ARTICLE
MARYAM ABACHA UNIVERSITY
Rayyana stepped into the auditorium, the low murmur of students and occasional bursts of laughter reaching her before she had even fully crossed the entrance. The large, air-conditioned room stretched across three levels, with rows of cushioned seats arranged neatly towards the wide projection screen at the front.
Soft ceiling lights illuminated the space, while the university's logo was displayed above the lecturer's podium. The class was already filled with students, some seated in groups beside their friends, their voices blending into quiet conversations, while others sat alone with their laptops open or phones in hand.
Rayyana's eyes briefly moved towards the digital clock mounted above the entrance.
13:00pm.
She had no doubt the lecturer would show up within the next fifteen minutes.
Finding her usual spot in the second row, she placed her MacBook, phone, and handbag down before taking a seat and adjusting the light pink pashmina gown she had decided to wear.
Her eyes wandered over the familiar faces she'd come to recognize from having multiple classes together, offering a few of them small smiles when their eyes met. Others remained strangers in her head, faces she had probably seen countless times without ever learning their names.
A few minutes later, the lecturer walked in, just as she had predicted.
Mr. Etim was a man in his late forties, usually quiet outside the classroom but noticeably more animated once he began teaching. His neatly trimmed beard was streaked with white, giving him a distinguished look that matched the seriousness with which he approached his classes.
He placed his leather laptop bag on the desk before walking towards the podium and adjusting the microphone on its stand. Mr. Etim cleared his throat lightly before leaning towards the microphone. "Good afternoon, everyone."
"Good afternoon, sir," the class responded, though a few voices came several seconds late.
He gave a small nod, his eyes moving briefly across the room once more. "I hope you're all doing well and had a good night's sleep, because the topic we're taking today will require every bit of energy you have." Rayyana opened her MacBook, resting her fingers over the keyboard as the presentation appeared on the projector screen.
CONSUMER BEHAVIOUR: UNDERSTANDING THE BUYER
"Today, we're talking about what influences a consumer's decision to buy one product over another," Mr. Ethim began, clicking to the next slide. "And no, before anyone asks, your answer cannot simply be 'because it is cheaper.'"
The class laughed.
Rayyana smiled to herself, briefly glancing at the girl beside her who was already typing furiously.
For the next two hours, the auditorium remained filled with the lecturer's voice, the occasional question from students, and the quiet tapping of keyboards.
By the time the lecture ended, Rayyana barely had enough time to stretch her legs beneath the table before the next lecturer walked in. Their timetable was often like this. One course followed another, with only short breaks in between to pray, grab something to eat, or simply breathe before the next class began.
By the end of the day, they would have taken five different courses. And Rayyana was already beginning to wonder how she was supposed to survive the semester.
It was 5:00 p.m. when Rayyana finally stepped into the familiar, calming air of the school garden. A cool breeze swept through the grounds, catching the edge of her pashmina veil and shifting it gently from her shoulder. She reached up to adjust it, her eyes briefly lifting towards the sky as the clouds above slowly gathered, growing darker with each passing minute.
She had no doubt her driver would be there to pick her up within the next few minutes, and the thought of finally being back home, beneath the comfort of her air conditioner after such a long day, excited her more than it probably should have.
She pulled her phone from her bag and opened Instagram. Unlike her sister, her account was private, with only forty followers, all of whom she followed back. Most were family friends and close relatives.
Her fingers moved through the various stories until one caught her attention.
Nana Rahina's wedding.
A smile tugged at her lips at the thought of seeing their relatives again. She hadn't realized how much she had missed having everyone gathered together until she remembered her mother's words.
The visitors would probably have arrived by the time she got home.
Lost in scrolling through Instagram, Rayyana moved from Sultana's latest post about the wedding preparations to Arewa_Allure's newest update, pausing every now and then to like a post or watch a short video. She barely noticed the low rumble of a black Mercedes-Benz approaching until it came to a smooth stop directly in front of her.
Her brows knitted slightly when she realized it wasn't her ride. She checked the plate number, and to her suspicion, it didn't bear the royal palace identification.
Thinking the driver had mistaken her for someone else, she stepped away, taking two steps back while her eyes remained fixed on the tinted windows.
