Imaan could not even go to Islamiyya that day. Apart from sleeping, she did nothing. By the time her body felt better, only weakness remained. Daddy was in the parlor, in his study area. He looked at Ammi, who was also in the parlor, and said,
“It’s almost six, madam. Won’t you wake Imaan up?”
She looked at him and replied, “I’ll wake her up before Maghrib.”
He asked, “But there’s no fever anymore, right?”
She said, “Yes, there’s no fever, but she’s weak.”
He said, “May Allah grant her healing.”
Softly Ammi said, “Ameen.”
After a while she looked at him and said, “I’m really disturbed about Imaan’s health condition… She has suffered a lot but always claims to be strong, and…” Then she fell silent. Slowly she continued, “I don’t want to lose her.”
Daddy looked at her and said, “Allah plans best. Just continue praying for her at all times; one day it will become a story. Allah will remove it from her.”
Ammi said, “In sha Allah.”
After Maghrib, while Ammi was in the kitchen, she heard Inna’s voice in the parlor. She came out, greeted her respectfully and said, “Welcome, Inna.”
Inna asked, “Where is your husband?”
Ammi replied, “He went to the mosque.”
Inna said, “Earlier, Imaan came looking very pale. Did her body trouble her again?”
Ammi said, “Yes, truly, but she feels better now. She’s in the room praying.”
Lowering her voice, Inna said, “Now, when this your husband’s Western medicine has finished damaging the girl everywhere, won’t you focus and stand up to handle things yourself with your daughter? For God’s sake, what is wrong with traditional medicine, Aisha? Everything must be hospital, hospital—what about traditional remedies?”
Ammi said, “That’s true, Inna.”
Inna said, “Truly, the healer is behind the mountain.”
Ammi slightly widened her eyes and looked at her.
Inna continued, “His work is sharp like a knife—once you drink the medicine, it will force out the sickness and you’ll return like normal people. But I’m afraid to talk because Bukar and Ahmadu are not the kind; they’ll insult me and say he’s a herbalist, even though he’s not—Allah is the one who placed him behind the mountain. Ta Rasulu has gone there many times, and it takes a day and a half to get there. Since it’s like that, you know there’s a scent of success. A journey of one and a half days surely has success…”
Daddy’s entrance made her stop. Daddy greeted her politely; she replied briefly, looking at Ammi and said, “You hear, my daughter. Let me go back and leave my door open so these children don’t be running errands for me; the meat stew is in the room. Mujaheed has been lying to me since morning—maybe he’ll even come and finish it. So when is your husband returning?”
Ammi said, “Tomorrow, in sha Allah.”
Inna said, “When he leaves, come to my section and meet me; we’ll finish our discussion there—it’s private.”
She headed for the door. Daddy said “see you later,” but she didn’t even respond.
She went to Mujaheed’s section saying, “As for Amina, let me go and see if she’s okay; I didn’t see her today.”
Mujaheed was sitting in the parlor with Yusuf. Hajiya was in the dining area arranging food, and Rahma was helping her. Mujaheed hadn’t allowed them to meet all day until now, when she caught him in the parlor as he came out of the kitchen.
Inna looked at Yusuf and said, “You, where is your mother? She didn’t come to greet me today—how is she?”
Yusuf said, “At this late hour, you’re already on your way here, Inna.”
Hajiya came into the parlor, lowered her head and greeted, “How was the day, Inna?”
Inna said, “Rukayya, if it were Hadiza you’d greet standing like that?”
Umma turned and went back to continue what she was doing without answering.
Inna added, “And please do me a favor and stop greeting me entirely in this house whenever you see me. I don’t need it. It’s yourself you’re annoying me with, and may Allah curse such greetings.”
Mujaheed stared at Inna, his face tight. Inna scoffed and said, “Let’s see; we’ll see who ends up packing. Even you—your son is old enough for marriage. If not for his foolishness, you’d have known peace by now.”
Mujaheed stood up and said, “You didn’t come here with any good intention—only trouble and complaints. Please, enough. Nothing is ever right for you.”
Inna snapped, “Are you insulting me, Mujaheed?”
Angrily he said, “Let’s leave it at that,” and walked past her as if heading upstairs.
