The Mirror_Writer ✍️

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/7/2025, 1:50:58 AM

Book Title; " *THE FORGOTTEN CHILD; A PRICE OF TRADITION" By Mrs. M.B Fatima.* This captivating book contains 3 different realistic fictions. First Realistic Fiction of the book; *JIBIR’s* *JOURNEY;* *A TALE* *OF RESILENCE.* *Episode 5* Jibir was his mother's only male child, and she hadn't seen him since he left for Almajiranci at the age of 4-5 years. He was now 9-10 years old, and almost 5-6 years had passed since his father, Haladu, had sent him away. Haladu often misused the Prophet's hadith, "Marry and have many children, for I will be proud of you on the Day of Judgment." He believed this justified his multiple marriages and divorces, ignoring his responsibilities as a father. He abandoned his children, leaving them to suffer in the Almajiranci system. Hauwa's eyes pleaded with Haladu, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Haladu, think about our children, Jibir and his brothers. They need you, they need a father's love and care." But Haladu's face was stone-cold, his eyes flashing with warning. "Hauwa, I warn you, never mention those children again. They are nothing to me, after all they are scholars in their various places, and if you continue to bring them up, I will divorce you without hesitation." Hauwa's heart raced as she nodded, fearful of his threat. She knew her parents had made it clear: keep the marriage at all costs, or face their rejection. She was trapped, with no escape. After divorcing his fourth wife, gone like a worn-shoe, Months passed, He had already set his sights on another, a Fulani woman from Adamawa state. The wedding day was fixed, and Haladu's three friends accompanied him to the ceremony, eager to celebrate their friend's new union. But fate had other plans. As they journeyed to Adamawa, a group of kidnappers lay in wait, their eyes fixed on the unsuspecting party. And among them was Yusha'u, Haladu's own son. At first Yusha'u did not see his father. The kidnappers beat Haladu and his friends mercilessly throughout the night, leaving them weak and helpless. Yusha'u recognized his father, sadly! Yusha'u, second in command of the kidnappers, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and sorrow, confronted his father, Haladu. "You, you are the reason I am a kidnapper today!" he spat, his voice trembling with emotion. "You abandoned me, your own son, in a stranger's tsangaya, leaving me to suffer and fend for myself from a tender age. I was alone, a child, needing love, care, and guidance. But you left me to face the harsh realities of life, with no education, no support, and no future." Yusha'u's voice cracked as he continued, "I was forced to labor hard to feed myself, to steal and beg to survive. I watched other children go to school, admiring their luck, while I was left to rot in the streets. And now, at 23, I am a kidnapper, a criminal, all because of your neglect, your abandonment." Haladu cowered, his eyes cast down in shame, as Yusha'u's words struck him like a whip. "You are the cause of my problems, the problems of our society," Yusha'u accused, his voice heavy with pain. "If only you had cared for me, for my brothers, we would not be in this mess. But you chose to abandon us, to leave us to fate. And now, look at me, a kidnapper, and a product of your neglect." Yusha'u freed his father and his friends, but Haladu's regret was palpable. His abandonment of Yusha'u and Jibir had come back to haunt him, his conscience wracked with guilt. His physical ailments, a result of his age and betrayal, left him bedridden and helpless. His two wives, Rakkiya and Hauwa, took turns caring for him, while his third wife, Aisha, had left him, unable to bear the burden of his care. "Ni gaskia bazan iya ba, da yunwa zanji ko da wahalar kula da kai, kashi nan! fitsari nan, da kuruciya ta in zauna nima in tsofe da wahalar ka" Haladu's remorse was evident as he confided in his two wives, "I abandoned my sons, Yusha'u, Jibir and their brothers. I am the cause of their suffering." Hauwa, Jibir's mother, was overcome with grief, her tears flowing like a river. She vowed to find her son and bring him back home, remembering that he was taken to Keffi, Nassarawa State, and the name of their Mallam, Mallam Jamilu. Determined to find Jibir, Hauwa sold her valuables and used the money to fund her journey to Keffi, Nassarawa State, searching for Mallam Jamilu's tsangaya. After 3 days of searching, asking every Almajiri she see about Mallam Jamilu's tsangaya, she found it, but the Mallam denied knowing Jibir. A kind Gardi revealed the truth about Jibir's fate, and Hauwa was led to his grave. She also learned about her stepson's taken to Suleja. Hauwa returned to Mallam Jamilu, demanding answers about her stepson. The Mallam's indifference only fueled her anger, and she cursed him for his neglect and abandonment of her children. With a heavy heart, she returned to Bauchi, her search ending in sorrow She told Rakkiya about her son taken to suleja and no story further about him, lost and forgotten into unknown. Hauwa's eyes welled up with tears as she gazed at her husband, Haladu, lying helpless and bedridden. She couldn't help but regret her silence all those years, silenced by the weight of culture and the misuse of religion that emphasized a wife's obedience to her husband. She remembered the countless times she had wanted to speak out against Haladu's decision to abandon their sons, Jibir and his entire brother's out there, but had been silenced by the fear of being seen as disobedient and divorce. She had been taught that a good wife must submit to her husband's will, no matter how unjust or harmful. But now, as she saw the devastating consequences of her silence, she realized the true cost of her obedience. Her family was torn apart, her sons suffered, and her husband's regret was palpable. Hauwa's regret was not just for her own silence but also for the generations of women who had been silenced by the same cultural and religious narratives. She thought about the countless women who had been denied their rights, subjected to violence and abuse, and forced into submission. She knew that her silence had contributed to the perpetuation of a system that devalued women's voices and perpetuated gender-based violence. She vowed to break that silence, to speak out against the injustices and to fight for the rights of women and girls in her community. Hauwa's tears were not just for her family's tragedy but also for the collective pain of women who had been silenced for far too long. She knew that her voice, once silenced, could now be a powerful tool for change. ***** ***** Contact @07062100679 via Whatsapp or email; [email protected] for purchase the complete e-book/Softcopy. Don't forget your review and comment via the above WhatsApp number is fully welcome. Thank you 🤗

