FreeFreeDescription
THE FOUNDATION
NIGERIA.
ADAMAWA: YOLA.
Adamawa State (Fula: Leydi Adamawa) is a state located in the northeastern region of Nigeria. It is among the largest states in the country, spanning an area of approximately 36,917 square kilometers. Adamawa shares its borders with Borno State to the northwest, Gombe State to the west, and Taraba State to the southwest, while it shares an international border with the Republic of Cameroon to the east. The state derives its name from its historical roots in the Adamawa Emirate, along with the Emirate's ancient capital, YOLA, which serves as the capital city of Adamawa State today.
The state is remarkably diverse, boasting more than 100 distinct indigenous languages and ethnic groups. It was officially created in 1991 when the old Gongola State was divided to form present-day Adamawa and Taraba States.
Out of Nigeria's 36 states, Adamawa is among the largest in terms of landmass, yet it ranks 13th on the list of states by population, with an estimated 4.25 million people according to 2016 projections. Geographically, the terrain features picturesque hills and mountain ranges—such as the Atlantika, Mandara, and Shebshi mountains—as well as the sweeping Adamawa Plateau, characterized by a river valley surrounded by highlands.
The tropical weather patterns in Adamawa State shift around November; the area experiences intense heat, particularly during the hot season, while the harmattan/cold season begins in December and lasts until February each year.
YOLA: JIMETA
AREA: Jalingo Street.
7:20 PM
Jimeta is a major city within Yola, Adamawa State, Nigeria. The city's population was recorded at 73,080 during the 1991 census. Sitting at an elevation of 135 meters above sea level, Jimeta is beautifully situated right along the banks of the Benue River.
She checked the clock on her phone for the umpteenth time without growing tired of it, sitting on the two-seater sofa that framed her living room. She was lying flat on her back, staring intently up at the Plaster of Paris (POP) ceiling above. A small ceiling fan spun overhead, and her eyes locked onto it as if she were physically counting every single revolution it made. In reality, her mind was far away; her heart and thoughts were entirely consumed by a singular worry: what could possibly be keeping Habib from returning home at his usual time?
She let out a sudden sigh, drawing in a long breath as she shifted from her reclined position and sat up properly on the sofa. Extending her long, fair-complexioned arm—her hands beautifully adorned with vibrant red kunshi (henna) patterns—she grabbed the phone from her side and tapped the screen. The display lit up. Her eyes fell to the digital clock, watching it tick forward by one more minute.
It was now 7:30 PM. She exhaled sharply before standing up sluggishly. Over the last two days, an exhausting fatigue had begun to creep deep into her body, making her limbs feel heavy. She walked over to the living room window, parted the curtains, and looked out into the compound. The courtyard was completely still; nothing could be heard except the gentle whistling of the wind and the faint chirping of birds. The compound was illuminated brightly by the main grid electricity. She cast a glance toward the adjacent flat next to theirs; it was equally quiet, but the indoor lights were visible, showing that the neighbors were inside, going about their evening routine as usual. Her eyes caught the neighbor's car parked neatly by the compound wall. Was she truly the only one whose husband hadn't returned home yet?
They lived in a rented compound containing about six flats in total. The flats were built in a neat row, sharing a single central courtyard. Because of their busy routines, it was common to go two weeks or even a whole month without running into a next-door neighbor. Unless you happened to be heading out at the exact same time as someone else, you rarely met to exchange pleasantries, and no one ever intruded into another person's flat—especially since the compound was full of working professionals and students.
Her eyes grew heavy as a sudden gust of wind blew outside. She looked up at the sky and realized that thick storm clouds had rapidly gathered, moving in tandem with the wind. They were right in the middle of the rainy season, a time when heavy downpours were a regular occurrence, particularly at night. A sudden chill nipped at her skin, causing her goosebumps to rise, as she was only wearing a cropped top. She quickly shut the window, drew the curtains tight, and wrapped her arms around herself. Hurrying back across the room, she sank back down onto the sofa.
