” As she turned her back to return to her room, she unleashed a cold, triumphant smile—a sinister expression that I witnessed clearly with my own two eyes. Without wasting a single second, the entire household finalized their preparations. By the time we stepped out of the compound, the clock read just past one in the afternoon. We flagged down a commercial tricycle; Mamu, Mama Lantana, and the twin sisters squeezed into the back seat, while Ramatu and I took our places in the cramped front passenger section alongside the driver. Upon arriving at the deceased's compound, we found a large funeral canopy already erected in the street, and close relatives were already flooding the scene. As we dismounted and Mamu handed the fare to the driver, Mama Lantana casually tossed a question into the air: “By the way, has anyone bothered to inform Manu about his uncle's death?” Mamu silently shook her head. I kept my eyes fixed on Lantana; the sheer lack of empathy in her demeanor was staggering. She carried herself through the mourning crowd with a light, buoyant energy, as though she were attending a lavish celebration rather than a house of death. “Hassana, take my phone immediately, call your older brother, and deliver the news,” Lantana instructed, thrusting her device into her daughter's hand. It was only after we had filed deep inside the house and settled onto the floor mats that Hassana finally connected the call. From my position against the wall, I could clearly hear Yaya Sulaimanu’s voice through the receiver; it was completely fractured, dripping with absolute, unmitigated devastation. I leaned my head heavily against the rough concrete wall, closing my eyes as an overwhelming, suffocating anguish settled deep into my chest—a darkness unlike anything I had ever experienced in my entire existence. Despite the solemn gravity of the funeral house, the gathered women kept up a non-stop barrage of loud, speculative gossip. Mama Lantana repeatedly took center stage, loudly reiterating to anyone who would listen that she and the deceased had been actively discussing Mamu's son's wedding arrangements on the phone at the exact hour of his demise. Initially, the mourners paid her chatter little mind, until one older woman sharply interrupted the room: “Ah! This upcoming marriage... are we absolutely certain there is a single drop of divine blessing or goodness hidden within it? The poor man was literally struck down and killed while traveling to secure the wedding dates!” My eyes flew open instantly. I watched Mamu’s face contort with deep pain and discomfort at the cruel insinuation. Mama Lantana, however, seized upon the dark theory, adding fuel to the fire: “Well, who truly knows the mind of destiny? This whole marriage affair has behaved like a lingering plague; it has been over six long months since the groom's family first delivered the dowry wealth, yet the ceremonies remain completely stalled!”
The Seer of the Blind School
I snapped. Unable to endure another single second of their venomous, calculated gossip, I bolted upright. My vision blurred as a wave of intense sorrow and psychological exhaustion threatened to take me under. Paying absolutely zero attention to where my feet were landing, I pushed through the mourning crowd and fled the funeral house into the open streets. I walked aimlessly for what felt like miles until I spotted a massive shade tree. I collapsed heavily onto a discarded tractor tire resting beneath its branches. Heavy, ragged sighs escaped my chest as I pulled out my phone and dialed Ubaidah. The absolute second she answered the line, I completely broke down, sobbing hysterically into the receiver. Panic gripped her instantly. She began bombarding me with frantic questions, desperately begging me to explain what was wrong. I remained completely choked by my tears, unable to formulate a single word until she thundered through the speaker: “Stay right where you are! I am coming to get you this very instant!” “I am not at the house,” I gasped out. “Then where on earth are you stranded?” she demanded. I blinked, clearing the tears from my eyes to scan my unfamiliar surroundings before offering a shaky reply: “I am sitting directly outside the School for the Blind.” The line went completely dead. True to her word, less than twenty minutes later, a vehicle pulled up to the curb. The door flew open, and Ubaidah sprinted toward my position, lifting me off the tire and pulling me into a tight, fierce embrace. I buried my face deep into her shoulder, letting my tears flow without restraint. I only began to calm down when I realized that Ubaidah had joined in, weeping bitterly alongside me. I pulled back slightly, leaning my frame against the warm metal hood of her car. With a shaky, fragile voice, I teased softly, “Wait... are you seriously crying right now?” “And what exactly do you expect me to do, Suby?!” she snapped, wiping her nose. She grabbed my hand, pulled open the front passenger door, and gently guided me inside before jogging around to the driver's side and jamming the key into the ignition. She slammed her foot onto the accelerator, launching the car down the asphalt at a terrifying, reckless speed that sent a jolt of genuine fear through my chest. “Ubaidah, slow down! Where on earth are we going?!” I screamed, clutching the dashboard. “Nigeria!” she shot back flatly, her eyes locked on the road. My eyes widened in absolute bewilderment. “Nigeria?! For what possible reason?!” “I am driving you across the border to sell you into human trafficking!” she barked sarcastically. “That way, I can finally get some peace of mind and escape this constant, non-stop emotional stress you plunge me into every single day!” An unexpected laugh escaped my lips. I leaned my head sideways, resting it gently against her shoulder as I murmured, “You are my absolute sanity, my dear Udah.” She eased off the gas, guiding the vehicle toward the gravel shoulder of the highway and pulling into a smooth park. “You had better enjoy the moment,” she grumbled, nudging me playfully. “Your older brother hasn't even had the chance to officially marry me yet, and here you are, completely draining my emotional reserves and using up my physical body.” I pulled back from her shoulder, flashing her a playful, dramatic glare. “Oh, please! As if this physical body of yours has anything of value to offer anyway; it’s completely devoid of softness, just pure, stubborn muscle!” She burst into a wild, unhinged laugh that echoed through the cabin. She swatted my back playfully before suddenly falling dead silent, a faint, curious smile playing upon her lips. I followed the line of her intense gaze through the windshield, spotting a solitary figure marching down the dusty path directly toward our stationary vehicle. “Ubaidah... who on earth is that man?” I whispered, an icy wave of goosebumps instantly erupting across my skin. Even from this distance, the sheer, unnatural architecture of his physical frame sent an involuntary shudder through my body as he closed the distance. He possessed an extremely fair, pale complexion, yet his entire face was severely marred and disfigured by a horrific network of deep scars, angry pustules, and white, scaly patches that closely resembled the advanced stages of leprosy. At first glance, his compact, slender frame easily categorized him as belonging to the nomadic Fulani tribe. He stepped up to the vehicle, tapping his knuckles against the glass. Ubaidah smoothly rolled down the window. The mysterious man reached through the opening, presenting her with a heavy, traditional gourd brimming with fresh cow's milk, while simultaneously shifting his piercing, hyper-focused gaze directly onto my face. “Who is this young soul?” he inquired, his voice dripping with the distinct, clipped accent of a rural Fulani speaker struggling with fluent Hausa. “She carries an aura completely consumed by the deep, bitter agonies of life.” “She is Sulaiman’s younger sister,” Ubaidah answered softly, exhaling a long, heavy breath. The mysterious man fell completely silent. He narrowed his eyes, intensifying a glare so extraordinarily sharp and analytical that it felt as though his vision was physically cutting through my flesh. As if operating under the influence of an irresistible, external compulsion, I utterly refused to lower my gaze, locking my eyes directly into his...
