BEYOND AMBITION

CHAPTER NINE

As for Omar, after buying the eggs from the roadside, he stopped to distribute them to some beggars, keeping only one for himself. He ate it absentmindedly, lost in thought. He was trying to figure out how to learn more about the girl's background so he could offer meaningful help. He didn’t want to just give her money—he feared she might misunderstand his intentions. But for some reason, he couldn’t shake off the deep sense of pity he felt for her.

Meanwhile, Omar's father announced to the family that he would be returning in two weeks. This news sent Hajia Rahina and her allies into a wave of excitement. Their long-awaited plans were finally coming together.

As usual, Omar was at home in his living room, sorting through some paperwork when Sahar approached. She reeked of an overwhelming perfume, her outfit extravagant, as if she were about to walk a runway. She sat beside him, reaching out to caress his face.

Omar looked up and, without hesitation, delivered a resounding slap across her face. His eyes burned red with fury. "You are very stupid," he spat. "What do you take me for? A fool? Do you think I don’t see everything you do? I’ve only tolerated you out of respect for my father."

Sahar clutched her cheek, her eyes blazing with anger. "What, Omar?! You dare lay your hand on my precious face?!" she hissed. "I swear, you will regret this! You will learn that you just slapped the great Sahar! And let me make one thing clear—I will never submit to any man just because he is my husband. I have everything I need. Money, power—there is nothing I will ever beg from a man."

She huffed dramatically, flipping her hair. "Anyway, I only came to inform you that I'm traveling to Kano for a seminar. I won’t be back for a week." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her trolley and stormed out.

Omar clicked his tongue in irritation, shaking his head. He had no energy for Sahar’s tantrums. He let her go without another word. His driver took her to the airport, and soon, she was on a flight to Kano.

As for Omar, he decided to take the day off from the office. It was Wednesday, and there was somewhere he needed to be. After a fresh shower, he stepped out in a crisp, dazzling white shadda. The tailored outfit fit him perfectly, as if it had been stitched directly onto his body. His neatly groomed hair shone under the light, adding to his already striking appearance. Every accessory he wore was white—even his silver wristwatch gleamed against his wrist.

Today, Omar once again chose not to call his driver. Instead, he slid into a sleek, luxurious white car—one of his many prized possessions. Even the household staff couldn’t help but whisper among themselves.

"Boss is too much in this Abuja," one of them murmured in admiration.

"Wallahi, our boss is living large in this country. The man has taste and money!" another added, shaking his head in amazement.

Omar, oblivious to their chatter, adjusted his wristwatch and revved the engine. Today was not a day for business—it was personal. And he had a destination in mind.

At exactly 1:40 pm, Omar parked his luxurious car right in front of Iklas' house. The moment he stopped, heads turned. Everyone in the neighborhood stared, curiosity written all over their faces. Whoever passed by couldn't resist stealing glances at the elegant car, wondering who the distinguished visitor could be.

As Omar sat inside, contemplating which child he could send on an errand, his attention was drawn to a young girl in a school uniform approaching. He studied her features closely—she was undoubtedly Gomnati's younger sister. The resemblance was there, though Gomnati had a slightly lighter complexion.

He rolled down his window. "Please, young girl?"

Startled, Suhaila turned quickly, her eyes widening at the sight of the well-dressed, strikingly handsome man addressing her.

"Is this Gomnati’s house?" he asked.

"Yeah, this is our house," Suhaila replied, still staring at him in awe.

"Please, can you call your dad for me?"

She giggled. "Ah, we don’t have a dad, Uncle."

Omar raised a brow. "Okay, what about your mom?"

Suhaila shook her head. "Uncle, we don’t live with our mom either. It’s just the three of us with our grandma."

Omar smiled slightly. "Alright, good girl. Can you tell your grandma someone is here to see her?"

"Okay!" Suhaila chirped before dashing inside.

A few moments later, Kaka Ummi emerged, peeking out from behind the doorway. She was dressed in an old but neatly pressed Ankara gown with a carefully tied headscarf. Though her attire was modest, everything about her was tidy and well-kept.

Omar, observing from his car, immediately noted one thing: despite their situation, this family valued cleanliness and dignity.

Ummi said, "Young man, is everything alright?"

Omar bent down respectfully and greeted her warmly.

"Everything is fine, Ummi," he replied, having heard her name from Suhaila.

