Safiya’s Pain
By Asmie’s Pen
The mansion of Alhaji Bello was admired by everyone in the neighborhood — tall gates, shining tiles, luxurious cars lined up like trophies. Inside, however, lived a woman whose heart carried wounds no one could see.
Safiya moved quietly from room to room that morning, sweeping, arranging cushions, and checking her children’s uniforms. Her face held its usual gentle smile, though her eyes told stories her lips never dared to speak.
As she set breakfast on the dining table, Alhaji Bello walked in, adjusting his cap and scrolling through his phone.
“Good morning,” Safiya greeted softly.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his eyes, scanned her from head to toe, and scoffed loudly.
“So you are eating breakfast again today? Haba! Look at your size, Safiya. You want to explode in my house?”
Safiya swallowed painfully. “I… I was only serving the children. I’ll eat a little later.”
“You better not eat at all,” he muttered, taking his seat. “If you sit on my chair too much, one day it will break. Every day I tell you to watch your weight, but you prefer food to self-control.”
Their youngest son looked at his mother with sad eyes. “Mama, should I get your chair?”
“No, sweetheart,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “Mama is fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Not inside.
---
Later in the day, Safiya changed into her exercise clothes and stepped onto the treadmill in the mini-gym. Sweat soaked her scarf as she pushed herself harder, determined to reach her goal weight.
She didn’t hear Alhaji Bello enter until he laughed mockingly behind her.
“Even if you run from Zaria to Lagos, this your big body will not change,” he said. “Why are you stressing the machine? It will spoil.”
Safiya turned, breathless. “I’m trying, Alhaji. Wallahi, I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” he snapped. “And don’t ask me for my car today. I don’t want you flattening the tyres. Use keke.”
Her heart sank. “I just wanted to pick vegetables from the market—”
“And I said no!” he barked. “Stop stressing me.”
She nodded slowly. “Na gode.”
---
That evening, the family gathered for dinner. Safiya served everyone generously, leaving the smallest portion for herself. When she reached for a tiny piece of meat, Alhaji Bello slammed his spoon on the plate.
“Safiya! Meat again? Do you want to finish the whole pot?”
The children froze.
“But Alhaji… it is just a small piece—”
“Put it back!” he commanded.
Safiya returned the meat silently, blinking the tears from her eyes as the children stared at their plates.
---
Three days later, as dusk colored the sky, a knock thundered at the gate. Safiya hurried outside.
It was her daughter, Fatima, dragging her suitcase, face swollen with tears.
“Fatima! Subhanallah! What happened?” Safiya cried, gathering her into her arms.
Fatima broke down completely. “Mama… he chased me out. He said… he said I am too skinny. That I’m not attractive enough. He said I look like a broomstick.”
Safiya gasped, hugging her tighter. “Ya Allah… my child…”
Alhaji Bello rushed outside. “What is going on here?”
Fatima sobbed, “Baba… he said I’m not good enough for him. That he wants a woman with flesh.”
Alhaji Bello’s face darkened with rage. “He said WHAT?! After everything we have done for that boy?! Useless boy! How can he insult my daughter like that? How dare he?”
Safiya stood behind them quietly, her eyes wet, her spirit trembling.
Then Fatima added softly, “He said he cannot stay with someone who doesn’t look perfect enough.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
Alhaji Bello clenched his fists. “He will regret this. In fact, I will—”
But then he stopped.
His eyes shifted slowly toward Safiya…
And for the first time, he looked at her — really looked at her.
Her tired face.
Her trembling hands.
Her swollen eyes from silent battles.
Her body he insulted every day without mercy.
Fatima’s pain had become a mirror reflecting his own cruelty.
Safiya lowered her gaze, her voice breaking.
“Now you understand, Alhaji… how words can wound someone’s soul.”
He froze — ashamed, speechless, exposed.
The same judgment he used to mock his wife had returned to hurt his own daughter.
---
That night, Safiya sat in the living room with Fatima, rubbing her daughter’s back as she cried. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her.
It was Alhaji Bello, standing quietly, something she had rarely seen on his face — remorse.
He cleared his throat. “Safiya… I… I am sorry.”
She looked up, stunned.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. Wallahi, I am ashamed.”
Tears finally rolled down Safiya’s cheeks.
“Words cut deeper than knives, Alhaji,” she said softly. “I pray Allah heals our home.”
And for the first time in many years, he nodded sincerely.
“Amin.”
Safiya’s Pain reminds us that emotional abuse leaves scars unseen — and that kindness is the true foundation of a peaceful home.©Asmie’s Pen
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