The Uncle from the Mist
It felt as though his hyper-sharp eyes were physically reaching deep inside my chest, actively groping around for the continuous strings of my immortal soul. The raw, supernatural weight of his gaze systematically paralyzed every single nerve in my physical body. A series of heavy, involuntary sighs escaped my lips as I squeezed my eyelids shut, pressing my frame as deep into the car seat cushions as humanly possible. “Should he dilute the mixture with fresh water, or is he expected to consume the formulation in its absolute, undiluted purity?” I heard Ubaidah inquire, her voice laced with deep, hidden reverence. Speaking in that distinct, heavy Fulani cadence of a mystic who rarely communicated in common tongues, the man rumbled: “He must cut the formulation with pure, sacred Zamzam water, or alternatively, with freshly harvested rainwater collected directly from a severe storm. Furthermore, you must guard your own steps with the utmost vigilance, just as I cautioned you during our previous encounter. Do not allow your heart to fracture in panic; very soon, every single wall of dark witchcraft erected by your enemies will collapse into absolute dust. It is a fundamental law of the cosmos that before any great blessing can be seized, the soul must first drink deeply from the cup of tribulation.” “Uncle Suhail,” Ubaidah replied, her voice dripping with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion, “you know better than anyone else alive that I guard my spiritual perimeter with absolute perfection. That is the exact reason those wicked entities utterly refuse to approach my personal space. My absolute greatest source of agony is watching them systematically dismantle and destroy the innocent souls closest to my heart, simply because they know my spirit will burn with the pain of it.” “Hold your position for a brief moment,” the mystic instructed calmly. “Let me fetch a specialized counter-medicine for your companion.” Hearing his words, my eyes flew open instantly. I watched as he turned his back and began walking away from the car. The architecture of his movement was deeply unsettling; he did not walk like a mortal man—his frame seemed to be pushed forward by an invisible current, gliding across the terrain as if he were literally floating through thin air. Within a matter of minutes, he materialized back at the window, holding a tiny, tightly bound sachet of herbal powder wrapped in an old, weathered cloth. My entire frame began to shake violently as he spoke: “Force her to inhale this powder directly through her nostrils. It will instantly soothe her nervous system and permanently suppress these chronic, terrifying panic spells she keeps collapsing into.” In a display of pure, unadulterated mischief, Ubaidah rolled down the passenger-side window and grinned: “Uncle Suhail, why don't you just administer the medicine and force her to inhale it yourself?” My lips quivered in sheer terror. “No... please, I... I don't want it!” I stammered, my voice breaking. But it was already far too late. The scarred Fulani mystic had already glided around to my side of the vehicle. Without offering a single word of explanation or seeking my permission, his powerful hands shot through the window, firmly seizing my head and tilting it backward. My vision blurred as I squeezed my eyes shut—
2. Narrative Synopsis & Character Guide
The Occult War of the Co-Wives
This narrative is the opening segment of Romon Haƙuri (The Broth of Patience) by Mrs. Sadauki. It belongs to the contemporary Hausa horror-realism and domestic thriller genre (Littattafan Soyayya da Al'ajabi), which explores the terrifying intersection of traditional polygamous household rivalry (Kishiyanci) and dark occult witchcraft (Asiri/Sihiri). The story is framed as a non-fictional, true-life account (labari na gaske) involving a young girl named Suwaiba who is caught in the spiritual crossfire of a deadly blood hex.
[ THE HAUNTED HOUSEHOLD ]
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+-------------------------+-------------------------+
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[ THE VICTIMS ] [ THE AGGRESSORS ]
- Suwaiba (The Clairvoyant Seer) - Mama Lantana (The Witch Stepwoman)
- Mamu / Zainaba (The Pious Mother) - Malam Yawale (The Black Magic Sorcerer)
- Yaya Sulaimanu (The Cursed Groom) - Hassana/Hussaina/Ramatu (The Apprentices)
- Uncle Isiyaku (The Slaughtered Messenger)
Character Profiles
Suwaiba (The Protagonist): A young girl possessing involuntary clairvoyant and mediumistic capabilities. She experiences terrifying panic attacks, physical paralysis, and prophetic nightmares that accurately predict real-world deaths and curses within her family.
Mamu / Zainaba: Suwaiba and Sulaimanu's biological mother. She is deeply pious, long-suffering, and dangerously naive; she consistently misinterprets her co-wife’s occult maneuvers as genuine maternal love.
Mama Lantana (The Antagonist): The tyrannical, intensely envious stepmother. She utilizes severe forms of dark magic and animal blood sacrifice to control the men of the household (Abba and Sulaimanu) and eliminate anyone who threatens her children's financial dominance.
Yaya Sulaimanu (SUL): Suwaiba's protective older brother. He is a highly successful professional but remains completely submissive to his stepmother due to a powerful psychological and spiritual hex placed on him during his youth.
Ubaidah (The Confidante): Suwaiba's fiercely independent, sharp-tongued best friend and Sulaimanu's fiancée. She possesses a natural spiritual immunity to basic witchcraft, which causes her to feel physical pain (migraines) whenever she encounters dark entities.
Uncle Suhail (The Mystic): Ubaidah's mysterious maternal uncle. A physically disfigured Fulani medicine man and esoteric healer, he possesses supernatural physical mobility and deep knowledge of counter-curses (Magani).
Malam Yawale: A highly feared, volatile local sorcerer who orchestrates the blood sacrifices and curses for Mama Lantana from his remote shrine.
