This is a story made up of three parts, and each part carries an important role to play. It is the story of three major heroines in one book, and in each part there are many events we shall deeply dive into. We have the story of ZALIKA, the story of SADIYA, and the story of JIDDA. I therefore urge you to follow me patiently, as the full details of their stories will be revealed, God willing.

With a loud greeting that sounded as though it would split the house apart, Malam Bala entered his home. Mama Habiba, who was fetching water, lifted her head and responded. He shot her a sharp glance, clicked his tongue in irritation, and turned his face away.

He began calling out the girls of the house one after the other, each of them in her own room assigned to her within the compound. When Aisha heard the call, she frowned and said:

“Oh dear! Our father’s anger has returned again. We’re in trouble now. Baba is about to start his usual scolding. Let’s go and hear what he has come with.”

Malika smacked her lips while still pressing her phone. Slowly and quietly, they all came out, each sneaking in and sitting on the mat in front of him, while he had already settled on a plastic chair.

He brought out a tightly wrapped bundle of medicine from inside his large gown. It was big and bulky. He said angrily:

“I swear I am in deep trouble! Oh Allah, grant me a male child—even if he is crippled!”

Mama Habiba felt hurt upon hearing his words. Even though this was not the first time she heard such statements, each time they sounded new and painful to her ears. All the girls lowered their heads, as they and their mothers greatly feared Baba—he spared no one.

In a calm voice, Mama Habiba said:

“Haba Malam, please stop saying such things. It is unpleasant to hear. Every child, regardless of gender, is a blessing from God…”

He shouted at her fiercely, forcing the rest of her words back into her throat. Angrily he said:

“Habiba, I have warned you countless times not to interfere in matters concerning my children. Don’t you understand? Why do you involve yourself in things that don’t concern you? Did I ask you to give me a male child?”

She trembled as he continued:

“I asked Allah to give me a male child—even a cripple—not you. Let those who give birth talk, but you, who are useless in this house, what concern is it of yours?”

She lowered her head, tears welling up in her eyes, deeply hurt by Malam Bala’s words. Though she firmly believed that it is Allah who gives and withholds children, her husband’s cruel remarks pierced her heart deeply. She knew that if the situation were reversed—if he were the one unable to have children—she would never mock him but would accept destiny and stay with him till her last breath. Yet despite marrying three co-wives, he never stopped tormenting her with insults about her childlessness.

Mama Talatu, hearing what was happening, came out of her room. Though it wasn’t the first time, she always felt pain whenever Habiba was humiliated. She moved toward Habiba to console her, but halted when she heard Malam Bala say:

“You, the soft-hearted one with a fragile spirit, you don’t even feel jealous. You don’t enjoy it when your husband humiliates your co-wife, as though it were your blood sister being insulted.”

Turning to him calmly, she replied:

“Haba Malam, any sensible woman would not enjoy seeing her co-wife humiliated. Life is uncertain—what happens to one today may happen to another tomorrow. It could be my turn next…”

He raised his hand, silencing her, and said:

“Go and fetch a bucket of water for me.”

She answered “Yes” softly, glanced at Habiba with pity, and went to get the water. Mama Habiba quietly returned to her room, feeling as though a heavy stone had been placed on her chest. The pain of childlessness weighed heavily on her heart. She loved children dearly, yet fate had denied her. Worse still, her husband showed her no compassion, blaming her as though she had chosen barrenness herself.

Mama Talatu returned with a bucket full of water and placed it before him, watching the girls whose faces were filled with distress. He tore open the nylon bag of medicine, poured it into two cups, mixed it, and handed one to Hafsa, saying:

“