For the third time, she picked up her phone and dialed Habib’s number, which she had saved under the name NOORI (My Light). Just like her previous attempts, the call rang all the way to the end, cutting off without him picking up, and no call back came. A wave of unease washed over her; this was completely unlike him. No matter where he was, he always made it a point to be home before the Isha prayer, and if he was going to be delayed past that time, he would invariably call to inform her. But tonight, he was late, and despite her repeated calls, he wasn't picking up. She began to worry that perhaps something was wrong, or that he had encountered some sort of trouble.
"No, nothing bad could have happened to my Noori," she murmured aloud, letting out a breath.
She desperately tried to reassure herself, pushing away the rising panic because she knew that if she let anxiety take over, she would completely lose her peace of mind. She clung to the comforting thought that perhaps he had stopped by his family's house, and that was what was taking so long. His phone was probably on silent, or he had left it out of arm's reach, which would explain why he hadn't heard her calls.
"Insha Allah, he is perfectly fine. Just calm down, Ummu-Salma," she muttered, trying to steady her nerves. She took several deep, measured breaths in succession until a sense of calm finally returned and her breathing slowed to a normal rhythm.
She cast a brief glance down at her attire. Every evening around this time, she made it a point to dress up beautifully to welcome her husband, Habib, and tonight was no exception. She had adorned herself in a stylish matching top and trousers. The top was cropped, barely reaching her navel, and featured thin vest straps, which explained why the evening chill was getting to her so easily. Her trousers were perfectly tailored, fitting snugly around her waist and accentuating her elegant figure. Her head was uncovered; she had pulled her hair back into a sleek band, letting the ponytail cascade down the middle of her back. She wore minimal makeup, save for a striking, glossy lipstick that drew immediate attention to her lips. Both she and the entire living room radiated a sweet, soothing fragrance that would instantly put any lover of fine scents at ease.
Ummu-Salma Hadi Baba was a tall, fair-skinned woman—a beautiful Hausa-Fulani descendant from the Fulani lineages of Mubi, born and raised in Jimeta. One wouldn't need to be told of her heritage; a single glance at her graceful demeanor, her classic features, and her speech—which carried only a light, accented grasp of the Hausa language—instantly revealed her Fulani roots. She was a first-class beauty: exceptionally fair, with a sharp, prominent nose, a striking stature, and a flawless build. The Almighty had blessed her with every virtue that defined an elegant woman. Age-wise, she was easily under 24 years old.
Every few moments, she kept glancing back at her phone screen. It was nearly ten minutes to eight, and outside, a light drizzle had already begun to fall. Seeing this, she stood up and walked into the bathroom nestled between her two bedrooms to perform her ablutions. She then stepped into her main bedroom, which featured a massive bed and a wardrobe. Retrieving her prayer hijab from the bed where she had left it after the Maghrib prayer, she threw it on, laid out her prayer mat, and performed her Isha prayer. After concluding, she remained seated on the mat, silently reciting her supplications on her fingers while staring blankly into space, completely lost in thought.
"Where on earth could Noori be?" she asked herself, both in her thoughts and in a whisper.
She stood up, keeping the long hijab on since she was still feeling quite cold. Over the last two days, she had started noticing subtle changes in her body—a sudden onset of fatigue, general body aches, a mild headache, lower abdominal discomfort, and a total loss of appetite. On top of that, she felt overwhelmingly sleepy, and waking up felt like an uphill battle, leaving her body sore as though she had just undergone intense, backbreaking labor. Initially, she had brushed the symptoms off as minor, but they were now becoming increasingly pronounced. Her plan for tonight was to inform Habib about her health the moment he returned, so they could arrange a visit to the doctor.
Returning to the living room, she sat back down on the couch. The living room was spacious, boasting both width and length. Toward the far end sat a compact dining section featuring a small table with three chairs. The main seating area was elegantly framed by a four-piece sofa set, with a plush carpet blanketing the floor beneath a central coffee table.
On the eastern wall, a massive television sat atop a modern TV stand, while a large wall clock hung directly above it, ticking steadily: tick! tick! The living room furniture featured a striking black-and-milk color scheme, which perfectly matched the heavy drapes hanging from the windows. She pulled her phone closer to distract herself from worrying about Habib's unusual delay. Opening the TikTok app, she began browsing through various modern culinary and recipe videos.