3. Literary Analysis & Psycho-Spiritual Themes
1. The Phenomenon of the Splitting Shadow (Inuwa Biyu)
The author introduces a profound piece of West African spiritual lore during Suwaiba's bathroom entrapment. The visual of her shadow splitting into two autonomous entities on the wall before merging into a single mass represents the concept of Dualistic Spiritual Invasion. In this lore, a curse does not merely hover around a victim; it actively detaches a portion of their life force (Inuwa) to allow a foreign demonic entity to graft itself onto the host. The resulting physical suffocation mirrors the medical symptoms of a severe panic attack, bridging psychological trauma with supernatural horror.
2. The Chronological Execution of the Blood Hex
The pacing of the narrative uses a strict cause-and-effect timeline between the physical world and the occult world: The sudden, violent vehicular death of Uncle Isiyaku at the exact moment he was traveling to secure Sulaimanu's wedding date is not an accident—it is a spiritual pre-emptive strike. In Kishiyanci horror lore, a wedding cannot be stopped by mere argument; it must be cut down via a blood sacrifice (Yanka) that completely disrupts the family's cosmic balance.
3. The Proverbial Subversion of Maternal Care
The text brilliantly highlights the dark usage of domestic space. Mama Lantana utilizes public spaces (the open courtyard) to display performative affection—caressing Sulaimanu’s hair and dancing for his wedding—while reserving private, hidden spaces (her locked bedroom and her mother's house) to coordinate lethal black magic with Malam Yawale. This creates an atmosphere of deep paranoia where physical touch (the static shock Suwaiba feels when Lantana holds her hands) becomes a weapon of transmission for hexes.
4. Hausa Cultural & Esoteric Vocabulary Glossary
Hausa Term
Cultural / Contextual Literary Meaning
Kishiyanci / Zama Tsakar Gida
Co-wife rivalry; the toxic psychological and spiritual warfare that occurs between multiple wives inside a traditional polygamous compound.
Wuridi / Wuridin Tsafi
Monotonous occult chanting; the repetition of specific dark formulas or demonic names to charge a talisman or strengthen a curse.
Rubutun Magani / Rubutu
Liquid charms; verses of esoteric text written on a wooden slate with washable ink, which is then rinsed off into a bowl (Romo/Ruwa) to be used for ritual baths or consumption.
Sadauki / Sadaukar Yaki
In a modern domestic context, this refers to a highly powerful spiritual practitioner, medicine man, or protector who can ward off demonic attacks.
Adaidaita / Adaidaita Sahu
A motorized three-wheeled tricycle taxi; the standard mode of public transportation in urban Northern Nigeria (Kano/Kaduna).
Adashe
A traditional, highly structured women's rotating savings and credit association used to amass capital for weddings and domestic goods.
Waina / Masa
A popular Northern Nigerian pan-fried rice cake delicacy, typically served with a rich, spicy vegetable or meat soup during celebrations and family gatherings.
Anko
A deeply rooted cultural tradition of selecting a uniform fabric worn by a group of family members or friends during weddings to show solidarity and wealth.
The Phantom Cat and the Dark Mirrors
I recoiled, compressing my body as tightly as possible into the corner. My wide eyes remained locked onto the massive cat as it displayed a bizarre, supernatural ability to shift and rotate the coloration of its pupils. Its eyes glowed like focused tactical flashlights, their blinding intensity boring directly into mine and blurring my vision.
Sweat drenched my skin entirely, leaving me dripping wet as though I had just emerged from a bath. Concurrently, my chest heaved with frantic, shallow gasps, mimicking the desperate respiration of a critical patient hooked up to emergency oxygen tanks. My racing heart stopped dead in its tracks the exact split-second the demonic cat materialized directly in front of my face in the mere blink of an eye.
“Take it easy, Suwaiba. How are you feeling now?”
The soothing voice of Mamu descended softly upon my eardrums the exact moment I forced my eyelids open. I found my battered body lying flat upon a standard hospital bed.
“I need to urinate,” I muttered weakly. Attempting to sit up, Mamu quickly rushed to my side, supporting my frame and helping me stand on my feet. Guiding myself by sliding my palms against the cool walls, I stepped into the dimly lit bathroom. Clutching the rim of the sink, I closed my eyes tightly and began to relieve myself.
At that precise moment, a chilling, disembodied voice began whispering rapidly into the deep recesses of my ear: “We know exactly what internal affliction is tearing you apart. Submit to us, and let us help you.”
My eyes flew open instantly. My heart pounded with violent, erratic beats against my ribs, yet my rational mind utterly refused to accept the reality of the terrifying audio anomaly I had just experienced. I hurriedly washed myself, exited the bathroom, and found Mamu smoothing out the bedsheets I had just vacated. Spotting my return, she immediately repeated her previous inquiry.
“How does your body feel now?”
“There is some relief, Mamu. What time is it currently?”
She pulled out her compact, vintage Nokia phone, squinting at the small screen before replying, “It is a quarter to three in the morning.”
The Splitting Shadow
Without uttering another syllable, I walked back to the mattress and lay down. Yet, no matter how desperately I tried to induce sleep, rest completely eluded my restless mind. Mamu, on the other hand, nodded off almost instantly. Observing the sheer depth of her exhaustion, it became glaringly obvious that she had not caught a single wink of sleep since the moment they first discovered my critical state. A cold, suffocating dread enveloped me once more as my mind replayed the bizarre phenomena of the past few hours. I began reciting defensive prayers under my breath, and a wave of spiritual calmness slowly washed over me.
I remained in this state of quiet vigil until the loud call for the dawn prayer (Fajr) echoed through the air. Moving quietly to avoid waking Mamu, I slipped back into the bathroom to perform my ablutions. Just as I prepared to exit, the heavy wooden bathroom door suddenly slammed shut with immense, unnatural force.
With my entire frame trembling violently, I grabbed the metal handle and desperately tried to wrench it open. Yet, the harder I struggled, the tighter the mechanism seemed to bond to the frame, as if fused shut by an invisible hand. My lips quivered as I began weeping, screaming out for Mamu.
Suddenly, a cold sensation washed over the back of my neck, making me feel as though a physical entity was reaching out from the dark to seize my flesh. I spun around instinctively to face the mirror.
What I witnessed froze the blood in my veins: my reflection stared back at me, but my physical shadow along the wall had split into two distinct, autonomous dark silhouettes. As I watched in absolute horror, the two independent shadows slowly slid across the wall and fused back into a single, dense mass.
