In Banni Compeleted Book

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IN BANI BOOK COMPLETE

I was just praying, not knowing what to do and worried that the three days would run out before I knew it. While I was busy setting up the dining table, I smelled the scent of Ya Aliyu wafting through the area. Without pausing, he said, "We are traveling tomorrow, get ready."

I quickly stepped in front of him and said, "Please, don't say we are going out together. Say you are going to Abuja for a meeting, and I will tell Nanee that I am going home to visit my family. Then we can meet at the airport and leave without anyone knowing, so people won't start coming up with different assumptions."

"It seems you still have some sense left in you," he said, and walked away.

I informed Nanee that I was going to our village the next day because my older brother was unwell and running a high fever. She felt sorry for me and said, "May God take you safely. Let me know when you're ready, but don't stay too long."

The funny thing was that at night, Ice (Aliyu) told Nanee that he was going to Abuja for a meeting. She replied, "Fadila is also traveling; who am I going to chat with?" He just laughed and said he wouldn't be away for long.

As God would have it, Ice only told Nanee that he was going to Abuja.

Nobody else knew. I packed my things thoroughly—about five changes of clothes and various essentials. That "oga" (boss) of mine also had his driver take him to the airport and then dismissed the driver so he wouldn't see me. Nanee gave me money, an atamfa fabric, and a shadda to take home as gifts, which made me very happy. I took a taxi to the airport. When I arrived, I saw him sitting down, drinking Eva water, looking all dressed up and sharp.

When he saw how well-dressed and gorgeous I looked, he stared at me as if he recognized me, but then he remembered I was a married woman and looked away. I was wearing a black and sky-blue Arabian gown; I looked stunning, like I was heading to Dubai or some foreign country. As for him, he wore casual clothes—a white crazy jean and a sea-green shirt—and he looked so handsome that no one would ever guess he was from this country or this part of town.

Today, Fadila was going to board a plane! He didn't say anything, just said, "Let’s go." I followed behind him. After clearing security, we boarded the aircraft. I sat in the back row while he sat in the front, claiming that because I was a married woman, he couldn't sit next to me.

As for me, I was so happy I thought I might die, just being near "Danbature" (the white man/the handsome guy), thanks to my lack of shame. Still, I didn't show it; I just kept a straight face and clicked away on my phone. Every now and then, he would turn around and look at me. Whenever our eyes met, he would say, "Stop looking at me. Whose wife are you turning around to stare at?" He gave me the cold shoulder. Besides, where we were seated on the plane was a VIP section where nobody could see you, nor could you see anyone else.

They started serving drinks, water, tea, and food. Before I could even say what I wanted, he told them, "She drinks water, give her water."

I was consumed with annoyance! Meanwhile, he ordered chicken with fried rice and a special juice. I swallowed my saliva, feeling bloated and irritated. I wasn't even worth a glance from him as he ate his food, while for me, they were told not to give me anything except water—and I didn't even drink that.

Then I remembered the times when I used to hunt down food for him by any means necessary so he would eat, sometimes even feeding him with my own hands.

It wasn't long before our plane landed in Kano State. He handed his flashy designer travel bag to me, saying he was tired from the long journey and couldn't carry it. I knew it was pure wickedness on his part! But I took it anyway, along with mine. Outside, I saw a magnificent luxury car parked waiting for us. He got in, and I sat next to him while the driver got into the front seat.

I heard his voice say, "Move over."

"I am practically pressed against the door! Where else do you want me to move?" I retorted.

"Are you going to be disrespectful just because you weren't given airplane food and now you're pouting?"

I smiled and said, "Why would I be pouting?"

"You know best," he replied.

We were taken to the Tahir Guest Palace hotel. I thought, In the middle of the day like this, before we even go to our lodging, shouldn't we go out looking for Danbature (his old mad self/the missing person) in the madhouses first, and then go to the hotel afterward?

"With all this exhaustion and rough traveling, do you think I can go out chasing some crazy person now? It will wait until tomorrow. Right now, I am tired and I'm going to rest," he said.

"You act like a woman, even though you have the build of a full-grown man—pure laziness!"

He glared at me and said, "I knew you were staring at me all along. By the way, I wanted to give you some advice earlier and forgot: when I brought those people to you and told you to show them your husband, you insulted them right in front of them because you lack sense. Every human being has dignity, and everyone has their own God-given gift. They didn't make themselves; God created them. Stop running people down—they are God's creations. Look at yourself; you aren't superior to them either. You insulted them so badly that I had to apologize to them afterward and give them a lot of money. Never look at anyone, no matter what they look like, and insult their creation."

Knowing he was speaking the truth, I said, "Okay, I've stopped. Astaghfirullah, Ustaz, thank you." He didn't say anything else.

