Abokin Aikina Book 1 – English Translation

I did not know how the quarrel ended because, after he left, he did not return home until late at night. I cried until my eyes were swollen, with no one to comfort me. There was only one person I was certain could calm me, but I did not want to ruin her happiness just because mine had been shattered.

What hurt even more was that none of the children had returned home. All the signs suggested they would spend the night at Umma’s house. What surprised me, however, was that she had not called to tell me, as she normally did whenever they wanted to sleep there.

I sighed as I shifted on the bed. A stabbing pain pierced my ribs, making it feel as though I were lying on thorns. I knew crying would do nothing for me. It was not the first time I had cried like this, yet tears had never healed the wound in my heart or rescued me from the prison my life had become.

Whenever I thought about it, I felt like an orphan who had lost everything and everyone she had in the world. A sudden bolt of pain struck my head, and I quickly pressed a hand against my forehead.

“Oh! Allah!” I cried.

The pain travelled through the veins around my eyes and throbbed so fiercely that I could not open them until it eased. For a while, I remained silent, enduring the torment inside my head. My heart had received its own share of the agony too; it hurt as though it might burst apart inside my chest.

That night, I slept restlessly, troubled by a pain that refused to let me rest. With great difficulty, I found enough strength to pray. Afterwards, I dragged myself back to bed and curled up beneath the blanket. My mind wandered so far that I did not realise when sleep carried me away.

While asleep, I heard Umma’s voice raised above me as though I were dreaming. But when I opened my eyes and saw her standing over me with a stern expression, I knew it was real. I struggled to sit up and greeted her in a broken voice exhausted by crying. Without answering my greeting, she immediately poured out what was on her mind.

“What are you trying to turn yourself into, Zaituna? Since when did you become old enough to start following other men while you are still married? I believed that even if there were no marriage bond upon you, you would still protect your dignity—if only to save me from the insults people will direct at me. They already think my careless upbringing made you what you are today.

“Do you not realise that the turmoil in your marriage will destroy the little respect I still have in people’s eyes? Do you want to end your marriage and return home so that you and I can sit side by side, both without husbands? How many times must I tell you to endure Mukhtar’s behaviour, if only for the sake of your children?

“Let me tell you this: even if you end this marriage, you will still have to marry into another home. There is no guarantee that you will find a man without a wife or children. If you refuse to sweep the mosque, you may end up sweeping the marketplace. You may be forced to serve another woman’s children after carelessly abandoning your own.”

When she began to cry, everything inside me became even more confused. Instead of comforting her, I too burst into bitter tears. I could not utter a single word in my defence, even though she herself could testify to how faithfully I had protected the honour of my marriage, despite it being nothing like a healthy marriage. Both of us cried, unable to comfort each other, and there was no one else to comfort us.

She was the first to summon the courage to stop her tears. She wiped away the mucus caused by her crying, drew her legs closer, and sat on the edge of the bed. In a gentler, consoling voice, she said:

“If not for the pity I have for those children, why should we continue facing this kind of sorrow? Be patient, Zaituna. I know my words cut you deeply, even where there is no wound. But you must understand that I have my reasons for never wanting your marriage to end. I continually pray that Allah will not make you a widow, because I alone understand the darkness and grief attached to widowhood. May the Almighty bless you. Just as you obey me, may Allah make your children obey you even more.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she stood and tried to leave the room. I followed her with my eyes while wiping away the tears that would not stop gathering in them. At the doorway, she came face to face with Mukhtar, who was trying to enter. His face was tightly drawn, as though he had never smiled in his life.

When he saw her, his expression softened slightly. He bent respectfully and scratched the back of his neck.

“Umma, I wanted us to talk about the job she keeps going to. Honestly, I do not approve of it. If there is any way she can stop going altogether, please consider it for me. Her going to that workplace is now the source of every problem between us. If the job is set aside, half of these problems that keep appearing one after another will have been solved.”

Silence fell between them. I fixed my eyes on her, waiting to hear her answer before I spoke. I could see that she was weighing both his words and the response she should give.

“To be honest, Mukhtar, you will have to be patient regarding that job. You know I do not have the authority to stop her from going. But since you do not want her to continue, you have more authority over her than anyone else. Go and speak to Alhaji Ali so that you can settle the matter once and for all. If I involve myself now, it will only create another quarrel between him and me. I do not want that. We have already had one dispute, and I hope it will not be repeated.”

