STORY

“It is not certain that anyone will understand my language, nor is it certain that a servant of God will understand why I am in such a rush. I have no time to apologize to anyone, nor can I stop to greet anyone. In the state I find myself, this candy that made me leave home at this hour of the evening has become my undoing, all because of my wretched greed and desire to taste it. Truly, it could lead me to my death tonight. My mind is not with me; my only desire is to find myself inside our house before my father enters!”

This was what the young girl was pondering in her heart. Dressed in a hijab that reached the floor, she threw her legs forward with desperate speed, almost running. She recognized no one and nothing; she couldn't even greet the people of her neighborhood. Her only goal was to reach their house, despite how some people marveled at seeing **ANMI**—would she never grow out of this running? For at her age, she had reached the stage of a young woman ready for marriage.

She headed towards a large house—the kind of house that, upon seeing it, you would know belonged to the wealthy of this town.

As she reached the small side door and pushed it open, her stomach churned with a loud rumble at the sight of the car parked in the driveway under the carport. This confirmed her fears: their "terror" had arrived home while she was away. She placed her hands on her head, whispering, “I am dead; I am ruined.”

Instantly, she lost all taste for the candy. She felt as though nothing could pass through her throat at that moment, not even her own saliva, for one agony is always greater than another.

With a trembling body, she reached their section of the house, which was connected to the main quarters of their father's wives. She entered, creeping along and darting her eyes around in fear of what was to come.

*Slap!* The sound of a harsh blow landing on her brother’s face made her drop the candy in her hand, her body shaking violently.

She was about to crouch down when she saw her father drag her brother by the collar, lashing him with a hippo-hide whip—the kind used on donkeys. He shouted at the top of his lungs: “In this house, my daughter goes out before sunset and no one knows where she went? A young woman of her age? You saw her leave but failed to stop her? Today, I will see who will protect you! Are you teaming up with her to betray me? I will kill you for nothing, for no one can challenge me! I will curse you right here, and it will be a curse of nothingness! You brat, I am out there struggling to provide what you eat, while you stay here seeking to humiliate me?”

Trembling, his wife and the mother of the young girl, **Hajia Usaina**, approached, trying to intervene. Her body shook at the sight of the beating the young man was receiving. Ordinarily, one would think they were used to Alhaji’s behavior; there wasn't a single day he didn't enter the house and lash his children. In his eyes, no fault could be overlooked. In his life, severe punishment was the only way to raise a child to be disciplined and upright in society. When he beat his children, there was no foul language he didn't utter. He was a man of immense rage, and most times, he vented that rage on his family—especially his children. Yet, they could never get used to it, and they prayed daily for his guidance and a change in his character.

With great force, he shoved her aside after landing a lash meant for the boy on her instead. In a frenzy, he reached out and grabbed the young girl, intending to lash her as if sent by God himself. He handled her so roughly that her hijab fell off, and he continued to assault her fair skin until it looked like the back of a scarred crocodile. Finally, he released her, panting with rage, and said: "Let this be a warning! From now on, if anyone remains silent when another leaves this house, it will end on their head—from the mother to the children! No one will ruin the upbringing of my children while I watch! You worthless, disrespectful brats!" Having finished, he turned and stormed off towards his own quarters.

As he left, **Lubna** let out a heavy sigh from the intense fear gripping her heart. She stood up, wiping sweat from her face, and went to her room, thanking God that her body wasn't physically harmed today. “Oh God, must Anmi always bring trouble upon us? Truly, if she had caused me to be beaten today, I would have made her life a living hell tonight!”

Almost everyone else stood up and went their separate ways to their rooms. Despite their number, each child had their own room, and they went to prepare for the night lessons with the mallam who came to teach them Islamic studies.

The latest wife, who had been cooking, had already retreated to Alhaji's quarters as soon as he arrived. Only the mother of the young girl remained, along with the girl herself, who was sobbing in a corner, her body showing welts where the whip had drawn blood.

With great difficulty, the mother dragged herself to her room without looking at them. Upon entering, she went to the far corner and slumped onto her bed. Her lower abdomen was cramping with agonizing pain. She held her head and the side of her face as hot tears began to flow.

When she looked up, she saw her daughter standing by the door, scratching her back and crying a heart-wrenching sob.

Slowly, she wiped her tears, looked at her, and said, “My dear, come here.”

The girl approached, looking at her mother’s face; she didn't want to commit another fault, for her mother disliked disobedience, and although she didn't hit her, she feared her mother's disapproval deeply.

She knelt a distance away, which broke Hajia’s heart even more. She endured the pain, reached out, and pulled the girl close, saying softly: “My Anmi, why did you go out without asking my permission? Where did you go so close to sunset?”