When it came to high-end, modern culinary arts, Ummu-Salma was a master of her craft. Back when she lived with her parents, whenever she was busy experimenting with intricate ingredients, one would think the final dish would be entirely unpalatable—yet the moment she finished, everyone would shower her with endless praise, especially her father, Baffa, who consistently supported her in every endeavor.
Her mother, Amma, on the other hand, was the undisputed queen of criticism. Amma would constantly scold her, nagging that Ummu was simply wasting precious ingredients with her "overly fancy, modern dramatic cooking." Amma was a staunch traditionalist; to her, Ummu's intricate baking and fancy recipes were nothing more than an exhausting, unnecessary display of vanity. In Amma’s eyes, authentic traditional dishes were the only real food, while the modern pastries Ummu-Salma loved so much were just trivial treats.
Amma would often chide her, saying that once she got married, she would see if her husband would actually survive on a steady diet of those fancy pastries she took so much pride in. Back then, Ummu would simply pout her lips and reply, "But Amma, you just don't understand! Even when traditional food is prepared, these modern touches are necessary because times have changed, and this is what the current era demands."
Baffa had spent a considerable amount of money sponsoring her through various online culinary classes and professional baking workshops, all to fuel Ummu's passion for mastering modern cuisine and handling flour in all its creative forms. She had succeeded brilliantly; she had mastered the craft, and even to this day, she was actively expanding her knowledge. Currently, she was enrolled in three different online training programs, and her phone gallery was packed with well over a thousand recipe videos. That was why whenever she opened TikTok, her feed was dominated by cooking videos; she would watch, leave a like, and save the video if it caught her attention. She possessed an adventurous culinary spirit; whatever unique recipe she saw, she felt compelled to replicate it. Because of this, dealing with flour never intimidated Ummu-Salma; she could effortlessly transform it into over ten different varieties of delicacies all at once.
Leaving TikTok, she switched over to WhatsApp. Chatting wasn't something she particularly cared for since she wasn't a talkative person over text; she could browse through her chats ten times and still end up just viewing people's status updates. Ummu-Salma could go months without initiating a phone call or texting someone, yet she was always there, consistently viewing your status updates—provided you posted something. She would view it and take note, but she would never leave a comment. Even if a person suffered a loss or celebrated a massive milestone, she firmly believed that text chatting wasn't the proper medium for expressions of condolence or joy; text was purely for light entertainment. Consequently, she preferred to call directly to offer her condolences or share in someone's happiness rather than type it out. If you were to wait around for her to text you first, you would both remain in perpetual silence.
Her brothers had long grown accustomed to her aloof texting habits. If you ever caught her engaged in a lengthy text conversation, it was strictly with only three people: the first was Mami, the second was her Bestie, and the third was Sisna. Outside of these three individuals, Ummu-Salma simply did not hold long conversations with anyone. Habib used to chat with her frequently back when she was still living at home, and while they still texted occasionally after their marriage, it wasn't as frequent. This was why these three specific contacts permanently occupied the top spot of her chat interface: Bestie, Mami, Sisna.
Bestie and Sisna were her closest friends, while Mami was a highly revered woman who held an incredibly sacred place in her life, second only to Amma.
Right now, she was scrolling through Hamma Abdulrahman’s status updates. She noticed he had posted a series of photos featuring himself and his professional colleagues looking exceptionally dapper in sharp suits. It was clearly taken at his workplace, which made perfect sense given that he was a practicing lawyer. Just then, a message notification from Sisna popped up at the top of her screen. She quickly exited the status viewer to check it.
"Sisna," the message read, accompanied by a crying emoji.
A surge of excitement rushed through her. With eager fingers, she quickly typed back a reply.
"Naam, Sisna! What happened? Who dared to upset my girl today? Just say the word, and I'll turn Jimeta and its surrounding areas upside down!"
At the end of her sentence, she playfully tossed in a phrase in Fulfulde, alongside a string of aggressive emojis featuring knives and punching fists.
