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She was sitting at the doorway of the room, resting her chin on her palms in a way that drew sympathy. It seemed she didn’t even realize tears had soaked her face because of how deeply she was lost in thought. On the other hand, she didn’t know the fire she lit had already gone out.

A woman came out of the room and, seeing what had happened to the fire, angrily walked up to her and struck her hard on the back. In a harsh voice she shouted,

“So Safara’u, you’re thinking of your useless father so much that you let my fire die? Because you’re lazy and worthless, you wretched child of trouble! Wallahi, even if you cry blood today you’ll suffer — this is just the beginning.”

In great shock, the beautiful girl lifted her large, bright eyes—now red from crying—and looked up at the woman standing over her. Before she could process anything, another heavy slap landed on her cheek so hard she fell off the chair to the ground.

The woman, furious, leaned over her and continued beating her.

“I talk to you, and you dare stare at me with those useless witch-like eyes of yours? Useless girl! Wallahi, if I come out again and find this fire out, I will almost kill you!”

She ended her words with a harsh kick to Safara’u’s stomach, hitting her directly.

Safara’u screamed immediately, grabbing her stomach from the pain, then fell to the ground groaning. The woman stepped over her and hissed,

“I hope you die before I come back. Wallahi I’ll be happy to be rid of you. What will I do raising another woman’s child anyway? All because of a co-wife — useless burden!”

She walked back inside without caring about how Safara’u was writhing on the floor as if something serious had happened to her.

Just then, an elderly man entered. Seeing her collapsed on the floor, he dropped the shopping bag in his hand. The items scattered everywhere as he rushed to lift her. When he noticed blood flowing from her nose, panic overwhelmed him and he began shouting:

“Asabe! Asabe! Where are you? What happened to Safara’u? She’s bleeding from her nose!”

There was no answer. And now she had started vomiting, staining the clothes he had bought. He quickly stood up with her in his arms. Aisha walked in just as he was about to leave.

Alarmed, she said,

“Baffa, what happened to her?”

He couldn’t speak; he only told her to run home and call her brother Murtala because they needed to take Safara’u to the chemist immediately.

Aisha turned and ran out crying, while the old man carried Safara’u to the entrance. His Qur’anic students who were learning under a large baobab tree nearby rushed over, asking,

“Malam, are you okay?”

He simply shook his head — he couldn’t speak.

At that moment, Murtala arrived with a friend behind him on a motorcycle, followed by Aisha and her mother. Without asking questions, they placed Safara’u on the motorcycle. Aisha’s mother climbed on to hold her in place, while Baffa and Aisha followed behind.

Hearing the motorcycle rev, Asabe finally came out, hissing loudly. She went straight to the firewood and began rearranging it. She muttered curses, praying they wouldn’t return with Safara’u alive. After fixing the fire, she noticed the scattered vegetables — proof that the man had entered in a hurry. Annoyed, she began picking them up, saying:

“Of course you’ll scatter them. Just because I slapped that gold-skinned girl with pretty eyes. Go and come back and find me here if you like. As long as I’m called Indo, I fear no one.”

She clicked her tongue.