Yusuf followed him with his eyes. Umma had already gone into the kitchen, boiling with anger.
Yusuf stood up and said, “Please forgive us, let me escort you.”
Inna began to cry and said, “Isuhu, did you see what Mujaheed did to me? If I were closer, no one would stop him from hitting me. Where is your father?”
Yusuf said, “Let’s go; Abba hasn’t returned.”
As they went, she said, “If Mujaheed continues living in this house, then I’ll leave.”
When they reached Imaan’s section, she opened the door. Daddy was seated checking his laptop; he stood up on seeing her. She said, “Bukar, there is nothing Mujaheed forgot to tell me. I just corrected his mother. Now choose—either me or him in this house.”
She shut the door. Yusuf had already moved on.
When they reached her section, she broke down crying and said, “Only now does it really hurt me, Isuhu. You saw the suffering I went through with Mujaheed—no dog would eat it.”
Yusuf said, “Please be patient; he’s your Mujaheed.”
Angrily she said, “Your Mujaheed! Let your father return; he’ll tell me whether he’s the one teaching him to disrespect me.”
The call to Isha made Yusuf leave Inna’s section. After Isha, Daddy went with Imaan to see Inna. Inna came out, spread a mat and sat, saying, “Bukar, because I told Rukayya to stop greeting me since she’s hypocritical, Mujaheed sprang at me angrily…”
Daddy said, “Please forgive her, Inna. I’ll go and see him now.”
Angrily she replied, “No, don’t bother. I don’t want to see him in this house—or I’ll leave. He’s old enough for marriage; let him move out before one day he beats me. Why don’t you people understand your mother’s condition? I quarreled with his mother and he disrespected me like that. You’re sitting here apologizing—are you weaker than Mujaheed or is his mother stronger than yours? Truly, Ahmadu didn’t raise that boy properly.”
Daddy stood up and said, “I’ll come back later, Inna.”
She said, “Good. Press him until he tells you whether I’m insignificant before he leaves this house.”
He left without saying anything.
Inna scoffed, “Today he’ll know he touched their mother.”
Imaan lay on the couch watching her.
Inna said, “I’ve started fearing him now.”
Imaan asked, “Then what took you to their section?”
Inna replied, “How can you say that, child? This is my son’s house.”
Imaan said nothing.
Inna scoffed again and said, “Did you see the suffering I went through with Mujaheed?”
Imaan laughed and said, “You always say you suffered with everyone.”
Inna said, “Mujaheed is not one whose suffering a dog would eat. I know what I’m saying. I stood at the delivery room door from morning till night before he was born. You should have seen the suffering he gave his mother. When he was born, he nearly doubled another baby—he filled the hospital with crying. You could tell he was born as a sacrifice. Very red, very fair, thick black hair like an Arab child. We went home, I bathed him. You didn’t see his mother then—so skinny she looked like she’d break. Now after eating her son’s money, she’s like a sack of maize. Every dawn I’d bathe and go to Ahmadu’s house to bathe that sickly child, because his mother couldn’t do anything—she was even afraid of him. He became three months and grew plump and beautiful. Was it not his mother who kept stuffing him with milk till he bulged?”
Imaan burst out laughing. “That brother?”
Inna said, “Yes. I can endure any filth with milk. I put my foot down on his mother. She was still childish. I couldn’t even eat food from that house. That’s how it went until Mujaheed turned two. I saw they were about to ruin the child—crying for nothing, urinating and defecating anywhere, addicted to yogurt. Since I couldn’t tolerate his father’s ways, I took him. That’s how he began staying with me. Mujaheed didn’t leave me until his father paid for his medical education abroad after secondary school. And you say I didn’t suffer with that child? Between him and his parents, he’d only go greet them every two days and return. I wouldn’t even allow a mosquito to touch him, let alone my co-wives who are all dead now. Allah knows best; our case with them is for the Hereafter…”
Imaan said, “I wasn’t even born then, right?”
Inna exclaimed, “Listen to this talk! Who are you? You were born yesterday. You grew up in my hands. At that time, we even thought your mother would never conceive…”
Imaan sat up angrily.
