By Maryam Altine Baba
Chapter one
The sun was up high in the blue sky and its scorching heat burned the earth. It was a very hot Monday afternoon, which may boil water outside, but the people of Gaji village hustled and bustled away in the market square.
The village of Gaji had a vibrant and bustling market, which attracted people from neighbouring villages and beyond. Local farmers displayed, traders showcased while customers flocked the market.
Though, the market was not filled to capacity that afternoon, there were those who took the advantage of late market deals, as most people sold off their goods at giveaway prices just so they wouldn’t return home with them.
Mallam Tijjani sat on a platform near the village mosque, which was surrounded by the local traders and some of the Fulani people that had visited the market. The mosque was a symbol of unity in the growing population of the village and was built by philanthropists and even the traders.
No matter how engrossed people were with business activities, the Salat was never missed. Mallam Tijjani made sure of that, as the Imam of the mosque and general overseer of religious activities.
The people of Gaji loved and respected Malam Tijjani dearly; two things he got everywhere he went except for the one place people least expected…his house. His wife Khadija and three beautiful daughters were the centre of the universe he existed, but contrastingly, the cause of his pains and troubles.
He was a man that provided and catered for his family’s every need and wants. He was almost celebrated in the village as the one with a ‘golden heart’. He didn’t afford luxury per se but made sure none of his charges lacked anything they needed. Every father, every mother wanted a husband like Malam Tijjani for his or her daughter. He was a shining example for every man to follow, yet he was a lost man, one full of anguish and pains.
Mallam Tijjani sighed.
Life had turned everything he held dear against him. The envelope in his hand reminded him of his dilemma and a gripping pain engulfed his heart since it was delivered to him by hand not too long ago.
He was lost again in his thoughts as he searched deeply and widely for any ways he had erred. He prided himself as a man of high values and had instilled those values in the lives of his daughters. But clearly, they had deviated, the letter he held in his hand is a clear testimony. Who would have thought his daughter would go to such extent?
Thought of it raised bile to his stomach. He felt suffocated and helpless. It was as if some heavy metals were dropped on his chest by a heavy weight lifter. He rose up and headed home. He didn’t know if facing the problem squarely would help, but sitting there wasn’t going to help him, neither was it going to solve his problems.
On his way home, people engaged him in the normal pleasantries and the occasional chit chats that had to do with fertilizers and farming.
Sometimes it was question and answer sessions. Some of the questions were weird or simply absurd. Like the one asked by Harisu, the blacksmith, “I forgot to perform ablution before joining you in prayer, does my prayer stand as valid?”
He answered them keenly and patiently, devoid of judging the questioner.
But not on that day!
He took the narrow lane path to his house, where trouble and pain both awaited him.
