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Miya, Ganjuwa LGA,
Bauchi State,
Nigeria.
3rd July 2007.
Rabiatu sneaked back into her uncle's house half past five. She knew her aunt is sleeping by this time so she had enough time to cook dinner as if she never left the house. She wasn't doing anything wrong as to why she had to sneak in; no, she was simply sneaking out to attend Islamiyya schools which she was forbidden to go to using the small money she saves in her piggy bank. Western education isn't something that's even in the picture. She didn't even dare thought of that. It wasn't for people like her Anty Maryama said.
She was done cooking by the time the adhan for Magrib was called. She went to the scrapheap she lives in and call her room which now consists of a small worn out mattress from when Anty Maryama first got married to Malam Dalhawhichby the way,was passed down to her from her mother--and onewas one wrapper she owns as a duvet. By the small window is a small neatly folded pile that is her clothes which comprises of three wrappers given to her by Inna, Rahma's step mother and two different worn out blouses. That and the one she had on at the moment are the only clothes she owns in her life.
She spread one of the wrapper on the sandy floor and prayed. Afterwards, she settled on it and reversed some of the surahs she learnt in school that day.
"Keh Rabi!"She heard someone banging on the makeshift she calls her door. She recognized the voice as that of Anty Maryama's son, Tasiu.
"Na'am" she replied standing up from the wrapper whilst dusting the dirt off it.
"Wai kizo inji Baffa yanxu yanxunnan" he stated rudely before he walked away.
She quickly slipped into her bathroom slippers that are tied together with a black cello tape before she hastily walked out of the room. She had to duck her head before entering the small parlor as the door's length is moderately small.
Malam Dalha's family parlor is a small room which only has two metalsofas with a few cushions on it and one 90s television. An old damask floor rug is spread on the parlor's floor covering the sandy cemented floor. There are two light bulbs and one of them isn't working anymore. Still with that, Malam Dalha considers himself as one of the village's rich men, somehow.
Rabiatu felt a pang of fear in her heart when she saw Baffa, her uncle, and Anty Maryam sitting on the two sofas; each on one. Anty Maryama's eyes held an unmistakable hidden mischievous glint that made Rabia gulp. While, Baffa as always has his lips set into a straight line so it was hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. His eyes looked cold and distant while his face was blank.
Even with that, she swallowed her fear and walked towards them before she squatted and greeted them. Baffa was the one that gruffly replied whilst Anty Maryama just hissed and rolled her eyes. Rabia ignored her and sat down on the rug.
