BEYOND AMBITION

CHAPTER THREE

Iklas had no greater ambition than to pursue higher education and secure a government job so she could support her younger sister and Ummi. That was her only dream.

She was deeply fascinated by government work. Whenever she saw a government employee on the streets, she admired them. If she overheard workers discussing their jobs, she would stop and listen, captivated by their stories. The idea of stability, respect, and financial security that came with a government job fueled her determination to succeed.

If she thinks about a government job, you'll see her smiling to herself. If you want to make her laugh or feel happy, just pray for her, saying, "May Allah make you a government worker or a company employee."

In their neighborhood, whenever she passes by, her fellow hawkers or friends call out, "Government, government!" Some call her "Ma’aikaciya" (the worker). Even non-Hausa speakers, including Gwarawa and other ethnic groups who know her, refer to her as "The Manager." She always smiles at them in response.

If you ever need directions to her house, just ask for "the house of the government worker," "the worker's house," or simply "The Manager’s house," and anyone in the area will know exactly where to point you.

Iklas is a calm and well-mannered girl. She is religious, intelligent, and knows how to conduct herself properly. She carries herself with dignity, maintains cleanliness, and loves to dress well. She dislikes failure, but poverty has forced her to move cautiously in life.

She and Suhaila are hardworking, and it is clear that their parents raised them well. Their upbringing reflects good morals, and their parents' prayers were answered, blessing them with composed and responsible children. They have strong faith in destiny and do not take life too harshly.

Iklas is fearless and patient, but if you provoke or disrespect her, she does not let it slide. She knows how to stand her ground. She is talkative, but not excessively so, and she has a strong personality.

She is friendly, respectful, and treats people with kindness, which is why everyone in their neighborhood knows and likes her—both men and women. Everything about her is composed and measured; she dislikes being looked down upon.

Suhaila, on the other hand, is quieter and does not like too much noise or chatter. If you go to their neighborhood, you cannot point at Iklas carelessly because the young men in the area will not tolerate any disrespect toward her. That is why their household lives in peace.

The moment Ummi steps out, people greet her warmly because Iklas has earned them respect. This is the origin and history of Iklas.

Continuation of the Story

Omar’s dad (Baffa) called him on the phone. The moment Omar answered, his dad started scolding him.

“Haba, Omar! You know I’m in Russia, and I left all my business affairs in your hands. Your family is waiting for you, but you’ve chosen to stay in London and refuse to return. You are the eldest—who else will handle things if not you? You know your younger siblings lack the sense to take over my business. Please, return home within three days.”

With respect, Omar replied, “Alright, Baffa, insha’Allah, I’ll return as you said.”

His dad was pleased. “That’s my son,” he said, showing his deep affection for Omar.

Omar fell into deep thought, contemplating how he would return home and face his troublesome wife, Sahar, who never ceased to frustrate him. But there was no way around it—he had to obey his father’s orders and return to Nigeria.

As he was lost in thought, his phone rang. It was Sahar. He clicked his tongue in annoyance before answering, already expecting her to ask for money or talk about something meaningless.

Without even greeting him, she said, “how's London!”—her way of calling him. Then she continued, “Baby, wallahi, the money you gave me is finished, and we have a wedding coming up for one of my colleagues.”

Omar sighed and said calmly, “Okay, I’ll transfer the money. But Sahar, can’t you be more responsible? Is this how a wife treats her husband? Since I left home, you haven’t even called me once. Fear Allah, Sahar. Appreciate what you have before it’s too late.”

She scoffed and mumbled under her breath before replying, “What do you want me to do? I’m always busy. You know our job isn’t easy.”

“All you ever talk about is work. Every single day—government job, government job. Is that all there is to life?” Omar asked, frustration lacing his tone.

“Look, don’t bother me just because I happened to call you this time. Besides, it’s your responsibility to take care of me,” she snapped, clicking her tongue before ending the call.

Omar clenched his jaw, his temper flaring instantly. His breathing turned heavy, and his eyes darkened with anger.

Needing to cool off, he called his mother, Mama. They had a long conversation, and she eventually handed the phone to his younger brother and sister, Suleim and Abdullah. They talked and laughed, lightening Omar’s mood.