At that exact moment, my lungs locked up, threatening to cut off my oxygen supply for the second time. Suddenly, the loud click of the bathroom door unlocking echoed through the space, instantly shocking my lungs back into action. I leaped out of the bathroom into the hospital room, gasping for air like a drowning person. To my utter bewilderment, Mamu was still fast asleep, completely undisturbed. I rushed to her side and shook her awake. She startled, her eyes darting around the room in brief disorientation.
“It is time for prayer,” I whispered, my voice devoid of energy.
She reached beneath the metal hospital frame, pulling out a plastic bag containing my long hijab and a clean prayer mat. I unrolled the fabric and commenced my prayers. During the final prostration (Sujud), I prolonged my stay on the floor, weeping as I poured my heart out in deep, protective supplications before finally concluding the prayer. Mamu followed suit, performing her own prayers. Shortly thereafter, the attending physician entered the room to conduct a final assessment. Satisfied with my vitals, he officially granted our discharge, stating we were free to return home by eight o'clock in the morning.
The Witch's Trap
The moment our discharge hour arrived, Mamu and I exited the clinic, flagged down a tricycle taxi (Adaidaita), and made our way back to our family compound. As we approached the main entrance, we encountered Abba aggressively trying to kick-start his motorcycle. He paused, addressing us before we could even utter a greeting.
“Have they discharged you already?”
“Yes,” Mamu replied coldly. Without expanding on her answer, she tightly grasped my hand and led me past him into the compound.
In the center of the courtyard sat Lantana—our stepmother, whom we called Mama—surrounded by her biological daughters, processing a massive pile of groundnuts. Mamu offered a polite greeting, which the daughters returned with wide, cheerful smiles. Mama Lantana immediately stood up, rushing toward me to seize my hands in an exaggerated display of maternal affection.
“Oh, my dear daughter! How is your body feeling now?” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Your Abba only just informed me this morning that you suffered a severe fainting spell in the dead of night! What a miraculous stroke of luck that your Mamu happened to enter your room to request her contribution money for the women's savings circle (Adashe), only to discover you lay there entirely breathless!”
I managed nothing more than a strained, hollow smile. Mamu, however, calmly stepped in to clarify the sequence of events.
“It wasn't even that late in the evening. Sulaimanu unexpectedly returned home last night. I only entered Suwaiba's room to retrieve the keys to the refrigerator so I could fetch him a cold bottle of juice.”
As Mamu narrated the events, I kept my eyes fixed on Mama Lantana. I instantly noticed a sharp, subtle shift in her demeanor. Her cheerful expression faltered, and she swallowed hard, her eyes widening slightly.
“Sulaimanu... has returned?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave.
Sensing her odd reaction, Mamu looked at her with a hint of confusion. “Do you mean to tell me Surajo didn't inform you? They entered the compound together last night; in fact, he was the one who drove him home.”
Mama Lantana’s eyes instantly flushed a deep, malevolent crimson. “And yet, Zainaba, you didn't think to call me out to inform me? I assume he is in perfect health, yes?”
Mamu paused, observing her stepwoman's intense reaction before offering a clipped, defensive response: “Alhamdulillah (Praise be to God).”
The entire time Mama Lantana held my hands, a bizarre, foreign sensation—resembling a cold, static current—began creeping up my arms. Without a second thought, I violently yanked my hands out of her grip, bypassed the group, and marched straight toward our private quarters. Upon entering our living room, the first object I encountered was Yaya Sulaimanu’s heavy travel suitcase. I collapsed onto the sofa, exhaling deeply as I tried to calm my racing mind. Moments later, Mamu strode into the room.
She slammed the plastic bag she was carrying onto the table, muttering under her breath in a fit of suppressed rage: “Your own biological daughter is fighting for her life in a hospital, yet you lack the basic decency to step out of your room and escort us to the clinic, simply because you are huddled away in the quarters of another woman! Hmph! True illness is a visitor that knows the door to every household; we shall see how long this neglect lasts.”
“Mamu,” I interrupted softly, “why is it that you always place the absolute entirety of the blame on Abba, yet you choose to blindly trust Mama Lantana? No matter what the circumstances were last night, it is glaringly obvious that she was the one who actively prevented him from stepping out to help us.”
“Just lie down and rest your body,” Mamu sighed, waving her hand dismissively. “You are far too young to truly comprehend the deep, calculated nature of that father of yours.”
With that, she turned on her heel and exited the room.
The Blood Pacts of Malam Yawale
I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text message to my closest confidante, Ubaidah. Within seconds, my phone vibrated with her incoming call. We began exchanging light pleasantries before I detailed the terrifying paranormal events that had transpired at the clinic.
Ubaidah let out a low, knowing sigh through the receiver. “Hmph! If I tell you right now that I literally witnessed this exact sequence of events in a vivid dream last night, you would probably accuse me of fabricating stories, wouldn't you? Wallahi, Suby, this isn't the first time the spiritual realm has shown me these visions. I routinely see a dark, sinister woman relentlessly pursuing you with dark witchcraft. Do you want to know exactly who my suspicions rest upon?”
“No,” I replied hesitantly.
“Mama Lantana,” Ubaidah declared flatly. “That is the precise reason I absolutely despise that woman and stopped visiting your family compound altogether. Without fail, every single time I set foot in that house and lock eyes with her, I spend the rest of the day bedridden with an agonizing, blinding migraine.”
Before I could formulate a response, Mamu re-entered the room holding a plastic bag. She handed it to me, saying, “Here, eat this food immediately. The moment you finish, take your prescribed medication.” I nodded, accepting the meal, and she stepped back out to tend to her chores.
I took a deep breath and spoke back into the phone. “My dear friend, if you can find any free time, please come over to my house tonight. Come under the cover of darkness so you can avoid running into her entirely. There is a matter of monumental importance that I desperately need to discuss with you face-to-face.”
“No,” Ubaidah countered, “it makes far more sense for you to come over to my place instead. Better yet, just wait until SUL leaves, and you can ride along with him to my house.”
A soft smile spread across my face. “Wait, did he actually inform you that he had arrived? He and I haven't even had a chance to see each other since he got back.”
“He only just informed me this morning,” Ubaidah replied. “He mentioned that his stay will be incredibly brief and he needs to return to his station almost immediately.”
“And knowing that, you still expect me to tag along and disrupt your private time together? Am I not imposing on you guys?”