Inna adjusted herself and said, “Mujaheed’s mother was married at three years old. Your father Bukar married your Fulani mother when she was selling milk. In his house she got the education she boasts of. After marrying your mother Aisha, a few months later I forced Ahmadu to marry again—that’s how he married Isuhu’s mother, who was then your mother’s friend. That’s the cause of the bad blood between Rukayya and your mother till today. Isuhu’s mother gave birth ten months later, right before my eyes. Your mother kept quiet. For years she ate and drank in that house without children. I tried everything for Bukar to marry her again, but he refused. She took everything from me and spread her name where it didn’t belong. Do you know Fulani people? They’re wicked in revenge. I prayed day and night for Allah to undo what she did to my son. Eventually, after Ahmadu had six children, your mother gave birth to you. Your father’s joy was immense. Even then we didn’t know you weren’t fully healthy. You’re almost twenty now, and since you grew up, Bukar has tied an endless hospital debt. I pity whoever marries you—if he’s poor, one day we’ll come collect your corpse crying. Otherwise, how will he take you to hospital? Bukar told me your medicines cost nearly fifty thousand monthly. Who can afford that? Only the rich. Allah, we submit to You—remove this affliction from my granddaughter.”
Imaan glared at her and said, “From talking about brother you turned to my story without being asked. I’m tired of hearing this story in this house.”
Inna said, “Who told him to leave the house? Today he’ll know he touched the lady of this house.”
Abba entered with greetings. Inna tightened her face. Daddy also entered, with Mujaheed behind him.
Seeing Mujaheed, Inna said, “I’m in trouble—this man chased me out of my parlor.”
Mujaheed knelt at a distance, bowed his head and said, “Please forgive me, Inna.”
She replied, “Allah! Are you people afraid of this boy? You told him to come apologize? What will I do with his apology? If Mujaheed will always choose his mother over me, after all the filth I endured with him? Why doesn’t Isuhu do this to me?”
Mujaheed didn’t raise his head.
Inna said, “Leave my parlor.”
Daddy smiled but said nothing.
Abba said, “All we can say is please forgive. I know how to handle him.”
Inna frowned silently.
Imaan lay there smiling.
Abba looked at Mujaheed and said, “On a serious note, Mujaheed, be careful. Respect yourself in this house. No matter how she behaves or annoys you, she is still my mother. I can’t change who she is, and you must respect her fully. End the grandmother–grandchild play since she doesn’t cherish it. She has every right to complain about your mother. Today should be the last time she complains about your attitude. Am I clear?”
Mujaheed replied without lifting his head, “In sha Allah, Abba.”
Daddy said, “Masha Allah.”
Inna scoffed, “It’s all useless since you can’t chase him out.”
Mujaheed said softly, “Please forgive me.”
She replied, “Get up and give me space. Won’t you marry someday? I swear your wife will pay me back for what your mother did to me. I’ll pack and move into your house and teach the girl properly—Rukayya will know peace or not.”
Mujaheed said nothing.
Abba said, “Leave now.”
Mujaheed stood up, glanced at her sideways and left.
Imaan began to laugh quietly.
On Friday night, Inna was sitting in her parlor while Imaan lay on the couch, exhausted from Inna’s stories. She wanted to leave, but leg pain prevented her. She had been there since after Maghrib till around nine-thirty.
Inna said, “So that’s what separated me and your mother-in-law. Back then your grandfather didn’t know my movements; I built goodwill among the rich.”
Imaan didn’t respond.
The door opened and Mujaheed entered with greetings.
Inna said, “He’s the only one who greets me here.”
Imaan glanced at her.
He placed a bag down and said, “Here.”
She pulled it open and said, “Oh, chicken—just as if he knew I was craving.”
Imaan sat up.
Inna frowned and closed the bag.
Mujaheed brought a plate and placed it before her.
She pushed it aside and said, “You and Imaan are disturbing me in this house. Isuhu and Maimoona don’t watch me like this.”
She opened the bag, took one thigh and dumped it on his plate.
He laughed and took it. “I bought the chicken for you, not Abba.”
She exclaimed and added a wing to his plate.
Then she told Imaan, “I know you like onions and cabbage—bring the bowl you ate from and I’ll serve you.”
Imaan said, “Did I say I want chicken?”
Inna replied, “How would I know? You jumped up like Bukar bought it for me.”
