He was a handsome young man of about twenty years, pulling his trolley. He reached the parlour door and entered. He greeted, and after coming in, he met Ummi, who was seated on a chair observing her evening supplications.
With happiness, she responded to his greeting, smiling as she said,
“My son, is it you who returned this evening? Without even calling?”
“Hmmm, I knew it. I knew Iftihal wouldn’t go to Islamiyya!”
He smiled—a smile that only made his handsomeness stand out more, because laughter and smiles suited him perfectly. He sat on a one-seater chair and, in his sweet voice, said,
“Ummi, I preferred to surprise you. That way, when my little angel sees me, she’ll be very happy!”
Ummi replied,
“Hmmm, of course she must be happy. For the past two days she hasn’t rested us with her constant complaints and quarrels. She insists that her elder brother must come back for her!”
He closed his eyes as he listened to Ummi. When she mentioned that yesterday Yaseer made her kneel and raise her hands as punishment, he suddenly opened his eyes in shock. In a husky voice he exclaimed,
“Whatttttttt?! So they’re the ones oppressing her when I’m not around?”
he said angrily.
Ummi immediately regretted saying that, but she quickly composed her face and said,
“Ah, ah, you know I don’t like trouble. With your stubborn heart, the matter has already gone beyond that. Even if you want to do something to him, insulting his mother would be disrespectful—it will come back on me.”
Before Suleiman could speak, Iftihal ran into the parlour.
“Brother!” she shouted. “Where have you been?”
A gentle smile spread across his face, revealing his full charm as he smiled at Iftihal, the little girl of about five years.
Softly he said,
“My angel, I’m here.”
She jumped into his arms, laughing happily at the sight of him. She placed her dusty feet—dirty from playing outside—on his white suit as she tried to climb onto his lap. Ummi, watching them, quickly noticed and said,
“Oh Iftihal, your feet are dirty—don’t stain his clothes.”
Before she could finish speaking, the young man frowned slightly and said,
“So what, Ummi? If she stains them for me, I’ll just change clothes. Right, my angel?”
he said while looking at Iftihal, who was trying to push her big sweet (lollipop) into his mouth, messy with saliva.
He opened his mouth playfully, and she put it in, sucking it while closing his eyes. In her childish voice, Iftihal said,
“Brother, you know I went to Islamiyya, they beat me, they punished me, and then I washed my hands, right?”
She spoke with the confidence of a child whose words even her mother sometimes couldn’t understand—except Brother Suleiman, who understood her even if she just hummed.
He smiled, stood up, lifted Iftihal, and spun her around as he said,
“My angel, let’s go. Take me to Mommy’s section so I can greet her, then we’ll go to my section, unpack my bag, and you’ll collect your gift, okay?”
Happily she replied,
“Yes, brother, let’s go—but don’t give Yaseer and Zubaida anything. They always beat me.”
Ummi, who had been watching quietly since warning about his clothes, said nothing else. She wasn’t offended by his words because they were already used to seeing how he pampered and cared for Iftihal more than his other siblings. Softly, Ummi said,
“Hey Iftihal, I don’t like complaints. When did they beat you?”
With a serious face he said,
“No, Ummi, leave them to me. Let’s go—if Yusuf comes now, he’ll push my trolley inside.”
As he said that, he left the parlour toward Mommy’s section— Iftihal’s mother.
Ummi didn’t even open her mouth to watch them leave. In her heart she said,
“Hmmm, this boy… it’s good you’re studying to be a soldier, because that heart of yours is too much. I don’t want you to cause me trouble—Zulai can do anything for her children; after all, she spoiled them.”
On the way, Suleiman kept asking Iftihal how and where they treated her badly. She only repeated that Yaseer and Zubaida beat her, and Mama Zulai (Yaseer’s mother) scolded her or chased her away whenever she went to their section. He clicked his tongue softly and said,
“Leave them to me—they don’t like me coming back.”