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/7/2025, 1:52:33 AM

This is the end of the First story in the Book. The next story is *"The Unseen Life of Nafi: A House Girl's Journey to Empowerment".* Please send your review and comment via the WhatsApp No. Above. Thanks

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/20/2025, 4:33:28 PM

Book Title; " *THE FORGOTTEN CHILD; A PRICE OF TRADITION" By Mrs. M.B Fatima.* This captivating book contains 3 different realistic fictions. Second Realistic Fiction of the Book *"The Unseen Life of Nafi: A House Girl's Journey to Empowerment".* *Episode 1* In the remote village of Gobirawa, Zamfara State, the sun beat down on the small, clay house of Nafi's family. Sakina, her Mother, sold Boubou and dried Okro from their home, while her Father, Salihu, tilled the land as a farmer. Their family of eight was a lively one, with seven girls and 1 boys, the youngest of whom was the apple of their eyes - the first and only male child, a cherubic boy who brought joy to all. Karime, the eldest, had been married off to a wealthy old man in the village at the tender age of fourteen, a union that filled her with sorrow. But Salihu had been swayed by the man's riches and had forced Karime into the union, despite her protests. One day, Hajia Saude arrived in Gobirawa, her words dripping with honey as she promised parents that she would take their daughters to Abuja and place them in luxurious homes, where they would be treated like royalty. She vowed to enroll them in schools and send their salaries back to their families, painting a picture of a brighter future that was hard to resist. Salihu was convinced. He called out to his daughter Nafi, who was playing outside with her siblings, her bright eyes and curious spirit a joy to behold. "Nafi, come here," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "This woman, Hajia Saude, she has a good job for you in Abuja. You will work in a big house and go to school. She will send us money every month." Nafi's eyes widened as she approached her father, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and fear. She was only10-11 years old, and the thought of leaving her family and village was daunting. "But, Father, I don't want to go," she protested, her voice trembling. Salihu's face softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Nafi, my daughter, this is an opportunity for you to make a better life for yourself. You will be fine, I promise. Hajia Saude will take good care of you." As Nafi bid farewell to her family, her mother, Sakina, stood by, her eyes brimming with tears. She was heartbroken at the thought of losing her daughter, but she couldn’t express her dissent. The misuse of traditional and religious beliefs dictated that women couldn’t question a man’s authority, and Salihu has made up his mind. Sakina’s silence was a heavy burden, as she felt powerless to stop her daughter from leaving. She had always been taught to respect her husband’s decision, even if they went against her own instincts, he knows better. As she hugged Nafi tightly, trying to memorize the feel of her small body, Sakina’s mind raced with fears and doubts. But she couldn’t plead with him to keep their daughter safe at home. All she could do was hold her tears back and watch as Nafi was led away, feeling a part of her own heart being torn out. With a heavy heart, Nafi bid farewell to her family, her siblings clinging to her as she hugged them tight. Hajia Saude left Gobirawa with eleven children, including Nafi, bound for Abuja, leaving behind a trail of hopes and dreams. As they bid farewell to their families, the eleven children followed Hajia Saude to her house in Zamfara's main town. The atmosphere was tense with a mix of excitement and fear. Once they arrived, five different women awaited them, each assigned to take two children to various cities. The plan was to distribute them evenly, ensuring no one would suspect a large group of children being taken away. Hajia Saude called out the names, pairing each child with a woman. Nafi's heart raced as she waited, her eyes fixed on Hajia Saude. "Nafi, ...................! Contact @07062100679 via Whatsapp or email; [email protected] for purchase the complete e-book/Softcopy. Don't forget your review and comment via the above WhatsApp number is fully welcome. Thank you 🤗