She ate and said, “May Allah bless you, Mujaheed. Among all my grandchildren, you understand me best. When you marry, I’ll pack and move into your house.”
He widened his eyes. “Whose house?”
She smiled, “Yours.”
He said, “No—this girl here should say my house.”
She asked, “Which girl?”
He pointed, “Here she is.”
Inna said, “No, I’ll live in your house. It’ll be more comfortable. If your wife mistreats me, you’ll stop her. As for this one, hunger alone would chase me out—I don’t think Imaan can cook.”
Mujaheed laughed.
Imaan frowned.
Mujaheed said, “When she marries, you’ll pamper her if you live with her.”
Inna replied, “I won’t live in Imaan’s house; I’ll live in yours.”
He said, “You won’t live in my house—only in hers.”
She said, “Why so hot? One week I’ll stay in your house, another in hers. Even if I return thin from hers, I’ll recover in yours.”
Mujaheed laughed and said, “No—your comfort would be in her husband’s house or Yusuf’s, but my house you’ll only see from afar, even in pictures.”
Inna replied, “With all this hospital money, will the husband cope? I eat well; let him handle her treatment while I live with you or Yusuf or Maimoon. Living with Imaan—pure hunger.”
Suddenly Imaan stood to leave. Unknowingly, she left the plate behind and slipped, falling hard. She screamed loudly, “My leg!”
Inna widened her eyes, rushed to the door and said, “I’m finished! Take her out, Mujaheed—don’t let it be said she fell in my parlor.”
Mujaheed stood, glared at her and said, “Can’t you stand properly?”
Crying, she said, “I swear I’m not lying—my leg seized.”
Seeing she truly couldn’t stand, Mujaheed lifted her. She cried and flailed, screaming about her leg. Inna panicked, urging him to take her out. Before they were fully out, she pushed them and locked her door, saying, “Let no one say she fell in my parlor.”
Mujaheed glared at Imaan and said, “Can’t you be steady?”
Crying, she said, “I swear it’s not a lie—my leg locked.”
He looked around, clicked his tongue, then carried her like a baby toward their section. She clung to him, crying loudly.
Imaan could not even go to Islamiyya that day. Apart from sleeping, she did nothing. By the time her body felt better, only weakness remained. Daddy was in the parlor, in his study area. He looked at Ammi, who was also in the parlor, and said,
“It’s almost six, madam. Won’t you wake Imaan up?”
She looked at him and replied, “I’ll wake her up before Maghrib.”
He asked, “But there’s no fever anymore, right?”
She said, “Yes, there’s no fever, but she’s weak.”
He said, “May Allah grant her healing.”
Softly Ammi said, “Ameen.”
After a while she looked at him and said, “I’m really disturbed about Imaan’s health condition… She has suffered a lot but always claims to be strong, and…” Then she fell silent. Slowly she continued, “I don’t want to lose her.”
Daddy looked at her and said, “Allah plans best. Just continue praying for her at all times; one day it will become a story. Allah will remove it from her.”
Ammi said, “In sha Allah.”
After Maghrib, while Ammi was in the kitchen, she heard Inna’s voice in the parlor. She came out, greeted her respectfully and said, “Welcome, Inna.”
Inna asked, “Where is your husband?”
Ammi replied, “He went to the mosque.”
Inna said, “Earlier, Imaan came looking very pale. Did her body trouble her again?”
Ammi said, “Yes, truly, but she feels better now. She’s in the room praying.”
Lowering her voice, Inna said, “Now, when this your husband’s Western medicine has finished damaging the girl everywhere, won’t you focus and stand up to handle things yourself with your daughter? For God’s sake, what is wrong with traditional medicine, Aisha? Everything must be hospital, hospital—what about traditional remedies?”
Ammi said, “That’s true, Inna.”
Inna said, “Truly, the healer is behind the mountain.”
Ammi slightly widened her eyes and looked at her.
