Ya’u and the Morning Surprise
Written by Asmie’s Pen
The first call to Fajr prayer floated gently across the quiet Hausa town, slipping through open windows and dusty streets. In a modest two-room apartment at the edge of Unguwar Tudu, Ya’u stirred from his sleep. He stretched, yawned, and reached for his phone. It was already past six.
Beside him, his wife, Zainab, was awake. She had been awake long before the call to prayer—listening to the restless turning of their three children, their stomachs rumbling softly in hunger.
“Ya’u,” she said gently, careful not to sound demanding, “before you go to work, please leave something for breakfast. There is nothing in the kitchen. Not even tea leaves.”
Ya’u sat up and sighed loudly, rubbing his face in irritation.
“Zainab, haven’t I told you?” he snapped. “There is no money. Business has been slow. Wallahi, even yesterday I didn’t sell anything.”
Zainab looked at him, her eyes tired but calm.
“The children slept hungry last night,” she replied softly. “Even fifty naira will help. I can manage something.”
Ya’u avoided her eyes. He stood up, picked his trousers in the cupboard, and reached for his shirt.
“Use yesterday’s tuwo,” he said dismissively. “Add water. They will survive. I’m already late.”
She followed him to the door, her wrapper loose at the waist, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Ya’u, children don’t survive on water. They eat food.”
He paused briefly, then shook his head.
“Stop disturbing me early in the morning,” he said sharply, stepping outside. “You women think money grows on trees.”
The door closed behind him.
Zainab stood still for a long moment, staring at the door as if it might open again. It didn’t.
Inside, the children began to cry.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” little Sadiya whimpered.
“Me too,” said Musa, rubbing his eyes.
Zainab swallowed hard. She tied her wrapper tightly and forced a smile.
“Be patient, my loves,” she said. “Allah will provide.”
---
Meanwhile, Ya’u walked briskly through the dusty street, his face suddenly lighter. As soon as he turned the corner, he slowed down and smiled to himself.
“No money indeed,” he muttered.
He headed straight to Baba Lawal’s roadside restaurant, where the smell of frying akara and hot tea filled the air. He sat comfortably on a wooden bench.
“Baba Lawal!” he called cheerfully. “Give me tea, akara, bread, and beans. Make it plenty.”
The vendor raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, Ya’u! Business is good today?”
Ya’u laughed.
“Alhamdulillah. One must eat to work well.”
As he ate, he wiped his mouth with satisfaction, completely forgetting the hungry faces he had left behind.
---
Back at home, Zainab could no longer bear the cries of her children. She borrowed a small bowl from a neighbor and decided to walk to the nearby provision shop, hoping the shop owner might allow her to buy something on credit.
As she turned into the main road, she suddenly froze.
There—just a few steps away—sat Ya’u, laughing, eating, and wiping oil from his fingers.
Her heart skipped.
She stood there for a second, disbelief washing over her. Then her voice rang out, sharp and trembling:
“Ya’u!!”
The restaurant fell silent.
Ya’u looked up slowly, akara halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened. His hand froze in the air.
“Z… Zainab?” he stammered.
She walked closer, her voice shaking with pain.
“You had no money at home,” she said. “But you have money to eat like a king here?”
People began to stare. Baba Lawal shifted uncomfortably.
Ya’u stood up awkwardly.
“Zainab, it’s not what you think—”
She cut him off.
“Our children are crying at home,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “You told me to give them water. Yet here you are, eating meat and beans.”
Silence wrapped the place like a heavy cloth.
Ya’u could not speak.
Zainab turned away slowly, her dignity intact despite the tears.
“May Allah judge between us,” she said quietly, and walked off.
Ya’u stood there, shame burning his chest hotter than the morning sun. For the first time, the food in his stomach felt like stones.
---
Moral Reflection
Ya’u and the Morning Surprise exposes a quiet truth found in many homes—the small lies that slowly break trust, the silent sacrifices of women, and how irresponsibility often hides behind excuses. Sometimes, it takes a painful surprise to awaken a sleeping conscience.© Asmie's Pen
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