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/23/2025, 11:12:30 PM

*Embracing Our Roots: The Beauty of Cultural Identity* by Mrs. M.B Fatima As I reflect on the wise words of Sir Maitama Sule, "Perfect who you are but not our slavers," I am reminded of the importance of embracing our cultural identity. In today's world, where globalization and cultural exchange are increasingly prevalent, it's easy to get caught up in the notion that adopting a particular accent or language is synonymous with civilization. But I firmly believe that true civilization lies in being proud of who we are, where we come from, and the language we speak. As a Hausa lady from Katsina state, I was fortunate to have parents who instilled in me the importance of speaking my dialect fluently. Despite never having lived in my hometown, I proudly speak with the "Katsinanci tone," and I'm always eager to connect with others who share my cultural heritage. It's disheartening to see people trying to fake their accent or language, feeling that it's a prerequisite for being considered "civilized." Newsflash: it's not! In fact, I believe that speaking our native language with pride and fluency is a hallmark of true cultural identity. I have immense respect for the Yoruba people, who unapologetically speak their language anywhere they go. They're a shining example of a community that's proud of their heritage and isn't afraid to show it. We can learn a thing or two from their unwavering commitment to their cultural identity. In a world where cultural homogenization is increasingly prevalent, it's more important than ever to hold on to our unique cultural identities. By embracing our roots and speaking our native languages with pride, we're not only preserving our cultural heritage but also contributing to a richer, more diverse global community. So, let's ditch the pretenses and proudly speak our languages, wherever we are. Let's celebrate our cultural differences and recognize that true civilization lies in embracing our authentic selves. As Sir Maitama Sule so eloquently put it, "Perfect who you are but not our slavers." Let's take his words to heart and proudly own our cultural identities.

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/23/2025, 11:14:07 PM

*QUOTE* by Mrs. M.B Fatima "Embracing our roots is not just a nod to our past, but a celebration of our present and a beacon for our future. Let's proudly speak our languages, celebrate our differences, and recognize that true civilization lies in being unapologetically ourselves."