He booked two separate rooms—one for himself and one for me. I was terrified of hotels, but I braced myself. He ordered expensive, delicious food. I ate, drank, took a bath, and fell fast asleep on a wonderfully comfortable bed. I didn't wake up until Maghrib. I prayed, feeling cheerful, and dressed up nicely as if I were going to a party. Looking gorgeous, I stepped out to take a walk around the city.

As I walked, I bumped into Danbature stepping out of a car with his driver, looking like he had just returned from somewhere. He was dressed very sharply too. Jealousy hit me—was he going to see another woman? Annoyance washed over me, and I zoomed past him right in front of his face. He didn't even acknowledge that he knew me.

I couldn't go anywhere special, so I just took a walk on foot and then returned to my room to sleep. At night, I heard a knock on the door and opened it to find he had sent food for me.

The next day at 9:00 AM, a wonderful breakfast arrived. I got dressed, and at 11:00 AM he said it was time to go. The same driver took us in the car to the psychiatric hospital.

I knew I wouldn't see anyone there, but the doors were opened and we went inside. When he saw a white person, he might have thought, Is this him? I said, "No." We finished touring even the private psychiatric hospital, and there was nothing. He said, "Let's go back to the hotel. I'm tired; I can't go to Katsina today, we'll go tomorrow." I agreed.

We spent another night there and then boarded a plane to Katsina. Today, he pushed himself, saying we would tour Katsina today and then head straight to Gombe. I was so excited to be going home.

We finished our tour there too, and there was no one. A different car and driver picked us up.

While on the flight to Gombe, he said, "You are remarkably patient, and your kindness is immense. You keep helping me, and my money and health are truly something to applaud, yet you never praise me. I suppose that's why you've grown accustomed to disrespecting me."

I chuckled softly and said, "There you go, praising yourself again. What is there for me to say when you've already done all the praising?"

As soon as we arrived in Gombe, I started celebrating. He said, "Well, we are going to spend two days in this town because this rogue is probably hiding out here. It looks like he tricked you and found you to be gullible."

In Gombe, two exceptionally grand luxury cars with security escorts followed right behind us. He said he never entered a village without security; village people can be problematic and might beat someone up for no reason. That reminded me of the time Ya Musa and the others beat him up when he was still out of his mind.

I directed them all the way to our village.

(Readers, this is where the drama really begins!)

People in the village just stared in awe at the convoy of cars, thinking a senator must be inside. The tinted windows made it impossible to see anyone. He slowly glanced over at me and saw me grinning widely. He twisted his mouth in amusement. I looked at him and whispered, "Thank you, God's blessing." He just smiled reluctantly.

"People are going to call you 'Danbature' here," I said. "Please, do me a favor and just say you are the one! Acknowledge that you are my husband. If you don't, I will be deeply humiliated in this village. Whatever they claim, just say 'yes, it is so,' or if you hear me say it, please agree."

He didn't say anything. I kept begging him, but he neither agreed nor refused. I just gave up, my heart sinking because I knew if he denied it, people would laugh and gossip behind my back.

We told the driver to park right in front of our house. As we stopped, I caught sight of Ya Salman, Mahmood, and Musa sitting at their usual hangout spot (majalisa), looking healthy and well-fed. I quickly hopped out of the car, calling out to Ya Salman before I even reached them.

They all turned around. They saw a sophisticated, refined lady and could barely recognize that it was me! As I rushed up, I held out my hand to Ya Salman and we high-fived.

"You didn't even call?" he asked.

"It's a surprise for you guys!" I replied.

Musa said, "Look at you, glowing!"

Mahmood chimed in, "It looks like Danbature has been completely forgotten since you stopped mentioning him even on the phone. Look at that weight and beauty—this shows your heartbreak is over."

"Hmm, we actually have a guest with us," I said. "Let me go call him."

I ran back to the car and told him to step out. Today he was wearing extremely expensive Yard clothing, and his handsomeness was indescribable. Before you knew it, people and children began crowding around to catch a glimpse of Fadila, the luxury cars, and the security guards.

Danbature stepped one foot out of the car after the door was opened for him. His shoes alone were worth staring at, and his fragrance swept through the whole neighborhood. As he emerged fully, everyone gasped, "Wallahi, it's Bature from overseas!"

Some started saying, "Fadila went with Bature!" Others guessed, "She must have gone abroad and they came back together." But when they looked at him closely, they exclaimed, "It's her husband, Danbature! The crazy man has healed! She went and found her husband!"

The whole town was buzzing. Danbature just stood there looking at them, listening to everything being said. By the way, when did he ever have mental illness anyway?

