PG 16+
Khadijah: As-salamu alaykum, everyone. My name is Khadijah, and I am here to tell you my story.
Fatimah: Hello everyone, I am also here to tell you my story.
Khadijah & Fatimah: We are sure you will learn something from it.
Khadijah: Let me begin first. This is how my life story goes.
When I was a child, I went through so much emotional and physical pain from my parents. Everything started when I was 16 years old. I was in SS2 then. I lived with my parents and my siblings in Alaba International, Lagos State.
There are four of us, two girls and two boys. Me, Aminah, Amir, and Khalid. I am the first child.
My parents were the type who valued education and social life more than anything else, even more than religion. We were Muslims by name, not by practice. They barely observed the five daily prayers.
They focused so much on our academic lives that it became overwhelming. They would call themselves Muslims, but their actions barely reflected it. Allah had blessed them to an extent, we were just average, a middle-class family. My dad was a civil servant, and my mom was a teacher. Both were educated.
Let me show you how my daily life used to be.
Around 5:00 a.m., my mom would wake me up for chores.
Mum: (enters Khadijah’s room, tapping her) Khadijah, wake up. Khadijah.
Khadijah: (stretching) Hmmm… ma…
Mum: Get up. You need to prepare for school. Go and do your chores.
Khadijah: Mmm… I want to sleep small. I am feeling sleepy.
Mum: My friend, will you get up and start your work? If I come back here and still meet you, you will not like it.
That was how I struggled to stand up. I started arranging our room, then moved to the living room, then the kitchen. I prepared breakfast too.
My dad was getting ready for work, my mom was doing her own preparations, and my siblings were getting ready for school.
You might be wondering why I had not gotten ready yet. Well, that is the sacrifice of a first daughter. I was always the last to leave the house.
My parents usually dropped us at the school gate, and we trekked back home after school. My mom taught in a federal school, while we attended a private school.
As I was saying, my mom started shouting again because of my lateness.
Mum: Khadijah! What exactly have you been doing since morning? We are waiting for you!
Khadijah: I am coming, mom. I am wearing my shoes.
Mum: Just stay there and sleep. Khalid, take this bag to the car and tell your dad Khadijah is wasting our time.
Khalid: Okay, mum.
Mum: Khadijah, I swear if we leave you, you will trek to school. Try me.
She went inside to check what was delaying me and found me performing ablution.
Mum: What are you doing?
Khadijah: Umm… I… I am…
Mum: (slaps her)
Khadijah: Ahh! (starts crying)
Mum: So this is what you are doing, wasting our precious time?
Khadijah: But mum, we do not pray in this house. I just wanted to pray before going.
Mum: So now we are not important to you? It is now you want to start praying? You want to see my other side? Before I count to three, you better be outside. Ungrateful child! Some children are begging for sponsors, and here you are acting like this. Using us as an excuse to pray. Nonsense!
Before she could finish, I grabbed my shoes and socks and ran outside. I rushed into the car, only for another slap to land on my face
.
Khadijah: Ahh! (holding her face in tears)
My mom entered the car and explained why we were late.
Dad: Try that nonsense with me next time.
That was how my week started, with hot slaps from both parents.
They dropped us at the school gate. I looked so rough, imagine an SS2 student like that. When we got in, we had already missed the assembly.
That was when I started crying again, because I saw the disciplinary prefect coming towards us with a cane.
I was already on my knees.
Prefect: You are late again. Aren’t you tired of being flogged?
Khadijah: (on her knees) Just flog me and let me go. I am used to it. Please let my siblings go, I will take it for them.
Prefect: I know you will. As usual. You three can go.
My siblings ran happily to their classes while I remained there, still kneeling.
Prefect: You look even worse today.
Khadijah: Are you here to flog me or to question me?
Prefect: That is rude. Anyway, go to your class.
Khadijah: (shocked) Are you serious? Thank you! Thank you, senior. God bless you. You will pass your WAEC.
Prefect: (smiling) Ameen. Now go, your teacher is already in class.
Khadijah: Thank you.
That was how Allah showed me mercy that day. Their cane was even worse than the slaps I received at home.
Fatimah’s Story
My struggles began when I was 17 years old. I also lived with my parents, but we were only two children. My mom had difficulty getting pregnant and went through a lot before having us.
I am the firstborn, and my younger brother is the lastborn, the baby of the house. There is a big age gap between us. At that time, I was 17, and he was 10 years old.
My dad was a businessman, and my mom was also into business. She had a provision store in front of our house, though she mainly stayed at home to take care of us.
I was in SS3, preparing for WAEC. My parents did not train us properly in religion. From what I saw, it felt like praying five times daily was not compulsory. It even seemed like Fajr was the only important one.
We also lived in Alaba International, Lagos State, precisely at Ajagbadi. My brother and I attended Montana International School. He was in Primary 5.
I registered for my WAEC in my school because most students passed. You understand what I mean.
Let me show you how my daily life used to be.
Every morning around 6:00 a.m., my mom would knock on my door.
Mum: Fatimah! Fati! Wake up, it is 6:00 already.
Fatimah: (snoring)
Mum: Fati!
Fatimah: (jumps up) Ma, I am coming. (opens the door and kneels) Good morning, ma.
Mum: Morning. Look at your face. Anyway, I will be in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Sweep the house and get ready for school. Is that clear?
Fatimah: Yes, ma.
Mum: I am serious. If you go late, you will trek to school. I will not give you transport money.
Fatimah: Okay, ma.
After my chores, around 7:00 a.m., it was usually time for Fajr prayer. But that was when I would feel lazy. I always had an excuse not to pray.
You might think it is just two raka’ah and would not take up to five minutes. But I was not trained to take it seriously.
I got ready for school and sat to eat breakfast with my dad. My mom was inside praying. My dad would always caution her about praying late, but she would say she lost track of time.
So it did not really move me to pray either.
As I was about to leave, my mom called me.
Fatimah: Yes, ma?
Mum: Have you prayed this morning?
Fatimah: (hesitates) Yes.
Mum: When? Answer me.
Fatimah: In my room.
Mum: You this girl, allow prayer to guide you. I know you are lying. Drop your bag and go and pray.
Fatimah: Ahh, I am late for school.
Mum: Is that how you talk to me? If I slap you now..
Dad: (shouting outside) Are you coming or not? I am late for work!
Fatimah: You see, daddy is waiting for me.
Mum: God has saved you today. Try that nonsense again and see.
That was how I escaped what I thought was stress, not knowing it was actually a blessing.
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