Sisna responded by sending a thirty-second voice note. Ummu opened it, and Sisna’s heavily pampered, whining voice filled the room:
"Sisna, I am so completely exhausted by these studies. I am thoroughly fed up! Honestly, just come over and tell Umma to marry me off immediately, just like they did for you."
Ummu-Salma burst into a hearty laugh before pressing down on the microphone icon to record her own voice note:
"Ugh, I've always known that! Is there truly anything more exhausting in this life than school, Sisna? Wallahi, there isn't! That's exactly why I called it quits, even though you all blamed me back then. Girl, just come and get married. Within marriage lies absolute bliss (Nii'imaaa)."
She dragged out the word Maa playfully, chuckling softly before hitting send.
Sisna quickly replied with a text: "Seriously, why is it that whenever someone brings their academic complaints to you, you always end up crushing their spirit? Sisna, you're supposed to motivate me! Since I've already committed to this and started, encourage me! Tell me: 'Sisna, endure! Keep fighting, you can do this!'"
"SisNa Fight.!!! ✊🏼✨" Ummu texted back, adding a muscle-flexing and a saluting emoji.
"Yes Maa!!" Sisna quickly replied, attaching a twin-head emoji surrounded by floating hearts.
"Where is Habib?" Sisna added.
"He isn't back yet, Sisna," Ummu replied, adding a dramatic string of crying emojis.
"Oh, stop it. Have you called him?"
"He isn't picking up."
"Don't worry, Sisna. He probably stopped by his family's house. He'll be home any minute now, okay?"
"Okay."
"Smile, my beautiful Baby."
Sisna then bombarded her with a heart emoji and over ten laughing emojis.
"Good night. Keep me in your prayers, you know our exams start upper week."
"May the Almighty Allah grant my Sisna grand success. May Allah ensure that Aisha (Baɗɗo) emerges with the highest grades and absolute victory."
"Amin, Amin Sisna. We'll talk later."
"Bye."
Ummu texted back a "Bye," but notice that the message didn't display the double-check delivery mark, confirming that her friend had already gone offline. She let out a soft sigh and looked toward the window. The rain had officially started, though it wasn't a heavy downpour yet. She stood up and carefully adjusted the drapes, ensuring that even though the window was shut tight, no stray droplets would spray into the living room if the storm intensified.
She then walked into the kitchen, which was accessible through a doorway right by the dining area. The kitchen was equally large, boasting plenty of counter space. Opening one of the kitchen drawers, she retrieved a small mug. A small metal kettle (buta) sat atop the gas cooker, filled with freshly brewed herbal tea infused with various aromatic leaves. She lifted it and carefully strained the tea through a small sieve into her mug. She added a tiny spoonful of sugar. Next, she grabbed a small bowl, opened a nearby pastry box, and selected three large doughnuts, placing them inside. After returning every item neatly back to its proper place, she carried her mug and bowl back into the living room.
She pulled the central coffee table closer to the sofa and set her snacks down. Walking over to the television stand, she switched on the wall socket, picked up the remote, and returned to her seat. The screen flared to life, displaying a football match channel. Habib was an avid football fan; whenever he was home, that channel remained on permanently. She quickly switched it over to the Arewa24 channel, where a rerun of the popular series Kwana Chasa'in was currently airing. She lowered the volume significantly; although she wasn't particularly obsessed with watching television, she enjoyed catching glimpses of it from time to time.
Settling back onto the couch, she curled her legs up beneath her into a comfortable, cross-legged position. She drew her mug closer, taking slow sips of the warm tea while occasionally biting into the doughnuts resting on her lap, closing her eyes in absolute delight at the taste.
"Wow, these actually taste significantly better after sitting for a few days," she murmured to herself, taking another bite.
Setting the bowl down on the sofa cushion beside her, she reached for her phone once more. She opened WhatsApp to check Habib’s profile; his last seen status showed he had been offline since 5:40 PM. She then checked Bestie’s profile, noting she had been offline since morning. She wasn't surprised; she knew that with their final examinations fast approaching, catching Bestie online would be a rare occurrence.