With a trembling voice, the girl said, “Mama, I went to old Ummu's place. She gave me the candy I didn't take yesterday, and she also scolded me not to let them beat me. I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't let me go.”

The mother looked at her and thought, 'A child’s cry has truly brought trouble upon the mother.' Aloud, she said gently: “But you know we have candy in this room, don't you? Why didn't you ask me for it? Besides, Anmi, will you never grow out of eating candy?”

The girl lowered her head, unable to answer. Her mother said softly: “Do not ever go out again without asking permission, do you hear? Or do you want your body to be lashed like this?”

The girl shook her head quickly. Her mother smiled weakly and said, “Alright then. Wipe your tears and go to your room to pray. When the mallam leaves, we will treat your wounds and you will take some medicine, okay, my child?”

She nodded, feeling a sense of relief. Her mother touched her head gently and said, “God bless you. Go quickly, good girl. When you pray, pray for me, pray for your father, your siblings, and the entire Muslim community, okay?”

**KHADIJA** nodded and said, "Insha Allah, Mama." But in her heart, she thought: ‘I will pray for everyone except Baba, since he beats me every single day.’

The mother watched her until she left the room, then allowed her own tears to flow again. An excruciating pain in her lower abdomen gripped her, feeling as though the world was ending, and the intensity kept rising.

With great effort, she performed her Maghrib and Isha prayers. She stood up with her prayer beads, opened the back door, and headed towards Alhaji’s quarters. She felt in her heart that she was going there to have it out with him, for by Allah, she could no longer tolerate his insults today. She only remained in his house out of necessity, waiting for the time she could leave. Only two things kept her there: his children—of whom only one was hers—and her own mother, whose wish was always for everyone to stay in their marital homes regardless of the hardship.

She used a small key to open the door, entered, and closed it. Pushing aside the curtain, she entered with a greeting. Her eyes fell on the new wife, dressed elegantly, serving Alhaji food on a plate with large pieces of guinea fowl meat. They were smiling and engaged in a pleasant conversation—the kind his children never saw, reserved only for his wives.

He replied to her greeting. Seeing the expression on her face, he hardened his own and looked away, thinking that she had surely come for trouble, and he was ready for her. Were it not for the trials God gives a servant, he wondered about the bond between them; she was from a poor background, yet out of all his wives, past and present, he loved her the most.

"Good evening. I have come so we can talk, Alhaji," she said calmly after sitting down.

The new wife puffed her cheeks and said nothing. She feared Hajia’s outbursts at times, and Alhaji himself. It was clear even to a blind man that Hajia only stayed with Alhaji for the sake of peace, and anyone could see that Alhaji himself was more submissive toward Hajia than anyone else.

"Can't you wait until it is your turn in the rotation? Let us not infringe on others' rights, Princess," he said dismissively, looking away.

He called her "Princess" in front of anyone. It was a name he had given her since he sought her hand in marriage. And a princess she was, for she was a woman full of a natural dignity that God had placed in her blood. He had married her as a virgin; she wasn't from a wealthy family, but she was the treasure that wealthy men fought over.

"Forgive me, but I cannot wait until the day after tomorrow!" she said shortly and firmly.

He sighed and said, “Alright, Bismillah, I am listening.”

Hajia looked at him intently, then at the new wife, then back at him. “Regarding what happens in this house when you are angry, Alhaji, I want you to be moderate. Look at these children and all of us. Know that spoken words are poison in the lives of our children if they are evil. If the heavens say 'Amen' to them, it is finished. I believe your tongue can even reach me, let alone your children. How long is this life? How long is the world...”

"Are you saying you've come to teach me how to handle my own children? Or have you come to show me your anger because I hit your 'precious' daughter?" He interrupted her quickly, frowning deeply. "Princess, you know that no one is allowed to come between me and my children. Whatever I do, I am disciplining them. No one is fit to teach me how to care for them. I hope you know that?" He spoke with rising heat, as if he might stand up and strike her.

She sighed, looking at him. Calmly, she said, “Alhaji, why can't we sit and talk with understanding? So we can reach a common ground? I am not fit to teach you how to care for your children, and I didn't come here because you hit Anmi. I came to remind you that if you must beat them, beat them—lash them, break them—that is your discovery, since you are the one who will then struggle to find medicine. But guard your tongue. You call them names like 'brats,' 'thugs,' 'useless'... You are a father. If the 'Amen' angels answer and they become thugs, where will we hide? For God and the Prophet’s sake, be moderate and cover our shame. When things get tough, God is the solution. What is the use of...”

"There is no power nor might except with God! Oh, my 'mother'! I say, 'Well done, my mother!' Truly, the angels are above cursing you since you are raising your voice at me!" He said, standing up. To him, it felt like she was lecturing him—him, who wears the trousers of wealth while she only ties a wrapper.

