"Magic belongs to its owner," as the Hausa saying goes. Many women lose their way in pursuit of their ambitions; they are capable of doing anything to possess what they desire, by any means necessary. Every woman wants her presence to be felt, to hold a position of power and authority in her home. This is why women follow different paths to see their dreams fulfilled—paths that are either lawful (*halal*) or prohibited (*haram*). The story of **Aabidah** and **Aabid** brings us a new style of domestic rule in a marital home that is filled with wonder, surprise, and even frustration. Follow me to hear how this couple conducts their lives…
The weather was intensely hot, making people feel as though they were on fire. The rains had not arrived early enough to provide relief. At this moment, **Mahreen** was lying on her modest bed, dripping with sweat and crying peevishly to **Yah Maheer**, unable to find comfort anywhere. As for Yah Maheer, he was busily fanning her with great care, soothing her like a little child, even as his hands throbbed with pain from the sheer exhaustion of it. He looked at Mahreen, who was starting to drift off, touched her cheek, and whispered with a smile:
“Truly, you are the queen of trouble.”
He slowly set the fan down to lie down himself, but she stirred, grumbling as if she weren't actually asleep. Yah Maheer ignored her and lay down to rest; he couldn't keep up with Mahreen’s endless fussing. No sooner had he laid his head down than a loud, violent banging started at their gate, causing Mahreen to startle awake. Terrified, she sat up, her eyes darting between the bedroom door and Yah Maheer’s face, which was full of shock. The banging came again, as if the door would be broken down. Mahreen quickly moved close to Yah Maheer, trembling, and reached for her phone to turn on the flashlight to supplement the dim rechargeable lamp in the room. Yah Maheer got off the bed, grabbed his shirt and long trousers to dress, and handed Mahreen her large hijab and wrapper to cover her nightwear. He motioned with his hand for her not to worry while he went to check who it was, since this wasn't the first time they had received an unexpected visitor at night. She shook her head, on the verge of tears. The changing times and the current state of insecurity filled her with dread over who could be pounding on their door at such a late hour. Without lingering, Yah Maheer opened the bedroom door and stepped into their small, well-furnished parlor. As he entered, the banging resumed urgently. He quickly opened the parlor door and stepped into the courtyard, calling out:
“Who is it?”
“Malam Maheer, open up, it’s me, **Aabid**.”
Yah Maheer hurried to the gate, struggling to open it while saying, “Aabid, you again? What happened this time?”
He heard Aabid letting out a sickly groan. He threw open the gate and caught Aabid, who was shivering violently from the cold. He looked at Aabid's feet and saw they were dusty and bare; he hadn't even had the chance to put on shoes, proving he had walked all the way from his house. When Yah Maheer touched Aabid, his body felt burning hot, like fire. He quickly supported him into the house, locked the gate, and brought him inside. He sat Aabid down in the parlor and went to tell Mahreen what was happening. Instantly, the fear in her heart vanished, replaced by pity and sorrow. She got out of bed and followed Maheer, who returned to the parlor with a blanket and a pillow, knowing Aabid’s temperament—he wouldn't agree to lie down in a bedroom. He gave Aabid the pillow and covered him with the blanket. Aabid felt as though he were burning up from distress, gripped by a severe fever. In his delirious pain, he muttered:
“You promised me, and you failed to keep it, Baby. You promised me forever, not just for years. You promised me forever, my love, please don't leave me.”
Mahreen rested her chin in her hand, watching Aabid with tears streaming down her face out of pure pity. She went to the kitchen and prepared some custard for him, adding milk, sugar, and groundnuts just the way he liked it. She brought it back with a sachet of water and some paracetamol on a small tray. Back in the parlor, she took Aabid's hand and said:
“Yah Aabid, get up and take some medicine, please, so the fever will go down, okay?”