Ya Salman and the rest of them excitedly rushed over to welcome Danbature, saying, "Alhamdulillah, he has healed! How are you feeling? Fadila, how did he recover?"

I answered, "Ever since he left this town, he got better and went back to his family. I went to their house in Lagos as a housemaid who cooked for him, and we ran into each other, reconnected, and now he says we should come so he can see his wife's family and visit my hometown."

They said, "Alhamdulillah, we are truly happy."

Danbature stood off to the side, looking bewildered, listening and thinking: How on earth did I get married? He just kept quiet, thinking that once they got tired, they would see the truth.

We walked into our compound, with Danbature leading the way as if he knew the house. I stepped close to him and walked side-by-side to make my story look believable.

Our stepmother (Hajiyarmu) smelled the expensive perfume filling the courtyard. Shouting angrily from her room, she yelled, "Musa, did you steal the Makkah gift perfume that Hajiya Yabi brought for me?! I warned you, bring it back or I won't..."

Danbature offered the Islamic greeting (Salam) in a soft, low voice.

Embarrassment hit us all—especially Ya Salman—because of the way Hajiyarmu was still unleashing her fury from her room. She answered the greeting while still scolding.

We opened the inner parlor where Abbu receives guests. It had been nicely renovated with a nice carpet inside and a massive, brand-new mattress with a raised headrest, covered in beautiful bedsheets. Danbature sat on the edge of the mattress. Ya Salman went to call Hajiyarmu. Anty was in Abbu's room with him, so Ya Musa went to call them too.

I quickly dashed outside to see Hajiyarmu. The moment she saw me, she cried out, "Fadila! Is it you who has returned like this?" She was overjoyed. We greeted each other, and I announced that I came with a guest.

Abbu and Anty came out and saw me, barely recognizing me at first. "Abbu, it's Fadila, and we came with a guest!"

I knelt down to greet them. Anty was so stunned she didn't even know where her head was or what to say.

As soon as Abbu, Anty, and Hajiyarmu stepped into the parlor, their breath was temporarily taken away when they recognized Danbature looking like this.

Abbu said aloud, "Truly, you are Danbature now, not the way you used to be!"

"The wonders of God," Anty murmured.

Hajiyarmu asked, "Young man, when did you recover like this?"

Abbu said, "Welcome, you really went through a lot."

Anty, seeing how wealthy Danbature looked now, chimed in, "Oh, we really suffered with you! I still remember when we used to support you with food. Oh, even my zobo and kunun zaki business capital collapsed because of you! Fadila used to come and take things worth three hundred naira, running over to pamper you like a baby and making you drink it."

"Ah, poor soul, we really went through a lot. You should thank God that you didn't destroy all these innocent people's businesses—like Talle the watermelon and drink seller whose stock was constantly being eaten away!"

Abbu fixed his eyes on Danbature and said, "Now young man, how did this happen? Fadila, explain to us, my daughter, where did you pick up your prize?"

Following the false story I had told Ya Salman, I repeated the same narrative.

Abbu exclaimed, "God is wonderful, my daughter! It was over him that you took me to complain to the Hisbah office, oh..." Abbu burst into tears, touched that someone had come to support him.

Danbature's head was spinning. Why on earth were they fabricating this whole madness story? There was nothing he could say to make them believe otherwise, so he just accepted my narrative, walked right up to Abbu and Hajiyarmu, and greeted them respectfully, bowing low just like a proper son-in-law.

Joy filled me. He said, "Alhamdulillah, I thank you very much for your care toward me. I have recovered now, and furthermore, God brought me together with my wife, so I came to visit you and pay my respects."

Anty said, "It's nothing at all, wallahi. Well done, you really suffered."

Hajiyarmu added, "The kola nut business capital this girl broke for your sake was ruined! She even dug under my pillow and took my money to buy you treats!"

Embarrassment washed over us again as our parents aired our laundry in front of our in-law. Ya Salman and the others had already slipped out, and now they returned carrying three kinds of bottled drinks, Maltina, and bottled water.

Hajiyarmu said, "Here, we cooked rice tuwo with fresh okra soup. I didn't know if he eats it."

I smiled and said, "Ah, this one you are seeing is very easygoing; he will eat it."

So I brought the tuwo to him, and scooped some for myself too. He didn't want to eat, but so as not to offend them, I signaled to him with my eyes. With great effort, he forced himself to eat a little bit. Then he whispered, "When you're done, can we leave?"

Abbu protested, "No, no, you must sleep over and leave tomorrow! You can't just come today and go back today. Absolutely not until tomorrow!"

He looked like he was about to cry.

Abbu's mind was racing with utter amazement ever since he stepped outside and saw the luxury cars and security guards. Anty and Hajiyarmu peeked out and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.