Inna continued, “His work is sharp like a knife—once you drink the medicine, it will force out the sickness and you’ll return like normal people. But I’m afraid to talk because Bukar and Ahmadu are not the kind; they’ll insult me and say he’s a herbalist, even though he’s not—Allah is the one who placed him behind the mountain. Ta Rasulu has gone there many times, and it takes a day and a half to get there. Since it’s like that, you know there’s a scent of success. A journey of one and a half days surely has success…”
Daddy’s entrance made her stop. Daddy greeted her politely; she replied briefly, looking at Ammi and said, “You hear, my daughter. Let me go back and leave my door open so these children don’t be running errands for me; the meat stew is in the room. Mujaheed has been lying to me since morning—maybe he’ll even come and finish it. So when is your husband returning?”
Ammi said, “Tomorrow, in sha Allah.”
Inna said, “When he leaves, come to my section and meet me; we’ll finish our discussion there—it’s private.”
She headed for the door. Daddy said “see you later,” but she didn’t even respond.
She went to Mujaheed’s section saying, “As for Amina, let me go and see if she’s okay; I didn’t see her today.”
Mujaheed was sitting in the parlor with Yusuf. Hajiya was in the dining area arranging food, and Rahma was helping her. Mujaheed hadn’t allowed them to meet all day until now, when she caught him in the parlor as he came out of the kitchen.
Inna looked at Yusuf and said, “You, where is your mother? She didn’t come to greet me today—how is she?”
Yusuf said, “At this late hour, you’re already on your way here, Inna.”
Hajiya came into the parlor, lowered her head and greeted, “How was the day, Inna?”
Inna said, “Rukayya, if it were Hadiza you’d greet standing like that?”
Umma turned and went back to continue what she was doing without answering.
Inna added, “And please do me a favor and stop greeting me entirely in this house whenever you see me. I don’t need it. It’s yourself you’re annoying me with, and may Allah curse such greetings.”
Mujaheed stared at Inna, his face tight. Inna scoffed and said, “Let’s see; we’ll see who ends up packing. Even you—your son is old enough for marriage. If not for his foolishness, you’d have known peace by now.”
Mujaheed stood up and said, “You didn’t come here with any good intention—only trouble and complaints. Please, enough. Nothing is ever right for you.”
Inna snapped, “Are you insulting me, Mujaheed?”
Angrily he said, “Let’s leave it at that,” and walked past her as if heading upstairs.
Yusuf followed him with his eyes. Umma had already gone into the kitchen, boiling with anger.
Yusuf stood up and said, “Please forgive us, let me escort you.”
Inna began to cry and said, “Isuhu, did you see what Mujaheed did to me? If I were closer, no one would stop him from hitting me. Where is your father?”
Yusuf said, “Let’s go; Abba hasn’t returned.”
As they went, she said, “If Mujaheed continues living in this house, then I’ll leave.”
When they reached Imaan’s section, she opened the door. Daddy was seated checking his laptop; he stood up on seeing her. She said, “Bukar, there is nothing Mujaheed forgot to tell me. I just corrected his mother. Now choose—either me or him in this house.”
She shut the door. Yusuf had already moved on.
When they reached her section, she broke down crying and said, “Only now does it really hurt me, Isuhu. You saw the suffering I went through with Mujaheed—no dog would eat it.”
Yusuf said, “Please be patient; he’s your Mujaheed.”
Angrily she said, “Your Mujaheed! Let your father return; he’ll tell me whether he’s the one teaching him to disrespect me.”
The call to Isha made Yusuf leave Inna’s section. After Isha, Daddy went with Imaan to see Inna. Inna came out, spread a mat and sat, saying, “Bukar, because I told Rukayya to stop greeting me since she’s hypocritical, Mujaheed sprang at me angrily…”
Daddy said, “Please forgive her, Inna. I’ll go and see him now.”
Angrily she replied, “No, don’t bother. I don’t want to see him in this house—or I’ll leave. He’s old enough for marriage; let him move out before one day he beats me. Why don’t you people understand your mother’s condition? I quarreled with his mother and he disrespected me like that. You’re sitting here apologizing—are you weaker than Mujaheed or is his mother stronger than yours? Truly, Ahmadu didn’t raise that boy properly.”
Daddy stood up and said, “I’ll come back later, Inna.”
She said, “Good. Press him until he tells you whether I’m insignificant before he leaves this house.”
He left without saying anything.
Inna scoffed, “Today he’ll know he touched their mother.”
Imaan lay on the couch watching her.
Inna said, “I’ve started fearing him now.”
