FreeFreeDescription
English Translation
Alhamdulillah,
Free Page If you know you cannot afford to pay, do not start reading, because after the free pages come the paid ones. Thank you.
A young man was sitting in a corner, crying bitterly, while two other guys were trying to comfort him. Whenever one touched his shoulder, he would shove him away, and when the other touched him, he pushed him off as well.
"Come on, what is the meaning of this? You're acting like you're not a man," said one of the friends.
"Please, just let me cry... maybe I'll find some relief in my heart... Eight years Khairat and I have been together, but just like that, she is being snatched away from me simply because I have no money," Safwan said amidst uncontrollable weeping.
"Well, you just have to bear it with patience... everything happens only when God decrees it... maybe she was never meant to be your wife," the other friend said.
The crying young man raised his tear-filled eyes, shot a fierce glare at the one who spoke, and snapped back:
"Is that really what you're going to say? Now, give me the money for the marriage rites and see if I won't win her hand! It’s purely my poverty that made me lose Khairat," he said, still crying.
"Please, Safwan, exercise patience... everything happens by the will of God... don't stress yourself," said the other.
"Please, just leave me alone... just go and leave me by myself... you guys don't understand how I'm feeling right now... death would be better than everything I'm facing," Safwan cried out.
"Me? I know exactly how it feels. Wasn't Aliya given out in marriage barely two months ago? Everyone knows how much I loved Aliya, but I just had to accept it since I had nothing to offer her if I married her. It even got to the point where, whenever her family members saw me, they would say they had parted ways with a wretched pauper. We just have to bear it... once God provides a job, we’ll find women willing to marry us," said the friend named Usman.
"When on earth will we ever get a job? It's been a whole three years since we graduated with our degrees, and there's no employment. If a person doesn't go to school, they claim it's because they lack education. But look at us—we hustled, we studied, yet nobody is willing to help us or give us a job. Nowadays, only those with a 'long leg' (connections) get hired," Habib vented in extreme anger.
"At least your situation is better, Habib, since your uncle has some means," Habib said, turning to Safwan, who was still weeping.
"Why don't we go to him and beg him? Maybe he will help you with the money needed to go to Khairat's family's house?" Usman suggested to Safwan.
Safwan raised his red, swollen eyes and replied:
"Uncle Musan? Do you think even if we were dying of hunger he would help us? You expect him to give me money for marriage? Honestly, I don't have the stomach to take myself there just to be insulted this evening," Safwan said with deep resentment.
"Honestly, that uncle of yours is terrible... goodness gracious, he doesn't have an ounce of compassion," Habib remarked.
"As for me, I've known for a long time that he has no human decency. Remember when we walked back from school, and he pulled up with his children in his car yet refused to give us even a short ride? Hmm, may God guide him. Perhaps he thinks we brought poverty upon ourselves," Usman added.
Safwan didn't say anything further because his mind was heavy with entirely different troubles. He was simply missing the love of his life, overwhelmed by the thought that losing money meant losing everything. He had already lost his two sisters because they didn't have the funds to settle their hospital bills. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes while his best friends continued discussing his uncle's obnoxious behavior. Slowly, he raised his head, looked at his friends, and asked:
"Tell me, when will this suffering ever end? When will people like us become wealthy like everyone else? When will we ever command respect in the eyes of society?" He threw all these questions at them.
Quietly, Habib answered, "How on earth are we even going to become rich? Who is going to help us? Rich people only care about themselves. Look at our neighbor—he doesn't even give out Zakat (charity). Last Ramadan, there were days we didn't even have proper food to break our fast, while they were living in absolute luxury. Oh, this world... By God, I am so tired," Usman said, looking as though he was about to cry.
"I wish I were among the wealthy... I would help the poor... I would bring joy to so many people... but look, God didn't make me a rich man," Habib sighed.
"I have an idea... why don't we go to your neighbor and ask him to lend us money so we can start a small trade, and we will pay him back with a profit?" Safwan suggested in a subdued voice.
"Do you really think that man would agree? It's very unlikely," Usman replied.
"Let's just try our luck and see," Habib added.
Safwan wiped his still-wet eyes, stood up, dusted the back of his trousers, and they stepped out of the alley. The neighborhood wasn't an upscale area; it was the kind of place where if you rode a motorcycle, you had to navigate very carefully just to reach your house. Everywhere you looked, there were noisy children and groups of young men. Everywhere they passed, people hailed them. As they reached a woman selling awara (tofu), Habib bent down and picked one up.
"By God, that's fifty naira," the woman told him.
"Just put it on my tab, I'll pay you later," Habib laughed as he replied.