"Allahu Akbar, look at where wealth is! Money is right where it belongs," Hajiyarmu declared. "A young man like this making something of himself—I've made a great choice in an in-law!"

Anty, meanwhile, was consumed with bitter jealousy that her co-wife's daughter had bagged a rich man. She stared hard at Hajiyarmu and snapped, "What are you talking about? Didn't you refuse to let her give him food in your good bowls back then? You made her use an old, cracked, jagged plate! And now that you see money, you're talking?"

Hajiyarmu, the queen of arguments, started trading words with her right there until Ya Salman came and scolded them.

Inside the room with Danbature, we could hear their loud bickering. Utter shame covered my face. Abbu could hear it too while we were sitting together, so he stood up and walked out, calling back, "Eat your food, Aliyu, my son."

Ever since Danbature stepped into the house, he hadn't cracked a single smile except once when greeting my parents.

Even Ya Salman and the others, seeing that he wasn't much of a talker and exuded pure arrogance, went outside. Ya Mahmood remarked, "Bittersweet character never changes. Even back when he was deranged, don't you remember he was like this? He doesn't talk much, and he never laughs unless he sees Fadila—and even then, he doesn't smile much at her either."

He sat there deep in thought. What a mess I've gotten myself into! How long ago was I supposedly mad and forced into a fake marriage? None of this is real! He quickly shook off the thought, deciding it was just a lie, but he would play along to get out of this village safely.

"Are you going to eat your food?" I asked him.

He gave me a short glance and said, "You know I don't eat tuwo. Even just now, I forced myself to eat out of politeness. Back home, this isn't what I eat."

I took a black polythene bag from my travel bag and arranged things. I scooped half of the tuwo that was brought for him into the bag, along with the soup, tying it securely inside multiple bags so it wouldn't leak. Then I opened my small clothing bag, slipped it inside, and zipped it up so I could throw it away when we left.

I sat down in the corner and ate my own food, then returned all the clean plates back to them.

Hajiyarmu was overjoyed, opening his bowl and saying, "Look, he ate everything! He's actually not picky at all."

He called his security guards and instructed them to head back into Gombe town and return tomorrow, since he was required to spend the night here. He had brought this on himself by following me to the village.

In the evening, Abbu said we should go out and visit our extended family. With no choice left, after praying Asr, we stepped out. We walked all the way to the outskirts of the town—just the two of us, with a bottle of water in his hand.

"Wait and turn your back, I need to pee," he said.

"Why didn't you use the toilet at home?" I asked.

"I can't. I won't even take a bath until we leave tomorrow," he replied.

I kept quiet, turned my back while he relieved himself and performed his ritual purification, and then said, "Let's go."

As we walked, I told him stories of how we used to live back when Danbature was mad, pointing out the exact places where he used to stay and how he did things. I did this hoping to trigger his memory, but instead, he just burst out laughing at some parts and occasionally felt pity for me.

I took him to the mud house the village head had given us during our pretend married life. I called Ya Salman and asked him to collect the spare key from the village head so we could retrieve some things. Luckily, he brought it. I opened the house—it was dusty, but everything we owned was still right where we left it.

"Look, this is the house we lived in together, everything is right here," I said. We went inside and I showed him around. He was amazed at the idea of living with a madman.

Aliyu, who had no actual memory of us living in this house, smiled and said, "I commend you for managing to take care of him like that. May God bring him back to you, and may He make him love you just as much as you love him. May he love you even more than you love him."

"Ameen," I whispered, secretly wiping away a tear so he wouldn't notice. I felt sorry for myself; he understood nothing.

We locked the house and set off to greet the village head. Everywhere we went—at every street corner majalisa, among kids and adults alike—people were celebrating the news that Danbature had healed. Kids ran after us shouting, "Aliyu Danbature! Danbature!" while the elders shook his hand, greeted him, and congratulated him on his recovery.

He just looked at them with a pleasant, bewildered smile, playing along as if he knew them while shaking hands. As for me, I was thrilled that he was covering for me and saving me from disgrace. Wherever we went, he handed out cash freely to both children and adults, stuffing some extra money into my bag and telling me to distribute it to others.

We passed by Talle the drink seller's stall. The moment Talle saw us, he jumped up and shouted, "Holy cow! So it's true, he's actually rich and he's healed?! Look at Danbature, wallahi, the wonders of God!"

Danbature laughed. Before he could even offer a handshake, Talle leaped out of his kiosk and aggressively grabbed Danbature's hand, forcing a handshake on him. Beaming widely, Talle refused to let go, vigorously pumping Danbature's hand while rattling off greetings: "How is body? How is home? How is work? How is the city, city people, work? Are your seniors doing well? Are you healthy? Did you find us in good health?"

Danbature muttered, "Fine," growing exhausted since Talle wouldn't let go of his hand—and Talle's palms were extremely rough. With some effort, Aliyu forcefully yanked his hand away.

Talle exclaimed, "Oh, what a hand, smooth like butter! You guys are really enjoying life!"

Danbature gave him a generous amount of money, and Talle started showering him with gratitude, even declaring, "You definitely have to put me in her care!"

Talle packed a huge polythene bag full of drinks and said he would send more to the house, but I intervened, "Leave it, we won't finish your business capital!"

Next, we went to the village head's house. The village head was filled with shock and joy. I reminded him, "He is the one who gave us the house we lived in."

Danbature showered the village head with sincere gratitude and gifted him one hundred thousand naira in cash. The village head looked like he might go crazy with happiness.

After that, we visited the person who had supplied us with food provisions, and the one who had furnished our room nicely. He rewarded them handsomely as well. They showered us with prayers and joy.

When I pointed out Ya Mahmood and told Danbature, "He is the one who paid my bride price (sadaki)," Danbature gifted him two hundred thousand naira and promised to process paperwork to relocate him to a better job in Gombe.

I told him about Ya Salman, how he brought food during the darkest days when my parents had abandoned me. Danbature rewarded him too, and Ya Musa as well. He took down their credentials, along with those of six other cousins (the children of Uncle Usman and Uncle Salisu) who had finished their degrees, promising them jobs in Gombe city, Inshallah. Uncle Salisu also received generous gifts.

The wives of the uncles burned with jealousy inside. Even our grandparents and extended family all benefited from Danbature's wealth, along with ordinary townspeople.

I was actually getting scared by the sheer amount of money he was spending; it defied all imagination. Whenever I tried to stop him, he would just say, "Mind your business."

We didn't return home until late at night.

Ya Salman had prepared a feast for us: grilled chicken, Yan Shila, assorted drinks, fresh yogurt, and fancy chips.

Danbature lay down on the mattress to shake off his fatigue after performing Isha prayer at the mosque with Ya Salman and the others, where they even chatted a bit—not bad at all.

I was with Hajiyarmu chatting like a mother and daughter. As for him, he had already eaten whatever Ya Salman brought, rested for a bit, and then went outside to sit with the guys hanging out, occasionally chiming into their conversations.

When 10:00 PM rolled around and everyone went to their respective sleeping quarters, Ya Musa tried every trick to get him to use their outdoor bathroom to take a bath, but Danbature refused, saying he felt too shy since it was his in-laws' house. They laughed, thinking he was serious, but I knew he was just being picky.

At bedtime, while I was in Hajiyarmu's room, she scolded me: "Are you out of your mind, Fadila?! Go to your husband's room and spend the night with him! He's alone in that room, he won't feel comfortable. Besides, Ya Salman and the others aren't sleeping in there with him."

"Leave him be, I'll sleep right here," I replied.

Hajiyarmu flew into a rage and chased me out. With no choice, I grabbed my hijab and went to Anty's room, but she too told me I couldn't stay there and drove me out with all sorts of snide remarks.

I spent a long time standing in the open courtyard. What on earth was I supposed to do? As I sat there in the courtyard, out walked Aliyu, looking exhausted and out of place like a ghost.

Seeing me outside, he asked, "Did they chase you out? You have the brain of a child! You should have come and told me so we could figure out another plan. Get up, let's go."

I stood up and followed him. "We are going for a walk to kill time outside until around 12:00 AM, then we'll come back," he said. "You can sleep curled up on the floor, while I take my mattress—since you're the one who brought this trouble on my head! God knows you are another man's wife, yet you're going to make God burn me."

So we went out into the chilly night air, sitting down in silence while he just tapped away on his phone.

After a long while, I said, "Sitting here is pointless, let's just go back inside."

When we returned, everyone's doors were locked and the house was quiet. I walked toward Hajiyarmu's room, but he snapped, "You never listen, do you?" I turned around and followed him instead. The moment he reached the room, he flopped onto the mattress and went straight to bed.

I laid down on the floor at the far end of the room on top of the carpet.

As I lay there, memories of our past life rushed back—how we used to sleep on the same mat, our romantic moments, and the intense feelings bubbling inside me. Desire took root in my heart, and I began tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I stared at his back, feeling a strong urge to crawl over, lie behind him, and wrap my arms around him. And to think we are supposed to be stripped of clothes right now—how wonderful that would feel! I gave a small huffed sigh and rolled over to face the other way.

