BA JININA BA CE Complete Document Written By Maman Islam
Description
“Maryam, someone is calling you in a hushed voice,” I whispered, my eyes quickly finding the girl named Maryam, and a rush of emotions overcame me, causing my eyes to well up with tears. The young woman, Maryam, turned around and flashed a gentle smile as she said, “I know why you’re calling me. You mentioned you are visually impaired. Please guide us through the plan.”
Maryam addressed Halima, saying, “You’re the one preventing me from doing what I desire. My biological parents did not give birth to me, it was someone else. Teacher, please help us devise a plan to overcome the shame our peers subject us to.”
Halima merely greeted me without uttering a word, fully aware of Maryam’s strong-willed and obstinate nature. Once she set her mind on something, it was nearly impossible for anyone, except YAYA MUHAMMAD, to sway her. The concern was that Yaya Muhammad, with his mischievous ways, held a prominent position in the household, making it challenging for him to communicate, even for his friends and acquaintances accustomed to his behavior.
She turned and headed back to their residence. Finding one of her husband’s siblings there, she arranged for the necessary items to be taken from their home. Nasser, the helper, called out, “Maryam, come here, my dear,” and another woman, Harara, added, “Yes, come, my dear.” Harara glanced at her and directed, “Go and tell her to come to me. I won’t go; she can come to me.”
Harara ensured Maryam felt no distinction between them as she asserted, “God forbid that an insolent person lacking moral values comes near.”
With a tone of melancholy, Kansa inquired, “Are you insulting me, your sister?”
“Do you think I am your mother? Is this how you plan to communicate with me?” retorted Maryam, trying to grasp her attention. He quickly greeted her and continued to disregard her, even when she acted respectfully, unable to comprehend why he should tolerate such behavior.
As he opened the gate, he saw Bros, wearing a grim expression. Turning around, he hollered until Bros perked his ears and switched to Afrikaans. Seeing him approach, he continued crying, prompting a motherly figure to console him. After she quieted down, she drew close to him and inquired about what had transpired. He explained.
“It’s not Aunty Maryam, it’s Ammyna. When I called her, she started insulting us. Ammeyn stated she didn’t want Ammeyna, accusing her of trying to harm her. She said she would report it to my mother.”
Before he could say more, an infuriated Maryam burst in, continuing her verbal assault on Nasser. Unperturbed by his attempts to reason with her, she remained steadfast in her tirade. Rising to her feet in the middle of the room, her demeanor suddenly shifted, as if something otherworldly had taken over her.
“You come here,” he intoned in a deep, serious tone, devoid of any hint of playfulness. She nodded and looked at him, then released herself from his grip and entered the house. Observing her approach, she advanced and enveloped her in a warm embrace, as if it were not the time for them to be estranged.
“You are needed here,” he spoke in a low voice, devoid of any signs of amusement. She nodded, and as she approached, the tension diffused, allowing her to unite with her mother and Ammey, engaged in a meaningful conversation unmarred by the Hajj. Amina’s unwavering commitment to her partner during the Hajj had caused Maryam to forego her own pilgrimage. The continuous downpour of hardships had not ceased.
During their conversation, Maryam hurried in and sought solace behind her mother.
“Who is that?” Mama inquired, casting her gaze toward the entrance. Witnessing the arrival of the worst person she could fathom, she felt a shudder course through her. It was as if Muhammad, who had already restricted her movements, had coiled himself around her nostrils and throat, preventing her from speaking up.
Her despair evident, she lamented, “If her father were alive, he would come and extinguish this fire of misfortune and temptation. Why can’t we prevent the girl from going astray? I am too exhausted. Let the pilgrim return; he must intervene. My daughter’s son has gone missing.”
Before she could comprehend the drug-induced haze she was in, Muhammad seized her and grasped Maryam, striking her with such force that she gasped for air, reeling from the pain before letting out a piercing scream. Even her mother, usually aloof, took hold of him, his name a bane wherever he went, a harbinger of disaster. Even if she sought to discipline him, no one could intervene except Baffa, their father.
Ranta, distressed and disheartened, exclaimed, “You are alone in this, and may God not forgive you. You are wicked and oppressive. God is not unjust. I implore the pilgrim to return and intercede for us.”
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