"I came to discuss something important if you don’t mind."

"Alright, come inside," Ummi said.

As soon as he stepped in, a pleasant and comforting fragrance hit Omar, filling his senses. He looked around, taking in the sight of the well-arranged house. Everything was meticulously organized, exuding a cleanliness and orderliness that he had rarely seen. The entire house smelled fresh, carrying a unique and natural scent that he had never encountered before.

Ummi led him to the living room, and Omar couldn’t help but admire the furniture. Though not excessively luxurious, it was of good quality—better than what he had expected. There was a rich, natural scent that lingered in the air, not the artificial smell of air fresheners but something homely and well-kept.

His eyes wandered over the neatly arranged sitting room. A standing fan hummed quietly, blowing a gentle, refreshing breeze, while another ceiling fan above added to the cool atmosphere.

He took a deep breath and said, "Ummi, I actually came to talk about your granddaughter—the one who sells apples. I saw her, and I feel like this kind of trade doesn’t suit her."

Ummi raised an eyebrow. "Ah, young man, are you the Lailatul Qadari she said she saw? The owner of the chicken house?"

Omar couldn't help but laugh unexpectedly. "Yes, Ummi, that’s me."

"Allahu Akbar Kabira! My son, what’s your name?"

"Omar. Mohammed Omar."

"Allah bless you, Umaru. May He grant you more prosperity."

"Ameen, Ummi."

Ummi stood up and brought him a chilled, flavorful zobo drink infused with aromatic spices, along with a bottle of pure water. Omar, wanting to be polite and also genuinely curious, took a sip. The rich taste pleasantly surprised him. He took another sip, then another, fully enjoying the drink.

As he sat there, he continued observing the house—it was impeccably clean and well-maintained. There was no sign of poverty-driven neglect, only simplicity and dignity.

Ummi, on the other hand, was secretly watching him, pleased with how he drank their zobo without any sign of disgust or hesitation. He was clearly a wealthy man, yet he showed no arrogance or disdain toward them.

A thought crossed her mind, and she suddenly asked, "Young man, are you, by any chance, from the family of Mohammed Omar Ibrahim—the noble elder?"

Omar smiled and replied, "Ummi, do you know him?"

"Oh, we hear about him on the radio and see him in the news. Who doesn’t know him? He has made his mark all over Nigeria," Ummi said with a knowing smile.

Then, she leaned to the side and began narrating their entire history to Omar—how they lived, Iklas' character, and even how she had been thinking about him ever since she spoke harshly to him. She also mentioned that Iklas wanted to apologize for her rudeness.

Omar remained silent, attentively listening to Ummi’s words. He felt deep sympathy for them, more than he had expected. A decision settled in his heart—he would find ways to help them. Their situation touched him deeply.

After a moment, Ummi said, "Your special one has told us all about you. She should be here any minute now."

True to her words, not even five minutes had passed before Iklas entered the room, greeting with a soft salam while calling out for Ummi.

"Did you hear that, Umaru?" Ummi teased.

Omar only gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. He was beginning to see that Ummi had a talkative nature, and he wasn’t someone who enjoyed too much conversation. His expression remained serious—he was never one to wear an easy smile. It took time for anyone to see that rare side of him. Ummi had already picked up on this, sensing the quiet authority and pride in his demeanor.

"Ummi, where is Suhaila?" Iklas asked as she entered the house.

"She’s in her room, sleeping. Today, I decided she wouldn’t go to Islamiyya. Let her rest," Ummi replied.

Iklas frowned. "Ummi, do you want me to keep suffering under the sun, enduring embarrassment, rain, wind, cold, and heat just to sell in the streets? You know how difficult it is. And yet, despite all that, we still managed to pay for her school fees—even though it’s not expensive, you know it would be a waste if she doesn’t go. Alhamdulillah, I’ve learned the basics of my religion, but Suhaila is still a child. I won’t let her grow up in ignorance. That’s why I sell apples—to make sure she goes to school. She has to go, Ummi. I won’t let her miss it!"

Determined, she continued, "Let me go and get her ready. You sit in the living room and bring me a pen and notebook—we need to do some calculations."

Ummi clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Oh, shut up, girl! Who are you lecturing?" she said playfully before making her way toward the living room, where Omar was still sitting.

Omar had overheard the entire conversation. He was impressed by Iklas’ determination and sense of responsibility. She knew exactly what she was doing.