None of the young men were older than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Each of them wore cheap local fabric (yadi) costing no more than 500 naira per yard. Their clothes weren't expensive, but they looked neat.
"I pray someone actually prepared food at home for me today," Safwan said as they walked.
"As for me, I've forgotten what it feels like to have food waiting for me at home... every day it's just Mama yelling at me for not finding a job, acting as though jobs are just lying around waiting to be picked up. Hmmm," Habib complained.
"Me too, Inna is always accusing me of being lazy, claiming I just want to dress up and roam the streets," Usman laughed bitterly.
"May God finally bring an end to this suffering of ours," Safwan said, shoving both hands deep into his pockets.
Slowly, they walked until they reached a massive, magnificent house situated right by the main road. Across the entire neighborhood, there was no house that matched its size and beauty. Looking at it, no one would ever guess that right behind this grand mansion lay a dense cluster of poor, impoverished homes, because the house sprawled across a massive expanse of land. Honestly, I wonder what kind of wealthy individual decided to build such a giant mansion in this kind of neighborhood. He had direct access to drive his car straight into his compound because the house was right by the road, while everyone living behind it had no proper access roads—nothing filled their path except open gutters, mosquitoes, and noisy crowds.
They knocked on the gate. After about two minutes, the gateman opened it, looked them up and down from head to toe, and asked harshly:
"What do you want now?"—speaking to them as if he had never seen them before, even though he knew them well.
"We came to see Alhaji," Usman replied.
The gateman shot him a contemptuous look and said, "Well, you know very well that Alhaji doesn't like your noisy..." Before he could finish, Safwan interrupted:
"Mister, we didn't come to make noise... we just came to see him."
The gateman turned his attention directly to Safwan and snapped, "Well, the rude boy, he's not around."
"Oh, come on, please help us talk to him... I know he's inside," Usman pleaded respectfully.
"Goodness gracious... what is the meaning of this? I told you he isn't around. Leave at once, please," the angry gateman barked.
As Usman opened his mouth to speak, Habib cut in:
"Let's go. Since when did visiting become by force?" he said, sounding deeply pissed off.
Usman gently placed a hand on Habib's shoulder, which helped calm his nerves. The gateman let out a hiss and slammed the gate shut in their faces.
"I suggest we move to the side and wait for him. He'll definitely come out for Maghrib prayer; it's almost time," Safwan suggested.
Without any argument, they walked over to the side, sat down, watched the street, and chatted quietly. About forty minutes later, the call to prayer was sounded. Right there by the roadside, they performed their ablutions, keeping their eyes fixed on Alhaji Ibrahim's gate. As soon as he emerged accompanied by four elderly men, Habib muttered, "That gateman is truly wicked."
As Alhaji Ibrahim walked past where they stood, the three friends fell in line behind him and headed to the same mosque to pray. As soon as the prayers concluded and Alhaji stepped outside with his friends, Safwan and his friends quickly hurried after him. Usman greeted him respectfully. Alhaji turned, looked at him, and returned the greeting.
Quickly, Usman said, "Alhaji, we've been waiting at your gate since earlier today, but your gateman told us you weren't around."
Alhaji stopped, looked him over directly, and asked, "So, what is it about?"
The influential men accompanying him stopped as well, fixing their gazes on the trio. Usman stammered, unsure of how to begin, so Safwan quickly stepped in:
"Alhaji, we want you to help us..."
Before he could finish, Alhaji Ibrahim raised a hand to silence him, while the wealthy men standing beside him burst into laughter.
"Why on earth are you boys so devoid of common sense? Do you think I'm running a money-printing press? Everyone drags their wretched problems to my doorstep. Please, stop asking me for handouts! I depend on God myself; I don't have money growing on trees. Go and beg God to provide for you too. From today onward, stop disturbing me!" Alhaji Ibrahim said with rising annoyance.
Habib quickly interjected, "Alhaji, we are not asking for free handouts... we just want you to assist us with some capital so we can start a trade, and we will pay you back with a profit."
The laughter from the men made Habib trail off and fall silent.
"Just listen to what this boy is saying," Alhaji Ibrahim chuckled, addressing his friends, who were now laughing so hard they were clutching their stomachs. "As if they are trying to scam someone like me!"
"By God, sir, we are not trying to scam you... it's just that..." Safwan started, but one of the men with Alhaji Ibrahim cut him off:
"You boys should go straight to the government! And people keep telling you to study hard, but your stubbornness is what ruined you. Look at you now—before you've even achieved anything in life, you've already resorted to begging (maula)."