Imaan asked, “Then what took you to their section?”
Inna replied, “How can you say that, child? This is my son’s house.”
Imaan said nothing.
Inna scoffed again and said, “Did you see the suffering I went through with Mujaheed?”
Imaan laughed and said, “You always say you suffered with everyone.”
Inna said, “Mujaheed is not one whose suffering a dog would eat. I know what I’m saying. I stood at the delivery room door from morning till night before he was born. You should have seen the suffering he gave his mother. When he was born, he nearly doubled another baby—he filled the hospital with crying. You could tell he was born as a sacrifice. Very red, very fair, thick black hair like an Arab child. We went home, I bathed him. You didn’t see his mother then—so skinny she looked like she’d break. Now after eating her son’s money, she’s like a sack of maize. Every dawn I’d bathe and go to Ahmadu’s house to bathe that sickly child, because his mother couldn’t do anything—she was even afraid of him. He became three months and grew plump and beautiful. Was it not his mother who kept stuffing him with milk till he bulged?”
Imaan burst out laughing. “That brother?”
Inna said, “Yes. I can endure any filth with milk. I put my foot down on his mother. She was still childish. I couldn’t even eat food from that house. That’s how it went until Mujaheed turned two. I saw they were about to ruin the child—crying for nothing, urinating and defecating anywhere, addicted to yogurt. Since I couldn’t tolerate his father’s ways, I took him. That’s how he began staying with me. Mujaheed didn’t leave me until his father paid for his medical education abroad after secondary school. And you say I didn’t suffer with that child? Between him and his parents, he’d only go greet them every two days and return. I wouldn’t even allow a mosquito to touch him, let alone my co-wives who are all dead now. Allah knows best; our case with them is for the Hereafter…”
Imaan said, “I wasn’t even born then, right?”
Inna exclaimed, “Listen to this talk! Who are you? You were born yesterday. You grew up in my hands. At that time, we even thought your mother would never conceive…”
Imaan sat up angrily.
Inna adjusted herself and said, “Mujaheed’s mother was married at three years old. Your father Bukar married your Fulani mother when she was selling milk. In his house she got the education she boasts of. After marrying your mother Aisha, a few months later I forced Ahmadu to marry again—that’s how he married Isuhu’s mother, who was then your mother’s friend. That’s the cause of the bad blood between Rukayya and your mother till today. Isuhu’s mother gave birth ten months later, right before my eyes. Your mother kept quiet. For years she ate and drank in that house without children. I tried everything for Bukar to marry her again, but he refused. She took everything from me and spread her name where it didn’t belong. Do you know Fulani people? They’re wicked in revenge. I prayed day and night for Allah to undo what she did to my son. Eventually, after Ahmadu had six children, your mother gave birth to you. Your father’s joy was immense. Even then we didn’t know you weren’t fully healthy. You’re almost twenty now, and since you grew up, Bukar has tied an endless hospital debt. I pity whoever marries you—if he’s poor, one day we’ll come collect your corpse crying. Otherwise, how will he take you to hospital? Bukar told me your medicines cost nearly fifty thousand monthly. Who can afford that? Only the rich. Allah, we submit to You—remove this affliction from my granddaughter.”
Imaan glared at her and said, “From talking about brother you turned to my story without being asked. I’m tired of hearing this story in this house.”
Inna said, “Who told him to leave the house? Today he’ll know he touched the lady of this house.”
Abba entered with greetings. Inna tightened her face. Daddy also entered, with Mujaheed behind him.
Seeing Mujaheed, Inna said, “I’m in trouble—this man chased me out of my parlor.”
Mujaheed knelt at a distance, bowed his head and said, “Please forgive me, Inna.”
She replied, “Allah! Are you people afraid of this boy? You told him to come apologize? What will I do with his apology? If Mujaheed will always choose his mother over me, after all the filth I endured with him? Why doesn’t Isuhu do this to me?”
Mujaheed didn’t raise his head.
Inna said, “Leave my parlor.”
Daddy smiled but said nothing.
Abba said, “All we can say is please forgive. I know how to handle him.”
Inna frowned silently.
Imaan lay there smiling.