The next day, at 4:30 PM, Omar’s flight landed in Nigeria. Mama, Suleim, and Abdullah picked him up from the airport, all beaming with excitement. Omar, dressed in an expensive outfit, walked with effortless grace, his presence commanding respect. They drove back to their luxurious family home, filled with warmth and laughter.

However, on the other side of the house, Hajia Rahina—also known as Umma—and her daughters had already caught wind of Omar’s return. They wasted no time whispering amongst themselves, filled with envy and bitterness. Each woman had her own separate wing in the mansion, but that didn’t stop Umma and her daughters from making life difficult for others with their toxic nature.

Sadiya parked her car with a screech and stepped out, exhausted from work. She walked straight to their part of the house, where her mother, Umma, and her sisters were seated, gossiping and hurling insults as usual.

She settled into a chair, crossing her legs, before saying, “Umma, so the cursed one is back in the country?”

Aisha scoffed. “I swear, I hate Yaya Omar. Who does he think he is? Handsome, rich—acting like he’s better than everyone else.”

Umma smirked, adjusting her veil. “Listen, all of you. That fool will regret ever thinking he can overshadow us. Him and his arrogant mother.”

Zainab nodded eagerly. “Yes, Umma, don’t let them get away with anything.”

Naja rolled her eyes. “And can you believe that wife of his, Sahar? She actually had the nerve to give me a dirty look. Just because she thinks she’s rich? We work government jobs too. She’s nothing special.”

Sadiya let out a slow chuckle. “Don’t worry, Umma will deal with their so-called boss.”

They spent the entire evening scheming and exchanging insults. Eventually, they decided to go and pay Omar a "courtesy visit"—under the guise of welcoming him back, but in reality, to poke around and gather information.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Mama sat with her son, ensuring he ate to his fill. She knew his wife, Sahar, was not a good woman and that Omar had been enduring her attitude for too long. Deep in her heart, she prayed for Allah to bless him with a better companion.

After he finished eating, she sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Omar, my son, don’t let this world distract you from your faith. Be steadfast in your prayers, and never forget that Allah’s plans are always greater than ours.”

Omar nodded, listening intently.

“And one more thing,” Mama added, her tone firm. “No excuses—you must go and greet Hajiya Rahina, your stepmother. It’s necessary.”

Though reluctant, Omar had no choice but to obey.

Even though he didn’t want to, Omar made his way to his stepmother’s part of the house after the Isha prayer.

As soon as he stepped into the living room, he found them sprawled out in different corners, lazily scrolling through their phones. Umma sat at the side, her expression unreadable.

The moment they saw him, their hearts skipped a beat. They feared him—not because he was cruel, but because his presence alone commanded respect. Omar never smiled at them, never entertained their nonsense. They only insulted him behind his back, never daring to do it to his face.

Bowing slightly, he greeted Umma. She barely responded, shooting him a glare. As for his stepsisters, they forced out fake smiles.

“Yaya, welcome back. Hope you had a safe trip?” one of them said.

“Safe,” Omar replied curtly before walking out with effortless confidence.

The moment he left, they burst into gossip.

“Did you see how much more handsome he’s gotten?”

“And the way he carries himself! Every outfit looks good on him.”

Meanwhile, Omar went straight to his mother’s part of the house. He pleaded with her to let him stay the night and return to his home the next day. Knowing his wife, Sahar, barely paid him any attention, she agreed.

Little Suleim clung to him all night, fast asleep in his arms.

The Next Morning

At dawn, Omar came downstairs, fresh from his bath, exuding an air of elegance. He was dressed in a crisp white embroidered kaftan, perfectly tailored to his form. Even his shoes were white. His hair was neatly styled, left uncovered.

After greeting his mother and eating a full meal, he distributed gifts to his family before heading to his residence in Zone 11, Princess Suites—a luxurious home fit for a man of his stature.

The driver pulled into the compound, and from inside the house, Omar could already hear loud chatter and music.

His sharp gaze darkened.

Stepping into the living room with a calm yet commanding presence, he took in the scene—Sahar’s friends, both male and female, Muslims and non-Muslims, lounging around, chatting, and laughing. Music played in the background, and trays of snacks were scattered across the tables.

Omar remained silent, his mere presence enough to shift the atmosphere.