Habib, shaking his head in sheer frustration at what he was feeling inside, retorted, "Alhaji, we did study! We have good results..."
Before he could finish, another man sneered, "Then use those good results and look for a job! Stop begging—it doesn't befit young men like you," the man said, looking them up and down from head to toe, clearly doubting they had any real education.
"By God, Alhaji, we search for jobs every single day... but we never get any," Safwan said in a soft, dejected voice.
"Then take your problems to the government! Leave us alone. You've turned my neighborhood into a central bank where everyone comes to squeeze out money," Alhaji Ibrahim said, turning away.
The wealthy men turned around as well. One of them remarked to Alhaji Ibrahim, "Honestly, I'm still wondering why you refuse to leave this local area. It doesn't suit your status at all."
"Ah, this place belongs to my parents and ancestors. Besides, these people you see here act like my security guards—nothing bad can ever happen to me here. So I know very well why I choose to stay," Alhaji Ibrahim replied.
"True enough... but still, you're trying your best for them," another said.
"Not a single bit! Every day it's begging—the parents beg, the wives beg, and now the youths are begging. And the entire burden rests on my shoulders alone," Alhaji Ibrahim complained, sounding thoroughly fed up.
One of them named Alhaji Yunusa, who hadn't uttered a single word since Safwan and his friends started speaking, calmly intervened:
"Well, you should try and help them when you can. God gave us wealth not because we are better than them; He has a purpose for everyone's life."
"It's not like I don't give them anything! It's just that they want me to hand over everything I own, which is impossible. Sometimes I buy a whole bag of rice and send it to the backstreets to be distributed. I am doing my best—I simply cannot do more than I am already doing," Alhaji Ibrahim snapped dismissively.
The gate was opened for them, and they walked inside. Safwan, Habib, and Usman stood outside, completely crushed, having lost all sense of joy.
"By God, if I had known, I would have taken the money I used for my education and invested it in a business instead. Look at us—we studied hard, yet there are no jobs," Habib said, sounding furious.
"We just have to keep hoping... God will surely make a way," Usman tried to encourage them.
As for Safwan, he remained entirely silent because the psychological tension was simply too much to bear. They walked over to a concrete slab nearby and sat down, discussing how to escape this absolute cycle of poverty. Whenever any of their peers walked past them, they would jeer:
"The Three Musketeers, how are you doing?"
That was the nickname they were known by. They didn't share biological blood, but their bond of friendship was unbreakable. Whatever they did, they did together; they were birds of a feather flocking together. No one dared mess with any of them and expect to go scot-free. Each of them was neat and handsome, though the harsh realities of life masked their good looks. None of them were hefty; they were all slim and tall. They understood each other so deeply that arguments were rare, fiercely protective of one another, sharing each other’s pain and joy, keeping secrets, and standing by one another through thick and thin. All the hustle they went through to raise school fees was done collectively. Whenever one of them lacked money for a semester, the others would hustle through odd jobs to help him pay his school fees. Sometimes they wondered if the wives they would eventually marry would ever love them as much as they loved one another.
All of them were native sons of Kano. They had attended Bayero University Kano (BUK) and graduated with flying colors, yet they remained unemployed. They had tried everything humanly possible, but no jobs came their way. They had submitted applications everywhere, but not even a single interview invitation had ever been sent their way, let alone securing employment. The small stipend they managed to save from their NYSC (National Youth Service Corps) service year was pooled together to open a small shop in their neighborhood, but after just one year, it liquidated because of family financial pressures. In short, even though they were unemployed, their families entirely depended on them since their parents had no tangible means of livelihood.
Habib let out a massive yawn. Safwan, who had been sitting with his chin cupped in his palm, turned to him and asked:
"What's wrong?"
"By God, Bahbah, I am starving... I've almost forgotten when last I had a proper meal," Habib complained, rubbing his flat tummy.
"You've just forgotten. Didn't we eat rice at my house earlier today?" Usman reminded him.
Habib laughed and replied, "That rice was as good as nothing! Even if I ate all of it alone, it wouldn't be enough."
The others laughed. Safwan looked at Habib and said, "Let's wait, perform Ishaa prayer, and go home. Maybe we'll find something to eat."
"I pray so... I am so damn hungry, honestly," Habib muttered, patting his stomach.
"You never have any business other than crying about food... even when we are drowning in deep anxiety," Usman scolded playfully.
Habib chuckled softly, "Well, food is a necessity... a man must eat," he said, sounding entirely carefree.
As for Safwan, up until that moment, his mind was consumed entirely by thoughts of Khairat. He still couldn't believe that Khairat was going to become the total property of another man after all their elaborate marriage plans. She loved him and he loved her, yet right before his eyes, he was about to lose her forever.