Meanwhile, he turned around and fixed his gaze on my back, wondering about claims that I was his wife. Even though I was wearing a hijab, it couldn't completely hide my curves. He looked me over thoroughly, feeling as though he had known me forever. And why did hearing people call me his wife give him such a rush of happiness and joy? He found himself impressed by me. Then, remembering I was a married woman, he quickly turned back around.

Eventually, my presence kept nagging at his mind, and the burning tension inside him grew too overwhelming. Without turning completely around, he murmured softly, "You said I am your husband, right?"

Hearing him, I turned to face his back and answered, "I did before, but now I've realized I'm not your wife, and you're not him at all. I realize now that you guys are completely different."

Annoyance flared up in him. "Then why does everyone in your village know me? Besides, you're the one who claimed it yourself, you little manipulative liar! What are you playing at?"

"Well, I've always had a habit of teasing people and spinning tall tales," I replied.

"You're lying! I am the one, since everyone confirmed it. I just don't know why I can't remember anything, but I'm starting to feel in my bones that it's me."

"Hmm, like I said, I've figured out you're not him."

Frustration gripped him. "Then go find him and let him divorce you since he's such a worthless fellow!"

"That's actually what I want," I shot back, "so I can find him to grant me a divorce or so I can marry someone else."

"If he divorces you, who do you think would marry you?"

"Oh, please! I had plenty of suitors back at school."

He let out an annoyed hiss and fell silent, lost in thought—wondering if he really was the husband or not—until sleep finally claimed us both.

Meanwhile, back home, Ice's mother didn't know her son had traveled. After conducting searches, she was informed he was in Abuja. Grief threatened to kill her. What was she going to do now? The specialized injection was set to expire tomorrow, and if it wasn't administered to him, his progress would collapse. She was frantic, and his phones were unreachable.

As for me, I was overjoyed. We wouldn't return until after 3 days—by which time the injection medicine would be completely useless.

The next morning at dawn, he woke up and slipped out without my knowledge to go to the mosque with Abbu and the others. The usual prayer caller (ladan) announced that the Imam was unwell, so Abbu stepped in to lead the prayers—something he occasionally did when the Imam was unavailable. But Aliyu offered to lead instead.

That morning, everyone experienced a new marvel. His voice rang out over the speakers, sounding just like Sheikh Shuraim of Saudi Arabia! Even I woke up from the recitation, wondering whose voice could possibly be so melodious and masterfully skilled in Quranic recitation. Hajiyarmu and the villagers were all wondering who it was, until those who went to the mosque confirmed to everyone that it was Danbature, Fadila's husband.

By the time he returned, I wasn't in the room. He lay back down to continue sleeping and didn't wake up until 11:00 AM. He brushed his teeth and washed his face with soap by our compound's water tap like a woman—he flatly refused to use the toilet.

We watched him finish. Breakfast was brought to him: tea, fried yams, eggs, and egg-into-egg. He didn't touch the tea; he just ate the yams and eggs, drank plain water, and finished everything.

I didn't bother with him anymore, leaving him to hang out with Ya Salman and the others. I took a bath, dressed impeccably, and applied heavy makeup. I looked absolutely stunning in a light blue atamfa blouse and skirt that hugged my figure perfectly.

Around 12:00 PM, he called his driver—the one who had brought us yesterday—who had returned to pick us up. I announced that we were leaving, but I would return alone later.

Hajiyarmu asked, "When are we coming to visit your house in Lagos?"

My heart skipped a beat. I quickly fabricated a lie: "His parents still don't know about the marriage yet. It's going to be very hard to get their approval, so just pray for us. For now, I'm still living in the house in the capacity of a housemaid; only he and I know the truth."

Hajiyarmu and Abbu prayed, "May God make it right."

Anty, however, chimed in with malice: "God forbid! Don't let them make him divorce you. Look at that—all your labor was for nothing, you're just treading water."

I ignored her completely.

He stepped out and said, "Let's go."

They walked us all the way to the car after Danbature showered them with cash gifts.

The security guard quickly opened the door for me, and another opened the side for Danbature. We waved goodbye to our family as we drove out of the village. The moment we left the village behind, I let out a massive sigh of relief, thanking God and thanking Danbature for helping me, covering for me, and preserving my dignity.

Throughout the drive, he kept glancing at me. I looked extremely gorgeous, and a lot of thoughts were clearly running through his head about me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye.

Today marked the fourth day for Anty Maryam's injection; the time window for it had long passed. She was furious, storing up all her rage for when her son Aliyu returned so she could tear into him. He had traveled without informing her, and since she was his mother, she only heard through Asiya that he was in Abuja. She had no idea that the "Abuja" trip was a sham—only the two of us knew where we really were.

