THE PRICE OF SURVIVAL

THE PRICE OF SURVIVAL Pages 1–2 She raised her hands to cover her ears, tired of listening to the scolding from the estate’s caretaker. “You, if you were a witch, catching someone would be easy. Wallahi, it would take a miracle to fix you,” he snapped. “I’ve told you, Aunty isn’t here every day. Why do you always come? Don’t you have any sense? You act all stubborn, with those wide eyes like a goat’s, staring at people shamelessly. You little troublemaker!” She slowly lifted her head, staring at him, the insult cutting deep. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her small lips quivering. Her whole face changed, shifting from defiance to hurt. He expected her to answer back, kids nowadays never stay silent but she didn’t. He stared at her, eyes narrowing. He watched as she stepped back, intending to leave, but then she crouched against the wall of the house, buried her head in her knees, and began to sob, the sound breaking his heart. He stopped, unsure, a pang of regret stirring inside. He realized he had been unfair. He was a Muslim, yet he had failed to understand this little girl who came every day to the gate. He had never asked himself why she kept coming. He had chased her away like a dog before, yet that hadn’t stopped her from returning. He stepped closer, lowered himself to her level, and said gently, “Alright, that’s enough crying. Now tell me, what’s troubling you? Why do you come here every day, looking for Aunty?” She lifted her tear-streaked face, cheeks wet, sobbing into her hands. “I came looking for Aunty because I heard she helps girls like me find work, and they pay her for it.” He looked at her silently for a moment. “But why do you need work? You’re just a little girl. Don’t you have adults at home?” Shaking her head, she explained, “No one. We have no one. My siblings are sick and lying in the hospital. The doctor said they need treatment, but I can’t afford it. That’s why I came, I need to find work so I can save money to pay for their treatment. I can’t let them die while I do nothing.” He finally understood why she had been so persistent. In his heart, he thought, This child carries so much worry, yet she has such determination. He took her hand gently. “Enough tears. Come, I’ll help you see Aunty. Let’s sit on the bench over there.” She got up, and together they walked to the bench, sitting side by side. After a brief silence, he said, “Listen, stop crying. Allah is the protector of His servant. No one is truly alone if they believe in Him. Pray for your siblings, and Insha’Allah, they will get better. You’ll even be able to play with them again soon.” She smiled faintly, comforted by his words. He reached over and poured some of his brewed tea into a small cup he carried, offering it to her. She accepted it with both hands, grateful for even this small kindness, while he poured his own cup and took a sip, chatting lightly to distract her. She barely noticed his words. The warm tea, sweetened just right, captivated her. Slowly, she sipped, almost three gulps, feeling a small comfort in it. Finally, he said, “Wallahi, you enjoy it too much. Drink it all. Once Aunty finds you work, you’ll start paying me back.” She listened, smiling softly, amazed at how he treated her with such gentle attention. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed her clothes, her modesty. By the time Azhar prayer arrived, he himself opened the gate so they could go inside. They drew water, performed ablution together, and laid out a prayer mat. He led, she followed silently. After prayer, they stayed on the mat, him fanning her gently, while her mind drifted to her worries. As Asr prayer approached, they prayed again. Before they even finished, she heard the familiar sound of Aunty’s car. Joy surged inside her. Today, she would meet Aunty, the woman who might help her save her siblings. He quickly opened the gate as Aunty drove in, her car sleek and impressive, headed straight for the parking spot. She stepped out, radiating confidence, dressed in expensive blue lace adorned with sparkling stones. Her nails were manicured, her diamond rings catching the sunlight, her makeup immaculate—long lashes, sharp contouring, red lips. “Welcome, Hajjatu Makkatu,” he said respectfully. She smiled, a mix of fatigue and authority in her expression. “Ah, Well-done, has anyone arrived while I was gone?” she asked, opening the back of her car. She wasn’t alone; other girls she had brought from the village were with her. The caretaker replied, “Yes, many have come, but I only kept track of one girl who comes every day looking for you. I told him to wait for you.” Aunty glanced around. She spotted the little girl in hijab on the prayer mat, then turned back to the other girls in the car, who hesitated to step out. She frowned. “Are you planning to stay in the car all day?” One of the girls, chattering nervously, said, “Hajiya, the car is so cool inside, I feel like I don’t want to step out.” Aunty shook her head, laughing softly. “That’s just the AC. Inside my house, there’s AC everywhere.” Relieved, the girls climbed out, five in all, their clothes crammed, shoes mismatched, makeup exaggerated—red lips, dark dots on the nose, everyone trying to look perfect. She had collected them from the village, polished them up, and now had her workers ready. She looked at the caretaker. “Bring me the little girl.” Then she addressed the village girls. “Come in, but stay close. Anyone causing trouble will be sent back to the village to continue selling porridge at the market.” Inside, the girls struggled to sit on the plush chairs. She scolded them, “Sit properly! There’s a carpet laid out. Sit down and behave like ladies.” The little girl found a spot alone on a three-seater, while the others squeezed onto a two-seater beside her. Aunty spoke calmly, “I’ve already told you everything you need to know, right?” They nodded. “Now I’ll teach you how to manage your work properly. You won’t be going to other people’s homes unprepared or dirty. You must maintain personal hygiene, keep the environment clean, and prepare food safely. You need to know these things well, and Insha’Allah, I’ll guide you.” She turned her gaze to the little girl. “And you… I didn’t know you before, but now I want to know why you came seeking me.” The girl opened her mouth, but the leering eyes of the other village girls intimidated her, so she hesitated. Aunty’s voice cut through the tension. “It’s your problem if you watch me like vultures. Lower your heads but listen carefully.” In a soft, firm voice, the girl finally spoke, “I heard you help girls find work, so I came… please help me find work to support my siblings in the hospital.” Aunty patted her head gently. “Ah, if I had known, I would have told you to come earlier. These are the only girls left I could find work for. Sorry, child.” The words struck her like a blow. She felt a chill run through her body, tears filling her eyes. She had struggled every day to reach this place, driven by the plight of her siblings. She couldn’t give up—she had nowhere else to turn. Almost breaking down, she pleaded, “Please help me. I can do any work. Help me pay for my siblings’ treatment. The doctor said we must pay, and we have no one else. I am the only one fighting to get the money.” Aunty, touched by her determination, said gently, “Enough tears. How much did the doctor say?” “Eight hundred thousand naira,” she replied, wiping her eyes. Aunty nodded slowly. “If I had the money now, I would help. But everything is expensive. For tonight, tell me where you live, and I’ll send you home. If you stay here, that’s fine, but tomorrow we’ll go to the hospital together. I don’t take children without their parents’ knowledge.” “I’ll stay here. No one is at home; they’re in the hospital. I won’t go back until I can pay for their treatment,” the girl said firmly. “Alright,” Aunty agreed. Larai entered, carrying plates, bread, tea, and small cups, setting them out neatly before returning to the kitchen for the rest of the meal.