"Oh, this cruel world..." he muttered, shaking his head.
"Please, let's drop this topic," Usman urged him.
Safwan turned and shot him a glare, saying, "Please, just leave me alone," as he stood up and walked away from them.
His friends rose and followed closely behind him. Safwan walked straight to the neighborhood mosque, sat down outside, and listened to the call for Ishaa prayer. They rinsed their mouths and entered the mosque. After completing the prayers, they stepped outside, and Safwan headed toward his house. They stopped at a small house where Safwan pulled out a key from his pocket and unlocked the external door leading to the outer corridor. Usman and Habib stepped inside, while Safwan walked toward the second door, greeting his mother as he opened it:
"Inna..." he called out, lifting the heavy curtain of the room.
A middle-aged woman was sitting on her prayer mat finishing her prayers. He didn't say anything further, dropped the curtain, and headed straight to the small local kitchen. He opened the pot and found miyan kuka (baobab soup) alongside a bowl of tuwo (thick sorghum/millet paste). He grabbed an empty plate and began scooping some tuwo. Just as he was about to dish it out, Inna stepped out holding her rosary (tasbih).
"Inna, good afternoon," he greeted her.
"Peace," she replied curtly, watching what he was doing.
"What are you doing?" she asked bluntly.
"Inna, I'm just taking some tuwo," he replied, continuing to scoop the food.
"Are you out of your mind? You're going to scoop this massive amount of tuwo—what will your younger siblings eat later?" she snapped.
"Inna, I'm not going to eat it alone... I'm with Usman and..." Before he could finish, Inna cut him off sharply:
"Indeed! You boys have no shame whatsoever. Big-bodied young men like you have no shame walking into a kitchen to steal food when you don't even bring home a single naira..."
Before she could finish, Safwan pouted like a child about to cry, softened his voice, and pleaded:
"Inna, please keep your voice down so they don't hear you... you know I also give them food when I have it at my place... and you know if I had money, I wouldn't hide it from you," he whispered conspiratorially so his friends outside wouldn't hear, knowing full well how sensitive such humiliating remarks were to his pride.
"Eat your father's... get away from that food and reduce it! The remaining portion is for your younger siblings who are out there working hard to find money," she barked.
Slowly, he reduced the portion of tuwo. She snapped again, "Reduce it more! You guys only know how to eat and roam the streets idly. People your age are out there taking care of their families..."
Slowly, he reduced it further until only a tiny scrap of tuwo was left. Inna herself poured a tiny splash of soup over it, standing guard to ensure he didn't take any more. Silently, he walked out of the house carrying the plate of food to Usman and Habib, who were waiting in the darkness. He set it down before them and said:
"Bismillah (In the name of God)," sitting down quietly on a low concrete block.
"What about you?" Usman asked, adjusting his sitting position.
"My mind is preoccupied with something else... I don't have an appetite for food," Safwan replied, resting his head in his hands.
"You're thinking about Khairat again. Let hunger start keeping you awake at night," Habib joked, plunging his hand straight into the bowl of tuwo.
Safwan didn't say another word to them; he simply stared blankly into the dark space, reflecting on what a horrifying world this was. Within three minutes, Habib and Usman had completely finished off the food. A young lady walked past them toward the compound, and Habib called out:
"Asiya, please bring us some water."
"Alright," she replied, stepping inside, and a few minutes later, she brought them water to drink.
That night, Safwan didn't accompany them to their usual hangout spot where they chatted till 10:00 PM. He felt utterly wretched. He had no idea what his future held; he had reached his absolute breaking point.
"Is this really how we are going to end up?" he whispered softly to himself. "At twenty-nine, we have absolutely nothing of our own?" He tossed and turned on his small mattress. "Oh Allah, please bring an end to this suffering of ours," he cried silently, tears streaming down his face.
He tossed and turned all night until the time for Fajr (dawn) prayer arrived. He got up, stepped inside the compound, washed up, performed ablution, and prayed. As soon as he finished, he grabbed several yellow jerrycans and headed to the nearby borehole to pump six jerrycans of water—just as he routinely did every single morning before daybreak. Afterward, he returned to his room and lay down; only then did deep sleep finally claim him.
He woke up around 10:00 AM, stepped inside the main house, took a bath, and walked over to Inna's room.
"Inna, please can I get something for breakfast?" he asked softly.
She looked him up and down from head to toe and sneered:
"You don't have a single naira to your name, yet you lie in bed sleeping lazily until 10:00 AM like some head of state! How on earth do you expect to find a job? When serious job seekers are out there searching, you are rolled up inside a heavy blanket sleeping away! Go away, I don't have any breakfast for you," she blasted him angrily.
