SALMA

RIGHT WING

FADA

The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls of the right wing, each measured step drawing closer until conversations died one after another on the tongues of those around. A maid carrying a tray slowed when she saw her. Another quietly lowered her gaze when the familiar scent of strong Bakhoor reached her while someone else shifted behind a carved pillar.

It had been five years, over five long years since Amarya had stepped into these parts of the fada and crossed into Gimbiya Ramlatu's section. No one knew why she was here, but the air alone she carried around her made one thing painfully clear: whatever had brought Amarya all the way here from her own chambers wasn't a casual visit.

"Where is she?" Her voice sliced through the silence. The maids standing before her dressed in plain zani and atamfa tops exchanged wary glances, each silently hoping someone else would answer first. No one did.

"I asked a question." Her footsteps came to a stop. Her jaw tightened as the gyale draped over her shoulders shifted slightly out of place. Her gaze swept across every face before settling on the maid standing closest to her.

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Her voice was quieter this time, but somehow far more threatening. "Where is Ramlatu?"

"Don't strain your voice, Salma." A voice answered from behind her, and somehow the room had grown twice as cold. Salma didn't turn immediately. Instead, the fist at her side clenched.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Gimbiya Ramlatu's voice carried the quiet authority of a woman who had no need to raise it, a subtle reminder of where they stood. She took two measured steps forward until she stood face to face with Salma. The maids quietly bowed their heads as she passed, retreating another step to give the two women space. "Calm down," she said, her tone low. Stepping back once more, she held the older woman's gaze. "I take it whatever reason brought you here, it wasn't to shout and disrupt the peace I've spent so long building, was it?" Ramla arched a brow.

"You think you're so smart, Ramlatu. Don't you? Amma wallahi na fi ki rashin hankali." Salma's voice rang through the room, loud in stark contrast to Ramla's composure. She took two forceful steps forward until she was standing directly in Ramla's face. "Whatever it is you've told Garba..." She swallowed, struggling to rein in the anger threatening to spill over.

"You mean my husband?" Ramla's lips curved into a faint smirk, taking quiet pleasure in the way her co-wife faltered.

"Call him your husband all you like. We both know whose chambers he leaves smiling." She didn't miss a beat. "Whatever reason Garba thinks your daughter and—" She never got to finish when...

"Leave us." Ramlatu didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. The command alone was enough, causing for every listening ear within the vicinity to move without hesitation.

She stopped the last maid just as she was about to step out. "Zainabu, bring our guest some tea, would you?" she said, her gaze never leaving Salma. "We wouldn't want the heat of our discussion to leave you parched."

"Have a seat." Ramlatu gestured towards the couch at the center of the room.

Salma eyed the furniture as though it had personally offended her before pressing her lips into a thin line. "I'm not here for chit-chat."

"Oh, you've made that very clear, sweetheart." Gimbiya Ramlatu adjusted the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose with a single finger. "But we're not in our twenties anymore, so you may sit." Her voice remained calm, leaving little room for refusal.

"Don't you dare sweetheart me, Ramla," Salma said, before taking a deep breath and lowering herself onto the couch. She stared past Ramlatu to the wall behind her, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the end of her gyale.

An uneasy silence settled between both ladies. 

"You're yet to touch your tea," Gimbiya Ramlatu spoke, her words slow, yet the sharp edge couldn't be mistaken.

Silence filled the Queen's private chambers when salma refused her a respond for a while. Suddenly, she shifted her focus from the wall as though she had been reminded of something

"Tell me, Ramlatu, haven't years of being Gimbiya taught you that respect between co-wives isn't negotiable? That being seated in the same vicinity only brews animosity." Salma paused, calmly reaching for the tea cup that had been placed before her, as though intending to take a sip. Only, second the rim of the glass neared her lips, she stopped, lowering it once more, as though not trusting the contents of the tea. "So tell me why I get information from my sister that Garba plans to marry off my nephew to your daughter." She said the last part with distaste, her gaze never leaving Ramlatu. 

There was a brewing storm beneath the surface of her voice, but as history had taught her, she concealed it behind a facade of calmness. "Don't forget, Ramla. Komai nisan jifa, kasa zai fado. Water and oil can't be mixed. My Mahmoud is an obedient and faithful child. He and your daughter aren't compatible. They never will be. Asma'u isn't a woman of respect or values. Tarbiyanta bana mutanin—"

"Be careful, Salma." She was cut off before she could complete her sentence. "May I remind you that you are in my section of the fada, in my living room, akan kujerata kike zama. These walls belong to me, Alhaji's first wife, ni ba karamar yarinya bace. Sabi da haka. Watch what you say about my daughter."

"Hmm, Ramlatu kenan. If the truth offends you, perhaps you should've raised her differently. More so, you know better than to be whispering things into Garba's ear too. Just because every man in town has refused your daughter doesn't make it right to combine the blood between us," Salma said sharply.

