"Humaira! Humaira!! Humaira!!! Can't she hear this call or what?” I heard these words from inside our house. This made me stop entering the house and step back to listen to the speaker. Frustrated and annoyed, I wondered why she always called Humaira for everything, never giving anyone else a chance to rest. I sighed deeply, irritated by her as I stared at the bowl in my hand, thinking she had forgotten she sent me on an errand and was now calling me again for another task, as if no one else was home. Instead of rushing inside to deliver her errand, I leaned against the wall in the hallway, listening and reflecting on my troubled thoughts. When would I ever get a chance to rest and enjoy life like my other siblings? My heart always found a moment to ask, when would I get the freedom they had? As a child, I thought my suffering was because I was the youngest among those who had reached maturity. I hoped and dreamed that my turn would come, but later realized it wasn't so, as I had younger siblings like Suwaiba, who were only ten months younger than me, yet they weren't sent on errands like I was. They never had to fetch things like I did, and it wasn't just the errands that bothered me, but the fact that even if everything needed was in one place, I would be sent back and forth to fetch them separately, just to keep me from resting. My father, Malam Surajo, lived in Jahun, Bauchi State, near Nasarawa. Many people knew him and our house because he was a well-known trader. Even now, though his business has slowed, he still lives comfortably. Growing up, I found my father had two wives: the senior wife, Hajiya Majadan, known as Mama, and my mother, Gambo. Mama, the senior wife, prided herself on marrying my father as a young couple and looked down on any woman who didn't. She believed such marriages weren't genuine, and their children weren't truly free. This belief made her reject suitors for her daughters, insisting they marry young men she approved of. My father, unable to argue with her, agreed. Mama was authoritative and proud, always boasting about her marriage. My father, fearing her displeasure, often gave in to her wishes for peace. My mother, Gambo, endured this with patience, supported by her strong family background. She was the youngest and most cherished in her family, known for her beauty. Despite the challenges, she stayed because of her children. My grandfather, Mallam Mai Babban Allo, was a respected teacher with two wives, Hajiya 'Yar Dubu and Hajiya Turai, my grandmother. They lived harmoniously, and my mother grew up pampered. My uncle, Alhaji Maikuxi, took her in and raised her with his children, treating her as his own. When she became a young woman, many sought her hand, but my grandfather insisted she marry my father, a friend of his student, Alhaji Yahaya. Despite her young age and Mama's reputation, my uncle spared no expense for her wedding. My mother had a special room in our house, furnished luxuriously by my uncle and his wife, Hajiya Kubra. My uncle loved me dearly because of his love for my mother, treating me like his grandchild. One night, I woke to hear my father angrily questioning my mother about not doing an errand Mama had assigned. Despite her calm explanations, he accused her of lying. She responded that she was living in oppression but believed God would eventually vindicate her. My father's response was to beat her, claiming she had cursed him and Mama. Terrified, I wanted to intervene but remembered Mama's warning that I was eavesdropping on them. So, I stayed silent, crying quietly on my bed.