She quickly typed out a supportive message:
"Bestie, hope you're doing well? How are the studies coming along? It's tough, right? Aw, hang in there! Allah will grant you absolute success, my Bestie."
She hit send, and the message went through, but since her friend wasn't online, it remained on a single checkmark.
She navigated back to her chat list and checked Mami’s profile. Seeing that she was currently active, Ummu quickly fired off a text.
"My Mami."
Mami replied almost instantly.
"My first Daughter, what are you doing on your phone so late at night? Where is your husband?"
"Mami, he isn't back yet."
"Is he OK?" Mami asked.
Ummu quickly typed back a reassuring response, lying slightly to keep her from worrying: "Yes, he's perfectly fine. He just stopped by his family's house."
"Good. I am currently busy grading my students' test scripts. I'll give you a call tomorrow. Good night."
"Good night, my Mami," Ummu replied, playfully pouting her lips as if her mother figure could actually see her face through the screen.
"Ugh, literally everyone is just telling me 'Good night,'" she grumbled aloud, extending her pout further.
Letting out a soft sigh, she exited the chat and returned to scrolling through TikTok. However, her eyes kept drifting back to the clock. It was rapidly approaching 9:00 PM, yet there was still no sign of Habib, and he hadn't bothered to call. She exited TikTok with the firm intention of calling his number again, but as she opened her WhatsApp chat interface, her eyes caught a brand-new status update from Hamma Saddam, posted just four minutes ago.
With a sudden burst of curiosity, she clicked on it. The status featured a series of photographs—and these weren't just ordinary, unfamiliar photos. Every Nigerian who frequented social media was well acquainted with these specific images, given how wildly they had been trending across all digital platforms since the beginning of the week.
However, what truly caught her off guard was the caption Hamma Saddam had attached underneath the photos:
"May Allah bless this union, my Sis Badi'atu."
Ummu-Salma’s jaw dropped in disbelief before she covered her mouth, letting out a sharp, cynical laugh.
"My Sis? Seriously?" she muttered aloud, laughing again. "Since when did she magically become his sister without my knowledge?"
The status contained over five different pre-wedding pictures featuring the prominent bride, Badi'atu, and her groom—the kind of lavish, high-end pre-wedding photo shoots typical of the ultra-wealthy elite. The photographs were currently the talk of the town. The grand wedding itself wasn't scheduled until the following week, but the photos and the official event invitations had already spread like wildfire across the internet, heavily featured by every major northern blogger. It was the wedding of the season, involving families of immense political influence, wealth, and traditional royalty.
Ummu-Salma scrolled through the pictures, curling her lips in a classic display of mild disdain—a habit that was clearly second nature to her.
"I highly doubt she even knows you exist, Hamma Saddam," she scoffed softly, a faint, mocking smile playing at the corner of her lips.
She had only ever crossed paths with Badi'atu once, back when Amma had aggressively insisted they travel to attend the official turbaning ceremony of Hamma Lamido as the Yarima (Prince) of Daura. Even back then, Ummu had distinctly noticed an air of extreme arrogance and self-importance surrounding the young girl. She was utterly convinced that Hamma Saddam’s post was just an embarrassing case of unreciprocated sycophancy. Perhaps Hamma Lamido had merely extended a polite courtesy to Saddam, and she was entirely certain that the Prince didn't even care about Saddam's social media antics.
The final slide on Saddam's status featured a digital copy of the wedding invitation card, along with the elaborate program of events detailing the week-long festivities leading up to the main wedding ceremony. The actual Daurin Aure (wedding solemnization) was the only event scheduled to take place at the royal palace in Daura; the rest of the lavish celebrations were set to unfold in the capital city of Abuja.
She couldn't help but burst into another round of laughter when her eyes fell upon Saddam’s caption underneath the invitation card:
"Family and Friends, the big wedding of our household has finally arrived! This is a grand celebration for our very own home, so I am absolutely not leaving anyone out!"