As we rode along, sleep overtook me. My headscarf slipped off and slid down my back, leaving my pitch-black, well-conditioned hair exposed. A strand fell across my forehead, and my sideburns looked sleek.

Today was the only day he actually sat there and stared at me unblinkingly. My veil had slipped, revealing the soft expanse of my chest, with the upper slope of my breasts partially visible. He reached over and pressed a button in the car, and a privacy partition rolled down between us and the driver.

When he finally caught himself staring, he remembered, Wait, she's a married woman—or is she even my wife at all?

Realizing what he was doing, he pulled back like a startled cat, whispering astaghfirullah while continuing to sneak glances at me. Irritated with himself, he let out a hiss, pressed his fingers over his eyes for a few minutes, and then opened them wide. Finding himself unable to stop looking, he finally grabbed my headscarf and threw it over my head, then picked up my shawl and draped it across my chest.

I was fast asleep and completely unaware when my head dropped onto his shoulder. Even though he hadn't bathed, you wouldn't even know it; his natural scent wafted over me, sending a shockwave through his body that he had never felt in his entire life.

When I woke up, I realized I was resting right against his shoulder. A wave of happiness washed over me. Breathing in his delightful fragrance, I felt an electric thrill that made me reluctant to lift my head off his shoulder. So, I pretended to still be fast asleep and stayed right where I was.

As for him, he couldn't move an inch because of the sensations coursing through his veins. Soft, wonderful music was playing in the car. I shifted my position and stretched lazily against him. He felt as though he was about to catch fire from sheer passion!

He was paralyzed, wanting to push me away to ward off temptation since he knew I was a married woman, but he was completely helpless. I stretched again and rolled over, pressing my chest right against his chest and burying myself there.

He threw his hands straight up in the air in sheer panic, rolling his eyes back like a bug had flown into them! To keep the devil from making him put his hands on my body, he held his arms straight up in the air, feeling like he was about to die. Fearing I would incur the wrath of God for leading this innocent man astray, I slid down and rested my head right on his lap instead—unaware that that was where the real danger lay!

I accidentally bumped his sensitive spot. Thinking I was doing this all in my sleep, he let out a shuddering sigh and groaned, "Dear God, I'm going to die!"

I bolted upright, rubbing my neck and blinking my eyes open with fake grogginess. "Auzubillah! You know very well you aren't my husband, yet you let me lie on your body while I was half-asleep instead of fearing God and waking me up?!"

He couldn't speak; he just closed his eyes, which had turned completely red.

By the time we reached the airport to catch the flight to Lagos, he announced that we weren't flying anymore and would drive by car instead.

I was shocked. It was clear he just didn't want us to rush back home and part ways.

"If that's the case," I teased, "maybe we should go back to Gombe and look for someone who resembles you, wandering through every alley and corner!"

His face darkened instantly. "There is nobody in this world who looks like me! I am the one, I've accepted it."

I put on a fake crying act. "God, no, you aren't him! Let's go to Lagos; I'm just going to tell the boyfriend I love—not my husband—that we should just go to court, dissolve this marriage, and let him marry me instead!"

He let out an angry hiss, feeling like his heart was about to burst from the irritation my words caused. Seeing that I had pushed a man's temper to the limit, I wisely shut my mouth.

"Let's go by car," he insisted.

"But the road is dangerous!" I protested.

He glared at me and said, "Let's go," but stopped at a hotel first so he could take a bath.

He booked a hotel room entirely for himself while we waited in the car. He went inside to scrub himself down, brushed his teeth so hard it sounded like he was trying to rip out his throat, and came out dressed in incredibly stylish casual wear—three-quarter shorts, a t-shirt, and a trendy designer baseball cap. He looked breathtakingly handsome, like a fashion model. He must have left the clothes he took off behind at the hotel. He walked out with one hand in his pocket while tapping on his phone with the other.

I stared at him, feeling like I wanted to devour him whole. I suddenly wished I had snuggled against him earlier instead of acting aloof. Before he got in, I quickly turned my head away, pretending not to care and acting as if he didn't matter to me at all.

The driver climbed in, handed us a polythene bag, and said, "Sir, here is what you asked to be brought."

I took it and handed it to him. Inside were guavas, apples, fresh yogurt, juice, and Orbit chewing gum. He set them down, and we continued our journey by car just as he wanted. I was thrilled because, at the very least, I would get to see the road to Lagos while being close to my beloved and enjoying myself.

Since the Gombe security guards would slow him down, he paid them off with a massive sum of money and told them to return to their duties, deciding to travel with just one car carrying himself and the driver.

We drove for a long time without stopping. At first, I was looking around at the scenery, but eventually I grew tired and fell asleep.