The sound of Mahreen’s voice caused Aabid to break down into a heavy sob, clutching her hand and shaking. Yah Maheer quickly moved to his side, placing a hand on him and reciting:
*"Hasbunallahu wa ni'imal wakil... Lahaula wala ƙuwwata illa billah."* (Allah is sufficient for us... There is no power or might except with Allah.)
Yah Maheer kept repeating these prayers until Aabid eventually began to join in. Slowly, his heart calmed enough to take a bit of the custard and the paracetamol before lying back down. They sat in silence for a long time until they heard Aabid’s breathing turn rhythmic. Even in his sleep, he continued to mutter:
“You promised me forever, baby; please don't leave me.”
They returned to the bedroom, Mahreen wiping away tears for her elder brother, whose life had become so pitiable. He had been the pillar of support for both her and their mother, but an unfortunate marriage to the wrong woman had caused his life to crumble. He had become like a small child, constantly needing his parents' care to keep from falling into despair or losing his life entirely. Crying, Mahreen looked at her husband, Maheer, and said:
“Insha Allah, **Aabida** will not have the chance to repent for the crimes she has committed before she returns to her Creator. I would be deeply grieved if people of her character received Allah's mercy for even a second.”
“Innalillahi wa inna'ilaihirraji'un! Haba Mahreen, what kind of evil wish is this for your fellow woman? Don't forget that all of us seek Allah's mercy in this world and the next. Why would you wish for her to die with such heavy sins on her head? I never expected this from you; you have surprised and embarrassed me, Mahreen.”
Mahreen wiped her tears and looked at her beloved husband, saying:
“If my prayer for that **EVIL WOMAN** causes you embarrassment, then let it be so until the end of our lives. Or have you forgotten who Aabida is? Let me remind you. Aabida is the reason our family collapsed. Aabida is the reason our mother is bedridden and ill to this day—and I am certain she will go to her Creator with this illness. Aabida is the reason I was separated from my brother for many years. Aabida is the one who...”
Yah Maheer quickly pulled Mahreen into a hug, patting her back. “That's enough. Forgive me if my words upset you. Let’s go to sleep so we can catch the dawn prayer on time.”
Without a word, she let him lead her to the bedroom. As they walked, she kept looking back toward the parlor where her brother lay. Yah Maheer laid her on the bed and turned off the light to save the remaining battery for dawn. Since they didn't have electricity during the night and the generator had run out of fuel (which Maheer didn't realize until he tried to start it and felt too tired to go buy more petrol), they lay in the dark. Suddenly, they heard the parlor door open and slam shut. Maheer jumped up to go out, but Mahreen held him back, weeping.
“Leave him. You know that if he doesn't go back, he will lose his mind here. Let’s just follow him with prayers that Allah returns him home safely.”
“I know. I wasn't going to stop him; I was going to drive him home myself. He clearly walked here on foot, look at how dusty his feet are—he didn't even put on shoes.”
She gave a painful smile and lay back down, tears of pity for her brother flowing. Yah Maheer quickly grabbed his car keys and followed Aabid, who was walking barefoot, carrying only the small bag he had arrived with. With some effort, Yah Maheer convinced Aabid to get into the car and drove him to his house in the Sallari area. When they arrived, Aabid got out, bag tucked under his arm, and used his key to open the large gate. Inside, the security guard stood with his staff in hand, startled, but seeing it was Aabid, he quickly hid his staff and greeted him. Aabid ignored him and entered the house. Only after hearing the house door lock did Yah Maheer look at his car clock—it was past 3:15 AM. He started his car and headed home, reciting the Quran playing in his car.
### **Aabid**
Entering the house, he found everywhere in darkness, as if no one was home. Aside from the hum of the AC and the fridge, there was no sound except for a few indicator lights on electronics. He went straight upstairs to her room, still clutching the bag he couldn't bring himself to put down. He found her lying face down on the bed, happily scrolling through her phone and chatting, completely at ease. Aabid collapsed onto his knees, weeping like a small child.
“Please, Baby, forgive me. I agree, I will do whatever you want, just don't leave me. If you leave me, I will die.”
