FreeFreeDescription
English Translation
It was a typical Fulani settlement (ruga). The settlement was dead silent; nothing could be heard except the lowing of cattle, the chirping of birds, and the faint sounds of small nocturnal animals.
Like any Fulani settlement, it consisted of scattered grass-thatched huts encircled by the bush. They were not clustered tightly together; each hut stood a short distance from the others. Generally, there were no concrete or walled houses in the ruga—everything was wide open, save for a few huts where the front half of the compound was fenced with woven cornstalks.
Slowly, she crept out of the hut that served as her domain, moving stealthily with her shoes tucked under her armpits like a thief moving in the dead of night.
"Hey, who is there?!" a voice rang out sharply, flashing a bright torchlight directly at her. She neither answered nor turned back; she froze in her tracks like a statue. "I said, who is there?! Or are you mute?"
She remained silent, refusing to speak. Hearing the person approaching closer and closer, she slowly turned around just as the figure came right up to her.
"Hmm, I knew it in my bones! It’s you, the one with a skull made of stone! God created you stubborn, didn’t He? Even after I told you not to go, you went anyway?" the middle-aged woman said in her broken Hausa, instantly recognizable as Fulani. "I am talking to you and you remain silent!"
She batted her eyes innocently like a caught burglar.
"Wallahi, Nene, I didn't..."
"Shut your mouth, you cursed liar! If you weren’t going there, why on earth did you dress up and put on new clothes, tell me? Are you going to turn back and go to sleep right now, or do you want me to lose my temper with you?"
She pulled a pouting, pathetic face.
"But Nene..."
"I swear by the gods, if you let me hear your voice in this matter again, I will tie your life and mine together in deep trouble, you impudent child!"
Tears began to well up in her eyes. She slipped her shoes back on and started walking away. After walking a short distance, she caught a rush of wind and bolted into a sprint. She heard Nene shouting her name behind her, but acting as though it wasn’t meant for her, she fled without even looking back.
She ran far enough to ensure she was a good distance from home before stopping to catch her breath. Lifting her head, she spotted the bright glow of a fire burning where she had come from, and she could faintly hear the noise of the crowd. She smiled.
"Haba, Nene! You can just bear with it, but this celebration is happening. There's no way a petty bully like Hansai is going to stand between me and the fun."
She wiped her face with the edge of her veil. In the bright, glaring moonlight, one could finally get a good look at her: she was just a young girl, roughly eleven years old, very fair-skinned with a long face featuring a prominent, straight nose and a small mouth. Her arched eyebrows were naturally neat, and her large, striking eyes possessed a captivating depth. Soft strands of hair fell gracefully over her forehead, hinting at a thick head of hair. Though she was not chubby at all—slender like a stalk of grass—she wore traditional Fulani attire, and the white woven fabric suited her complexion immensely.
After steadying her breathing, she resumed walking toward the sound of the music. The DJ changed the tune, and right on cue, with a graceful and unique leap, she bounded into the open arena. The moment she appeared, the men in the crowd erupted into wild cheers.
"Yeeee! Dagori! Dagori!! Dagori!!! She has arrived! Our warrior has arrived! Everyone make way, Dagori is here!"
That was all the men could shout. Instantly, her face lit up with excitement as she broke into traditional Fulani dance, moving with breathtaking grace. She swung her waist and torso rhythmically, driving the men into a frenzy as they began showering her with money. Meanwhile, she danced with all her heart, especially upon noticing Hansai and her friends standing off to the side whispering to one another.
Hansai pulled three other girls aside and glared at one of them.
"You, Dije! What is the meaning of this? What brought Dagori here? Did she even know about this gathering?"
Dije replied defensively, "Well, I mentioned it to her, but I didn't know she would actually come."
"Useless Dije! Who in this world doesn't know Dagori's mischievous nature when it comes to arena games, and yet you went ahead and told her?"
The girl who had spoken first chimed in, "Just leave her, A'i. Whoever eats corn with soup—I don't care! I'm actually glad she came. I know the sheer frustration she’s going to feel today will make her deeply regret coming here."
"Frustration over what?!" they asked in unison.
"Just sit back, watch, and enjoy the show," she replied with a wicked smile.
Dagori danced until she was tired. Slowly, she began stepping backward with a stylish flair that once again captured everyone's attention. She backed away toward the other girls, but as she approached, none of them stepped forward; instead, they cleared a path, glaring at her. As she moved out of the center, someone signaled the musicians, and the music stopped abruptly.
A man stepped to the front, faced the crowd, and began to speak:
"Well, Alhamdulillah, we have been thoroughly entertained! Now, moving on—I know everyone has been eager to know the reason for this sudden celebration, which many of us are only hearing about today. I am thrilled to announce that our brother and friend has successfully won a bride right here in our own Ruga!"