Midway through our journey, while passing through a thick forest, we ran right into a roadblock set up by armed highway robbers who were holding up travelers—and we were caught in it too!

I was terrified, having heard horror stories about Lagos armed robbers committing murder. But Aliyu's nerve didn't crack; he didn't show a shred of panic as he calmly stepped out of the vehicle. As for me, my entire body was shaking as I recited prayers. The driver looked like he was about to pee on himself.

Men and women alike were ordered to lie flat on the ground, and we did the same. The robbers were rounding up money from multiple cars and letting people go—shooting anyone who didn't have cash.

When they reached us, they pulled us up and demanded money.

Aliyu asked, "How much do you want?"

The gang leader laughed mockingly. "Oh, you're even asking? Hand over whatever amount it is, or I'll write you a check!"

The robbers burst into laughter. "Hahaha! This guy is really showing off his wealth!"

One of them whispered to the leader, "I recognize him! He's been all over the news. This guy is beyond money—name your price, Oga!"

The leader looked at me and asked, "Is this your wife?"

Aliyu answered, "No, she's my younger sister."

The leader turned to a young thug among them and ordered, "Take her over to that car and have your way with her right in front of him!"

I burst into tears, begging them, "Wallahi I am a married woman, please don't rape me!"

One of the thugs reached out to slap me, but Aliyu grabbed his hand. Even these hardened criminals felt intimidated by Aliyu's commanding presence; whenever they tried to do something to him, they inexplicably hesitated.

The leader shouted at the thug, "Carry out what we told you to do!"

The young thug lunged toward me aggressively, frantically unbuckling his pants.

The moment he grabbed me roughly, I slapped him across the face out of pure fury—nobody else was going to manhandle me while I had a husband!

The gang leader raised his gun, aimed straight at me, and pulled the trigger.

Before the bullet could reach me, Aliyu leaped in front of me and took the bullet instead, collapsing onto the ground in a pool of blood!

"Innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing myself over his body, weeping, wailing, and hyperventilating. The driver rushed over to him too.

Suddenly, we heard police sirens wailing in the distance. Panic-stricken, the robbers scattered frantically into the forest.

Aliyu opened his eyes with great difficulty and handed me his ATM card, whispering his PIN code. "In my travel bag... my international passport and US visa are inside. Take me there... check my phone, you'll find Ayman's contact, call him and tell him, he's a close friend of mine..."

With that, his eyes closed as though he were dying. I wept uncontrollably. The driver and I rushed him into the car.

We drove him to a private hospital in a nearby pagan town. I did nothing but cry and pray for God to help us. The bullet had struck his arm; they removed it, and he regained consciousness. Only then did I get the chance to call Ayman, who arrived in a remarkably short time.

Aliyu was still fast asleep, completely unaware of his surroundings, and remained that way for a full day and night.

By the time Ayman arrived, he took charge of everything and whisked me away with him. He immediately had a passport and US visa processed for me.

"I'm not going!" I protested.

Ayman replied, "I don't know what you mean to him, but I don't have time to nurse him here. Help us out; I will pay you for your nursing services, please."

I thought about it—this was a golden opportunity for me! "I agree," I said, "but how much am I being paid?"

"One million naira. Don't let any of his family members find out about this, you hear?" "Deal," I said.

Aliyu still hadn't regained consciousness; he was merely breathing without any awareness of what was happening. With my heart in my throat, I boarded a plane with Ayman.

We landed at a massive hospital in the USA. I was so anxious that I didn't even look at the city or process where we were; within a single night, I found myself transported to Europe/America.

Once Ayman settled everything, he departed, leaving me with an ATM card. He warned me never to touch Aliyu's personal money, but gave me this separate card with funds to use for whatever expenses we needed. He also gave me a phone programmed with his number so I could report anything that happened, promising he would keep calling as well.

He paired me up with two local assistants—a man and a woman—to help me out.

As for Ayman, he boarded a plane and flew off to some other country.

Back home, Anty Maryam had returned to the realm of witchcraft. Another concoction was prepared for her, and she visited a native doctor to perform evil magic, successfully discovering my identity as Fadila, Asiya's former housemaid.

Anty finally realized that I was Aliyu's wife. All sorts of curses and destructive spells were concocted, waiting for my return and Aliyu's return so they could finish us both off. The black magic required us to be physically present in the house for it to work. Meanwhile, Karimatu had hatched her own plan to drive Asiya out and take over Aliyu's wing of the house so she could possess him completely.

Ah, God knows the unseen! As for us, fate sweeps us along. God is the Almighty who disposes as He pleases. When you see something happening to you in a certain place and you cry, curse your bad luck, and think things are going terribly wrong—little do you know that God loves you best, shielding you through unexpected twists of destiny.