Ummu-Salma laughed so hard she practically choked on her own breath. Hamma Saddam was truly a comedian—claiming this was a wedding of "their household"! Since when did a royal and highly political wedding belong to his family? This was the wedding of the daughter of the Emir of Daura, ALHAJI DR. NASIRU MUHAMMAD DAURA, who was marrying the son of the Special Adviser to the President on Media and Publicity! Yet, here was Hamma Saddam, practically dancing with excitement and boldly declaring it a "household wedding." Honestly, Saddam possessed an unmatched talent for forcing himself into circles where he had zero influence.
Amused and slightly irritated, she quickly typed a sarcastic reply directly to his final status slide:
"Oh wow, listen to this brother of mine! Did you just say a wedding of 'our household'? Or do you mean the household of Hamma Lamido?"
It seemed as though he was sitting by his phone waiting for her response, because he instantly fired back an animated sticker of someone being forcefully tackled to the ground, followed by a glaring, angry emoji.
Underneath the sticker, he typed: "This is absolutely our household wedding, Ummu! Or are you claiming you don't belong to this family either?"
She directly replied with a blunt text: "Nope, wallahi it is definitely not my household wedding, Hamma."
Saddam sent back a shocked emoji before typing: "Amma is sitting right next to me. Should I show her exactly what you just texted?"
Panic seized her, and she quickly typed back: "Oh, please cover my shame, Hamma! It's our household wedding, of course it is!" She hit send and quickly flooded his chat with a string of beating-heart emojis.
"Good girl," he wrote back, attaching a laughing sticker.
Out of pure annoyance, she didn't bother to reply. Instead, she completely switched off her mobile data and set the phone down on the table. Hamma Saddam was clearly trying to draw Amma's fiery wrath down upon her tonight, and she was not prepared for that drama. She was well aware of how intensely Amma was preparing for this upcoming royal wedding—one would think Amma was the biological mother of the bride. The irony was that the very person Amma was going through all this trouble for—Hamma Lamido—would probably not even bother to show up at their own family events. He was a man who had consistently missed numerous joyous family milestones and somber gatherings alike; he simply didn't view family ties as a priority. He knew absolutely nothing outside of piloting aircraft and throwing money around. His family possessed vast ancestral wealth that ensured even his future grandchildren would never know poverty.
She could bet anything, without fear of breaking an oath, that Hamma Lamido wouldn't even make it to his own sister's wedding solemnization. After all, when it came to her own wedding, he hadn't bothered to show up either. She hadn't cared, but Amma had been deeply slighted because they had spoken beforehand, and he had promised her he would attend. According to Amma’s endless excuses for him, he had allegedly assumed they would arrive at the venue on the eve of the wedding, but his flight schedules had suddenly changed, preventing his attendance. Of course, Amma was the only one parroting this narrative; no one had actually heard such an explanation directly from the Prince's mouth. If a man couldn't even make time to attend his own family's milestones, whose event would he actually grace with his presence? It was a pity for anyone who wasted their energy worrying about his absence; the man didn't even acknowledge their existence. He was just cut from a entirely different cloth. He operated under the belief that money was the ultimate solution to everything in life; he could effortlessly transfer anywhere from a single Naira to ten million Naira to your account, but he would never physically show up to share in your joy or offer condolences. This was precisely why, to this day, she never included Hamma Lamido on her list of honorable, respectful people; she firmly categorized him as arrogant and deeply conceited.
She went back to eating her doughnuts and sipping her tea, periodically curling her lips in that familiar, quiet expression of disdain. It was clear to anyone watching that this dramatic facial expression was simply an unconscious habit of hers.
Ever since her visit home the previous week, Amma had utterly exhausted her ears with endless talk about this upcoming Daura wedding. Because of this, she had firmly resolved not to return to her family home until the entire wedding season was completely over. Amma's mind was completely restless right now, and Ummu knew she wouldn't find peace until she traveled to Daura, saw the wedding through to a successful conclusion, and returned. Baffa, naturally, remained entirely indifferent to the whole affair and hadn't even committed to attending the wedding solemnization. Amma, however, was a force of nature; absolutely no one dared to tell her she couldn't go, unless they wanted to ensure the household knew no peace for days. Even Baffa understood the volatile nature of her temperament when it came to—
