She crouched under the stone stove in the middle of the dilapidated red mud house, blowing on the fire with her mouth, exhausted. The fire only emitted smoke that blocked the airways, and her eyes filled with tears from the damp wood that wouldn't catch fire. She closed her eyes and opened them again, frustrated that the fire showed no signs of catching. The damp, struggling wood in the stove was soaked and showed no signs of burning. She stood up, adjusted her headscarf, wiped her nose with the edge of her wrapper, and her eyes turned red. She took her phone and went to the toilet to check the time. It was past eight in the morning. With tears in her eyes, she took a water container and went behind the house to wash herself, despite the cold weather, using water that felt like ice. She quickly applied homemade Vaseline, put on her green uniform, a small white hijab, an old black abaya, and black covered shoes. She lifted the curtain of the room. "I'm leaving, Ummah." "Oh, you're leaving, Ummy? Won't you stay for breakfast?" Her voice trembled, indicating she was about to cry. "Ummah, I'll be late, and the fire wouldn't catch since six-thirty, and now it's eight-thirty." "Well, you always skip breakfast. Your siblings brought delicious chicken with pepper, and you refuse to eat it because you're not used to it." She remained silent, bid her farewell, and headed to the general hospital where she volunteered. At the end of the month, the staff would give her something small. She hurried to the maternity ward without stopping at the nurses' station to avoid being scolded for being late. She entered the room where they kept their belongings, changed out of her abaya and shoes, and put on a pair of shoes known as 'shaku shaku.' Then she entered the delivery room. "TBA (traditional birth attendant), come and perform a VE (vaginal examination) on this woman," a nurse instructed Ummy, pointing to a woman who looked about thirty-five years old. Quickly, she put on gloves, washed her hands, poured antiseptic in front of the woman, and inserted her hand, feeling for the cervix. After a while, she withdrew her hand and wrote her findings in the client's folder. She changed the woman's clothes to delivery attire, laid her on the delivery bed, and placed a belt with a bag under her hips. Calmly, she prepared the delivery equipment, confirming that the woman was ready to give birth. An hour later, TBA Ummy removed the screen that shielded the woman who had given birth, took the fine baby girl to the scale to weigh her, and then cleaned the baby with olive oil. After cleaning both the baby and the mother, she wrapped the baby in a towel and went to the relatives' waiting area. She saw a distinguished-looking Alhaji, who appeared wealthy and educated, pacing and sweating profusely. She approached him slowly, holding the baby. "Congratulations, Mr. Your wife gave birth to a baby girl." "A girl or a boy?" he asked hastily. Ummy was surprised that he would ask if it was a girl or a boy when his wife had just given birth. "Sir, it's a girl," she said, giving him a reassuring smile. He looked at her with a meaningful gaze and then shouted at her, "Hey! Look me in the eye. You midwives are known for stealing babies. What do you mean by bringing me only one girl? Where are my two boys? Or should I take this matter to the authorities?"