Slowly, she crossed the street directly and entered the long line in front of her. She looked at the length of the line despite the large number of people, it seemed as if it had been swept clean, which was not unrelated to the kind of day it was, making one feel like putting their hands on their head and crying out to God. She continued walking slowly as if she was being gentle with the ground. Outwardly, if you saw her, you would think the day didn't bother her because of the way she walked, but she was among those who were most troubled. She was eager to get home because of the heat from her outfit—a blouse and skirt with a long-sleeved hijab that matched her bag and the small swagger bag hanging on her shoulder. It wasn't a long walk to reach the door of their house, which was in a poor neighborhood. Although the house was made of bricks, it hadn't been plastered or painted. She took off her shoulder bag, preparing to enter the house when her eyes fell on Hauwa, who was dressed up in an Ankara outfit. A young man was facing her, and their stance made it clear they were having a conversation. She looked away as if she hadn't seen them because Hauwa's behavior annoyed her, as did all the children in the house. She walked between them to pass since there was no other way, and she heard the young man say, 'Welcome back, our aunty.' 'Thank you,' she replied without enthusiasm and entered the house. Hauwa, who was glaring at her as if her eyes would pop out, hissed loudly. 'Haruna, you really annoy me. Why is it that you always want to praise that woman in front of me? What do you mean by it? I don't understand.' 'Is it a crime, Kulu, to greet your sister? You know she's kind, educated, and calm.' Hauwa, full of anger, widened her eyes. 'Oh, so you want to go to her, Haruna? You praise another woman in front of me, a woman who has been rejected by suitors?' Seeing that Hauwa was getting too angry, he softened his tone. 'Come on, Kulu, you know you're the only one for me. What would I do with another woman if it's not you?' Despite his sweet talk, she remained angry for a while before calming down and continuing their conversation. She greeted the people in the courtyard as usual, even though she knew no one would respond unless her mother or Hindatu was there. She didn't get any acknowledgment from Inna Hadiza, who was sitting in the east part of the courtyard, shelling beans and rice for sale. Next to her was Huwaila, who was busy preparing tamarind juice in plastic bags. She didn't stop greeting them, even though they hissed and glared at her until she took off her shoes and carried them in her hands to avoid any conflict, then entered her mother's room without greeting. She could hear them starting their usual gossip and harsh words. 'Hmm, if you're alive, you'll see things. You wander around and then come back to your mother's house to stay.' 'Huwaila, isn't it because they refused to marry her off? Didn't they say she's beautiful? They have to make her an investment.' 'Hmm, God forbid, something shameful will happen in this house one day. Just wait and see.' They all heard what they were saying, including her and her mother, but they were used to it and didn't respond. She found her mother on the prayer mat, likely finishing her Zuhr prayer. She put down her bag and hijab on a chair and went back to the courtyard to perform ablution. Even after she finished, they didn't stop their gossip. She didn't look at any of them despite the pain in her heart. She put down her slippers and was about to enter their room when Isyaku, Inna Hadiza's son, came running with a bowl of porridge. Before she knew it, he had spilled it on her skirt. She looked at the boy standing there and said, 'Isyaku, why can't you walk carefully?' He pouted and glared at her. 'Yes, I can't. I won't learn. You're a useless woman who refused to marry and is bothering people in the house.' Her anger flared. A boy at least fifteen years younger than her was talking to her like that. She grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. Before she could do anything, she heard Inna Hadiza's harsh voice. 'Hey, don't you dare touch my boy. If you do, we'll have a showdown right here.' Ignoring her threats, she slapped Isyaku because earlier that morning, he had also troubled her, and Inna Hadiza had laughed instead of scolding him. Isyaku ran towards her, shouting, 'I'll show you today!' Just then, Malam Mamuda entered the house. 'What's going on?' 'Thank God you're here, Malam. We're tired of this grown woman living among us. She's neither married nor a prostitute, but she's troubling us and our children.' He interrupted her, 'What happened now?' 'This foolish boy spilled porridge on her, and she slapped him. I won't accept it. Either he slaps her back, or I will.' 'Isyaku, why did you do that?' 'Dad, I didn't mean to, but I will slap her back.' 'Maryam, apologize to him.' She had no choice but to say, 'I'm sorry.' But Isyaku insisted on slapping her back. It took his mother a lot of effort to calm him down. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she went to their room. Her mother was still on the prayer mat, not having moved or said anything during the commotion. She didn't say anything to Maryam either. Maryam took another prayer mat and started praying. She spent a long time crying to God before finishing her prayer. As she was folding the mat, her mother said, 'I've told you many times, Maryam, you have to be patient as long as you're living in this house.' Fresh tears fell from her eyes. She sat on one of the chairs in the room and said, 'Mama, you know how patient I am, but sometimes these people push you to misbehave. Isyaku, my younger brother, Mama?' 'That's enough. Don't let it bother you. God is with you; He hasn't forgotten you.' With the calmness that was her nature, she wiped her face, full of trust and surrender to God. 'Okay, Mama,' she said softly.