“Oh, cut the drama and just come over! Do you not know how SUL is? Getting that man to utter a single sentence is like pulling teeth.”
“Alright, fine, no problem,” I laughed. We shifted our conversation to mundane school gossip until her phone credit finally expired, bringing our call to an abrupt end.
Opening the plastic bag Mamu had brought, I found a fresh serving of Waina (Hausa rice cakes) drowned in savory meat sauce. I emptied the contents into a bowl, ate until I was completely full, washed down my pills, and lay down to rest.
My plans for peace were instantly cut short as Yaya Sulaimanu walked through the door. I scrambled off the sofa, throwing my arms tightly around his neck in an explosion of pure joy, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
A warm, gentle smile spread across his face—a face that mirrored my own features so perfectly it was uncanny, though I possessed a softer, more refined beauty.
“Mamu’s spoiled little princess,” he murmured softly, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears of joy streaming down my face. He was my only sibling, my older brother from the exact same womb. He was the one who had practically raised me, shielding me from the world and spoiling me to a fault.
“Na’am (Yes, big brother),” I replied, before falling silent. He took my hand, guiding me to sit beside him on the sofa. He held both of my palms firmly within his own, gazing deeply into my eyes. It was a look that only he could give—a look that effortlessly read the hidden anxieties of my soul. As I had grown older, I had consciously stopped burdening him with my internal struggles, primarily because I realized he carried a massive, silent burden of his own that he endured entirely alone.
“What exactly caused you to lose consciousness last night?” he fired the question at me completely out of nowhere.
Attempting to deflect the heavy topic, I countered with a pout: “Why didn't you come to visit me while I was stranded at the hospital?”
“I was the one who drove you and Mamu to the emergency room in the first place,” he answered softly. “I only departed the clinic because I received an urgent, unavoidable work call that required my immediate attention.”
“I just got off the phone with Ubaidah,” I stated, locking my eyes with his. “She suggested that when you prepare to leave town, I should travel alongside you.”
“She mentioned that to me as well,” Sulaimanu nodded, “but we can only make that trip tomorrow. Today, there is a specific destination I must visit first.”
My face fell into a deep frown. “Then drive me over to her place first before you attend to your meetings. On your way back out of town, you can simply stop by and pick me up.”
“He should pick you up from where?” Mamu questioned as she stepped into the living room.
“From Ubaidah’s family house. You know those two girls are practically inseparable, like identical twins.”
Mamu’s face instantly erupted into a wide, beaming smile. “How wonderful! Just yesterday, I ran into Ubaidah's mother, and she actively brought up the topic of officially setting the wedding date! I told her the ball is entirely in their court, seeing as they are the ones who hold the bride.”
Sulaimanu lowered his head shyly, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “That is precisely the core reason I journeyed back home, Mamu. Unfortunately, because of the chaos last night, I didn't get a single chance to initiate the formal discussion.”
Hearing this, Mamu eagerly took a seat opposite us. Sulaimanu gently released my hands from his grip, shifting his entire body to face Mamu directly. “Mamu, my primary goal is for us to finalize the wedding arrangements post-haste. The moment the ceremonies conclude and everything is legally bound, I intend to immediately relocate Ubaidah to live with me at my official work station.”
“That is an excellent plan, my son! I shall call your paternal uncle immediately to inform him of your decision. He can then personally visit her parents' compound to deliver our formal intentions.”
“Yes, that would be absolutely perfect,” Sulaimanu sighed with immense relief. From that point on, Mamu began bombarding him with detailed questions regarding his employment and career progression. I listened to their rhythmic chatter until my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The Shadow Over the Courtyard
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the compound, Mama Lantana had abruptly abandoned her daughters—Hassana, Hussaina, and Ramatu—leaving them to finish processing the mountain of groundnuts alone. She paced around her private quarters like a wild animal trapped in a cage, her mind consumed by frantic, chaotic thoughts.
Pulling out her mobile device, she aggressively scrolled through her contact registry until she located the specific entry she desired. She slammed the dial button. Within seconds, the name Malam Yawale flashed across the small digital screen.
The line connected after a mere two rings. Without bothering to utter a single greeting, she dropped her voice to a sinister, hushed whisper: “Malam, we have a catastrophic emergency on our hands. Sulaimanu unexpectedly returned to the compound last night.”
“He has returned?” the sorcerer’s raspy voice echoed through the speaker. “Are you absolutely certain? And have you been strictly performing the daily occult chants (wuridi) that I specifically prescribed to you?”
“I performed the chants this very morning, Malam!” Lantana hissed desperately. “Right now, my absolute priority is for us to completely renew and fortify the spiritual hex against him. That is all I care about.”
“I can easily renew the curse,” Malam Yawale replied coldly, “but a disruption of this magnitude requires a blood sacrifice this time around. You must immediately procure three solid-red roosters, alongside one vial of pure red musk oil and two vials of white musk.”
“I will transfer the funds to your account immediately so you can personally purchase every single item required for the ritual,” Lantana stated textually. She severed the call, slamming her palm against her chest to steady her racing heart, which felt as though it would burst through her ribcage ever since she first received confirmation of Sulaimanu's return.
“Hassana!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Outside in the courtyard, Hassana scrambled to her feet, running into her mother's room to answer the urgent summons.
“I am here, Mama,” she panted. Mama Lantana reached for an old plastic container where she secretly hoarded her physical currency. She pulled out a stack of bills, meticulously counting the cash before thrusting it into her daughter's palm.
“Take this cash immediately and transfer it directly to Malam Yawale’s mobile account. Move with absolute speed and return here post-haste; we need to head out to the commercial grinding mill.”
Hassana accepted the money, a slight frown crossing her face. “But Mama... he still hasn't sent us the fresh batch of liquid charms (rubutu) we requested for our protection.”
“He will send them; I was the one who explicitly told him to hold off on the delivery,” Mama Lantana snapped.
Hassana’s frown deepened. “But Mama, if we don't get them soon...”
Before she could finish her sentence, Lantana sharply cut her off, her eyes blazing with fury: “For the sake of your father's soul! Where exactly in this crowded compound do you intend to perform an occult spiritual bath? In the middle of the open courtyard for everyone to see? I am purposely waiting for your grandmother to return from her travels. The moment she arrives, you girls will relocate to her private residence, where you can perform the full ritual baths in absolute privacy and peace of mind!”
