The town was quiet, due to the cold weather that had lasted from August to the current month of November. The sky was adorned with mist, and the strong wind added to the penetrating chill. This winter felt different from any other year. At times like this, illnesses common in cold seasons—such as colds, asthma, sickle cell complications, eye infections, pneumonia, dry skin, swelling, road accidents, and more—tended to increase.
By the First Bank bypass, their car slowed to a stop on the road because of the fog. It was a 9-minute (4.8 km) drive from Lodge Road to Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital. Slowly, Majeederh lifted her bowed head inside the car. Her white eyes, framed by photochromic glasses, scanned the road silently. She struggled to draw a deep breath as her chest felt tight.
“Jeederh!”
Latifa, sitting in the driver’s seat with her hand on the gear, called her name. Majeederh knew she had heard, so there was no need to respond. Latifa continued:
“We live by our own destiny, and God loves us like that. You should not worry about it.”
At that moment, Majeederh slightly twisted her body, keeping herself contained. She felt as if she alone could feel the cold, even though Latifa had closed the car’s glasses and turned off the air conditioning.
She opened her mouth behind her veil as if to speak, then remained silent. Finally, she said:
“Worry?”
“That’s what I mean,” Latifa replied. “Don’t deceive yourself—you are indeed worried. Whatever depth your heart has reached, your age of thirty-five, I know everything about you. After that, I am your friend.”
Majeederh only listened, not fully understanding, her body still in the car. Her thoughts and composure had completely left her. Her father’s words echoed in her ears.
Latifa didn’t tire of comforting her. “Come, marry my husband, Majeederh, and we will live in peace. I’m tired of seeing you like this, unmarried. I cannot bear this tension; when I speak, I feel the heat in my heart.”
Quickly, Majeederh turned to Latifa inwardly, marveling at her audacity. Latifa cornered the car with her driving and then smoothly entered Aminu Kano Hospital directly.
“Yes, Majeederh Abdul’aziz Khan,” Latifa continued while driving. “Sweetheart has agreed to marry you. You see, our trust will be strengthened. I will never treat you as a co-wife. Please, Jeederh, accept.”
“You and your husband need to see a psychiatrist,” Majeederh muttered under her breath in a cold tone. Latifa only laughed and shook her head. In her mind, she forced Jeederh to marry her husband. She parked the car in the designated lot. Latifa stepped out first, holding the car keys and her phone. Seeing that Majeederh hadn’t moved, she went around just to check what was happening.
Majeederh placed her hand on the car, opened the door, and extended her leg out.
It was then that Latifa noticed how Majeederh’s fair leg had swollen, almost glowing. Her entire posture had changed, and the swelling made anyone who saw her gasp. Majeederh struggled to get out of the car, murmuring Allah’s name under her breath.
“Like a sugar patient? This swelling is too much, Majeederh. Has Mama seen it? Has Abbu seen it?”
Latifa asked in a string of questions, but Majeederh neither answered nor looked at her, heading straight for her destination.
Dr. Jamal, knowing she was coming because he had given her an appointment, answered her call and told her to come in. Latifa stood to follow her to the office and said,
“I need privacy.”
“Take your time,” Latifa replied, waving her hand.
Majeederh wore a brown abaya that covered her body, a large hijab that reached her feet, gloves on her hands, and her face concealed under her veil and glasses. Nothing of her was visible except for her eyes.
Majeederh Abdul’aziz Khan, a thirty-five-year-old woman who had never married, was a devoted Muslim teacher; she had not abandoned her secular studies either.
Seated, she greeted Dr. Jamal with a smile. He placed a large file in front of her and held up an X-ray, saying:
“Finally, after two long years, we have managed to find the cause of your condition.”
She exhaled quietly, silently praising God. She turned her eyes to indicate that she wanted to hear what the examination had revealed. Dr. Jamal said:
“We have struggled; I must say, we were persistent, but every test we conducted was delayed by your reluctance.”
Her eyes lowered, her hands clasped over her chest, her heart pounding violently, showing her illness clearly. “You have a growth inside you, causing the swelling in your abdomen. It continues to grow, and in some cases, people mistake it for a pregnancy. It has grown to the point where surgery is required to remove it. We have documented these cases, so if you had seen it, you might have assumed a pregnancy at nine months.”
“When will the operation be?” she asked softly, knowing the intensity of her situation. She couldn’t sleep; the pain was exhausting her, and her desire was to be relieved of it.
