Beyond The Surface (An Arewa Muslim Tale)

The beginning. ✨

"Yanzu ke! In banda rashin tunani, soja kika zaɓa ki aura? Ga hafizin Qur'ani yazo bidarki, amma sam kin ƙi — se soja. Toh Allah wadai!"

The voices came at her like a storm.

"Naima." Aunty Rakiya's voice cut through the noise, sharper than the rest. "This is not a decision to take lightly. A soldier. A man you barely know. How do you look your father in the eye and say this is the man you've chosen?"

"Ahmadu is a good man," another aunt added, pressing her palms together as if pleading with fate itself. "He knows the Qur'an. He fears Allah. What more could a woman ask for?"

"You know how these military men are," Aunty Hadiza muttered. "They beat their wives. They womanize. And the drinking wallahi, most of them have forgotten the face of the masjid entirely. Is that the life you want?"

Naima sat very still at the center of it all, swallowed by the folds of her oversized hijab, letting the fabric do what she could not — shield her.

The truth was, she did not entirely know what she was doing. Not with the certainty they expected from her. But somewhere beneath the noise, beneath the pressure and the raised voices and the well-meaning fear, there was a quietness in her chest that she had come to trust. She had placed this matter entirely in Allah's hands — not as a way of escaping responsibility, but because she genuinely believed He knew what she did not. That He could see beyond what she could, and that His guidance would not fail her.

So she sat. She breathed. She prayed silently that it would all be over soon.

But before we go any further — let me take you back to where this all began.

— Throwback —

Naima was seated at her vanity mirror, a wide-toothed comb moving slowly through the thick coils of her 4C hair. The bedroom around her was entirely pink , had been since she was twelve, when she'd campaigned for it with the kind of conviction only a child could muster. No one had ever bothered to redecorate, and she had long stopped minding. There was something comforting about a room that remembered who you used to be.

She was dressed in a purple lace boubou, embroidery running along the hem in delicate gold , simple, but the kind of simple that took effort. The kind that quietly announced itself without raising its voice.

She wasn't really looking at herself in the mirror, though. Her eyes were open but her mind was somewhere else entirely ,
somewhere she couldn't quite name.

"Earth to Ya Naima."

Kausar snapped her fingers twice in front of Naima's face, watching her cousin blink back into the room.

Naima exhaled slowly. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in."

Kausar sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking her feet beneath her. "Ya Naima , you've been disappearing into your thoughts a lot lately. I understand, wallahi. This whole thing is a lot." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "But the day is finally here. You're going to meet him. And whatever happens, in sha Allah, knowing you've made your decision with a clear heart will make things easier. So please , Don't wear yourself out before it even begins. Kinji, ya Ima?"

Naima turned to look at her cousin, and something in her chest loosened just slightly. "Toh Kausar." A small smile. "Thank you. This is why you're one of my favorite cousins."

"One of?" Kausar's eyes narrowed with exaggerated offense. "Ko dai your only favorite cousin. Let's not be vague about it."

Naima grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at her. Kausar ducked out of the room laughing, calling back from the doorway: