Zan Yi Biyayya Book Compelet Fenarh .pdf

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ZAN YI BIYAYYA BOOK COMPELETE

An old man squatted, his eyes fixed on two young ladies. The elder was around twenty-two years old, while the younger was about seventeen. To one side stood a young man who, by all appearances, was the eldest among them, alongside their mother who was wiping away tears with the edge of her wrapper.

"Hajara, can you not show obedience to your father in this life? Even though we are not wealthy, he is trying his absolute best to improve your lives, doing everything a good father would do for his children to ensure their future prospers."

With sheer impudence and brazen fearlessness, she replied, "For God's sake, of all people, is it Naka Sashi that I am to be married to just because his father saw us as paupers and then sweet-talked you into giving him your daughter? By God, I will not marry him!"

In a soft, placating tone, the father said, "Please, Ummi, can you not help me and save me from disgrace? You know that all our progress and mine is thanks to this servant of God. He has done everything for us in this world without any blood ties—from your education, to the point where your elder brother is now doing his national youth service, you are in your 200 level, and your younger sister is in her final year of secondary school. By God, Ummi, if I do not wipe away the tears of this servant of God, I will be an ingrate."

"By God, Father, since God has destined us to get an education, we will do it with or without his help. I will not marry him! Go and apologize to him so he can look for another family."

The younger sister, watching her elder sibling spew disrespect, blurted out, "Hey, Yaya Hajara, are you sitting there watching Baba cry for you to protect their honor, while Satan is giving you wicked advice?"

As she raised her hand to slap her, their elder brother, burning with rage, intervened: "By God, don't you dare—even though Baba said I shouldn't touch you, if you touch her, I will cripple you too! Aren't you calling someone Naka Sashi? Hajara, watch yourself! This is the world, you are a woman and the daughter of a poor man, yet your ego is far beyond your station in life!"

"By God, if you touch her, you'll see! I will order your older brother to thoroughly discipline you! Malam, do you see your favorite daughter? Do you see the child for whom you suffered all the hardships of life?"

The old man, whose life showed he took nothing too harshly, said, "Rahama, help me coax your sister, okay? Go inside, may God bless your lives."

With a swift fuuuu, Hajara stood up and walked away into their small room in the middle of the house.

Her younger sister looked at their father: "Baba, please forgive her. She will agree, insha Allah. I will help you beg her."

"Alright, Rahama, may God bless you both," he replied. "Amen," she answered, and walked into the room as well.

Before turning around, he looked calmly at his son, who stood silently, looking visibly furious.

"Gadanga, pillar of battle," he said, "bear with your sister's behavior. Be a father, be a man at all times who stands by his siblings. You are the eldest, you are their shield. Even when I am no longer here, you will be the pillar of this household. So get up, may God bless you."

A rush of tears of sympathy for his father overwhelmed the young man. Seeing how his father struggled for them all their lives, standing by them through every hardship up to this day, he wished he were a woman so he could protect their father's honor and marry whoever was chosen. He simply stood up and left the house. He couldn't say another word, but he prayed that when his father went out, he would discipline her or at least relieve some of the heartbreak.

Inna also stood up to leave, but he said, "Sit down, woman of Paradise, my good wife." She sat back down, as she could never argue with him in the slightest.

She wiped away her remaining tears. "Malam, your patience is too much."

He laughed as if nothing weighed on his mind. "Do you want me to carry heat in a life that is fleeting, Larai? Comfort your children with prayer. Aren't you worried that our extreme condition might lead her into danger just by protecting her own dignity? I don't want her to think I am forcing her into a marriage. Larai, I want her to agree willingly so my mind can be at ease even after the wedding. But if we force her, what profit do we get by giving her to a young man who has been ill since childhood?"

"Malam, for a long time I've been hearing you talk about his illness. What is actually wrong with him?"

"Larai, our religion forbids excessive probing. A Muslim should not prolong investigations. God is witness; ever since the boy was young, his father told me he suffered a handicap and they took him abroad. I never probed into it. He keeps telling me the boy has still not recovered. Even his younger brother got married a long time ago and already has two children. He is the only one left unmarried because of the ailment plaguing him."

"He begged me for the very first time. He said, 'Malam Bala, I am begging for your favor to give me your elder daughter because I know she possesses maturity and can live with him. I cannot throw sand in his eyes. For years he has served me without tiring, until now when he simply asked for one single thing from me—to make him happy by marrying her. I cannot refuse, Larai."

"Truly, Alhaji Shu'ibu is a generous and honorable man; he is worth more than anything to you," she said.

"You see? So help me coax your daughter, Larai," he said with a touch of humor.

"I will do my absolute best, insha Allah, Malam."

Inside the room, Rahama picked up her Qur'an and sat beside her older sister on their small mattress on the floor. In a gentle voice, she pleaded, "Yaya Hajara, for the love of the Messenger of guidance, please show obedience."

Hajara lunged forward in a rage. "By God, let me not hear a peep from you in this room talking about this marriage that I will never agree to! I will beat you like a donkey! You, with your broomstick figure, go and marry him yourself!"

"Haba Yaya, it is not possible for you to be sitting at home while I get married."

"How many years are between us? Almost five! And you know you are more suited for marriage now—you are not getting younger every day."

She threw a cream container at her, but Rahama dodged it while hugging her Qur'an tightly. "Your mother is the one getting old, not me! You, bastard child of a do-it-all mother who drinks thin porridge with cold water!"

"Look at me, with my class and education, ending up married to Naka Sashi? By God, not even his rich father could make me marry him! Their little wealth is no bigger than a spoonful. What wealth do they have? Who even knows them in this whole town?"

"Well, baby, Hajara's husband is on his way! I will shock everyone—my husband's car will arrive after the street road is paved for him."

Rahama simply looked at her, thinking her mind was gone, and opened her Qur'an to start reciting calmly.

WHO IS MALAM BALA?

He is a native of Jega in Kebbi State, who came into the major city of Sokoto in search of wealth through the onion trade. Starting out as a young man, he eventually saved up capital and got married with great difficulty, having been an Almajiri (Islamic pupil) from childhood when his parents brought him to study under his master. After they passed away, the master kept him and took care of him, teaching him how to trade—from buying onions in the town of Alero and selling them in Jega, until he eventually began traveling to Sokoto when the business picked up.

His entry into Sokoto allowed him to acquire a rudimentary Western education because he noticed that in all aspects of life, you need Western knowledge to progress. Even if you have religious knowledge, modern business requires modern skills.

He married the mother of his children, Larai, who happened to be the daughter of his foster father (his master). At that time, he moved to live within Sokoto city, renting a modest, single-story house in the Mabera area.

They lived their lives with ease, given that Larai was an obedient and patient woman. Until she gave birth to their first child, Aliyu, life began to get tough when she gave birth to their second child. Hajara's life was different; right from childhood, whatever she saw and desired, she wanted her father to get it for her. He would struggle to find it for her because God had placed a deep love for Hajara in his heart—he had named her after his own mother.

When she reached school age at six, they tried to enroll her in a public school like her brother, but she flatly refused, saying she wanted a certain private school in their neighborhood. At that time, the school fees cost the entire two months' profit of his onion business, alongside taking care of household expenses and clothing.

He was forced to start struggling to change his trade to fulfill his daughter's wish, but things proved difficult. One day, as he sat by the roadside where he laid out his onions, a massive CRV pulled over.

He quickly stood up and hurried to the car because he was used to the man, who was a great customer—sometimes buying a whole basket, and the man was always generous.

The man stepped out dressed in the opulent fashion of the wealthy elite, adjusted his sunglasses, and offered his hand to Malam Bala without disdain. Bowing respectfully, Malam Bala shook his hand and asked whether he wanted a whole basket today or half.

"Come into my shade, Malam Bala. I need a favor, and I pray you agree."

"Bismillah, Alhaji," he said, offering him the bench he sat on. The man sat down and faced him.

"The favor is this: I want you to drop this trade and come work with me. If you don't mind, become my driver at all times, and I will pay you a handsome salary."

Malam Bala was silent for a moment. Alhaji Shu'ibu asked, "How much is your daily profit from onions?"

He paused, contemplating, before replying, "Every day I can make a profit of two thousand naira. If I sell ten thousand, and when the market is low, I might not make more than five hundred a day, and sometimes even two hundred. You see, on some days we even have to dip into our capital just to buy food."

"Well, don't worry. Right now, I will link you up with one of my boys to teach you how to drive. Within two weeks, if you are sharp, you will master it by God's grace." He pulled out his address card, handed it to him, and told him to meet him at his house in Tamaje Quarters.

Malam Bala thanked him profusely, as he desperately needed a change of career—especially since his onions often rotted away during the hot season, causing massive losses.

They parted that day with pure joy, and he went home to tell Inna Larai.

She asked, "Malam, can you really do it?"

"Insha Allah, Larai, help me pray. You see, I want to put Hajara in the school she wants. Hajara loves comfort, Larai, and I want her to be comfortable."

She smiled, looking at their youngest child, Rahama, who was playing at the time—she was barely a year old. "What about Tafah?"

"By God's will, both of them will live well."

"May God grant us goodness, Malam, and may He help and grant success," she replied, and he said "Amen."

Alhamdulillah, within a few months their lives changed because Alhaji Shu'ibu was a man of dignity and recognized human worth. Aside from the salary, he regularly provided food supplies for them.

Consequently, Malam Bala opened a bank account to save money to buy his own house. While this was going on, the landlord of the house they rented asked them to vacate because he wanted to sell the property. Malam Bala's heart sank, as he didn't even have half the money needed to buy it. He was forced to start looking for another rental house so they could move out and let the landlord sell.

That day, he went to his workplace to ask Alhaji Shu'ibu for permission to leave early to find a house, as his eviction notice was almost up.

There, Alhaji Shu'ibu asked him who the landlord was. When Malam Bala told him, Alhaji asked if he had his phone number. Pulling out his small Nokia phone, Malam Bala checked and gave it to him. Alhaji immediately called him, identified himself as "Alhaji Shu'ibu Mai Dala Yabo," and the landlord deferentially greeted him, asking where he was and expressing a desire to see him. Trembling, the landlord asked, "Alhaji, is everything alright?"

"No, it's about your house that you want to sell in Mabera. I want to buy it."

Trembling, the landlord replied, "It is sold to you, Alhaji! Even though someone else bid for it, I am selling it to you!" Because everyone in Sokoto knew who Alhaji Shu'ibu Mai Dala Yabo was, famed for his glory and philanthropy.

That very day, Alhaji paid for the house and handed the documents to Malam Bala, telling him it was his absolute property. Malam Bala wept bitterly out of sheer joy at how God brought Alhaji Shu'ibu into their lives. The entire life of his family improved—clothing, food, and amenities. Even Inna Larai started her own neighborhood businesses. He renovated the house completely into a modern style with savings. It was a courtyard-style house with four rooms, a kitchen, an indoor toilet, and separate outdoor bathrooms and showers. The courtyard floor was meticulously paved with smooth concrete, which they scrubbed constantly, reflecting Inna Larai's cleanliness.

They had nothing to say but praise to God.

Hajara attended the school of her choice, and when Rahama reached age, she was enrolled there too. Their lives were filled with gratitude. Aliyu finished secondary school and entered Danfodiyo University, Sokoto. Years passed by the grace of God, and Hajara entered Danfodiyo University as well—her education running smoothly thanks to Alhaji Shu'ibu's financial backing, as everyone knows university education is no small feat. Meanwhile, Rahama was in her final year of secondary school.

Hajara was a girl of extreme arrogance, insolence, and spoiling. She never humbled herself; whenever she saw anything in the world, she made Malam Bala buy it for her. He, however, had an overwhelming love for her above all his other children, calling her "Maman" because she was named after his mother and strongly resembled her. She was remarkably fair-skinned like a true Fulani, with a plump, well-nourished body like someone living in ice. She was extremely pretty, with a lovely face and soft skin, though she lacked the full mature female curves in certain areas; she only wore a bra at home when she felt like it, and used padded ones when going out to give her figure more allure. Her hair wasn't very long, but looking at it, you'd think it was because it lay flat across her forehead. She drove men crazy both at home and at school because Hajara loved dressing up and looking gorgeous.

She was also very haughty. To this day, she refused to commit to any serious boyfriend because of her grand ambitions—she didn't even see herself in a governor's mansion; she aimed straight for the Presidential Villa, claiming she was meant for big men. Inna tried repeatedly to curb her bad behavior, but to no avail.

Rahama, on the other hand, was a very cool girl who didn't talk much. She was chocolate-skinned—neither too light nor too dark, that rare, gorgeous shade. At first glance, if you saw her standing next to Hajara, you might think she was plain, but anyone who knew the true secret of beauty knew Rahama possessed more natural elements of beauty. Her eyelashes were natural, her eyebrows, lips—everything about her was unique. She was calm and simple.

Physically, she was slim, but possessed a genuine Coca-Cola hourglass figure with well-developed hips. Her chest was full to the point of bothering her, spreading out naturally across her upper chest—which is why she was always in a hijab to conceal her body.

When it came to housework, she took the lead: sweeping, cooking, washing dishes, and doing the laundry for everyone, including Hajara. She never complained about Hajara's laziness. She balanced her life smoothly between Western education and Islamic studies. She was never playful with her religious studies; she had already completed reading the entire Qur'an and was currently memorizing all thirty juz (parts).

And now, the family was dealing with the talk of Hajara's marriage to Alhaji Shu'ibu's son.

As usual, she woke up early, cleaned everywhere, and helped their mother prepare breakfast. She took her older brother's portion to his room near the entrance and brought theirs. Inna asked, "Your sister still hasn't woken up?"

"Yes, Inna, I tried waking her up, but she refused."

"May God guide her," Inna said, adding, "Go and get ready, don't be late, okay?"

"Yes, Inna, I've already bathed, I just need to put on my clothes."

She walked over to the tap to wash up, went to their room, and dressed in her neatly ironed school uniform—shirt, trousers, and a crisp hijab. Hajara was tossing and turning, sleeping on. Rahama checked into their father's room to collect her transport money.

She stepped out, walking calmly, and headed toward the roadside to look for a commercial motorcycle (kabu-kabu or achaba) so she wouldn't be late. Seeing that she had walked a long distance without finding a motorcycle, she stopped as cars sped past, everyone rushing to work in the early morning.

Before she knew it, she felt as though she had been violently thrown to the roadside by a sudden gust of wind from nowhere. She found herself flat on the ground, her leg feeling as though it were broken from the fall. As people rushed toward her with expressions of sympathy, a young man lifted her up.

"Are you alright? That's how children of the rich behave in this town—completely devoid of decency just because they have money."

Looking down at her body, she realized a car had knocked her to the side of the road. Her white hijab was now stained brown. A wave of intense churning hit her stomach: How was she going to go to school looking like this?

Right there, three pitch-black, sleek Mercedes Benz cars were parked in a row. On their rear plates, she could read A Yabo 3. The cars didn't even move an inch.

The young man told her, "Go home, or let me take you on my bike to get checked. I hope you aren't hurt."

She wiped away her tears, shook her head, and asked, "Was that the one who hit me?"

"Yes, bear it. A Yabo has no decency; just leave him. Anyone who tries to get close to him suffers insults."

"Who does he think he is?" she asked with intense annoyance, feeling he was the very first person she wanted to confront so he would understand that human beings possess dignity and worth.

Dragging her leg despite the searing pain, she marched toward the fleet of cars. Their windows were pitch-black glass, hiding anyone inside. She knocked on the rear window.

The driver rolled down the window. "Hajiya, please forgive my oga in that other car, and just go. Since he told us to stop and check on you, you see that he cares."

"Rubbish!" she retorted. "So he's too big to even step out and apologize?"

She moved toward his car despite shouts of "Don't go near him!" ignoring both the driver and the young man.

She knocked on the rear door. It took about five minutes before he finally permitted the driver to lower the tinted glass.

He lounged comfortably in a sky-blue designer shirt that reeked of wealth, leaning back like a prince or a king. He wore dark sunglasses that completely covered his eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat upon seeing how exceptionally handsome and striking he was—as fair as an Arab, with his hair neatly styled.

Gathering her composure and courage, she began to speak in a calm, soft voice:

"Servant of God, drive carefully and respect people's rights. Stop thinking too highly of yourself; you are nobody before God. We are all servants, and none of us is better in the sight of God except the one who fears Him most. So take life easy and strip away your arrogance."

Calmly, he removed his sunglasses to reveal his striking, commanding eyes, and gave her a thoroughly disgusting look.

"How could you?" he sneered, twisting his mouth in utter disdain. "How dare you show your ugly face to me? Who is your father, by the way, you beggar's child?"

"Alhamdulillah, I am nobody's child of shame," she said with bitter pain, for his words hurt deeply. "But I know the value of a human being, and I know my father's honor. Since you don't know the value of yours, that is why you are trying to trample on mine. It doesn't matter; you've done this to yourself, not me. You will see the consequences—go, and you will see."

With that, she turned and walked away, and the young man helped her get a ride back home.

In all his life, no one had ever dared speak to him like that—for an ugly face like hers to insult and degrade him in A Yabo! Truly, he would find out whose daughter she was, humiliate her parents, disgrace them, and make her a cautionary tale. In a rage, he told his driver, "Drive and leave this nasty area."

(Excerpt from "Matar Soja", by FENERH)

Summary

The story revolves around two starkly contrasting sisters, Hajara and Rahama, daughters of Malam Bala—a humble onion trader in Sokoto whose life was miraculously transformed by a wealthy, philanthropic patron named Alhaji Shu'ibu Mai Dala Yabo. Malam Bala's gratitude runs so deep that when Alhaji Shu'ibu's son (who suffers from a lifelong, undisclosed ailment) asks to marry his eldest daughter as a personal favor for years of faithful service, Malam Bala immediately agrees.

However, Hajara—spoiled, arrogant, and harboring delusions of grand ambition (aspiring to the Presidential Villa)— vehemently refuses the marriage, displaying utter disdain for the groom and looking down upon her family's humble background. Meanwhile, her younger sister Rahama is pious, hardworking, modest, and deeply supportive of their parents. The narrative intensifies when Hajara, running late for school, is struck by a fleet of luxury cars belonging to the arrogant young billionaire known as "A Yabo." Unfazed by his status, Hajara confronts him directly about his arrogance, leaving the wealthy young man infuriated and vowing to utterly destroy and humiliate her and her family.

Analytics & Summary of Themes

• Class Stratification and Arrogance: The narrative deeply explores socioeconomic disparities, contrasting the extreme wealth of the elite (Alhaji Shu'ibu and A Yabo) with the humble, working-class struggle of Malam Bala's family. Hajara's character embodies destructive social climbing and misplaced vanity, while A Yabo represents toxic elitism.
• Filial Piety vs. Ungratefulness: Malam Bala's profound sense of loyalty and gratitude toward Alhaji Shu'ibu clashes directly with Hajara's intense entitlement. While Rahama and her brother Aliyu embody obedience and family sacrifice, Hajara represents rebellion and ungratefulness.
• Gender Dynamics and Expectations: The story highlights differing expectations for young women. Rahama exemplifies traditional virtues—modesty, diligence, and domestic capability—while Hajara subverts traditional submission through aggressive ego and modern entitlement.
• The Weight of Past Favors: Patron-client dynamics drive the primary conflict. Malam Bala's moral obligation to repay a life-changing debt forces him to navigate familial resistance, creating high emotional stakes.

Comments

The author employs vivid character contrasting, effectively juxtaposing the quiet dignity of Malam Bala and Rahama against the abrasive vanity of Hajara and A Yabo. The dialogue carries strong emotional weight, capturing the gritty realities of northern Nigerian urban life, class friction, and family pressure. Hajara’s collision with A Yabo sets up a classic enemies-to-lovers or high-stakes conflict trope, driven by bruised male ego and female resilience. The inclusion of promotional text mid-chapter breaks narrative immersion slightly, but the core story remains compelling and rich in social commentary.

Conclusions

The excerpt successfully establishes a multi-layered family drama centered on duty, gratitude, pride, and impending class conflict. It sets up a high-stakes collision course between two strong-willed, arrogant individuals (Hajara and A Yabo) whose initial clash guarantees severe repercussions for Malam Bala's household. Ultimately, the story highlights how unbridled ambition and ungratefulness can threaten a family's hard-earned peace, while genuine sacrifice and humility anchor them.