“Take this old divorcee her food!” Fati barked, her face twisted in a severe grimace.
Umaima burst into mock laughter, grabbed a small plate of food, and headed toward the bedroom. Inside, Aaminat sat resting her chin in her palm. She heard every cruel word, but lacked the voice or strength to utter a single complaint.
Umaima set the plate down at the far end of the room and sneered, “Here it is, if you’re going to eat.”
Lowering her head humbly, Aaminat rose to pick it up. Just as her hand reached out, Umaima snatched the plate away victoriously: “Aha! Serves you right, little divorcee! If you had stayed in your husband’s house, you wouldn’t be begging for leftovers!”
“Exactly,” Fati added, screwing up her face in disgust. Both girls burst into loud laughter and high-fived each other.
Tears that had been welling up in Aaminat’s eyes finally spilled over her cheeks. Umaima threw her a contemptuous glare, grabbed Fati’s arm, and strolled out while singing crude, provocative songs.
Aaminat broke down into fresh, agonizing sobs: “You ruined my life! I will never forgive you, you oppressor!”
Realizing tears would change nothing, she forced herself up and went to the bathroom to wash her face. She dressed in a simple, flowing Abaya gown embellished with subtle, shimmering stonework that highlighted her natural grace. Standing before the mirror, hot tears began to stream down again; she quickly turned away and bit her lip. Stepping out into the hallway, Mama (her stepmother) called out mockingly: “Look who’s stepping out—the divorcee is making her grand entrance!”
“Well, Mama, isn’t she obligated to go hunting for a new husband?” Fati chimed in.
They both shared a mocking laugh before Mama added, “May God speed you to your farm!”
Aaminat simply offered a faint, silent smile and walked toward the gate. She leaned against the doorway to catch a breath of air. It was late afternoon, and a gentle breeze offered her a moment of quiet relief. Children on the street were playing football; though her eyes watched them, her mind wrestled with the heavy burden of her life. What kind of bitter life do human beings impose on one another? Don’t they realize destiny isn’t designed by man?
Suddenly, a misplaced football struck her hard across the face. She stumbled backward, clutching her cheek as painful tears welled up. The neighborhood children rushed over in a panic. “Please forgive us!” some cried, while others pointed: “I swear it was Walid who kicked it at you!”
Wiping her tears, Aaminat looked at them with a patient, forgiving smile: “It’s alright, I forgive you.” The children grabbed the ball and resumed their game.
However, Abdulkareem stayed behind, gazing at her with deep sympathy. “Sister Aaminat?” he called out softly, his voice full of concern.
She turned her eyes to him quickly. He was a young man around 20 to 22 years old, yet he possessed a bold, intensely focused demeanor that often made him sound like a mature man of 35. His sharp, fearless gaze met hers—a look that always flustered her. “Abdulkareem, they’ve resumed playing, why aren’t you joining them?” she asked with a subtle smile that stirred his heart deeply.
“Sister Aaminat, I don’t like seeing you hurt. I swear, if Walid weren’t your younger brother—and because one shouldn’t interfere in family matters—you’d see how I’d handle him! I don’t care about the insolence of those older girls in your house.”
Truthfully, his forwardness intimidated her. The way he looked straight into her eyes deeply unsettled her; though he didn’t realize it, his constant presence overwhelmed her. Seeing her silence, Abdulkareem chuckled, placing his hand over his chest: “Sister Aaminat, your endless patience touches my heart so deeply!”
Aaminat joined her palms together in a pleading gesture: “Abdulkareem, for God’s sake, go back to your game. Why do you always bother me?”
“Because I never tire of looking at you,” he replied, stepping back with a confident smirk. She stared at his retreating back, let out a soft sigh of frustration, and went inside, thinking: Inside the house is miserable, outside is stressful… Abdulkareem, you meddle too much in my life with your bold eyes.
As soon as she walked back into the courtyard, Mama, who was sweeping, sneered: “Oh, divorcee! What did we catch outside that has your lips moving like that? Have we hooked a new suitor?”
Aaminat shook her head silently, walked past her into her room, took off her veil, and began cleaning up. In her brief absence, Fati and Umaima had trashed the room again out of pure spite. As she tidied up, her mind drifted back to Kamal, a man she found impossible to forget. She never imagined her marriage with Kamal would end so disastrously.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed softly. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her; she leaned against the wall, calling upon God’s name until the lightheadedness passed. Forcing herself to finish sweeping, she gathered the dirty dishes in the compound to wash them. Wanting to avoid any confrontation with the family’s young men, she pulled down the room curtains once finished and sat silently counting her prayer beads.
Bursting into laughter, Umaima, her friend Nafisa, and Fati walked past.
“My goodness! Does divorce really teach someone this much humility?” Nafisa mocked, holding her chin in disbelief.
Fati smirked: “Well, a divorcee must make way for eligible young maidens! She failed at her husband’s home and came back to burden everyone here.”
Without arguing, Aaminat got up to head toward Umma’s (her father’s senior wife/mother figure) room, seeking a quiet refuge. Standing respectfully at the entrance, Umma glared at her sharply: “Welcome, Aamina! Don’t step into my room and dirty it! What is wrong with your own room?”
