Khadijah’s Story
After a long, stressful day at school, I held my siblings’ hands tightly as we walked home. My legs ached, my head felt heavy, but I couldn’t slow down. I knew what was waiting for me at home.
The moment we stepped in, I didn’t rest. I changed our clothes, gathered our dirty uniforms and socks, and dropped them in the corridor, ready to wash.
Before that, I rushed into the kitchen and checked the meal timetable. Noodles.
I didn’t think twice. I boiled water, broke the noodles into the pot, and stirred quietly. My mind was already moving ahead to the next task. I made enough for the four of us.
We ate. No noise. No laughter. Just quiet chewing.
After lunch, we followed our usual routine. Everyone went to their chores. Mine was washing the uniforms. I scrubbed and rinsed until my fingers softened in the water.
Later, we all sat in the living room doing our assignments.
You might be wondering why we didn’t go to madrasah. My parents could afford school fees, but not madrasah fees.
When we finished, I went back to the kitchen to prepare dinner. My siblings were playing in the living room, their laughter rising and falling, but I stayed where I was.
I was almost done cooking when the gate creaked open.
7:02 p.m.
My mom was back.
My siblings ran to her immediately, wrapping their arms around her. I could hear their excited voices from the kitchen.
But me… my chest tightened.
Any small mistake now, and another slap would land on my face.
Sometimes, I used to ask myself quietly… is she really my mother?
Or am I just someone she was forced to raise?
I wiped my hands and stepped out to greet her.
Instead of responding, she dropped the foodstuffs she bought into my hands.
Mum: Go and put them in the refrigerator. Don’t forget anything.
Khadijah: Okay, ma.
Mum: Are you not done cooking?
Khadijah: It’s almost ready.
Mum: What have you been doing since you came back? I don’t see any serious work here. Why is dinner not ready? Your father will soon be back. He won’t hear anything except food. Go and serve me first.
Khadijah: Okay, ma.
I rushed back into the kitchen, my movements faster now.
Mum: Be fast. I am tired. I need rest.
Ten minutes later, I served her food.
She grabbed the plate and started eating quickly, almost aggressively.
Mum: Get me water.
Khadijah: Mummy… can Amir get it? I am still busy in the kitchen.
She dropped her spoon slowly.
Mum: Are you okay? Is your head correct? I should send Amir? The same boy that broke my plates? Don’t let me descend on you tonight.
Khadijah: (under her breath) It’s always me… I can’t even rest.
I dragged my feet toward the kitchen.
Mum: What did you say?
I froze.
Mum: You should have just told me to get it myself. Ungrateful child. When I was your age, I wouldn’t dare try this nonsense. Hurry up, I am thirsty.
Khadijah: (hands trembling, giving her water) Here, ma.
She stared at the cup.
Mum: Ordinary water? Have you ever seen me drink plain water in this house? Khadijah, you are looking for my trouble.
Before she could continue, the door opened.
My dad walked in.
Dad: What is going on here? I could hear your voice outside the gate. Please take it easy on her. She is your daughter. We already slapped her this morning.
My siblings rushed to hug him.
Mum: So I shouldn’t correct her again? A child misbehaves and I correct her, now you are blaming me? If she spoils tomorrow, you will still blame me. I cannot argue tonight.
She stood up and carried her food into the room.
Dad: So you will walk out on me? Come back here!
He followed her.
Moments later, their voices filled the house.
Loud. Angry. Sharp.
I stood there, frozen.
I already knew.
Tonight… I would suffer for it.
Their argument kept getting worse. My dad eventually slept in the living room without eating.
I served my siblings their food.
I couldn’t eat.
I tried begging my dad to eat, but he shook his head. He wasn’t hungry.
My chest felt tight.
Later, I quietly performed ablution and entered my room. I locked the door.
I didn’t want her to know I was praying.
I started praying all the missed prayers together.
Zuhr. Asr. Maghrib. Isha.
As I was praying Maghrib, I heard a knock.
Mum: Open this door!
I continued praying.
The knock became banging.
Then louder.
Then violent.
Suddenly, the door opened.
She had used the spare key.
She stood there, watching me.
Waiting.
The moment I finished and said salam, she grabbed me.
Her hands landed on me without mercy.
I screamed.
I cried.
I begged.
Dad: Kill her! Shebi she is your daughter! When she dies, you will rest!
But she didn’t stop.
She kept beating me until my dad rushed in and dragged me away.
Dad: What kind of mother are you? You are testing my patience!
Mum: Oh, so you want to beat me because of her? Go ahead!
She pushed him.
Mum: And you…
She turned to me, her eyes burning.
Mum: This is just the beginning.
I fell to the ground, crying uncontrollably.
That night, something inside me broke.
From that moment, I stopped seeing her as my mother.
Because if she truly was…
She would never try to destroy me.
Fatimah’s Story
After school, my brother and I took a bike home. The wind brushed against my face, and for a moment, I felt free.
When we got home, food was already waiting.
We ate, and I did my chores before going into my room to read.
As I read, my eyes grew heavy.
Sleep was already pulling me in.
Then…
Knock.
Mum: Fatimah, what are you doing?
Fatimah: I am reading.
Mum: So you will not go to madrasah?
Fatimah: Mummy, I am tired. I want to sleep.
Mum: You want to what? Before I open my eyes, wear your madrasah uniform.
Fatimah: (murmuring) Person cannot even rest in this house.
Mum: What did you say?
She entered immediately.
Fatimah: Nothing. I will get ready.
Mum: Good. I am watching you.
Five minutes later, I came out.
Fatimah: I am ready. Where is Qobid?
Mum looked at me carefully.
Mum: What is this you are wearing? Is that your uniform? Where is your proper hijab?
Fatimah: The trouser is torn. If I bend, it will expose me.
Mum: Go and bring it.
Fatimah: It’s far. I will be late.
Mum: I don’t care. I want to see it.
Fatimah: Mummy…
Mum: You can go. But bring it tonight. I don’t know why you are wearing tight jeans. People are already looking at you.
Fatimah: Mummy…
Qobid: Maimi, I am ready.
Mum: Good boy. You look neat.
Fatimah: Let’s go.
Mum: Don’t shout at him. Treat him well.
Later that night, around 8:30 p.m., we had eaten dinner. My dad was in the parlour watching the news.
I was in my room, on a call with my boyfriend.
Then…
Knock.
My heart jumped.
I ended the call immediately and picked up my book.
Fatimah: Yes?
Mum: Who were you talking to?
Fatimah: Nobody.
Mum: Give me your phone.
Fatimah: Mummy…
Mum: I said give it to me.
My hands trembled as I gave it to her.
She checked my call log.
Mum: Who is LOML?
Fatimah: It’s… Lola… my classmate. I saved it wrongly.
Mum: I feel like you are lying.
She looked at me again.
Mum: When is your WAEC?
Fatimah: Next week Monday.
Mum: Then prepare well. If you fail one subject, you are finished.
Fatimah: I will make you proud.
Mum: Have you prayed?
Fatimah: No.
Mum: Go and pray.
Fatimah: I am tired. I have a headache.
Mum: You always have excuses. Before I turn back, you should be praying. Ole olorun! Alapa stainlessi.
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