MASIFAFFAN NAMIJI

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MASIFAFFAN NAMIJI Complete Document Written By Janafty

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“Hafsah!… Hafsah…! Hafsah…!” The name of my son, Megidana Abdullahi, echoed through the house, reverberating like the first light of dawn, ensuring even the men passing by our door on their way back from the mosque could hear my name, Abdullahi. His voice boomed as if it could shatter the walls.

I was kneeling in our modest kitchen, right in the heart of the house. Monday marked the start of the week, and they’d assigned school leaders to ensure no one was late. Abdullahi blamed me since he often accompanied them on their way to work.

I hurriedly responded to his call. I was close by, tending to our daughter’s long hair. As I worked, I kept my hijab on, never removing it. Today, the city seemed colder than usual. My mind drifted momentarily, thinking of yesterday’s chill. Before I could dwell on it, Dashi emerged, prompting me to turn back and exchange a glance with Takaichi, who was eyeing me curiously before raising his voice, “You’ve got a visitor, Hafsah…!?”

His tone was cool, and I replied, “What’s their name, Abban Amira…?” Harara snapped at me, “I don’t know them… I said, I don’t know.” Someone stood up angrily, their heart racing before they shook their head and retreated to the backroom, muttering, “Hafsah, how could I travel…?” in disbelief.

At the end of the hallway, Taja interjected, “Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t leave. I stepped into the room so the neighbors wouldn’t overhear your conversation. Call me a gossip.” The tense atmosphere momentarily subsided as everyone turned to look at her. She was a tall, imposing figure with a commanding presence, her demeanor regal and composed.

Abdullahi Usman Driver, an exemplary 32-year-old son and second in the family, was a businessman through and through. His sudden outburst had caught everyone off guard. Could Abdullahi be capable of such behavior? Only his wife, Hafsah, could attest to who Abdullahi truly was. Ninety percent of his character remained unknown to others, reserved only for his close family.

He heaved a sigh and continued, “Yes, indeed. So, are you heading to Sujiyo Fada or not, Hafsah…? Is that it…? Are you truly seeking justice, or just looking for a fight? Your mind never seems to accept me, yet I’ll repeat one thing to you, even if it means engraving it into your brain: I have a desire. If God wills it, let it be known as your wish. You’re like a spinning top, tossing around false accusations.” Batatu interjected, her voice raised, “May God grant you patience…”

Tsaki added, “Amen… And here you are, picking fights and claiming God isn’t merciful.” The living room was sparsely furnished with only a small two-seater and a three-seater sofa, with nothing else but a plasma TV mounted on the wall, drawing everyone’s attention.

Hanu raised his hand timidly, addressing me, “I apologize, Madam. I didn’t make a noise. I couldn’t find the documents I brought home from work on Friday.” From the bedroom, a voice chimed in, “They’re on the bed. I tidied up the room yesterday.” How many times do I have to remind you not to touch my things, my music, my clothes, or anything else I’ve arranged with my own hands, huh…?

Yafada observed with wide eyes, seemingly taken aback. Before she could respond, she paused and said, “Oh, Amira’s father, where did I go wrong here? I took it for safekeeping so that Amira or Amir wouldn’t grab it and play with it.” He retorted, “Did I ask you to take it…? Let them blame me if they must. I couldn’t care less. Do you even know if they’re Amiran’s…? I tossed your belongings back to where they belong, Hafsah. If you want them changed, do it yourself. Madam, please take my documents; I’ll be off…” With a dismissive wave, he turned away, refusing to shake her hand, and opened the drawer of the bed.

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