“Fati and the others are inside,” Aaminat whispered.
“Well, you’re not weaker than them! Just stay out of my room, I’ve just swept it.”
Dejected, Aaminat dragged her feet to the kitchen. On her way, she bumped into her elder brother, Umar. “Brother Umar, good afternoon,” she greeted softly, bowing her head. He didn’t even look at her as he walked past—a cold snub that hurt her deeply, though she was becoming numb to it. She pushed open the kitchen door, sat down on the cold floor, and let out a heavy sigh. She was starving, having not eaten since morning, but cooking for herself meant risking more abuse. Dizziness clouded her vision from severe exhaustion.
Meanwhile, in another part of the compound, a frustrated young man marched straight toward his mother’s section. “Abdulkareem!” a gentle female voice called out. It was his mother, Ummi. She approached him, gently stroked his face, and blew a soft breeze over his skin: “Go rest, my son. When you wake up, let me know early because you haven’t eaten in a while—you’re always running around.”
He nodded silently, went to his room, showered, drank a cold bottle of water, and collapsed onto his bed with a deep sigh.
Later that day, a young motorist confronted Abdulkareem on the street after an altercation. The motorist held Abdulkareem by the collar, shouting: “What do you mean?! You committed an offense against me and now you threaten to lock me up?”
Abdulkareem brushed the man’s hands off his collar and straightened his shirt calmly: “You took the law into your own hands when you retaliated, so you have no right to complain. Walk away now before we settle this ourselves.”
The motorist sneered: “Who do you think you are? You think you can take me on?”
“Try me,” Abdulkareem warned coldly. “I let you hit me once for a reason, but otherwise neither you nor your car would leave this street intact.” Seeing Abdulkareem’s unyielding posture, the motorist drove away angrily.
Aaminat, who had witnessed the scene, stepped forward nervously: “Are you on drugs, Abdool?! Or are you out of your mind?!”
Abdulkareem fixed his intense eyes on her and burst into hearty laughter: “Sister Aaminat! You won’t understand me right now. Please go inside and stay off the street so nobody ruins your life.”
Her friend Siyama grabbed Aaminat’s hand: “Let’s go inside and leave this troublesome boy alone! Preaching to him won’t change his nature. Why must he throw himself into fights that don’t concern him?”
Abdulkareem turned sharply to Siyama: “Hey! Siyama, right? For the sake of those who hold true dignity, mind your own business! What exists between me and my own people, and between me and Sister Aaminat, is far more important than anything you can fathom. That is my life’s code. Mind yourself!”
Stunned into silence by his fiery stance, Siyama pulled Aaminat inside. Abdulkareem clicked his tongue and walked toward his family’s mansion.
Inside Aaminat’s house, Mama barged into the room, tearing the curtains back: “Aaminat! Or do you prefer to be called by your true title—Divorcee?! Get up and cook! And when you finish, don’t you dare touch a portion!”
Her head pounding with a severe migraine, Aaminat quietly got up, lit the gas stove, and began cooking. As she sat in the warm kitchen, tears flooded her eyes once again: Will my life end in the shame of divorce, or will I ever find peace in marriage again? Who would marry a woman everyone shuns?
Umma walked into the kitchen and caught her sobbing uncontrollably. Moved by a rare moment of pity, Umma asked softly: “Aamina, why are you crying like this? Are you ill?”
Aaminat nodded weakly.
“Go tell Umar to take you to the hospital,” Umma said, sighing. “You don’t listen, Aamina. You destroyed your marriage and refuse to find another husband. A woman’s true dignity lies in marriage!”
Aaminat replied quietly: “Alright, Umma,” without adding another word.
Across the compound in the wealthy estate, Abdulkareem sat in the living room chatting with his brothers, Abdurrahim and Abdulmajid, alongside their sister Nana Fareeda. After teasing his sister, Abdulkareem stepped out into the garden where his father, Dadda, sat resting.
“Big Man,” Dadda called out with a warm smile. “Someone told me you got into a fight today. Is that true?”
Abdulkareem adjusted his posture respectfully: “Dad, I broke a guy’s car window.”
Dadda looked at him inquisitively: “And why did you do that?”
“He slapped a girl, so I smashed his window to square the debt.”
“Which girl?” Dadda asked.
“My friend’s sister. You know I don’t tolerate injustice, Dad.”
Dadda smiled gently: “I hope the girl was taken to the hospital?”
“Of course, Dad. Everything was handled properly,” Abdulkareem replied with a playful smile before bidding his father goodnight.
The next morning, Aaminat woke up feeling slightly better after a good night’s sleep. As she washed dishes in the yard, her aunt, Umma Sa’a, walked in sneering:
“Well, look at you, Aaminat! Washing dishes near noon? A grown woman like you acting this lazy and untidy—no wonder your marriage ended!”
Aaminat replied softly: “Umma Sa’a, I was sick, that’s why I couldn’t finish early.”
“Shut your mouth! Your only salvation is to get married again and mend your dirty habits. Look, I brought wedding invitation cards for your younger sister’s wedding, but you’re just sitting here letting life pass you by!”
Looking up with quiet tears, Aaminat whispered: “You all misunderstand me completely… I have never refused to get married. Why would I ever reject marriage?”