I released a heavy sigh and glared at him with my red eyes as though they could fly out and stick to his body. The frustration he caused me was so intense that I felt like getting up and beating him.

“There is no need for me to go. Let us leave the matter,” he said. “But Umma, warn her to stay away from that deceitful man. I swear, people have already begun mocking me, saying I am a weak husband who cannot control his wife, because they see that I have failed to separate her from a man who is trying to cross the boundaries of her marriage.”

“What marriage are you talking about?” I snapped. “You still have the mouth to claim that you are married to me? I swear by Allah, it is only because of Umma’s presence that I have restrained myself. Otherwise, I would have poured petrol over you and set you on fire long ago.”

“Indeed, we belong to Allah and to Him we shall return!”

That was the phrase Umma uttered in shock, her face displaying the depth of her alarm.

“It is better that she did it in front of you so that you could see for yourself, Umma,” Mukhtar complained. “This is exactly how she treats me, even in front of Haidar and the others. She is never ashamed to speak to me this way and humiliate me before them. I do not know what kind of hatred she has for me that she cannot hide it, no matter who is present.”

“I did not like what you just said, Zaituna. You must be careful about what you say to your husband so that you do not bring trouble upon yourself or incur the anger of the Almighty.”

She began advising me as I wiped my tears. She also rebuked him, though only mildly and indirectly. She always felt shy around him because he was her son-in-law. By now, she should have discarded that restraint and found peace, if only because of the many ways he had betrayed me.

They said goodbye in front of me, and she left. He turned back towards me and looked me up and down with contempt. Then he hissed, walked out, and slammed my bedroom door so violently that it sounded as though he wanted to tear it off its hinges.

What do you think is really behind this conflict? Have you begun to understand what is happening, or must we go deeper into the story?

— D. Auta 🚶

I sighed and, with no strength in me, forced myself off the bed. I staggered out of the room because hunger was gnawing at my stomach. I headed straight for the kitchen. The dizziness I felt confirmed that I had not recovered from the illness troubling me for the past two days—an illness that gave me no peace whenever my stomach was empty.

I stopped abruptly in front of our tea supplies. I immediately realised that Mukhtar had done what he always did. He had left the cup he used lying there. The tin of milk was open, and Milo powder was scattered across the tiled floor and had already become sticky. I had no doubt that he had spilled it while preparing his tea. Knowing his habits, I was certain of it; he never did anything calmly without creating a mess.

Many times, whenever he ate tuwo, he would spill the soup before he finished. If he drank fura, he could hardly finish it without spilling half of it.

I drew a breath and sighed bitterly. I hurriedly cleaned the area, boiled some water, and made tea. In my condition, I did not think I could eat anything else.

I had just left the kitchen and was trying to return to my room when I heard my neighbour offering greetings at the entrance. That confirmed that Mukhtar was not in the neighbourhood. From what I knew, she never entered our house until she was certain he was absent. She was one of the people he suspected of bringing me gossip that sometimes caused quarrels between us.

I returned her greeting in the weak voice of a sick person. We found seats on the living-room chairs. As I sipped my tea, we exchanged restrained greetings. The way she looked at me made it clear that there was a reason for her visit. I had no doubt that it concerned the quarrel from the previous day, which I was sure had already spread throughout the neighbourhood and beyond.

Tears immediately filled my eyes. I placed the small amount of tea left in my cup on the table because my heart had become too heavy for me to swallow it.

“I could not reach you on your phone, so I could not remain patient without coming here myself. I did not want Mukhtar to see me and do something that would upset me for no reason.”

“What brings you here?” I asked before she could finish.

She sighed before answering.

“I am unhappy about what happened, and I am also unhappy about the things people in this neighbourhood are saying about you.”

Her face was filled with concern. I remained silent for a while before speaking in a tearful voice.

“I do not blame anyone who insults me. They must have heard or seen something before insulting me. If anyone is responsible for this situation, it is me. If I had not shown the obedience I am showing now, none of this would have happened.

“I know there is no obedience when it involves disobeying the Creator, but I chose to deprive and betray myself for my mother’s happiness. I know—and Allah also knows—that there is nothing improper between MD and me except the respectful greetings we exchange.

“Still, I do not know what is in his heart concerning me. If I had not heard what he said directly, I would tell everyone that Mukhtar was merely trying to slander him. But when I consider the kind of respect MD has for human dignity, I can confidently say that may Allah judge anyone who falsely accuses him because of me.