Cheers and loud shouts erupted. Off to the side, Hansai let out a wicked laugh whose meaning only she knew.
The speaker continued, "Now, I know your hearts are overflowing with curiosity: who is this lucky man? It is none other than... Gidado, the son of the King of Farmers! He has successfully hooked the most beautiful maiden in the land—none other than... Hansai!"
The venue erupted into even louder cheers and jubilation. Some men rushed toward Gidado, hoisting him up and tossing him into the air.
Just as Gidado was being tossed into the air, Dagori’s heart plummeted. She couldn't process anything; it felt as though the entire world had frozen. She lost all comprehension of her surroundings until she noticed the crowd beginning to disperse. Slowly, she began walking away like someone whose raw egg had broken in her pocket.
After walking a short distance, she bumped into Hansai and her crew, who looked as though they had been waiting specifically for her.
"Well, well, well! Look at Dagori, the big town girl! Did someone die, I wonder? When you arrived earlier, you were full of life and joy, but now you're leaving with a sour face," Hansai taunted, trying to hold back her laughter.
A'i chimed in, "Hmm, as for me, Hansai, you know how human jealousy works. Who knows, maybe she’s dying of jealousy because ever since it was announced that you and Gidado are getting married this year, I noticed her whole demeanor changed!"
With a wicked smirk, Hansai said, "Oh really, A'i? I didn't know! Well, if it’s pure envy, let her hear this: whether she likes it or not, this marriage between Gidado and me is sealed and delivered, and..."
Without waiting to hear the end of her sentence, Dagori turned and walked away. Her mood was completely ruined. Leaving them standing there, the girls burst into laughter. Hansai looked at A'i and asked, "By the way, where is Dije?"
"Mtsssss! She left a long time ago as soon as she caught sight of Dagori. You know she's Dagori's friend and secretly fears her. All her usual boldness was just because she thought people were afraid of her, but look at her now—she tucked her tail and ran off the moment it was just the two of us!"
They burst into laughter again, nudging each other.
"Come on, let's go home, it's late and I'm sleepy."
They strolled off slowly, chatting and laughing—all at Dagori's expense.
Upon reaching home, Dagori went straight into her hut. Throwing herself onto her woven reed bed covered with a simple mat and wrapper, she stared up at the ceiling. Physically, she was looking at the thatch roof, but mentally, her mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of vengeance.
"Me, Dagori—the one everyone says is untouchable—today I've fallen so low that even these little pests think they can play me? Truly, the Hausa proverb is right: when a blind cat appears, even a naked mouse will dance in front of it! Wallahi, Hansai, A'i, you two will regret messing with the wrong person. At first, this wasn't even your fight, but you bought it. I am going to finish dealing with both of you before I turn my attention to that big-for-nothing cheat of a boy!"
With that final thought, she spat a curse under her breath and adjusted her sleeping position.
Early the next morning, Dagori heard Nene calling her to wake up for morning prayers. However, dreading Nene's questions about where she had snept off to the previous night—even though she knew Nene was well aware she went to the dancing arena—Dagori decided to play possum. Knowing Nene's fiery temper, she figured feigning deep sleep was safer than facing an interrogation unprepared.
She lay perfectly still until she heard Nene finish her ablutions and enter her hut. Only then did she sit up, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Grabbing her water kettle from the corner, she stepped outside to the outdoor bathroom to freshen up. Afterward, she knelt down near where Nene had sat, performing her ablutions, and hurried inside to offer her prayers.
Once done, she picked up a small hijab from a basket by the reed bed, grabbed her slate board (allo), and stepped out into the empty courtyard, heading straight out of the compound.
She headed toward the local study spot beneath a large mango tree where groups of young boys and girls gathered, each sitting on their own patch of ground. She walked over and sat down on a sack mat occupied by a younger girl. The girl looked up with a flash of annoyance, but when their eyes locked, Dagori shot her a fierce, intimidating glare. Instantly, the terrified girl lowered her gaze, slid off the mat, and scurried away, leaving the sack entirely to Dagori.
Classes commenced, and around 7:30 AM, they were dismissed. As Dagori made her way back home, she heard her name called. Recognizing the voice, she flashed a cunning, malicious smile, ignored the caller, and kept walking. Realizing Dagori wasn't going to stop, the caller broke into a run and cut right in front of her path.
"Please, Dagori, I am begging you to forgive what happened yesterday! Wallahi, I had no prior knowledge of any of it."
"Hmm, Dije! Did you really think I didn't see what happened? I saw everything. You claim to be my friend, yet you allied yourself with Hansai—someone everyone in this entire ruga knows I have beef with—and you conspired with her to betray me?" she concluded with a sharp hiss.
"Wallahi, Dagori, I swear I knew nothing about it! If you want, I can tell you exactly what transpired between us, but please, I swear by God, believe me—I had nothing to do with it."