Hearing this, Hassana’s face instantly erupted into a wide grin. She grabbed her hijab and sprinted out of the compound to execute the financial transaction.
Moments later, Mama Lantana’s phone vibrated; it was an incoming call from Malam Yawale, confirming that the digital banking alert had successfully hit his account. She answered the call, remaining dead silent.
“By the grace of the powers,” Malam Yawale intoned with absolute arrogance, “I guarantee you that the exact second the blood of these three red roosters spills onto the dirt tonight, Sulaimanu will be violently compelled to abandon the city and flee back to the safety of his remote village.”
A twisted, malicious grin spread across Mama Lantana’s face. “Thank you immensely, Malam. Tomorrow morning, I shall personally visit your shrine to finalize the specialized rituals regarding my twin daughters' fortunes.”
“Very well, Hajiya,” the sorcerer replied before hanging up.
Mama Lantana stepped out into the open courtyard, a move that coincided precisely with Sulaimanu emerging from his family quarters. The absolute second his eyes locked onto her frame, a familiar, deep-seated dread washed over his soul, accompanied by a violent palpitation in his chest. Shaken by her mere presence, he hurried toward her, lowering his head out of absolute, terrified submission, completely unable to maintain eye contact.
Mama Lantana unleashed a deeply calculated, deceptive smile, realizing with supreme satisfaction that the residual dark magic she had previously woven into his psyche was still highly effective. “Welcome home, Manu! What an unexpected surprise. You returned to town without dropping a single hint of your arrival?”
Sulaimanu’s internal panic intensified under her gaze; he felt a terrifying sensation that if he dared to cross her or speak out of turn, he might literally forfeit his life. With a trembling, submissive voice, he stammered, “Please forgive me, Mama. I apologize for arriving without formally notifying you first.”
“Oh, it is absolutely no issue at all, my dear boy! May Allah shower his continuous blessings upon you. I am deeply, genuinely overjoyed to behold your face,” Mama Lantana declared, intentionally raising her voice to a theatrical pitch as she spotted Mamu stepping out into the courtyard. She reached out, gently caressing Sulaimanu’s hair.
Mamu, completely oblivious to the dark undercurrents, offered a warm, innocent smile. This theatrical display of affection was no anomaly; anyone who visited the compound was routinely subjected to Mama Lantana’s exaggerated displays of maternal love toward Sulaimanu. In turn, Sulaimanu obeyed her every command with absolute, unswerving devotion. To an outside observer, it appeared as though Mama Lantana was his biological mother, completely erasing Mamu from the equation.
Without an ounce of suspicion, Mamu chuckled warmly, teasing, “Well, it appears your beloved son has returned to town for the sole purpose of officially carting his bride away!”
Hearing this, a violent surge of bitter envy and black malice consumed Mama Lantana’s heart, yet her face remained an absolute mask of joy. She let out a loud, high-pitched traditional ululation (Guɗa), spinning around in a joyful dance.
Hassana, who had just returned from transferring the funds, walked into the courtyard and laughed, “Mama, what on earth is causing you to dance like this?”
“Your older brother's wedding is finally official!” Lantana cheered. As the ancient proverb goes: “The gazelle does not leap without its offspring learning to sprint.” Mama Lantana had meticulously trained her biological daughters in the dark arts of deception and malice. Instantly picking up on her cue, the daughters erupted into a grand, artificial celebration.
The display successfully warmed Sulaimanu’s naive heart; he stood there watching his paternal half-sisters celebrate his fortune, completely put at ease as they began loudly discussing the specific uniform fabrics (Anko) they would select for the upcoming ceremonies.
Mamu happily joined the circle of women, completely engulfed in planning the colors and designs of the wedding uniforms. Standing right in front of them, she pulled out her phone and dialed their paternal uncle—their father's younger brother—to officially deliver the news. The exact moment Mamu concluded her call and put her phone away, Mama Lantana quietly slipped back into her private room to make a call of her own. She dialed Malam Yawale—a sorcerer so notorious that his mere name struck absolute terror and dread into the hearts of every resident in his district.
The Prophecy of the Crushed Mirror
My name is Suwaiba. I have no concept of how many hours I spent trapped in that deep, heavy slumber. The moment I finally blinked my eyes open, I grabbed a plastic water kettle (Buta) and stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. Upon exiting, I found Mamu hovering over the stove in the kitchen and inquired about the meal she was preparing.
“Rice and beans,” she replied softly.
The moment the words left her lips, an icy grip squeezed my heart. A sudden, terrifying premonition flashed through my mind, and before I could even process my actions, a desperate prayer slipped from my lips: “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un (To Allah we belong, and to Him we shall return)!”
At that exact split-second, Abba burst through the front gates in a state of absolute, wild panic, screaming frantically for Mama Lantana.
Mamu rushed out of the kitchen, still clutching a metal spoon coated in cooking oil. “Malam, what on earth is happening? Speak to me!”
“How can anything be normal?!” Abba gasped, his chest heaving. “It’s Isiyaku! A speeding vehicle completely crushed him down on the main road just moments ago! He didn't even survive long enough to draw a final breath!”
Mamu’s fingers lost all strength; the oil-stained spoon slipped from her hand, clattering heavily onto the concrete floor. “The children's uncle... is dead? But... we literally just hung up the phone a moment ago!”
Abba nodded frantically. “He called me immediately after hanging up with you! He explicitly confirmed that you two had just spoken, and he was on his way to contact Ubaidah's parents to finalize the wedding dates. He told me he wanted to touch base with me before heading over... but alas, destiny had no share in his arrival.”
My legs instantly turned into jelly, trembling so violently that they could no longer support my weight. I collapsed to the floor, weeping with a raw, agonizing intensity as if my very soul was being ripped from my physical chest.
In their minds, my family assumed my explosive tears were a standard reaction to the sudden, tragic demise of my beloved uncle. But they were entirely wrong. I was not weeping for the dead; I was weeping for the terrifying, catastrophic events that were actively rushing toward our household in the near future—events that would inevitably manifest if my prophetic nightmares continued to translate into absolute reality.
Misunderstanding my grief, my parents swarmed around my collapsed frame, offering soft reassurances and counseling me to accept the divine decree.
Mama Lantana slowly stepped out of her room. She locked her eyes onto my face, delivering a cold, piercing glare that sent a violent jolt of pure terror straight down my spine.