“I am deeply sorry that his reputation has been stained because of me. His character and dignity are too great for him to be dragged into a struggle over the little honour Mukhtar has not yet taken from me. I have never seen a marriage like mine anywhere in the world. I wish I had not lived long enough to reach the day when I would say these words. I hate myself, and I hate everyone in this world.”

I burst into loud sobs because of the overwhelming grief lodged in the deepest part of my heart. She began consoling me while wiping away the tears I had noticed streaming down her own face since I started speaking.

“If the rat is guilty of stealing, the locust-bean seasoning also carries a strong smell,” she said, invoking the proverb. “Why did you enter his car and allow him to bring you home? Honestly, Mukhtar had a reason to be angry about that. Even you would feel hurt if you saw him in a car with another woman, despite the fact that Allah has permitted him to marry up to four wives.

“Why did you not refuse to enter the car when he first offered you a lift? I am certain that if you had declined his kindness, you would have escaped the gossip now spreading about you. How will anyone explain the matter to the public now? Whenever you go outside, people will point at you and say you are the woman involved.

“Have you forgotten what happened before this incident? Will you continue repeating the same mistake? What kind of opinion do you expect people to have of you? If your innocence cleared you the last time, what about this one?”

I said nothing and continued shedding tears that refused to stop, like water from a broken tap. I knew she pitied my situation, but sometimes I resented the way she assumed that my inability to manage a marriage was the reason Mukhtar subjected me to whatever suffering he pleased.

Although her opinion upset me, I excused her because she had not experienced even half of what I was enduring. If she ever found herself in a situation like mine, perhaps she would understand.

“Even among a thousand women, you would not find anyone capable of enduring what I endure in Mukhtar’s house. And among those thousand women, even you, Maman Taufiq, could not survive one month with Mukhtar, knowing your temperament and firm opinions.

“So let everyone judge me however they understand me, and let them insult me however they wish. I forgive everyone who insults me out of ignorance and without justification. But I cannot forgive Mukhtar, even if that means calling down a fire that burns his body.”

“Indeed, we belong to Allah and to Him we shall return! How many times must I tell you to watch what you say, Zaituna? What will you gain by calling Allah’s judgement upon your husband, the father of your children? Are you not afraid that something might happen to him because of those words?”

She poured out those questions in alarm, terrified by what she had heard me say. She had heard similar words many times, yet she still could not bear them whenever I reached that state.

“You truly need to correct the terrible words you direct at your husband.”

“Everything she does to me is your fault,” Mukhtar suddenly said from nearby. “You came here to provoke her while pretending to console her.”

My neighbour sprang to her feet.

“Allah alone knows everything. Just as I wish to live peacefully with my own husband, I also wish the same for her.”

I watched her leave in anger. Then my legs began shaking with intense rage.

“The day this woman’s rights catch up with you, I swear you will not enjoy your life. Pay attention to the obligations already upon you and stop trying to add new ones. The suspicion eating away at your heart will continue bringing you calamities whose consequences you will not understand until the Day of Judgement.”

“You have never wished me well enough to die in peace, let alone enter Paradise,” he replied.

“Whatever you want to say, say it about yourself. All I know is that violating people’s rights brings disaster. Mtsssss! It is all because of that job.”

Furious, I entered my room and shut the door. I collapsed onto the bed and cried without even knowing the exact reason for my tears. Was I mourning myself because I had not been fortunate enough to find a good husband? Was I mourning my children because I had failed to choose a good father for them? Or was I mourning MD because he had stumbled into the twisted affairs of a marriage without knowing when or how his encounter with it would lead to his downfall?

How could I explain the beginning of my problems? How could I untie the dark knot that had prevented me from enjoying marriage?

“Allah, You can see that I have no one but You. Bring me relief from the problems I do not know how to overcome.”

Those were the words I uttered silently in my heart, humbling myself before my Lord.

Hmmmm! This is only the beginning. 😅

The call to the Zuhr prayer made me rise, but dizziness tossed me about as I performed ablution. I prayed while sitting because my legs felt incapable of supporting me. When I finished, I lay down on the prayer mat, shedding tears. I did not know when a heavy sleep carried me away.

A vicious headache jolted me awake. The pounding inside my head was far worse than what I normally experienced. I gripped my head and repeatedly called upon Allah with my heart and tongue. The hunger twisting my stomach made me try to stand, but dizziness swept over me and forced me to sit again.

For a while, I remained still, enduring the hammering inside my skull. From where I sat, the loud sound of our television rang in my ears. I summoned the strength to rise and staggered out of the room to find something I could eat.