He finished his sentence and broke into intense sobbing. She continued scrolling through her phone for a long time before turning on a dim light and setting the phone face down. Slowly, the fair and beautiful woman—who looked no older than thirty-one—got off the bed with a look of utter contempt. She looked at Aabid groveling before her and said disdainfully:
“So, you’ve finished your little tantrum, Aabii? I thought you could spend the night elsewhere just because I asked for something insignificant. So all your promises to me were lies? You couldn't even start? Well, I want you to write my divorce papers tonight so I can go home and continue the life I was used to before I knew you. That would give me more peace than living with a man who lies about loving me.”
Aabid crawled toward Aabida, clutching her feet and rubbing his face against them, crying as if he would faint. He struggled to lift his head to look into her eyes.
“I agree. I will do whatever you want as long as you never leave me.”
Aabida looked at him coldly before turning her back and folding her arms. “I don't believe you. I know you're too soft-hearted. You won't fulfill my wish. So let’s just part ways so I can marry someone who will...”
Aabid quickly pulled her to him, hugging her and weeping, repeating the words:
“I promise you again for the umpteenth time, Aabida. I will fulfill your every wish in life, even if it costs me my life.”
Aabida broke into a beautiful, satisfied smile, certain that this time she would get exactly what she had long desired. She hugged Aabid, using her charms until he let out a sharp, quick sigh of relief. Content, they lay down. Even when the dawn prayer was called in all the mosques of the neighborhood, Aabid didn't wake up to pray on time. They didn't wake until the sun was high. Aabid jumped up in a panic, rushed to the bathroom to bathe, and got dressed. He made up the missed dawn prayer and looked at Aabida, who was shifting comfortably in her sleep. He covered her again with the blanket, feeling his love for her in every bone of his body. He went to the kitchen and prepared breakfast for her, setting it on the dining table as usual. He ate his own quickly, his heart pounding with intense worry and fear of how he would face his mother (**Hajiya**) that day. He struggled to swallow the fried potatoes and tea, took his car keys, and left the house filled with dread…
### **EVIL WOMAN**
**PAGE 2:**
He steered his car toward the **Yankaba** neighborhood, stopping in front of a modest house. He sat in the car for a long time before stepping out and dialing a number on his phone. With a heavy spirit, he put the phone to his ear and, without a greeting, said:
“Meet me at your door right now.”
He hung up and leaned against the car, his legs feeling too heavy to stand. In less than two minutes, a thin old man emerged from the house, throwing an old cloak over his shoulder. He spat to the side and approached Aabid. He greeted Aabid, tucking his hands into his cloak and bowing his head.
“May your life be prolonged. I hope all is well, as I see you have come to my house instead of calling me to the office.”
Aabid let out a heavy sigh before saying, “All is well, Malam Sallau. I've come about that matter we discussed a long time ago—the one I said I had changed my mind about. Well, now I want you to contact the man again. See if he is still interested. I am willing to...”
Malam Sallau quickly interrupted him with a wide grin. “Alhaji, even if we go right now, I know he will agree. That man, this is practically his business. So whenever you are ready, we will just go find him at home and finalize the deal.”
“Ok, if that’s the case, let’s go now.”
Malam Sallau reached for the car door to get in, but then paused. With a somber tone, he said:
“May your life be prolonged. I won't say I'm not happy about the business we're about to conclude, because this is how I get my bread. But I feel like what you're about to do isn't right. Don't forget that...”
Aabid raised a hand, his anger rising. “Are you taking me or should I find someone else?”
Malam Sallau quickly zipped his lips with his fingers and jumped into the car. In the blink of an eye, Aabid left Malam Sallau's neighborhood and headed for **Danladi na Sidi**. Following directions, Aabid drove to the house of **Alhaji Kabiru Mai Tumbin Nera** (Alhaji Kabiru the Wealthy/Big-Bellied). It was a mediocre house; in that neighborhood, it was the only house without a gate and lacked the beauty of the other mansions lined up nearby. Malam Sallau went to the door and called out a greeting. Soon, a young girl looked out, asking who it was. Sallau grinned and said:
“Tell your father he has important guests. Tell him to hurry so he doesn't waste the Alhaji’s time.”