“What exactly is causing all this commotion?” she demanded. Abba quickly detailed the tragic news of the accident.
“May Allah have mercy on his soul,” Mama Lantana uttered flatly. Turning toward Mamu, she ordered, “Zainaba, pack up the rice and beans into the insulated coolers immediately; we must transfer the food to the funeral house and depart post-haste.”
As she turned her back to return to her room, she unleashed a cold, triumphant smile—a sinister expression that I witnessed clearly with my own two eyes.
Without wasting a single second, the entire household finalized their preparations. By the time we stepped out of the compound, the clock read just past one in the afternoon. We flagged down a commercial tricycle; Mamu, Mama Lantana, and the twin sisters squeezed into the back seat, while Ramatu and I took our places in the cramped front passenger section alongside the driver.
Upon arriving at the deceased's compound, we found a large funeral canopy already erected in the street, and close relatives were already flooding the scene.
As we dismounted and Mamu handed the fare to the driver, Mama Lantana casually tossed a question into the air: “By the way, has anyone bothered to inform Manu about his uncle's death?”
Mamu silently shook her head. I kept my eyes fixed on Lantana; the sheer lack of empathy in her demeanor was staggering. She carried herself through the mourning crowd with a light, buoyant energy, as though she were attending a lavish celebration rather than a house of death.
“Hassana, take my phone immediately, call your older brother, and deliver the news,” Lantana instructed, thrusting her device into her daughter's hand. It was only after we had filed deep inside the house and settled onto the floor mats that Hassana finally connected the call. From my position against the wall, I could clearly hear Yaya Sulaimanu’s voice through the receiver; it was completely fractured, dripping with absolute, unmitigated devastation.
I leaned my head heavily against the rough concrete wall, closing my eyes as an overwhelming, suffocating anguish settled deep into my chest—a darkness unlike anything I had ever experienced in my entire existence.
Despite the solemn gravity of the funeral house, the gathered women kept up a non-stop barrage of loud, speculative gossip. Mama Lantana repeatedly took center stage, loudly reiterating to anyone who would listen that she and the deceased had been actively discussing Mamu's son's wedding arrangements on the phone at the exact hour of his demise.
Initially, the mourners paid her chatter little mind, until one older woman sharply interrupted the room: “Ah! This upcoming marriage... are we absolutely certain there is a single drop of divine blessing or goodness hidden within it? The poor man was literally struck down and killed while traveling to secure the wedding dates!”
My eyes flew open instantly. I watched Mamu’s face contort with deep pain and discomfort at the cruel insinuation. Mama Lantana, however, seized upon the dark theory, adding fuel to the fire: “Well, who truly knows the mind of destiny? This whole marriage affair has behaved like a lingering plague; it has been over six long months since the groom's family first delivered the dowry wealth, yet the ceremonies remain completely stalled!”
The Seer of the Blind School
I snapped. Unable to endure another single second of their venomous, calculated gossip, I bolted upright. My vision blurred as a wave of intense sorrow and psychological exhaustion threatened to take me under. Paying absolutely zero attention to where my feet were landing, I pushed through the mourning crowd and fled the funeral house into the open streets.
I walked aimlessly for what felt like miles until I spotted a massive shade tree. I collapsed heavily onto a discarded tractor tire resting beneath its branches. Heavy, ragged sighs escaped my chest as I pulled out my phone and dialed Ubaidah. The absolute second she answered the line, I completely broke down, sobbing hysterically into the receiver.
Panic gripped her instantly. She began bombarding me with frantic questions, desperately begging me to explain what was wrong. I remained completely choked by my tears, unable to formulate a single word until she thundered through the speaker: “Stay right where you are! I am coming to get you this very instant!”
“I am not at the house,” I gasped out.
“Then where on earth are you stranded?” she demanded. I blinked, clearing the tears from my eyes to scan my unfamiliar surroundings before offering a shaky reply: “I am sitting directly outside the School for the Blind.”
The line went completely dead. True to her word, less than twenty minutes later, a vehicle pulled up to the curb. The door flew open, and Ubaidah sprinted toward my position, lifting me off the tire and pulling me into a tight, fierce embrace. I buried my face deep into her shoulder, letting my tears flow without restraint. I only began to calm down when I realized that Ubaidah had joined in, weeping bitterly alongside me.
I pulled back slightly, leaning my frame against the warm metal hood of her car. With a shaky, fragile voice, I teased softly, “Wait... are you seriously crying right now?”
“And what exactly do you expect me to do, Suby?!” she snapped, wiping her nose. She grabbed my hand, pulled open the front passenger door, and gently guided me inside before jogging around to the driver's side and jamming the key into the ignition.
She slammed her foot onto the accelerator, launching the car down the asphalt at a terrifying, reckless speed that sent a jolt of genuine fear through my chest.
“Ubaidah, slow down! Where on earth are we going?!” I screamed, clutching the dashboard.
“Nigeria!” she shot back flatly, her eyes locked on the road.
My eyes widened in absolute bewilderment. “Nigeria?! For what possible reason?!”
“I am driving you across the border to sell you into human trafficking!” she barked sarcastically. “That way, I can finally get some peace of mind and escape this constant, non-stop emotional stress you plunge me into every single day!”
An unexpected laugh escaped my lips. I leaned my head sideways, resting it gently against her shoulder as I murmured, “You are my absolute sanity, my dear Udah.”
She eased off the gas, guiding the vehicle toward the gravel shoulder of the highway and pulling into a smooth park. “You had better enjoy the moment,” she grumbled, nudging me playfully. “Your older brother hasn't even had the chance to officially marry me yet, and here you are, completely draining my emotional reserves and using up my physical body.”
I pulled back from her shoulder, flashing her a playful, dramatic glare. “Oh, please! As if this physical body of yours has anything of value to offer anyway; it’s completely devoid of softness, just pure, stubborn muscle!”
She burst into a wild, unhinged laugh that echoed through the cabin. She swatted my back playfully before suddenly falling dead silent, a faint, curious smile playing upon her lips. I followed the line of her intense gaze through the windshield, spotting a solitary figure marching down the dusty path directly toward our stationary vehicle.
“Ubaidah... who on earth is that man?” I whispered, an icy wave of goosebumps instantly erupting across my skin. Even from this distance, the sheer, unnatural architecture of his physical frame sent an involuntary shudder through my body as he closed the distance.