"You keep crossing the line, Salma. But it's okay. You seem to have forgotten there's more than blood that runs between us. That was decided long ago. Da kika yi wa Garba asiri, ba ki sani ba?" Ramlatu responded.

"Ramla, ki daina raina ni. Ki daina min irin wannan magana." A dry chuckle left Salma's lips. "But I wouldn't point fingers at you either. When a woman fails to keep her husband's bed warm and satisfied, she tends to blame her shortcomings on asiri. It also says a lot about how secure you are in your marriage, Gimbiya." She clicked her tongue. Cleared mocking Ramla's title.

"Whatever it is that you think is between your nephew and my daughter, I promise you it won't go beyond this. You can rest assured that my Asma'u will never step foot within the walls of Sokoto's fada, nor will she and your bloodline ever cross. Not because she can't handle your people. No, don't mistake it. But because I know I want nothing for my daughter from where a woman like you stems." Ramlatu shook her head before rising to her feet. "I could only say so much to Garba. But once his mind is made up, no one can change it. Not even me."

****

AT NIGHT

The air conditioner in the main sitting room was cool enough to calm even the most restless thoughts. On one end sat Gimbiya Ramlatu, now dressed in a simple nightgown, the familiar pair of glasses resting neatly on the bridge of her nose. Her mind drifted back to the careless words Salma had hurled at her earlier.

In truth, Ramlatu had long mastered the art of not letting other people's opinions bother her, especially those of her co-wife. Yet she couldn't hide the irritation that lingered. Salma had walked into her own section of the fada, spoken to her however she pleased, and done so before the watchful eyes of those who served under her roof.

"Earth to Mumsy. Did you hear a word we just uttered?" Rayyana asked, clicking her fingers twice in front of Gimbiya, her face now blocking the light coming from the television.

Elena of Avalor played on the big screen while Rufaida's children, who had decided on a sleepover, gushed over certain scenes.

"I don't like Chancellor Esteban. Why does Elena keep forgiving him?" Hilwa grumbled from somewhere on the floor.

Both children were bundled up in Paw Patrol pajamas, their attention completely fixed on the flashing images across the screen.

"What?" Gimbiya Ramlatu asked, her brows drawing together as she squeezed her face.

"A'a, no vex, Mumsy." Rayyana chuckled. "Asma'u and I were just discussing the details of Rahina's wedding." She brought her phone forward as she settled beside her mother on the left side of the couch, swiping through a few designs. "Which style do you think would suit me better?" she mumbled, gently resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

"You're such a baby pah," Asma'u tsked from where she sat, Hakim now curled up on her lap as she gently ran her fingers through his curls. She, too, was preoccupied with her own thoughts. Her mother had pulled her aside the minute she stepped back into the living room.

She had already heard the whispers about how heated the argument between Gimbiya and Amarya had been, but learning that it had all come down to the topic of her marriage made something ugly twist in her stomach.

Though they had all agreed not to dwell on their problems tonight, which was why they had joined Hilwa and Hikma for their little sleepover in the living room.

"Toh, Hajia Asma'u. We all know you're only jealous and wish you were in my spot," Rayyana teased back, a wide smile spreading across her lips as she stuck her tongue out at her sister.

"Please, Rayyana. Ke ce zan yi wa kishi?" Asma'u replied, her voice soft, careful not to wake the little boy resting in her arms.

Conversation continued to flow between Gimbiya and her daughters until soft snores drifted from the bundled duvets on the floor. Hilwa's body had twisted into an odd position, her tiny chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Asma'u reached for the remote behind her and switched off the television, leaving only the soft golden glow of the ring light to illuminate the living room. A few minutes later, Fadila and Fatima quietly walked in, gently lifting the children into their arms before carrying them off to bed.

Once they had left the living room, Asma'u rose from her spot and joined her mother and sister on the other side of the couch.

"I think this would look really pretty on me, ko Asma'u?" Rayyana asked, stretching her phone towards her sister.

Asma'u studied the simple yet elegant pink atamfa design. It featured two side slits, an inner panel that prevented any skin from showing, a perfectly structured bust, and a matching corset detail that cinched the waist.

"It would." Asma'u nodded in agreement.

They continued scrolling through other designs until one immediately caught Asma'u's eye.

"Forward that one to my phone," she instructed, and Rayyana nodded.

"We're going to be having guests from tomorrow. Relatives from afar. They'll be coming to help with the wedding preparations," Gimbiya informed.

"Let me guess, masu gyaran jiki will be coming too?" Rayyana asked, shaking her head. "Omo, it's going to be a long week."

Asma'u sighed in agreement, though her thoughts had already drifted to a certain tailor who would, no doubt, be making the outfits for their cousin's wedding.

She swallowed hard as the thought of seeing him again settled deep in her chest.