The girl ran inside to tell her father, who was putting on his shoes, his large belly protruding as he panted from the exertion. He nodded and headed out. He met them outside and they shook hands. Without wasting time, Sallau explained the reason for their visit. Alhaji Kabiru smiled and said:
“Is the money needed now or when? Because I am ready to pay, just give me the documents and provide the witnesses.”
“If you are ready, I am ready too.”
In a short time, they finished the business that brought them and said their goodbyes to Alhaji Kabiru. Malam Sallau thanked Aabid profusely, almost bowing to the ground. Aabid dropped him off where he could get a ride home, then proceeded to his own family home in the same neighborhood. He parked outside and entered the massive mansion, which his father had cleverly bought from the government, demolished, and rebuilt to his own taste. It was a house that truly lived up to its name—a two-part mansion with large fields planted with fruit trees and flowers. To one side was a large traditional-style kitchen with three rooms for the domestic staff. Aabid walked around the house, looking into every nook and cranny, remembering the sweet and bitter memories of the place. He stopped at the door of one room, staring at it. A sudden pang hit his heart, and he clutched his chest.
“Dijahna.”
That was the name he whispered before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Instantly, images of his past life flashed before his eyes. His head began to throb as if it would split. Unable to handle it, he rushed out and pulled the door shut. He hurried to **Hajiya’s** room, where she was lying alone, fanning herself. He looked at her with a stern face, as if he had never smiled, and said:
“Where is that girl? Why do I see you alone?”
Hajiya quickly sat up from her reclining position, looking at Aabid with the love of a mother for her son. With a smile, she said:
“Salimah? She went out to find us some charcoal so we could boil some water for pap (*koko*) to have for breakfast, now that it's morning.”
He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy. This was his mother—the woman for whom, if she wanted custard, he would make it pure white with the amount of milk he added, both liquid and powdered. Today, she was searching for charcoal just to make pap. His mother, who used to live like a queen, with everything done for her because of the wealth and pampering his father and he himself used to provide. He grimaced, pulled out two thousand naira, and set it down away from her before entering her inner room. Hajiya picked up the money with such joy, as if it were two hundred thousand; how long had it been since Aabid had come to her? How long since she had received anything from him? This was a great victory for her, and she hoped that one day everything would return to the way it used to be. He searched thoroughly until he found what he was looking for, then emerged dripping with sweat as if he had done heavy labor. He walked straight out of the house without a word, got into his car, and sped off. On the way, he met Salimah, who was carrying a bundle of wood she had gathered herself because she couldn't find charcoal. He stopped the car in front of her and looked at her.
“You, what is this madness you've gathered?”
Terrified, her voice trembled. He shouted at her, asking again what she was carrying. Shaking, she looked at him and said:
“It’s firewood I found so we can use it.”
“Where is the charcoal you went to buy?”
“I didn't find any.”
He let out a long hiss, then sped off. She slowly looked back at the dust the car left behind, shook her head, and went home.
Early the next morning, before Hajiya and the others had even woken up, they heard a loud banging at their gate—a gate that no longer even had a security guard. Hajiya put on her veil and went to the gate with the key in her hand, asking who it was. She heard an unfamiliar voice saying:
“It is us.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she clutched her chest before asking:
“Who are you?”
“Did Alhaji Aabid not tell you we were coming? I think it would be best if you called him and asked who is coming at this hour.”
Summoning her courage, Hajiya opened the small pedestrian door of the gate and stood looking at people she had never seen before. Malam Sallau, who had stepped aside to relieve himself, came running up, adjusting his trousers and clearing his nose, and said:
“Good morning...”
