SHUHADA
She lay tightly on a worn, rough mat in a modest room, its rustic charm somewhat faded. A thin white veil draped over her shoulders, and she wore a plain white dress, complemented by a pair of white shoes and a handbag. A fashionable necklace adorned her neck, and a small earring graced her earlobe.
Despite her appearance, a casual observer would readily notice her striking beauty. Her face was round, featuring a delicate nose and a petite mouth. Her eyes were captivating, with long, sweeping lashes that enhanced their allure. She possessed a tall and graceful figure, reminiscent of an hourglass.
She awoke abruptly from her restless slumber as a cold bucket of water was unceremoniously poured over her. Panic filled her as she opened her large, beautiful eyes, accentuated by long, white lashes. All the children in the room, none older than 14 years, were already awake.
Without hesitation, she felt a light slap and instinctively hugged the woman who had struck her. She let out a cry of pain and knelt on the floor.
“Forgive me, please,” she implored. “What can I do to make amends?” she asked Yadiko.
Yadiko responded, “Indeed, Shuhada, did you find time to sleep? Don’t you have a moment’s rest? Men, wake up, grab a jar, head to the stream to collect water. When you return, clean the house and lay out the clothes before we wake up. Shaleleta and my son, if you’re not quick, it’s farewell. By the way, did you swear an oath three times? I’ll go to the hereafter while you enjoy yourselves. You’re nothing but a worthless girl!”
As night enveloped the village, Shuhada faced the daunting task of venturing out to collect water from the stream. It was 3 o’clock in the morning, and the villagers warned her about the dangers that lurked in the darkness. The village lay shrouded in silence, a night when even the bravest dared not venture out, believing it to be a harbinger of death.
With trepidation, Shuhada walked on, fervently praying for protection from God. She hoped for an end to the anguish she endured under Yadiko’s tyranny and the cruelty of Yadiko’s children.
Reaching the river, she filled her jar with water. The call to prayer sounded before her return. She placed the jar down and offered her supplications before entering the house to pray. Shuhada was known as a reciter of the Quran, despite having given birth at the tender age of 11.
After her devotions, she reheated the dish she had prepared the previous day, a meal barely touched. She often had just one meal a day and, at times, mixed her food with dirt, vowing not to eat again until the next morning. Her days were frequently spent hungry, except when a kind friend from a well-off family shared her food.
As the sun rose, her family remained soundly asleep. She couldn’t leave for school without them, or her father’s wrath would be waiting when she returned, making her body ache. So, she knelt and prayed for her family to awaken, enduring her hunger.
“Yadiko, where should I sleep?” she finally asked, her voice quivering.
Yadiko scoffed, “You hypocrite! You should know better.”
Shale, who had emerged by now, gazed at Shuhada with amusement. “Did you sleep well?” he inquired.
Harara chimed in, “Goodbye! Aren’t you going to greet me? You look like a fairy.”
Shuhada turned to Nuratu and asked, “*Nuratu*, where should I sleep?”
Nuratu replied, “See how she stands up to greet you. Even if she calls me ‘Anty’ mockingly, she still disrespects me.”
Shuhada, who was a year and a half older than Nuratu, had no choice but to bow her head. She felt the pressure bearing down on her and quickly acquiesced. As she left to prepare breakfast, Yadiko interjected, “Shuhada, help me get to school, even if it’s just a single coin. I’m starving!”
Reluctantly, Yadiko held Shuhada’s head, and Shuhada dashed out of the house in tears. Yadiko remarked, “Have a bite, and perhaps you’ll learn some sense today, even if your face swells a little more!”
As Shuhada walked to school, hunger gnawed at her, and tears streamed down her face, leaving her feeling feverish and ready to faint.