Before he finished speaking, he saw Zubaida coming with a container, heading down the corridor that led to their section. Cheerfully she said,
“Brother Suleiman, welcome back.”
Coldly he replied,
“I’m fine,”
and gave her a sharp look. She passed quietly. He promised himself he wouldn’t go to their section—Mama Zulai openly showed him hatred anyway. He planned to go to the mosque; if he went there now, he might meet Abba (Zubaida’s father) and greet him.
He went with Iftihal and greeted Mommy in the parlour. She was in the dining area preparing Daddy’s dinner. She recognized the voice of her right-hand man—among the entire family, there was no one she loved like Suleiman. She pampered him, and he often ate from her food, which greatly annoyed Mama Zulai.
With joy she said,
“Oh my son, when did you arrive?”
Smiling happily at her care, he replied,
“Just now, Mommy.”
She said,
“Oh, is that so? Didn’t you call me?”
He sat with Iftihal on his lap and said,
“I preferred to surprise you.”
Mommy replied,
“That’s fine. Welcome! And you, little troublemaker—since his return you’ve already started disturbing him. Get down, leave him to rest. And where is Usman? I was told you were in Ummi’s section. So you were there disturbing him with your stubbornness!”
Suleiman frowned and said,
“Honestly, I’ll stop coming to Mommy’s section if you also disturb my angel.”
Mommy smiled and said,
“Hmmm, she’s not disturbing you. It’s just Iftihal being Iftihal. Even if you don’t like her faults, be patient. Go and pray Maghrib; the call has been made. Come back for dinner, my son.”
He stood up, whispered something to Iftihal, and they both laughed before he left.
Mommy smiled as well and said to Iftihal,
“My daughter, go and pray.”
To be continued…
Written by Mmn Fareesa ✍🏻✍🏻
AWESOME WRITER’S ASSOCIATION 🏮
(Palace of Excitation and Pleasant Writers)
I AM WITH HER!
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
(I don’t even know who she is)
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
Story written by Mmn Fareesa
Not edited
Part 3 & 4
Without argument, Iftihal stood up and went to Mommy’s bedroom. Mommy finished arranging the food and went inside to pray.
At the mosque, Suleiman didn’t leave until after Isha. When he came out, he met Daddy, Abba, and Abbu (his father). Daddy, surprised to see him, hugged him tightly—they were very close, even closer than Abbu was with him.
After greetings, they headed home, Daddy and Suleiman walking side by side, chatting like friends. When they reached the house gate, each went to their section.
Daddy and Suleiman headed to Mommy’s section. Even before reaching the waiting parlour, he heard Iftihal crying. He rushed in, almost stumbling. When Iftihal saw him, she burst into tears again and jumped into his arms. He held her, confused, saying,
“What’s wrong, my angel? Who made you cry?”
In a pampered tone she said,
“Usman did!”
Daddy entered, greeted, and sat down, watching them with admiration. In his heart, his love for his nephew grew stronger—Suleiman showed deep care for his family. He smiled as he watched Suleiman comforting her, promising to punish Usman.
Softly Daddy said,
“Oh Iftihal, so when your brother is at home you forget me, but when he’s not, you remember me?”
Mommy arrived with a tray of food for Daddy and added,
“Hmmm, that’s true. He just returned and she won’t let him rest.”
Suleiman said nothing—he usually spoke only when Iftihal was around.
Mommy told them to go and eat dinner. Softly Suleiman asked,
“Where is Usman, Mommy?”
She sighed and said,
“Allah’s power! I know that troublemaker has offended you again—I saw his textbook outside.”
Suleiman said nothing. He held Iftihal’s hand and went to the dining area, pulled a chair, sat with her on his lap, and served their food on one plate. He didn’t eat until he started feeding her.
While Daddy and Mommy chatted on the carpet as Daddy ate, Iftihal softly said,
“Brother, I’m happy you came back, but please don’t go and leave me.”