"Indeed! For a woman's voice to be louder than a man's is not good. Subhanallah, Subhanallah," the new wife interjected, shaking her head.

Hajia looked at her quickly, then turned back to him. Suddenly, she felt a sharp twist in her stomach and the sensation of something hot and painful gushing out. She instantly realized what was happening to her. But Alhaji’s words kept her paralyzed, unable to grasp the full extent of the tragedy. After a long wait since the birth of **ANMI**, God had given again, and he was the cause of its loss.

Alhaji stood up and began a tirade, a mountain of trouble, a storm of rage. He even claimed that his wealth could handle "brats," and by Allah, with his money, he could marry three more today to replace her. He said he wanted no part of “disrespectful things.”

Slowly, she held onto the chair and stood up, dizziness overcome her. She turned away, for she couldn't bear to look at what was happening to her until she reached her room. As she turned, his eyes fell on a dark, soaked patch on her hijab and on the chair where she had been sitting.

In a panic, he stared at the blood. With a cracked and trembling voice, he said: “You! What blood is this? Why are you bleeding when you are carrying a child? Are you doing this to spite me? Are you aborting the pregnancy? By Allah, if you lose this child, I will take you to court! *Innalilahi Wa inna ilaihi raj'une*, what kind of evil character and spite is this?”

She stopped, her vision doubling and tripling. Dizziness swirled. She looked at the blood on herself, then looked at him. She felt a fire of hatred consuming every drop of pity or desire to remain with this man that was left in her heart. She wasn't even thinking of love anymore. She looked him eye to eye, wondering: *Did I come into this world for nothing, only to leave for nothing?* The grief rising in her heart blocked her breath, threatening to choke her. She looked at him with a gaze of pure loathing and self-pity—thinking that to him, she was just a machine to bear him children. Her vision darkened, and she collapsed where she stood while looking at him.

In a frenzy, he rushed to where she lay. He shouted at the new wife to help him lift Hajia. For despite the hardship and the temper, he knew he loved Hajia. In the depths of his heart, her pain bothered him. He was simply one of those people who torture those they are with, even those they love. Unable to contain himself, he lifted her and rushed out, shouting for the gates to be opened. He put her in the car and drove off like he was taking flight—he didn't even stop to put on shoes. He headed for the major hospital. Usually, for childbirth, they went to the maternity hospital in **DAMAGARAN**, but this was different.

Because she was a doctor herself, and accompanied by a prominent man like him, they were received immediately. Even though the staff realized the gravity of her condition, they took her in because she was a senior colleague, doing their best to stabilize her.

However, he stood on his feet, repeatedly insisting that no male doctor should examine his wife. In front of the doctors, he stared them down, invoking God’s judgment on any male doctor, calling them "shameless lechers" who hide behind their profession. He swore that he and his "Princess" would never allow it. His new wife, who had followed in another car with a driver, stood by, looking like she might burst, though she couldn't show her true feelings.

With difficulty, the senior female doctor on duty calmed the other doctors, telling them to be patient since she was their colleague. They focused on her intensely until they realized the case was not for general medicine, but for an obstetrician. Nevertheless, they managed to stabilize her, stopped the bleeding, gave her an injection, and took her for an ultrasound. They then moved her to a recovery room after tidying her up. Finally, the senior doctor allowed him and the new wife to enter.

With great care, **Doctor Zalika** greeted him again.

**THE BEGINNING OF MY SIGHT**

*A story written by SAJIDA NIJAR*

**Page 2**

Doctor Zalika greeted him again with respect. He replied, watching Hajia as she lay there, breathing slowly and shallowly.

He sighed and asked, “Doctor, is it a miscarriage? Did she drink something to abort my child out of hatred or whatever?”

Doctor Zalika looked at him in surprise. She had heard of his extremist views and how difficult he was, as he had barely allowed Hajia to practice her profession. They themselves had witnessed the conflicts between them because of her work. He was a man who couldn't hide his anger or restrain his tongue. Everywhere he went, he displayed his temper, fearing no one. He was known in the town as "the rich man, father of all, everyone else is a nonentity." But she never imagined he would accuse a woman of such high status—a senior doctor and teacher of doctors—of aborting her own child.

However, she had no right to show her anger. She softened her voice and said calmly, “No, Alhaji. She hasn't taken anything or done anything to cause this bleeding. We have done everything necessary. Her blood pressure rose dangerously high, which is why the pregnancy could not be sustained. She will stay with us until tomorrow, Insha Allah, so we can monitor her progress before she goes home. May God grant her health.”

Having finished, she left the room to join her colleagues.

He stood for a long time, looking at her with many thoughts swirling in his heart. Finally, he sighed, looked at the new wife, and said, “I am going home...”

*Would you like me to continue translating the rest or help with a specific part?*