She didn't know why, but an unsettling feeling settled in her chest, the kind that made her suddenly aware of how alone she was standing away from the other students. Something about the stillness of the car made the hairs along her arms rise, even though she couldn't explain what exactly had put her on edge.
Whoever was inside, whoever sat behind the wheel, she couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were on her.
She was a little farther away from where the other students sat in the garden, and with the evening already settling in, there weren't many people left around. Thinking she had moved far enough, she found a spot beneath a tall palm tree and stopped, her phone still in her hand. But the moment she did, the car followed, coming to a slow stop directly in front of her.
At this point, skepticism turned into something much closer to unease. She moved again, this time walking in the opposite direction, but yet again, the car followed.
Every five steps she took, it slowly rolled behind her, maintaining just enough distance to make her wonder if she was imagining the whole thing. She considered quickening her pace, but before she could, the driver honked.
Rayyana stopped.
She looked around her one last time. A few students were still scattered across the garden, some talking amongst themselves, others making their way towards the school gates. Whoever was inside the car couldn't possibly do anything to her out in the open, especially with people still around.
The driver honked again.
With a hesitant breath, she finally turned to walk towards the car. The moment she stopped beside the driver's window, the tinted glass slowly rolled down.
Her heart seemed to stop.
The familiar dark shades resting on the bridge of his nose were enough to make her heart sink straight into her stomach. The contents in her hands suddenly felt heavier than they were, her fingers tightening around them as though they might slip from her grasp.
Swallowing back the lump that had somehow formed in her throat, she took two angry steps forward despite the shakiness in her legs. "What do you think you're doing here?" she hissed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
A single smirk.
That damn smirk.
That was all he gave her.
Rayyana didn't know when the beads of sweat had gathered along her back until she felt a single one trickle slowly down her skin. Her hands were still trembling beneath her veil when she spoke again. "I thought we agreed we were never going to see each other again." Her voice was hushed yet harsh, her eyes frantically scanning the garden behind her as though expecting someone to notice them.
"It's been a while, don't you think?" he said.
Rayyana's eyes returned to him.
"Enter the car." His voice was calm, but the command left no room for argument.
"What?" She asked, baffled. "Are you crazy?"
"I'm not going to repeat myself, boɗɗi." He addressed her. "Enter the car or I'll come out and personally drag you in." This time, he didn't bother looking at her when he spoke, but she could see from his side profile alone that he wasn't joking. Yet she didn't care.
"Leave." She spoke, the authority of being a royal finally making its way into her voice. "You wouldn't come out here anyway and risk your identity being exposed." Finally gaining some confidence, she let a small smirk tug at her lips as she looked at him.
"You underestimate me, boɗɗi." He turned his eyes towards her, his gaze sharp. "You wouldn't want the world knowing what happened that night, would you?" His tone was low, his face completely serious.
The minute he spoke of that night, the colour completely drained from her face. "It was one night." A frown etched its way on her face when he gave her no response.
She swallowed, wiping her damp palm against the side of her dress. Taking one last look around her, she shakily gripped the door handle and slowly opened it. The moment she stepped inside, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind her sealed her fate.
****
FADA
"Sannun ku, Sannun ku da zuwa!" Gimbiya Ramlatu called cheerfully, moving forward to embrace her sister and welcome the guests. Within minutes, the Fada was filled with cheerful laughter, excited greetings, and the warmth of women pulling one another into long, familiar hugs.
"Look at you! You look gorgeous, Alhamdulillah!" Gimbiya Ramlatu said, her motherly voice coming through as she pulled Rahina into another tight embrace.
The servants were already hard at work, most of them gathered inside the mud-brick kitchen at the back of the compound, preparing favourite delicacies and refreshments for the guests. Others moved in and out of the Fada, carrying trays, arranging seats, and making sure everything was ready as more relatives continued to arrive.
Children ran along the expanse of the main living room, while young ladies sat on the kitchen counters, catching up on the latest news.
Masu lalle and gyaran jiki had long been prepared, and after settling down and catching up among themselves, the women moved to a smaller section of the living room where henna was to be applied to their arms. Some chose black, others red, while some went for the traditional gargajiya lalle.
Between scrubbing their bodies with natural ingredients, from the glow the turmeric and sidr brought to the softness of yoghurt and honey, they had completely lost track of time.