“No, my angel. Don’t be angry with me—you know I don’t talk while eating.”
She twisted her mouth and said,
“Okay, I remember.”
After finishing, they went back to Mommy. Softly he said,
“Please Mommy, prepare warm water for my angel’s bath. I’ll take her back—I heard it’s cold.”
Smiling, Mommy said,
“Alright, my son.”
They left and met Mama Zulai on the way. She shot them a harsh look and hissed, saying,
“Trouble.”
Suleiman heard her clearly but ignored it and walked on.
The Origin of the Story
Malam Mamman was a complete human being, a Fulani man through and through. He lived with one wife and three children—Musa, Abdullahi, and Ibrahim. He had no occupation other than cattle rearing. Later, Musa enrolled in school, completed primary and secondary school, and encouraged his younger siblings to attend as well.
By Allah’s grace, Musa excelled in education along with his siblings and eventually got a job in Kaduna, where he settled and returned home only on weekends. Later, he met Binta (Ummi), and they fell in love and got married. They lived in love and harmony until she gave birth to their son, Suleiman, whom Ibrahim adored deeply and called “my son.” Even during holidays, he would come to Kaduna to see the boy.
During this time, Malam Mamman passed away, deeply shaking the family. After his death, their mother also fell ill and later passed away. After mourning, they informed relatives and decided to move permanently to Kaduna. Ibrahim later secured a banking job, while Abdullahi remained unemployed due to poor academic records.
Musa then opened a provision shop for Abdullahi. During this period, Ummi gave birth to Yusuf. By Allah’s grace, Ibrahim prospered greatly. Later, he married Zainab (Mommy), while Abdullahi married Zulai (Mama Zulai). They informed their elder brother, who immediately bought a large plot of land and insisted everyone build their own section there—he didn’t want separation. Everyone happily agreed.
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He was a handsome young man of about twenty years, pulling his trolley. He reached the parlour door and entered. He greeted, and after coming in, he met Ummi, who was seated on a chair observing her evening supplications.
With happiness, she responded to his greeting, smiling as she said,
“My son, is it you who returned this evening? Without even calling?”
“Hmmm, I knew it. I knew Iftihal wouldn’t go to Islamiyya!”
He smiled—a smile that only made his handsomeness stand out more, because laughter and smiles suited him perfectly. He sat on a one-seater chair and, in his sweet voice, said,
“Ummi, I preferred to surprise you. That way, when my little angel sees me, she’ll be very happy!”
Ummi replied,
“Hmmm, of course she must be happy. For the past two days she hasn’t rested us with her constant complaints and quarrels. She insists that her elder brother must come back for her!”
He closed his eyes as he listened to Ummi. When she mentioned that yesterday Yaseer made her kneel and raise her hands as punishment, he suddenly opened his eyes in shock. In a husky voice he exclaimed,
“Whatttttttt?! So they’re the ones oppressing her when I’m not around?”
he said angrily.
Ummi immediately regretted saying that, but she quickly composed her face and said,
“Ah, ah, you know I don’t like trouble. With your stubborn heart, the matter has already gone beyond that. Even if you want to do something to him, insulting his mother would be disrespectful—it will come back on me.”
Before Suleiman could speak, Iftihal ran into the parlour.
“Brother!” she shouted. “Where have you been?”
A gentle smile spread across his face, revealing his full charm as he smiled at Iftihal, the little girl of about five years.
Softly he said,
“My angel, I’m here.”
She jumped into his arms, laughing happily at the sight of him. She placed her dusty feet—dirty from playing outside—on his white suit as she tried to climb onto his lap. Ummi, watching them, quickly noticed and said,
“Oh Iftihal, your feet are dirty—don’t stain his clothes.”