Abba looked at Mujaheed and said, “On a serious note, Mujaheed, be careful. Respect yourself in this house. No matter how she behaves or annoys you, she is still my mother. I can’t change who she is, and you must respect her fully. End the grandmother–grandchild play since she doesn’t cherish it. She has every right to complain about your mother. Today should be the last time she complains about your attitude. Am I clear?”
Mujaheed replied without lifting his head, “In sha Allah, Abba.”
Daddy said, “Masha Allah.”
Inna scoffed, “It’s all useless since you can’t chase him out.”
Mujaheed said softly, “Please forgive me.”
She replied, “Get up and give me space. Won’t you marry someday? I swear your wife will pay me back for what your mother did to me. I’ll pack and move into your house and teach the girl properly—Rukayya will know peace or not.”
Mujaheed said nothing.
Abba said, “Leave now.”
Mujaheed stood up, glanced at her sideways and left.
Imaan began to laugh quietly.
On Friday night, Inna was sitting in her parlor while Imaan lay on the couch, exhausted from Inna’s stories. She wanted to leave, but leg pain prevented her. She had been there since after Maghrib till around nine-thirty.
Inna said, “So that’s what separated me and your mother-in-law. Back then your grandfather didn’t know my movements; I built goodwill among the rich.”
Imaan didn’t respond.
The door opened and Mujaheed entered with greetings.
Inna said, “He’s the only one who greets me here.”
Imaan glanced at her.
He placed a bag down and said, “Here.”
She pulled it open and said, “Oh, chicken—just as if he knew I was craving.”
Imaan sat up.
Inna frowned and closed the bag.
Mujaheed brought a plate and placed it before her.
She pushed it aside and said, “You and Imaan are disturbing me in this house. Isuhu and Maimoona don’t watch me like this.”
She opened the bag, took one thigh and dumped it on his plate.
He laughed and took it. “I bought the chicken for you, not Abba.”
She exclaimed and added a wing to his plate.
Then she told Imaan, “I know you like onions and cabbage—bring the bowl you ate from and I’ll serve you.”
Imaan said, “Did I say I want chicken?”
Inna replied, “How would I know? You jumped up like Bukar bought it for me.”
She ate and said, “May Allah bless you, Mujaheed. Among all my grandchildren, you understand me best. When you marry, I’ll pack and move into your house.”
He widened his eyes. “Whose house?”
She smiled, “Yours.”
He said, “No—this girl here should say my house.”
She asked, “Which girl?”
He pointed, “Here she is.”
Inna said, “No, I’ll live in your house. It’ll be more comfortable. If your wife mistreats me, you’ll stop her. As for this one, hunger alone would chase me out—I don’t think Imaan can cook.”
Mujaheed laughed.
Imaan frowned.
Mujaheed said, “When she marries, you’ll pamper her if you live with her.”
Inna replied, “I won’t live in Imaan’s house; I’ll live in yours.”
He said, “You won’t live in my house—only in hers.”
She said, “Why so hot? One week I’ll stay in your house, another in hers. Even if I return thin from hers, I’ll recover in yours.”
Mujaheed laughed and said, “No—your comfort would be in her husband’s house or Yusuf’s, but my house you’ll only see from afar, even in pictures.”
Inna replied, “With all this hospital money, will the husband cope? I eat well; let him handle her treatment while I live with you or Yusuf or Maimoon. Living with Imaan—pure hunger.”
Suddenly Imaan stood to leave. Unknowingly, she left the plate behind and slipped, falling hard. She screamed loudly, “My leg!”
Inna widened her eyes, rushed to the door and said, “I’m finished! Take her out, Mujaheed—don’t let it be said she fell in my parlor.”
Mujaheed stood, glared at her and said, “Can’t you stand properly?”
Crying, she said, “I swear I’m not lying—my leg seized.”
Seeing she truly couldn’t stand, Mujaheed lifted her. She cried and flailed, screaming about her leg. Inna panicked, urging him to take her out. Before they were fully out, she pushed them and locked her door, saying, “Let no one say she fell in my parlor.”
Mujaheed glared at Imaan and said, “Can’t you be steady?”
Crying, she said, “I swear it’s not a lie—my leg locked.”
He looked around, clicked his tongue, then carried her like a baby toward their section. She clung to him, crying loudly.