Slowly, the vehicle entered the street and stopped right in front of a massive gate. The way it released a faint rattling sound was a clear sign that it had traveled a long distance. The driver did not honk; instead, he drove closer to the gate beside a eucalyptus tree and stopped. Some elderly men stepped out from the back of the vehicle, while a young man came down from the driver’s seat. The driver stretched out his hand in greeting, uttering salutations.
They approached the gate on foot. The young man knocked just once or twice before an elderly man peeped through a small door built into the gate. He quickly opened it, saying,
as he shook hands with them, exchanging greetings:
“Indeed, Malam Sani, how are you?”
With a cheerful expression, he replied,
“Alhamdulillah.”
Before moving ahead, he added,
“Let me take you inside to the Alhaji—by Allah’s help, he is at home.”
They entered the compound and Malam Sani led them toward the owner’s section of the house, where he usually received guests.
When they reached the door, Malam Sani stepped out and said,
“Bismillah, please come in. You’re welcome.”
He hurried off to carry out the Alhaji’s instruction—to call his close friend, Malam Bukar.
They entered the sitting room with greetings. Masha Allah, everything that symbolizes comfort and affluence was present there; the living room looked like the palace of a king.
With a warm smile and open face, Alhaji Jafar Mai Yadi came forward to welcome them, saying,
“Ah! Alhaji Sulaiman—is it really you, coming all this way on a day like this?”
Yet in his heart, surprise filled him completely. He knew nothing urgent should have brought them at such a time; at least three days were still left before the expected date, especially since everything required had already been provided and they were only waiting. Still, whatever it was, he prayed it would be for good.
After the usual greetings, one of Alhaji Jafar’s sons entered, greeted the guests, placed soft drinks and water before them, and left. Shortly after, a young man came in with large food warmers, accompanied by a young girl carrying a basket filled with plates, spoons, and cups. They too greeted them and left.
From the moment this modest hospitality was brought in, Alhaji Sulaiman lowered his head; his heart was deeply troubled and completely unsettled.
“Bismillah, please eat before we go for prayers, since the time for Zuhr is near,”
Alhaji Jafar said as he headed toward the exit.
After Alhaji Jafar left, Alhaji Ismail turned to his elder brother, Alhaji Sulaiman, and said,
“Wallahi, I’m completely confused. I don’t even know where to begin telling them this matter, considering the generosity of this servant of Allah.”
He said this with a light click of his tongue.
The young man who had driven them spoke up,
“Wallahi, Daddy, I wished you had canceled this visit and let the Hajiya come on her own to explain what she had planned. I have never seen anything like this—everything done with such mutual respect, to the point that all this hospitality was prepared. Then suddenly, in broad daylight, something like this comes up. It’s painful. Honestly, I feel sorry for Musbah—he’s in a terrible state—yet she doesn’t seem affected at all.”
Alhaji Sulaiman said nothing further. He did not even look at the food, despite the hunger he felt; he only drank some lemon drink and water. Alhaji Ismail and Al-Amin ate the food and then went out to the mosque by the gate of the house.
They all returned together after the prayer, including Malam Bukar, who was the mosque’s imam.
They exchanged greetings again, though this time Al-Amin did not follow them inside.
Alhaji Sulaiman finally gathered the courage to speak. Looking at Malam Bukar, he said,
“Please, Malam, forgive us for what we have come with. By Allah, if not for this household, nothing would ever bring me back to this town.”
He fell silent, unable to finish his words, as something seemed to lodge in his throat, tightening painfully around his voice.
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Slowly, the vehicle entered the street and stopped right in front of a massive gate. The way it released a faint rattling sound was a clear sign that it had traveled a long distance. The driver did not honk; instead, he drove closer to the gate beside a eucalyptus tree and stopped. Some elderly men stepped out from the back of the vehicle, while a young man came down from the driver’s seat. The driver stretched out his hand in greeting, uttering salutations.
They approached the gate on foot. The young man knocked just once or twice before an elderly man peeped through a small door built into the gate. He quickly opened it, saying,
“Ah, Alhaji, welcome. You’ve really traveled far—well done,”
as he shook hands with them, exchanging greetings:
“Indeed, Malam Sani, how are you?”
With a cheerful expression, he replied,
“Alhamdulillah.”
Before moving ahead, he added,
“Let me take you inside to the Alhaji—by Allah’s help, he is at home.”
They entered the compound and Malam Sani led them toward the owner’s section of the house, where he usually received guests.
When they reached the door, Malam Sani stepped out and said,
“Bismillah, please come in. You’re welcome.”
He hurried off to carry out the Alhaji’s instruction—to call his close friend, Malam Bukar.
They entered the sitting room with greetings. Masha Allah, everything that symbolizes comfort and affluence was present there; the living room looked like the palace of a king.
With a warm smile and open face, Alhaji Jafar Mai Yadi came forward to welcome them, saying,
“Ah! Alhaji Sulaiman—is it really you, coming all this way on a day like this?”
Yet in his heart, surprise filled him completely. He knew nothing urgent should have brought them at such a time; at least three days were still left before the expected date, especially since everything required had already been provided and they were only waiting. Still, whatever it was, he prayed it would be for good.
After the usual greetings, one of Alhaji Jafar’s sons entered, greeted the guests, placed soft drinks and water before them, and left. Shortly after, a young man came in with large food warmers, accompanied by a young girl carrying a basket filled with plates, spoons, and cups. They too greeted them and left.
From the moment this modest hospitality was brought in, Alhaji Sulaiman lowered his head; his heart was deeply troubled and completely unsettled.
“Bismillah, please eat before we go for prayers, since the time for Zuhr is near,”
Alhaji Jafar said as he headed toward the exit.
After Alhaji Jafar left, Alhaji Ismail turned to his elder brother, Alhaji Sulaiman, and said,
“Wallahi, I’m completely confused. I don’t even know where to begin telling them this matter, considering the generosity of this servant of Allah.”
He said this with a light click of his tongue.
The young man who had driven them spoke up,
“Wallahi, Daddy, I wished you had canceled this visit and let the Hajiya come on her own to explain what she had planned. I have never seen anything like this—everything done with such mutual respect, to the point that all this hospitality was prepared. Then suddenly, in broad daylight, something like this comes up. It’s painful. Honestly, I feel sorry for Musbah—he’s in a terrible state—yet she doesn’t seem affected at all.”
Alhaji Sulaiman said nothing further. He did not even look at the food, despite the hunger he felt; he only drank some lemon drink and water. Alhaji Ismail and Al-Amin ate the food and then went out to the mosque by the gate of the house.
They all returned together after the prayer, including Malam Bukar, who was the mosque’s imam.
They exchanged greetings again, though this time Al-Amin did not follow them inside.
Alhaji Sulaiman finally gathered the courage to speak. Looking at Malam Bukar, he said,
“Please, Malam, forgive us for what we have come with. By Allah, if not for this household, nothing would ever bring me back to this town.”
He fell silent, unable to finish his words, as something seemed to lodge in his throat, tightening painfully around his voice.