Before she could finish speaking, the young man frowned slightly and said,
“So what, Ummi? If she stains them for me, I’ll just change clothes. Right, my angel?”
he said while looking at Iftihal, who was trying to push her big sweet (lollipop) into his mouth, messy with saliva.
He opened his mouth playfully, and she put it in, sucking it while closing his eyes. In her childish voice, Iftihal said,
“Brother, you know I went to Islamiyya, they beat me, they punished me, and then I washed my hands, right?”
She spoke with the confidence of a child whose words even her mother sometimes couldn’t understand—except Brother Suleiman, who understood her even if she just hummed.
He smiled, stood up, lifted Iftihal, and spun her around as he said,
“My angel, let’s go. Take me to Mommy’s section so I can greet her, then we’ll go to my section, unpack my bag, and you’ll collect your gift, okay?”
Happily she replied,
“Yes, brother, let’s go—but don’t give Yaseer and Zubaida anything. They always beat me.”
Ummi, who had been watching quietly since warning about his clothes, said nothing else. She wasn’t offended by his words because they were already used to seeing how he pampered and cared for Iftihal more than his other siblings. Softly, Ummi said,
“Hey Iftihal, I don’t like complaints. When did they beat you?”
With a serious face he said,
“No, Ummi, leave them to me. Let’s go—if Yusuf comes now, he’ll push my trolley inside.”
As he said that, he left the parlour toward Mommy’s section— Iftihal’s mother.
Ummi didn’t even open her mouth to watch them leave. In her heart she said,
“Hmmm, this boy… it’s good you’re studying to be a soldier, because that heart of yours is too much. I don’t want you to cause me trouble—Zulai can do anything for her children; after all, she spoiled them.”
On the way, Suleiman kept asking Iftihal how and where they treated her badly. She only repeated that Yaseer and Zubaida beat her, and Mama Zulai (Yaseer’s mother) scolded her or chased her away whenever she went to their section. He clicked his tongue softly and said,
“Leave them to me—they don’t like me coming back.”
Before he finished speaking, he saw Zubaida coming with a container, heading down the corridor that led to their section. Cheerfully she said,
“Brother Suleiman, welcome back.”
Coldly he replied,
“I’m fine,”
and gave her a sharp look. She passed quietly. He promised himself he wouldn’t go to their section—Mama Zulai openly showed him hatred anyway. He planned to go to the mosque; if he went there now, he might meet Abba (Zubaida’s father) and greet him.
He went with Iftihal and greeted Mommy in the parlour. She was in the dining area preparing Daddy’s dinner. She recognized the voice of her right-hand man—among the entire family, there was no one she loved like Suleiman. She pampered him, and he often ate from her food, which greatly annoyed Mama Zulai.
With joy she said,
“Oh my son, when did you arrive?”
Smiling happily at her care, he replied,
“Just now, Mommy.”
She said,
“Oh, is that so? Didn’t you call me?”
He sat with Iftihal on his lap and said,
“I preferred to surprise you.”
Mommy replied,
“That’s fine. Welcome! And you, little troublemaker—since his return you’ve already started disturbing him. Get down, leave him to rest. And where is Usman? I was told you were in Ummi’s section. So you were there disturbing him with your stubbornness!”
Suleiman frowned and said,
“Honestly, I’ll stop coming to Mommy’s section if you also disturb my angel.”
Mommy smiled and said,
“Hmmm, she’s not disturbing you. It’s just Iftihal being Iftihal. Even if you don’t like her faults, be patient. Go and pray Maghrib; the call has been made. Come back for dinner, my son.”
He stood up, whispered something to Iftihal, and they both laughed before he left.
Mommy smiled as well and said to Iftihal,
“My daughter, go and pray.”
To be continued…
Written by Mmn Fareesa ✍🏻✍🏻
AWESOME WRITER’S ASSOCIATION 🏮
(Palace of Excitation and Pleasant Writers)
I AM WITH HER!
