A small village under Kaduna State... It's a very small town, so much so that the few inhabitants feel like one big family. God has blessed them with the wealth of farming, as this is the occupation of the men in the village. This is why you would see some men going to the farm with their children, and sometimes even with their wives, despite those who engage in this practice being considered unjust, the kind of cruel men!

In the middle of a farm filled with weeds, I spotted an elderly woman who couldn't be older than 47 years, along with her daughter who couldn't be more than 16. They were deeply engrossed in harvesting tomatoes under the blazing sun. Just looking at their clothing, you could tell that in this village, poverty is at its peak, judging by their physical appearance and the tattered clothes they wore, all worn out and patched. Their clothes were mismatched; the top was different from the wrapper, and the headscarves were of another kind. I was utterly surprised to see women wielding hoes and harvesting as if they were strong men.

In a firm voice, which indicated she was the fearless type who spoke her mind, the daughter looked at her mother and said, "Mama! Mama!! Mama, I'm really tired, let's go home. When Baba returns from the market, he can continue."

In a feeble voice, she looked at her beautiful daughter, who had turned dark from hardship, and all her beauty had faded except for those who knew her from childhood.

"No, A’iee! Let's continue. You know if Ilu comes and finds us resting, both of us will not escape his wrath." Before A’iee could say another word, they heard him clearing his throat from a short distance away as he approached them. Quickly, Mama Zainabu grabbed the hoe, and so did her daughter Aisha, whom they called A’iee.

I observed Malam Ilu as he walked with his old, worn-out shoes. He walked while chewing kola nut, and his saliva stained his face because of his filthiness. His shirt was dirty and smelly, so much so that one would not wish to inhale his body odor. His eyes were red and bulging out in anger. He sat beside them on a sack they used to rest on after doing half the work, sometimes even falling asleep there.

Ilu sat down and pulled out a cigarette, starting to smoke right there on the farm. By the look of him, you could tell he was a typical villager who everyone found difficult to deal with. He put his hand in his trousers, fiddling with his private parts in their presence, which made Mama Zainabu quickly say, "A’iee, continue picking the tomatoes, don't stop, and I didn't tell you to turn around. I will handle Malam Ilu myself.” So disgusted and painful, ALLAH, please do not let any Muslim woman be married to a man like Malam Ilu. This brief encounter does not fully capture the extent of this story.