Mukhtar was sitting in the living room watching an Indian music video. The sight of him sent another wave of sorrow over my heart. In truth, I hated even hearing his voice, let alone seeing him face to face. I glanced at him once, turned away, and entered the kitchen.

Still, it hurt to see him eating chicken alone without looking for me or offering me any. He knew that I had been ill for days and had barely eaten anything. The only treatment he ever bought for me was medicine from a chemist because he refused to let me go to a hospital.

He believed I exaggerated illnesses merely to burden him. Even when one of the children became sick, it was extremely difficult to persuade him to allow a hospital visit. Sometimes, only after a serious quarrel would he take the child there himself, deliberately showing his anger at the pressure I had placed on him. He would neither take me along nor allow me to go with them. When they returned, I would only see the medicines he had bought, and I was not permitted to question anything.

This time too, tea was the only thing I could prepare. As I tried to return to my room, the aroma of the meat he was eating filled my nose. Even that did not make me turn towards him or complain.

I sat on the edge of the bed, drank the tea, and began wondering how my phone had gone missing. My attention returned entirely to it because it was my companion. It distracted me whenever I was upset or lonely.

A few minutes after drinking the tea, I heard a woman offering greetings at the entrance. I almost ignored her, but I could not. I rose and walked out slowly to see who it was.

It was my friend Firdausi. She approached me cheerfully.

“So you are in your room?” she asked.

“Yes. Let us go inside.”

I allowed her to walk ahead and followed her after casting a furious glance at Mukhtar. The sideways look he gave us made me feel as though I wanted to grab him by the throat.

“Zaituna, you have lost so much weight. Are you still ill?”

I forced a smile.

“It is the illness, together with the sorrow Mukhtar has planted in my heart.”

“Let us talk about your illness. If familiarity could solve Mukhtar’s problem, you would have been free of it long ago. You truly need to go to a hospital and be examined so that you can find out what is wrong. Sitting at home with an illness and swallowing random medicine will not cure you. Sometimes the illness is one thing while the medicine being taken is for something entirely different.”

“MD took me to the hospital after I collapsed and lost consciousness at work, but Mukhtar’s trouble prevented me from collecting the medicines.”

“I do not understand.”

I sniffed back the tears rising within me before explaining.

“He took me to the hospital from work. After I regained consciousness, he drove me home in his car. Mukhtar then smashed the car windows, gathered a crowd around us, and hurled terrible words filled with nothing but slander and suspicion.”

“Indeed, we belong to Allah and to Him we shall return! Why does Mukhtar never think about the consequences before acting? What did MD do wrong by helping you as the person in charge at your workplace?

“Sometimes misunderstanding and suspicion cause every problem between you and Mukhtar. What makes it worse is that Mukhtar listens to no one and accepts no advice. Of course, it would hurt him to see another man bring you home in his car, but he should first have investigated why it happened.

“He knows your character better than anyone. He knows what you are capable of and what you would never do. No one can testify absolutely to another person’s heart, but one can often judge the depth of water by looking at it. After all the years you have spent together, there should be mutual understanding between you.

“I swear, I see no benefit in the kind of life the two of you are living. When he becomes angry, you should calm down, even though I know the heart has no bones and can be difficult to restrain. You both need to sit together and find peace in your marriage. Your children are growing, and they understand everything happening between you. That is completely wrong.

“I must leave now, but please make sure you go to the hospital. Remaining at home while sick is not acceptable. Health must be carefully protected; once it slips away, everything can fall apart. Stop filling your mind with worry over Mukhtar’s behaviour. He already treated you like a dumping ground when you were healthy, so what will happen now that you have lost the health everyone depends upon? May Allah make things right.”

She left with intense displeasure written across her face. In the entire town, no woman understood both the visible and hidden sides of my problems like Firdausi. There were things even Umma did not know. Because Firdausi was trustworthy and knew how to keep a secret, I never hesitated to tell her about my troubles.

We walked out together while she repeated:

“Please make sure you go to the hospital.”

“In sha Allah,” I replied.

Mukhtar was no longer in the living room. I escorted her to the entrance. After chatting briefly, we said goodbye and she left.

When I returned to the living room, I saw Mukhtar coming out of his room. It took great courage to stand before him.

“I want to go to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Even if you had not told me, I heard everything with my own ears.”

“I already know that you hide and listen whenever I have a visitor. That is why I never hesitate to say anything—you can hear it for yourself.”