He stared at her for a moment as hot tears welled up in his eyes.
"Inna, it seems my very presence here disgusts you... please forgive me... By God, there is nothing I can do... maybe one day my story will change," he said in a broken whisper.
Inna hissed loudly and retorted, "Your story will change? Perhaps only when I die will your story change! Just get out of my sight. Many mothers are proud of their firstborn sons, but not me!"
"Oh come on, Inna... how do you expect me to deal with myself? Do you think it's out of joy that I roam the streets? Is it my happiness to wander around this compound aimlessly? By God, Inna, there is no greater joy for me than to make you happy. Every single day my greatest desire is to provide for you, but God hasn't made it happen yet. Inna, all I need from you is your prayers... please, don't add to the emotional pain I'm already carrying inside... please, Inna," he pleaded, tears streaming freely down his face.
Inna let out a hiss of utter disgust, turned around, and marched into her room, muttering:
"God forbid you inherited your father's path of utter failure," speaking as though she weren't talking to her own biological son.
Slowly, Safwan walked out of the main house, entered his small room by the entrance, sat down, and broke down in tears.
"If the woman who gave birth to me despises me this much because of my poverty, then surely everyone else will despise me too," he sobbed.
The door pushed open, and Habib stepped inside. Safwan quickly wiped his face. Habib sat down beside him and asked directly:
"You and Inna again?"—knowing full well how Inna treated him. While their own parents also pressured them, Inna's hostility was by far the worst, constantly accusing Safwan as if he were a thief bringing home stolen money.
"You're crying like a baby over that? As if you aren't used to it by now... please stop crying. Get dressed and let's go look for something to do... even if it means pushing a water truck (dan garuwa) in another neighborhood, let's go," Habib urged him.
Safwan looked at him slowly and repeated, "Did you say... pushing a water truck?" in a subdued voice.
"Well, do we have a choice? What else can we do? There is nothing at home today, and my mother is waiting expectantly. Today we simply must find something to do, since the tailoring shop has zero patronage," Habib explained.
"Me? I can barely even walk properly... the last time I ate was that rice we had at Usman's house."
"Right now, just get up and let's go to the local food joint; buy something to eat, and then we'll head out."
"By God, I don't have a single naira," Safwan confessed.
"Let's go, I have a hundred naira. Buy something to eat, and then we'll leave."
"Where is Usman?" Safwan asked.
"I'm sure he'll be here shortly. I just saw him earlier, and he mentioned his father sent him on an errand to Yankai lane, but he's heading straight here afterward," Habib said, stretching out on the mattress. Slowly...
Comprehensive Summary
The excerpt introduces Safwan, Habib, and Usman—three university graduates from Kano who, despite earning degrees with flying colors, have been trapped in chronic unemployment for three years. Safwan is devastated after losing his long-time girlfriend, Khairat, whose family rejected him because of his extreme poverty. Compounding his misery is his mother (Inna), who constantly berates and insults him for his joblessness, viewing him as a disappointment.
The trio's attempt to seek a small business loan from a wealthy neighborhood neighbor, Alhaji Ibrahim, is met with public humiliation and mockery from the elite. Facing intense domestic pressure, hunger, and a bleak future, the friends rely entirely on their unbreakable bond of brotherhood to survive, eventually contemplating desperate manual labor just to put food on the table.
Detailed Description
Setting
- The Slum Backstreets of Kano: A starkly contrasting urban environment characterized by poor access roads, open gutters, mosquitoes, overcrowded houses, and bustling local street vendors. It sits right behind an opulent, walled mansion owned by the wealthy Alhaji Ibrahim, symbolizing extreme socio-economic disparity.
Main Characters
- Safwan: Emotionally vulnerable, deeply depressed by poverty, heartbreak (losing Khairat), and maternal rejection. He represents the crushing psychological toll of youth unemployment.
- Habib: Outspoken, pragmatic, and occasionally quick-tempered. He acts as a harsh realist who pushes his friends to keep moving despite the hopelessness.
- Usman: Level-headed and supportive, serving as a stabilizing bridge between Safwan and Habib during moments of intense tension.
- Inna (Safwan's Mother): Bitter, harsh, and frustrated by poverty. She directs her anger at Safwan, weaponizing verbal abuse against him for his inability to provide financially.
- Alhaji Ibrahim: An apathetic, wealthy neighbor who embodies the disconnect and callousness of the rich toward the struggles of the impoverished youth in their community.