He possessed an extremely fair, pale complexion, yet his entire face was severely marred and disfigured by a horrific network of deep scars, angry pustules, and white, scaly patches that closely resembled the advanced stages of leprosy. At first glance, his compact, slender frame easily categorized him as belonging to the nomadic Fulani tribe.
He stepped up to the vehicle, tapping his knuckles against the glass. Ubaidah smoothly rolled down the window. The mysterious man reached through the opening, presenting her with a heavy, traditional gourd brimming with fresh cow's milk, while simultaneously shifting his piercing, hyper-focused gaze directly onto my face.
“Who is this young soul?” he inquired, his voice dripping with the distinct, clipped accent of a rural Fulani speaker struggling with fluent Hausa. “She carries an aura completely consumed by the deep, bitter agonies of life.”
“She is Sulaiman’s younger sister,” Ubaidah answered softly, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
The mysterious man fell completely silent. He narrowed his eyes, intensifying a glare so extraordinarily sharp and analytical that it felt as though his vision was physically cutting through my flesh. As if operating under the influence of an irresistible, external compulsion, I utterly refused to lower my gaze, locking my eyes directly into his...
The Uncle from the Mist
It felt as though his hyper-sharp eyes were physically reaching deep inside my chest, actively groping around for the continuous strings of my immortal soul. The raw, supernatural weight of his gaze systematically paralyzed every single nerve in my physical body. A series of heavy, involuntary sighs escaped my lips as I squeezed my eyelids shut, pressing my frame as deep into the car seat cushions as humanly possible.
“Should he dilute the mixture with fresh water, or is he expected to consume the formulation in its absolute, undiluted purity?” I heard Ubaidah inquire, her voice laced with deep, hidden reverence.
Speaking in that distinct, heavy Fulani cadence of a mystic who rarely communicated in common tongues, the man rumbled: “He must cut the formulation with pure, sacred Zamzam water, or alternatively, with freshly harvested rainwater collected directly from a severe storm. Furthermore, you must guard your own steps with the utmost vigilance, just as I cautioned you during our previous encounter.
Do not allow your heart to fracture in panic; very soon, every single wall of dark witchcraft erected by your enemies will collapse into absolute dust. It is a fundamental law of the cosmos that before any great blessing can be seized, the soul must first drink deeply from the cup of tribulation.”
“Uncle Suhail,” Ubaidah replied, her voice dripping with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion, “you know better than anyone else alive that I guard my spiritual perimeter with absolute perfection. That is the exact reason those wicked entities utterly refuse to approach my personal space.
My absolute greatest source of agony is watching them systematically dismantle and destroy the innocent souls closest to my heart, simply because they know my spirit will burn with the pain of it.”
“Hold your position for a brief moment,” the mystic instructed calmly. “Let me fetch a specialized counter-medicine for your companion.”
Hearing his words, my eyes flew open instantly. I watched as he turned his back and began walking away from the car. The architecture of his movement was deeply unsettling; he did not walk like a mortal man—his frame seemed to be pushed forward by an invisible current, gliding across the terrain as if he were literally floating through thin air.
Within a matter of minutes, he materialized back at the window, holding a tiny, tightly bound sachet of herbal powder wrapped in an old, weathered cloth.
My entire frame began to shake violently as he spoke: “Force her to inhale this powder directly through her nostrils. It will instantly soothe her nervous system and permanently suppress these chronic, terrifying panic spells she keeps collapsing into.”
In a display of pure, unadulterated mischief, Ubaidah rolled down the passenger-side window and grinned: “Uncle Suhail, why don't you just administer the medicine and force her to inhale it yourself?”
My lips quivered in sheer terror. “No... please, I... I don't want it!” I stammered, my voice breaking.
But it was already far too late. The scarred Fulani mystic had already glided around to my side of the vehicle. Without offering a single word of explanation or seeking my permission, his powerful hands shot through the window, firmly seizing my head and tilting it backward. My vision blurred as I squeezed my eyes shut—
2. Narrative Synopsis & Character Guide
The Occult War of the Co-Wives
This narrative is the opening segment of Romon Haƙuri (The Broth of Patience) by Mrs. Sadauki. It belongs to the contemporary Hausa horror-realism and domestic thriller genre (Littattafan Soyayya da Al'ajabi), which explores the terrifying intersection of traditional polygamous household rivalry (Kishiyanci) and dark occult witchcraft (Asiri/Sihiri).
The story is framed as a non-fictional, true-life account (labari na gaske) involving a young girl named Suwaiba who is caught in the spiritual crossfire of a deadly blood hex.
Character Profiles
Malam Yawale: A highly feared, volatile local sorcerer who orchestrates the blood sacrifices and curses for Mama Lantana from his remote shrine.
3. Literary Analysis & Psycho-Spiritual Themes
1. The Phenomenon of the Splitting Shadow (Inuwa Biyu)
The author introduces a profound piece of West African spiritual lore during Suwaiba's bathroom entrapment. The visual of her shadow splitting into two autonomous entities on the wall before merging into a single mass represents the concept of Dualistic Spiritual Invasion.
In this lore, a curse does not merely hover around a victim; it actively detaches a portion of their life force (Inuwa) to allow a foreign demonic entity to graft itself onto the host. The resulting physical suffocation mirrors the medical symptoms of a severe panic attack, bridging psychological trauma with supernatural horror.
2. The Chronological Execution of the Blood Hex
The pacing of the narrative uses a strict cause-and-effect timeline between the physical world and the occult world:
The sudden, violent vehicular death of Uncle Isiyaku at the exact moment he was traveling to secure Sulaimanu's wedding date is not an accident—it is a spiritual pre-emptive strike. In Kishiyanci horror lore, a wedding cannot be stopped by mere argument; it must be cut down via a blood sacrifice (Yanka) that completely disrupts the family's cosmic balance.
3. The Proverbial Subversion of Maternal Care
The text brilliantly highlights the dark usage of domestic space. Mama Lantana utilizes public spaces (the open courtyard) to display performative affection—caressing Sulaimanu’s hair and dancing for his wedding—while reserving private, hidden spaces (her locked bedroom and her mother's house) to coordinate lethal black magic with Malam Yawale. This creates an atmosphere of deep paranoia where physical touch (the static shock Suwaiba feels when Lantana holds her hands) becomes a weapon of transmission for hexes.
4. Hausa Cultural & Esoteric Vocabulary Glossary