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
(I don’t even know who she is)
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
Story written by Mmn Fareesa
Not edited
Part 3 & 4
Without argument, Iftihal stood up and went to Mommy’s bedroom. Mommy finished arranging the food and went inside to pray.
At the mosque, Suleiman didn’t leave until after Isha. When he came out, he met Daddy, Abba, and Abbu (his father). Daddy, surprised to see him, hugged him tightly—they were very close, even closer than Abbu was with him.
After greetings, they headed home, Daddy and Suleiman walking side by side, chatting like friends. When they reached the house gate, each went to their section.
Daddy and Suleiman headed to Mommy’s section. Even before reaching the waiting parlour, he heard Iftihal crying. He rushed in, almost stumbling. When Iftihal saw him, she burst into tears again and jumped into his arms. He held her, confused, saying,
“What’s wrong, my angel? Who made you cry?”
In a pampered tone she said,
“Usman did!”
Daddy entered, greeted, and sat down, watching them with admiration. In his heart, his love for his nephew grew stronger—Suleiman showed deep care for his family. He smiled as he watched Suleiman comforting her, promising to punish Usman.
Softly Daddy said,
“Oh Iftihal, so when your brother is at home you forget me, but when he’s not, you remember me?”
Mommy arrived with a tray of food for Daddy and added,
“Hmmm, that’s true. He just returned and she won’t let him rest.”
Suleiman said nothing—he usually spoke only when Iftihal was around.
Mommy told them to go and eat dinner. Softly Suleiman asked,
“Where is Usman, Mommy?”
She sighed and said,
“Allah’s power! I know that troublemaker has offended you again—I saw his textbook outside.”
Suleiman said nothing. He held Iftihal’s hand and went to the dining area, pulled a chair, sat with her on his lap, and served their food on one plate. He didn’t eat until he started feeding her.
While Daddy and Mommy chatted on the carpet as Daddy ate, Iftihal softly said,
“Brother, I’m happy you came back, but please don’t go and leave me.”
He kept quiet. She pouted childishly and said,
“I’ve upset you, haven’t I? That’s why you’re quiet.”
He held her face gently and said softly,
“No, my angel. Don’t be angry with me—you know I don’t talk while eating.”
She twisted her mouth and said,
“Okay, I remember.”
After finishing, they went back to Mommy. Softly he said,
“Please Mommy, prepare warm water for my angel’s bath. I’ll take her back—I heard it’s cold.”
Smiling, Mommy said,
“Alright, my son.”
They left and met Mama Zulai on the way. She shot them a harsh look and hissed, saying,
“Trouble.”
Suleiman heard her clearly but ignored it and walked on.
The Origin of the Story
Malam Mamman was a complete human being, a Fulani man through and through. He lived with one wife and three children—Musa, Abdullahi, and Ibrahim. He had no occupation other than cattle rearing. Later, Musa enrolled in school, completed primary and secondary school, and encouraged his younger siblings to attend as well.
By Allah’s grace, Musa excelled in education along with his siblings and eventually got a job in Kaduna, where he settled and returned home only on weekends. Later, he met Binta (Ummi), and they fell in love and got married. They lived in love and harmony until she gave birth to their son, Suleiman, whom Ibrahim adored deeply and called “my son.” Even during holidays, he would come to Kaduna to see the boy.
During this time, Malam Mamman passed away, deeply shaking the family. After his death, their mother also fell ill and later passed away. After mourning, they informed relatives and decided to move permanently to Kaduna. Ibrahim later secured a banking job, while Abdullahi remained unemployed due to poor academic records.
Musa then opened a provision shop for Abdullahi. During this period, Ummi gave birth to Yusuf. By Allah’s grace, Ibrahim prospered greatly. Later, he married Zainab (Mommy), while Abdullahi married Zulai (Mama Zulai). They informed their elder brother, who immediately bought a large plot of land and insisted everyone build their own section there—he didn’t want separation. Everyone happily agreed.