“Mom, so after all this time, is it that all the things you used to claim—that you love money—were not really true? So what exactly is it that you still lack in this world? You said money is what you want, and here it is, coming to meet you right inside the house. Yet, Mom, you still won’t stop crying?”
Crying, the woman called Mom said,
“Amera, fear Allah and stop this. Allah is watching everything you are doing.”
“Is Allah really watching me?” Amera interrupted her quickly.
Mom stared at her in shock and said,
“Ah… Ameera?”
Amera touched her lips lightly, then stood up, looked at Mom and said,
“Mom, I’m going out, and I might not sleep at home. So if night comes and I don’t return, just lock the house.”
After saying that, she stood up, picked up the bag beside her and said,
“Mom, this money you’re seeing—wallahi, it means more to me than anything else right now, because it is the reason I returned to this life. Don’t leave this money here. Go and keep it somewhere safe, because if it is money you want, what you’re seeing now is just the beginning. I’ll gather it for you exactly the way you like.”
With that, she turned sharply and walked out of the house, chewing her gum with the confidence typical of girls from the barracks.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un—that was what Mom kept repeating in her heart. She stared at the money her only daughter had left for her. The money she saw as a curse—she looked at it as if she didn’t even know what it was. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it; instead, she broke down in tears that came straight from her heart. She stood up and left the money where it was, not even looking up to the sky, because to her, that money felt like filth or a disaster.
She went into her room, picked up her phone, and called Uncle Bale. As soon as he answered, she burst into tears.
As Amera left her mother’s place, she started the car and sped off, making it flash by with force. After the gatekeeper opened the gate for her, she stopped by him, lowered the glass and said,
“Iro, from the moment Aunty Zainab or anyone Grandpa sent enters this house, if I return, inform me.”
Quickly, Iro replied,
“Alright, my lady. In fact, Hajiya Zainab just stepped out not long ago, and I believe she’ll be back soon.”
“I know. Here is something for you,” Amera said as she threw five thousand naira at him, then drove off and left the house.
Iro did nothing but thank her and shower her with praises. That was how he was—one of those extremely talkative people. He had been a gatekeeper in the house for twenty years. He had also grown up alongside Ameera, so he knew her very well. He pitied the kind of life the girl had fallen into, even though he didn’t know all the details—he only knew her mother was the cause.
TIRGA BAR was a very big drinking spot located in Benue State. You had to be heavily dressed and flashy before you could enter, because anyone you saw there was someone who had arrived in life. The same applied to women—you had to look the part to gain entry.
The place brought together pagans and Muslims, men and women alike, all entering recklessly, like people who didn’t care about consequences.
She entered the place quickly after the security guards finished searching her. She went to a table, sat down, placed her handbag beside her, then brought out her phone and dialed a number. She put it to her ear and said only “Okay,” before ending the call. She scanned the place with her eyes—even before God, she didn’t like coming to that place at all. It didn’t appeal to her in any way. She preferred that whatever a man wanted to do with her should be done in a hotel or at his house.
A certain rich-looking man came over to where she was sitting. One glance at him showed he was far older than her, but from his appearance alone you could tell money had seated comfortably on him—his enjoyment had erased the signs of old age.
Before he could speak, Ameera stood up and said,
“I can’t stay here. If you’re ready, let’s go to the place you prepared for us, because your time is running out, and you know I don’t waste time on what I’ve already been paid for.”
Quickly, the man—called Alhaji—said,
“I myself don’t really trust this place. Even though I know it’s secure, I prefer we go to a hotel—it’s better.”
Alhaji Mudi knew her ways very well. It had been about a month since he wanted to meet her, but she always told him she had a customer. It was only today that God made it possible—and even today, she gave him just three hours.
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“Mom, so after all this time, is it that all the things you used to claim—that you love money—were not really true? So what exactly is it that you still lack in this world? You said money is what you want, and here it is, coming to meet you right inside the house. Yet, Mom, you still won’t stop crying?”
Crying, the woman called Mom said,
“Amera, fear Allah and stop this. Allah is watching everything you are doing.”
“Is Allah really watching me?” Amera interrupted her quickly.
Mom stared at her in shock and said,
“Ah… Ameera?”
Amera touched her lips lightly, then stood up, looked at Mom and said,
“Mom, I’m going out, and I might not sleep at home. So if night comes and I don’t return, just lock the house.”
After saying that, she stood up, picked up the bag beside her and said,
“Mom, this money you’re seeing—wallahi, it means more to me than anything else right now, because it is the reason I returned to this life. Don’t leave this money here. Go and keep it somewhere safe, because if it is money you want, what you’re seeing now is just the beginning. I’ll gather it for you exactly the way you like.”
With that, she turned sharply and walked out of the house, chewing her gum with the confidence typical of girls from the barracks.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un—that was what Mom kept repeating in her heart. She stared at the money her only daughter had left for her. The money she saw as a curse—she looked at it as if she didn’t even know what it was. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it; instead, she broke down in tears that came straight from her heart. She stood up and left the money where it was, not even looking up to the sky, because to her, that money felt like filth or a disaster.
She went into her room, picked up her phone, and called Uncle Bale. As soon as he answered, she burst into tears.
As Amera left her mother’s place, she started the car and sped off, making it flash by with force. After the gatekeeper opened the gate for her, she stopped by him, lowered the glass and said,
“Iro, from the moment Aunty Zainab or anyone Grandpa sent enters this house, if I return, inform me.”
Quickly, Iro replied,
“Alright, my lady. In fact, Hajiya Zainab just stepped out not long ago, and I believe she’ll be back soon.”
“I know. Here is something for you,” Amera said as she threw five thousand naira at him, then drove off and left the house.
Iro did nothing but thank her and shower her with praises. That was how he was—one of those extremely talkative people. He had been a gatekeeper in the house for twenty years. He had also grown up alongside Ameera, so he knew her very well. He pitied the kind of life the girl had fallen into, even though he didn’t know all the details—he only knew her mother was the cause.
TIRGA BAR was a very big drinking spot located in Benue State. You had to be heavily dressed and flashy before you could enter, because anyone you saw there was someone who had arrived in life. The same applied to women—you had to look the part to gain entry.
The place brought together pagans and Muslims, men and women alike, all entering recklessly, like people who didn’t care about consequences.
She entered the place quickly after the security guards finished searching her. She went to a table, sat down, placed her handbag beside her, then brought out her phone and dialed a number. She put it to her ear and said only “Okay,” before ending the call. She scanned the place with her eyes—even before God, she didn’t like coming to that place at all. It didn’t appeal to her in any way. She preferred that whatever a man wanted to do with her should be done in a hotel or at his house.
A certain rich-looking man came over to where she was sitting. One glance at him showed he was far older than her, but from his appearance alone you could tell money had seated comfortably on him—his enjoyment had erased the signs of old age.
Before he could speak, Ameera stood up and said,
“I can’t stay here. If you’re ready, let’s go to the place you prepared for us, because your time is running out, and you know I don’t waste time on what I’ve already been paid for.”
Quickly, the man—called Alhaji—said,
“I myself don’t really trust this place. Even though I know it’s secure, I prefer we go to a hotel—it’s better.”
Alhaji Mudi knew her ways very well. It had been about a month since he wanted to meet her, but she always told him she had a customer. It was only today that God made it possible—and even today, she gave him just three hours.