"Fine then! I forgive you, but you must do something for me in return!"
"What is it? Name it, I agree to whatever it is!"
"No worries, when the time comes, I'll let you know." She dropped the English word "no" in the middle of her sentence, acting like a sophisticated Westerner, since "yes," "no," and "okay" were practically the only English words she knew.
With that, they resumed walking. Since Dije's house was the first on the path, she slipped inside, while Dagori continued toward her own home. Entering the compound, she saw Salame sweeping the animal pen, but she ignored her entirely and marched straight into her hut.
Moments later, she stepped out dressed neatly for Western school. Though her clothes weren't ironed, they were impeccably washed, because if there was one thing Dagori took pride in, it was cleanliness and looking immaculate. She loved standing out and looking better than everyone else. Combined with her striking natural beauty, her obsession with cleanliness and fashion earned her the title of "The Fashionista of the Ruga"—a reputation that fed her ego immensely.
As she walked past Nene's hut, Baffa emerged from his quarters. She immediately dropped to her knees in greeting.
"Good morning, Baffa! Hope you slept well?"
"Morning, Mai-babban-suna! Off to school?" he asked with a warm smile, which she reciprocated.
"Yes, Baffa."
"That’s good. But please, Mai-babban-suna, try to be careful and stay out of trouble, you hear?" he cautioned gently.
"You might as well talk to a brick wall, since she never listens to anyone anyway!" Nene barked as she stepped out of her hut.
"Uhm, typical mother—she’s just young, and youth is getting the better of her. She’ll outgrow it, won't you, Mai-babban-suna?" Baffa smiled, knowing that arguing back would only open a Pandora's box. "Off you go now, don't be late."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty-naira note, and handed it to her. She accepted it with a polite expression of gratitude and stood up to leave, while Nene stood fuming in silence, too irritated to speak further.
Strolling along slowly while humming a Fulani folk song, she caught up with a group of children gathered along the path. As soon as they spotted her, they began chanting taunts:
"Amin Dagori mai layar ƙanzo! Amin dai wasa ba!" (Amin Dagori of the protective talisman charm, oh what a joke!)
Hearing this, she chased after them. They scattered in all directions, but she pursued them relentlessly until she managed to grab one unfortunate boy by the collar.
"You little brat! Do you people take me for a fool? Calling me 'Amin Dagori mai layar ƙanzo'? Your father's talisman, you useless little hoodlums!"
As she scolded him, she landed a couple of sharp slaps across his head, sending him into tears.
"Let me catch you doing this again tomorrow—well, you're a bastard anyway, you don't even have a dad! But whatever the case, dare try it again!" she yelled, giving him one final shove before letting him go. The boy scrambled away as fast as his legs could carry him, thoroughly beaten.
She finally reached her school—a modest structure consisting of just three classrooms built in a modern style, though completely unplastered, lacking even cement flooring. She walked into the middle classroom where children were crammed together like cattle. Some sat directly on the bare dirt floor, while those fortunate enough brought grain sacks to spread out so they wouldn't soil their clothes.
There was no teacher inside at the moment, and the children were playing noisily. But the second Dagori stepped through the doorway, dead silence fell instantly as everyone hurried to mind their own business.
True to her arrogant nature, she never brought a sack mat to school; instead, she simply claimed whatever seat she wanted, often bullying others out of theirs. Spotting a young girl sitting comfortably, she barked,
"You! Come here!"
The girl scrambled to her feet in panic.
"Get your sack mat right now and bring it here for me!"
The girl rushed to obey, bringing the mat over. Dagori rewarded her efforts with a sharp slap across the face.
"Did you really think I'd be the one spreading out your dusty mat for you?"
Holding back her tears, the girl quickly laid the mat down. Dagori seated herself regally on it, while the displaced girl retreated to the corner to sit on the bare floor.
Just then, the teacher walked in. The class stood up to greet him, but Dagori remained seated, simply adjusting her posture. The teacher merely sighed, shaking his head as he held out his hand toward her expectantly.
With a slight, dismissive grimace, Dagori dipped her hand into her school bag, pulled out a piece of local slate chalk (ali) and a box of matches, and handed them to him, knowing precisely what he wanted.
The teacher accepted them, slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette butt, popped it into his mouth, and lit it using her matches. He tossed the remaining matchbox back at her, and she let out an audible hiss before stuffing it back into her bag.
"Are you hissing at me?" the teacher demanded, frowning.
"Not at all, I wouldn't dare change your intentions—I'm hissing at anyone whose conscience is guilty!" she retorted smoothly, staring him down with unblinking eyes.
The teacher knew full well she was referring to him. Ever since he had made the mistake of showing romantic interest in her, mutual respect had vanished from their dynamic—replaced by a transactional relationship where she supplied his smoking habits just to keep him wrapped around her finger...