"You saw, didn't you?" One of the girls asked her friends, her back resting comfortably against a cushion as she sat on the floor, keeping her arms slightly away from her lap to avoid smudging the henna that had yet to dry.
"Yes, I did." Another sighed. "The flood in Maiduguri is genuinely ruining lives. I genuinely can't imagine it, living with already planned-out burdens and suddenly having a flood take away your home, your property, and even separate you from your family members." She shook her head in sadness, looking down at her fingers.
"The only thing we can do is pray for them and support them in whatever way we can. After all, the only difference between us and them is geographical luck." She spoke quietly.
"But why?" a different voice asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do we care so much? It's not like this is affecting us or anyone we know. You people are being so dramatic, wallahi. Even on social media, they'll be making noise like it's us that sent the flood their way." She shrugged, every bit of her ignorance evident in her voice.
"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear you say something so fucking dumb and stupid." The first girl said, almost snapping.
"Do you have even an inkling of an idea of what these people are going through? humans just like you and me. Because of this flood, children aren't able to go to school, parents aren't able to get to their farmlands, their homes have been destroyed, they have little to no access to clean water. Their properties, the clothes they wear, everything is gone!" she argued, her voice rising. "All the while, they're struggling with basic health amenities. So if you can't engage with empathy, then don't speak at all." She eyed the girl.
"I know and I understand, but it's not like complaining is going to do anything, so why—"
"Wallahi bah, If my hands weren't stained right now, da na kwada miki mari."
*****
UPSTAIRS
Asma'u was very aware that the guests had arrived. She had seen the convoys of cars rolling in, watched the men in their freshly ironed baban riga and the women dressed in their finest atampa from the balcony of her room.
Today, the guests had come for one thing—gaisuwa.
And if there was one thing she knew about greetings, it was that they were always going to be loud.
From women who gossiped, to aunties telling her how much she had grown since they last saw her, to cousin sisters whispering about how unlucky she was in marriage, children screaming down the halls, and her father probably trying to pair her with yet another suitor.
The thought alone made her sigh.
So she had decided that she was going to stay in her room, away from all the drama, away from all the noise.
Quite frankly, she would have loved to join the gyaran jiki proceedings, but knowing she had another YouTube video to edit, she could only call a trusted henna artist into her room, away from all the noise.
The lady was gentle and careful as she worked her way through the design on Asma'u's hand, the cool henna ink leaving delicate patterns across her skin. "Your skin is so beautiful, befitting of the henna." The girl complimented casually, her focus completely on the back of Asma'u's hand.
Asma'u hummed in response. As a dark-skinned girl, it was rare for henna artists to ever acknowledge how beautifully the paste complemented her skin, so she appreciated someone else seeing the beauty that she did.
She was going through Canva, finding the right templates for her video, when a single notification popped up on her screen. An article: "₦1.5 Billion Allocated to Mass Wedding of 1,500 Couples in Kano State by the Governor."
Instantly, her fingers tapped on the article
₦1.5 Billion Mass Wedding in Kano Raises Questions Over Government Spending
Kano State has once again drawn national attention with its government-sponsored mass wedding programme, this time marrying 1,500 couples across the state's 44 local government areas.
The programme, organised in collaboration with the Kano State Hisbah Board, was presented by the state government as a social intervention aimed at supporting vulnerable residents who may struggle to afford the cost of marriage. Beneficiaries included widows, divorcees and other financially disadvantaged men and women.
The state allocated ₦1.5 billion to the programme, with the funds covering dowries, household items, clothing, food, furniture and financial support for the newlyweds. Each bride reportedly received ₦100,000, intended to serve as both dowry and startup capital for a small business, while couples were provided with basic household necessities such as beds, mattresses, blankets and other items.
The initiative, however, has attracted criticism over the amount of public money committed to it. Critics argue that Kano continues to face serious challenges in poverty, unemployment and education, particularly its large population of out-of-school children. Some have questioned whether ₦1.5 billion could have produced greater long-term benefits if directed towards education, healthcare, employment and other forms of economic empowerment.
Asma'u's fingers tightened around her phone. She read the last paragraph twice, her jaw clenching slightly before she locked the screen. "Tsinanun mutane," She muttered beneath her breath