Ke Hanifa, when I came in, you didn’t even bother to greet me, not to mention a warm welcome. You know I’ve been hungry since morning when I left, and I haven’t eaten anything until now," said a young man, probably around twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old. Hanifa pouted and said, "Welcome back. There’s food in the kitchen if you want to eat." She continued fiddling with her phone, chewing gum. He shook his head, amazed at Hanifa's attitude. They had married for love, with mutual respect and care, yet less than a month into their marriage, her bad habits were already glaringly obvious.
He headed straight to their bedroom and was hit by a foul smell from unwashed clothes. Covering his nose, he entered the room to find biscuit wrappers and bags scattered on the floor. Shaking his head, he said, "So Hanifa left the room in such a mess, with all this eating and couldn’t even clean up." He set his briefcase aside and began gathering her discarded clothes, including her pants and bra, lying in the middle of the room, dirty and crumpled. The laundry basket she had brought into the bedroom was overflowing with her clothes, refusing to close. Anger welled up in him as he headed to the bathroom to perform ablution for the Maghrib prayer, which had just ended when he arrived.
He was greeted by the sight of a bucket with her soaked panties from the day she moved in, which she still hadn’t washed. The water was discolored. His frustration intensified, and he hurried out, calling her name. But like a stone, she didn't respond, busy chatting on her phone, seemingly unbothered. He snatched her phone, and she stood up, annoyed, glaring at him and reaching for her phone. He glared back, his face stern, and dragged her to the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed. "Hanifa, what is this? Is this how you leave your husband’s room, where he sleeps? No cleaning, no fragrance, just dirty clothes and wrappers everywhere like a madman’s room or a beggar’s?," he said.
He dragged her to the bathroom and said, "This too, Hanifa? Your cleanliness is just a facade; you’re tidy outside but inside, it’s all filth like a garbage dump. Is this the happiness you claimed you’d bring before our marriage?" Hanifa, indifferent, replied, "Saleem, this house is too big for me. I can’t clean it at all. I need a maid." He stood there, mouth agape, astonished at her attitude. Without saying another word, he went to another room, which was also dirty. He cleaned it, spraying freshener before entering the bathroom to clean it thoroughly. Returning, he found her lying on the couch, legs crossed, completely unconcerned.
Avoiding her gaze, he returned to their room, packed his clothes, and moved them to the cleaned room. She watched him, clicking her tongue as if it would break. He acted as if he didn’t notice her. After arranging his clothes, he went to the kitchen. His anger flared again upon seeing the mess. Despite all the provisions her parents had made, she had ruined everything. Even the cutlery wasn’t washed; some plates had maggots. Shaking his head, he left, his heart burning with anger. He grabbed his car keys and left to find something to eat.
He headed straight to Hadiza Balangu on Sultan Road in Unguwan Sarki, bought food and tea, and stepped out. At his car, he noticed a young girl standing, looking distressed. With a kind tone, he said, "Miss, please move." Slowly, she looked up at him, and then looked away, intimidated, saying, "Please sir, help us with some food. My siblings and I haven’t eaten since morning, and hunger is killing us." His eyes widened in shock at the sight of such a young girl out at this hour, around nine-thirty, seeking food. With difficulty, he asked, "Don’t you have parents?" She replied, "I do." He asked, "Then why are you the one out looking?" She smiled sadly, tears threatening to fall, "Don’t worry about knowing who I am. Just help us if you can. My brother Mahafuz is crying, and Munnayah fell asleep from hunger."
He felt a surge of pity for her, contrasting it with Hanifa, who was squandering in luxury. He went back and bought them food, handing it to her. Trembling, she took it and said, "Thank you so much. May God reward you with good, grant you righteous children, and bless your life. Thank you." He stood there, unable to move, watching her. Hanifa had never prayed for him, yet this young girl was so quick with blessings. Softly, he asked, "Where are you going so I can drop you off?" She replied, "This is enough. Thank you. We live in Gwani Mukhtar, by Attahiru Road, Malali." His eyes widened again, surprised that such a poor girl came from Gwani Mukhtar’s area, known for its affluence.