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The town was quiet, due to the cold weather that had lasted from August to the current month of November. The sky was adorned with mist, and the strong wind added to the penetrating chill. This winter felt different from any other year. At times like this, illnesses common in cold seasons—such as colds, asthma, sickle cell complications, eye infections, pneumonia, dry skin, swelling, road accidents, and more—tended to increase.
By the First Bank bypass, their car slowed to a stop on the road because of the fog. It was a 9-minute (4.8 km) drive from Lodge Road to Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital. Slowly, Majeederh lifted her bowed head inside the car. Her white eyes, framed by photochromic glasses, scanned the road silently. She struggled to draw a deep breath as her chest felt tight.
“Jeederh!”
Latifa, sitting in the driver’s seat with her hand on the gear, called her name. Majeederh knew she had heard, so there was no need to respond. Latifa continued:
“We live by our own destiny, and God loves us like that. You should not worry about it.”
At that moment, Majeederh slightly twisted her body, keeping herself contained. She felt as if she alone could feel the cold, even though Latifa had closed the car’s glasses and turned off the air conditioning.
She opened her mouth behind her veil as if to speak, then remained silent. Finally, she said:
“Worry?”
“That’s what I mean,” Latifa replied. “Don’t deceive yourself—you are indeed worried. Whatever depth your heart has reached, your age of thirty-five, I know everything about you. After that, I am your friend.”
Majeederh only listened, not fully understanding, her body still in the car. Her thoughts and composure had completely left her. Her father’s words echoed in her ears.
Latifa didn’t tire of comforting her. “Come, marry my husband, Majeederh, and we will live in peace. I’m tired of seeing you like this, unmarried. I cannot bear this tension; when I speak, I feel the heat in my heart.”
Quickly, Majeederh turned to Latifa inwardly, marveling at her audacity. Latifa cornered the car with her driving and then smoothly entered Aminu Kano Hospital directly.
“Yes, Majeederh Abdul’aziz Khan,” Latifa continued while driving. “Sweetheart has agreed to marry you. You see, our trust will be strengthened. I will never treat you as a co-wife. Please, Jeederh, accept.”
“You and your husband need to see a psychiatrist,” Majeederh muttered under her breath in a cold tone. Latifa only laughed and shook her head. In her mind, she forced Jeederh to marry her husband. She parked the car in the designated lot. Latifa stepped out first, holding the car keys and her phone. Seeing that Majeederh hadn’t moved, she went around just to check what was happening.
Majeederh placed her hand on the car, opened the door, and extended her leg out.
It was then that Latifa noticed how Majeederh’s fair leg had swollen, almost glowing. Her entire posture had changed, and the swelling made anyone who saw her gasp. Majeederh struggled to get out of the car, murmuring Allah’s name under her breath.
“Like a sugar patient? This swelling is too much, Majeederh. Has Mama seen it? Has Abbu seen it?”
Latifa asked in a string of questions, but Majeederh neither answered nor looked at her, heading straight for her destination.
Dr. Jamal, knowing she was coming because he had given her an appointment, answered her call and told her to come in. Latifa stood to follow her to the office and said,
“I need privacy.”
“Take your time,” Latifa replied, waving her hand.
Majeederh wore a brown abaya that covered her body, a large hijab that reached her feet, gloves on her hands, and her face concealed under her veil and glasses. Nothing of her was visible except for her eyes.
Majeederh Abdul’aziz Khan, a thirty-five-year-old woman who had never married, was a devoted Muslim teacher; she had not abandoned her secular studies either.
Seated, she greeted Dr. Jamal with a smile. He placed a large file in front of her and held up an X-ray, saying:
“Finally, after two long years, we have managed to find the cause of your condition.”
She exhaled quietly, silently praising God. She turned her eyes to indicate that she wanted to hear what the examination had revealed. Dr. Jamal said:
“We have struggled; I must say, we were persistent, but every test we conducted was delayed by your reluctance.”
Her eyes lowered, her hands clasped over her chest, her heart pounding violently, showing her illness clearly. “You have a growth inside you, causing the swelling in your abdomen. It continues to grow, and in some cases, people mistake it for a pregnancy. It has grown to the point where surgery is required to remove it. We have documented these cases, so if you had seen it, you might have assumed a pregnancy at nine months.”
“When will the operation be?” she asked softly, knowing the intensity of her situation. She couldn’t sleep; the pain was exhausting her, and her desire was to be relieved of it.