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/28/2025, 10:38:52 PM

Book Title; " *THE FORGOTTEN CHILD; A PRICE OF TRADITION" By Mrs. M.B Fatima.* This captivating book contains 3 different realistic fictions. Second Realistic Fiction of the Book *"The Unseen Life of Nafi: A House Girl's Journey to Empowerment".* *Episode 2,* Hajia Saude called out the names, pairing each child with a woman. Nafi's heart raced as she waited, her eyes fixed on Hajia Saude. "Nafi, you'll come with me to Abuja," she said. Hajia Saude's smile faded, her eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. "Foolish children," she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. "You think you're going to a better life? Ha! You're nothing but pawns in my game, tools to make me richer." Nafi's eyes widened in horror as Hajia Saude's true nature was revealed. She had been so convincing, so kind, and so caring in Gobirawa, but it was all an act. She had manipulated their parents, gaining their trust to get her hands on their children. The other children seemed just as shocked, their faces pale and frightened. Hajia Saude's cruelty only intensified. She berated her, calling her worthless and stupid, and her words cut deeper than any physical blow. Nafi felt her hope dwindling, replaced by a sense of despair and desperation. As they set off, Nafi's eyes widened in awe. She had never seen Zamfara City before, and the sights and sounds were overwhelming. The bustling streets, the markets, and the people rushing to and fro left her breathless. She clung to Hajia Saude's hand, feeling both scared and thrilled. As they approached Abuja, the city's grandeur took Nafi's breath away. The sleek buildings, the modern roads, and the vibrant atmosphere left her in wonder. "We're almost there, Nafi," Hajia Saude said, her eyes shining with excitement. Nafi's heart raced with anticipation, unsure of what lay ahead but ready to face whatever come’s next. She barely provided her with food or water all through the journey, and her insults and cruelty knew no bounds. Nafi felt like she was walking through a nightmare, her mind numb and her body weak. But she refused to give up. She thought of her family, her village, and the life she left behind. She knew she had to survive, no matter what lay ahead for her family sake. ***** ***** They traveled through dusty roads, crowded markets, and bustling towns. Nafi saw glimpses of a world she never knew existed, but her joy was short-lived. Hajia Saude's grip on her hand only tightened, reminding her of her captivity. By evening, as they arrive at Abuja's city, Hajia Saude's demeanor changed. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, and her smile returned, but this time it was laced with malice. "Welcome to Abuja, my dear," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Here, you'll find a new life, a better life. But don't think you're free. You're mine now, and you'll do as I say." Nafi's heart raced as they entered the city, the lights and sounds overwhelming her. She knew she was walking into a new world, one that would change her life forever. But she was determined to hold onto her spirit, to never let Hajia Saude break her. Nafi's eyes widened as she entered Hajia Saude's opulent mansion in Abuja. The grandeur and extravagance were overwhelming, but what caught her attention were the other children, some older, some younger, all with a hint of sadness in their eyes. She realized that she was not alone in this nightmare. Hajia Saude's phone rang frequently, and her conversations were laced with sinister intentions. "Yes, I have a new batch... Yes, they're young and strong... No, they won't disappoint." Nafi's heart raced as she understood the true nature of Hajia Saude's business. She was a child trafficker. The next day, Hajia Saude gathered Nafi and the two new girls in the living room. "Listen up children," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "I have rules and regulations here. If you're lucky enough to be sent as house help, 50% of your salary will come to me, and 50% will go to your parents. And if you're involved in any other business... well, let's just say I'll take my cut." Nafi's mind raced as Hajia Saude asked if they had started menstruating. The other girls nodded, but Nafi shook her head, feeling a sense of shame. "I don't care about that," Hajia Saude snapped. "All I care about is the money." Days passed, and Nafi awaited her fate. Then, one morning, Hajia Zulai arrived with her friend Hajia Hure. "I need a new house help," Hajia Zulai said, her eyes fixed on Nafi. "Can she wash dishes, mop, and sweep?" Before Nafi could answer, Hajia Saude intervened. "Oh, Nafi is a hard worker. She can do any kind of work." The two women discussed the salary, and Hajia Saude instructed Nafi to pack her clothes. "You'll leave with them now," she said, her voice straight. Nafi's heart raced as she followed Hajia Zulai and Hajia Hure to the car. She glanced back at the mansion, wondering if she would ever escape this living hell. As they drove off, Nafi's eyes widened in awe, fixed on the endless expanse of express roads, majestic cars, and grand houses that far surpassed Hajia Saude's mansion. The city's opulence was a far cry from her village's simplicity. Eventually, they arrived at a breathtaking boulevard, the residence of Hajia Zulai's family. The four-bedroom main house boasted two sprawling parlors upstairs, while the two-bedroom boys' quarter house stood separately. Vibrant flowers adorned the fence, a lush garden flourished by the side, and a sparkling swimming pool glimmered in the sunlight. The kitchen, equipped with state-of-the-art appliances, resembled a miniature food factory. .... Contact @07062100679 via Whatsapp or email; [email protected] for purchase the complete e-book/Softcopy. Don't forget your review and comment via the above WhatsApp number is fully welcome. Thank you 🤗

The Mirror_Writer ✍️

2/28/2025, 10:39:06 PM

*RAMADAN KAREEM* 🤗🤗🫂