It was a magnificent house with tall walls decorated in patterns so captivating that anyone who saw them would be certain it was a royal palace.
The sheer size of the house would leave you astonished — it could almost be mistaken for an entire town.
The palace had seven distinct sections, not counting the expansive courtyard whose far end your feet could hardly reach.
The throne room was the second hall in the compound, followed by three more halls that one had to pass before reaching the inner courtyard. From there, six more sections could be seen: the king’s own quarters, the queen’s chamber, the quarters of the king’s two wives, the children’s quarters, the servants’ quarters along with the palace staff’s section, and finally a separate wing for the king’s horses, as well as the kitchen at the far end of the compound, the royal stable, and the central courtyard stables.
°°°°
The palace was in a complete state of bustle. People were moving back and forth from the courtyard to other sections, a clear sign that something important was about to take place.
“May God help the king — I bring greetings. Prince Fudhal is on his way, and the whole town is welcoming his return!”
The king smiled, though it could not be fully seen because his turban covered half of his face. But anyone who looked closely could tell he was pleased by the news.
The courtiers began to say, “The king returns your greetings and is pleased with your good tidings.”
The Grand Vizier, Salmanu, bowed slightly before the king, offering his own greetings and saying, “It is only right for everyone to be happy, Your Majesty. It has been nearly fifteen years since Prince Fudhal last set foot in this land, and now he returns in good health and with many great victories.”
The courtiers also responded to him, “The king has received your greetings, Grand Vizier.”
One after another, people came to offer their salutations, and the courtiers answered on behalf of the king.
The king was so full of joy and excitement that he wished he could hasten the arrival of the next day, just to see his most beloved son.
This was His Majesty King Ubaiyd, who had inherited the throne from his father, King Salmanu. He was the only son of his father — no brothers, no siblings — which made him deeply attached to his family, especially Prince Fudhal, whom he saw as his heir.
However, there was one thing that upset many people — though none dared speak of it.
King Ubaiyd hated hearing any criticism of his children. In his eyes, whatever they did was always right.
To him, the king’s children and grandchildren — the descendants of the royal line — were above reproach. Anything they wished to do, or actually did, was acceptable.
People often wondered — was it because he had so few children that he spoiled them so? Or did he simply want the world to think his children were superior to everyone else’s?
••••••••••••••
The Grand Queen’s Chamber was occupied by Hajiya Marka, whose real name was Hauwa’u. She was a noble, devout woman, sociable and respected, and above all influential — even the king could not overstep her word, let alone the other members of the household.
Fulani Bingel was the senior wife of the king — a woman of dignity, piety, and kindness, who respected anyone who respected her. She carried no malice and loved adornment. She had three children: two daughters, Sadiya and Sa’idah, who were both married, and her youngest, Prince Fudhal.
Then there was Fulani Sokoto — tall, fair-skinned, talkative, and sharp-tongued. Cunning and manipulative, she had the servants trembling before her, for the king trusted her word completely. She had two children, Jalil and Jalilah.
The other wives of the king — the concubines — were childless.
She lay reclining on a cushioned seat, lavishly adorned in gold jewelry — from her heavy necklace to her earrings, bracelets, and rings. She wore a fine white lace dress with a black shawl draped over it.
To one side was a tray of assorted fruits, and three female servants sat before her, occasionally chatting.
The palace messenger entered, greeting her respectfully, kneeling on the carpet.
Fulani Bingel returned the greeting warmly, looking at the messenger, who kept her gaze lowered.
“I hear you were looking for me?” the messenger said without raising her head.
Fulani Bingel smiled more broadly before speaking: “I want all preparations made for my son’s return. Also, replace his servants with those you deem fit.”
“It shall be done, my lady.”
With that, the messenger rose and left, heading to the servants’ quarters to carry out Bingel’s orders.
She quickly assigned tasks to everyone, and Prince Fudhal’s section was cleaned and prepared — his room spotless despite his long absence, as it was cleaned daily.
“Now Mama, with this prince returning, the king will pay us less attention. He hardly comes around even now, so how will it be when his beloved son is back?”
That was Jalil speaking, lounging beside his mother. He was a handsome young man of twenty-seven. Jalilah, resting her head on her mother’s lap, added, “I think he’ll forget we are even his children. Truly, Fulani Bingel has wronged us by trying to distance us from our father.”
Fulani Sokoto smiled faintly, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Oh, my dear, even if she roams the earth, she can’t truly separate you from your father. Just wait and see.”
They were interrupted by one of the palace maids.
“My lady, I bring important news,” she said, kneeling before Fulani Sokoto.
“I’m listening, Ladidi,” Sokoto replied.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I bring troubling news. Fulani Bingel has ordered the messenger to replace Prince Fudhal’s servants, after we had already made plans involving his old ones.”
Fulani Sokoto merely held her head in frustration, unable to speak from the sting of it. She waved Ladidi away, and the maid left, trembling.
“What do we do now, Mama?” Jalilah asked.
“I’ll think on it,” Sokoto replied, rising and retreating to her room.
The messenger inspected all the palace maids but found none to her liking. She told them to return to their duties, then went back to Fulani Bingel.
“Forgive me, my lady, I found no suitable servants. If I may, I’ll seek new ones tomorrow morning before the prince’s arrival.”
“You have permission — do whatever is necessary.”
“Thank you very much.” The messenger left.
UNGWUWAR KWARI
It was a neighborhood widely regarded as the poorest in the city. Many claimed no district had more beggars and destitute people than Unguwar Kwari.
The settlement had no proper housing layout, littered with garbage in every alley. Most homes were shabby mud structures without beauty or order.
Yet despite the crushing poverty, there were still residents who worked hard to support themselves. Even though many outsiders labeled the area dirty, not everyone there lacked cleanliness.
One such home was a small, low building with half-height walls, allowing passersby to see directly into the yard. It had only two rooms, a kitchen, and a patched-up latrine. The place was tidy and swept daily, even without mats on the floor.
In the courtyard sat an elderly woman on a sack mat, with a stick beside her. Her closed eyes revealed she was blind. She called out loudly:
“Aynu! Hey Aynu! What are you doing in there?”
The old woman was speaking toward the doorway of one of the rooms.
There was silence, then the tattered cloth that served as a curtain was lifted.
A teenage girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, stepped out. She wore a faded, threadbare wrapper whose original color was unrecognizable, and an old black hijab now tinged red from too much sun and washing.
Her face was dark, not from birth but from the sun, and she had large, striking eyes framed by thick lashes and brows, with hairline nearly reaching her eyebrows — a sign of her thick hair. Her lips were naturally pink despite her complexion. She had a strange, hidden beauty that wasn’t immediately obvious to everyone.
“I’m here, Mama, I was just getting ready. What should I buy for you?” she asked sweetly.
Her mother smiled, handing her a crumpled 50 naira note. “Go buy some cornmeal and sugar so we can drink porridge. I know you haven’t eaten yet, right?”
“Yes, Mama. I’ll be back soon.”
“Alright, come back safely, and be careful on the road.”
“Amin,” Aynu replied, slipping into worn-out slippers and leaving, humming to herself.
Outside, she came across a man leaning against a baobab tree. He had only one leg and supported himself with a stick.
She bowed respectfully. “Good morning, Baba.”
“Good morning, Aynu. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Baba. Mama sent me on an errand.”
“Go safely and take care,” he said. She smiled and continued on her way.