He became silent and stared at me because I had exposed him perfectly. I hated that habit of his. Whenever I received a visitor, he would conceal himself and listen to our conversation. Even if he returned home and sensed that people were speaking quietly, he would creep closer and eavesdrop.

“You should learn to keep your private matters hidden. You are not the only woman with problems in her marriage.”

“Everyone knows the pain of her own situation; each person recites prayer with the foam from her own mouth. I want you to take me to the hospital tomorrow, which is why I spoke to you. I do not even want to exchange words with you unless it is absolutely necessary.”

I threw the reply at him angrily. Before I could finish, he interrupted.

“Honestly, I do not have the money to take you to the hospital. Right now, I do not even have the transport fare to get to work in Bodinga tomorrow, let alone money for your hospital visit.”

I stared at him in silence before responding.

“You had no money, yet you ate chicken earlier?”

“Yes, that is different. You do not know how I got it. But the truth is that I have no money to take you to the hospital. I may not even go to work tomorrow because I do not have transport fare.”

“I have money, and I pray that the Almighty gives me even more.”

I cut him off furiously, then moved to a chair and sat down, breathing heavily because my heart was beating faster and faster.

“Amen,” he replied before walking away.

I began to cry as I reflected on my past and present life and on all the turmoil that had followed our marriage from the beginning without ever ending. Every detail returned vividly to my mind. Tears poured from my eyes like water from a violently broken tap. When I finally became tired of crying for myself, I rose, bathed, and prayed.

The loss of my phone and the absence of my children’s voices brought a fresh wave of anxiety that caused my fever to rise. I immediately began to feel cold. I found some paracetamol, swallowed two tablets, and curled up while shivering.

By Allah’s power, I began to sweat after a few minutes. At that very moment, I heard my children shouting excitedly, confirming that they had returned. Joy filled my heart as I tried to get down from the bed to welcome them.

They ran into the room, hugged me, and cried:

“Welcome, Mama!”

The happiness was overwhelming. I held all three of them tightly.

“Welcome home,” I said.

Ummu Salma, my eldest daughter, touched my neck.

“Mama, your body is still hot. Do you still have the headache?”

Tears filled my eyes, but I tried to hold them back.

“I feel better now, but tomorrow I will go to the hospital for an examination.”

“Mama, when I grow up and become a man, I will build a huge hospital for you. They will remove this headache so that you can finally rest,” Haidar promised as he wiped away the tears I had not realised were falling down my face.

I looked at Iman. Since entering the room, she had remained silent, resting her chin in her hand and watching me. Knowing her gentle nature, I placed my hand on her head with a mother’s love.

“And what will you do for me when you grow up?”

She wiped away her tears before answering.

“I will make you happy so that you will stop crying. I do not like seeing your tears.”

She burst into tears, causing mine to flow even more. I held her hand and courageously wiped the tears running down my face.

“Stop crying. Have you forgotten that you are going to become a doctooor?”

I stretched the final word playfully to stop her from crying. She nodded.

“Then you should give me an injection inside my mouth. That will stop the tears,” I joked.

She quickly covered her mouth and laughed.

“Inside the mouth?”

Before I could answer, Haidar asked:

“Mama, injections can even be given in the eye, can’t they?”

His question made me laugh.

“They can even be given inside the ear.”

All of us burst into laughter. Still laughing, I turned to Ummu Salma.

“Go and prepare Indomie for yourselves.”

“Umma gave us food to bring home for you and our father. She also gave us our own food and told us to bring it here to eat.”

The brightness disappeared from my face when she mentioned their father. In truth, I did not want to hear anything about Mukhtar or anything connected to him. I felt that way from the deepest part of my heart.

I frowned.

“Go and prepare for the Maghrib prayer; the call has already begun. Haidar, go to the mosque. Do not remain in this house until the prayer starts.”

They hurried out of the room, and I sighed. With my thoughts still unsettled, I got off the bed and entered the living room. I saw Umma’s food containers on the centre table and quickly began opening the largest one.

It contained maize tuwo with vegetable soup, and the aroma of butter rose from it. In another container, I found a generous amount of danwake, with red palm oil and its spices packed separately. That confirmed that the tuwo was for Mukhtar and me, while the danwake was for the children.

I sat down, rested my chin in my hand, and wondered how long Umma would continue taking Mukhtar’s side. Despite everything he did to me, she always saw him as someone deserving of respect.

How could I make Umma understand the harm caused by constantly supporting Mukhtar? And how long would it take before I escaped the prison my life had become?