KWARTON MANYA BOOK 1 COMPLETE BY MAMAN TEDDY

“They don’t know.” She said as she dipped the dough into the hot oil where she was frying the kalallaba. Then she opened her mouth angrily and said:
“Yes, I heard you! Even if it is dirt from my own body that I scrape and cook with maggi and salt, it shouldn’t concern you. Didn’t I tell you I don’t give out things on credit in my business? I will not give it!”
“Are you talking to me like that?” he said angrily, already looking for an excuse to provoke her.
“Yes, I’m talking to you! By God, I will argue with anyone when it comes to my business,” she replied while turning the kalallaba in the oil. She had already made about a hundred naira from the frying, aside from other groceries she had bought.
Sama’ila quickly rushed toward the entrance of the small kitchen, intending to beat Zainabu, but he was stopped.
Umma Halima intervened immediately, frowning and speaking harshly: “Pack your things and leave this house! If you won’t go and find your own means of livelihood, then go anywhere you like. I told you to stay away from Zainabu but you refused. When Malam comes back, I will make sure he settles this between you two.”
Sama’ila, biting his finger in frustration, turned back. He didn’t like their mother’s interference—he had wanted to beat Zainabu before leaving the house as he had planned.
“Zainabu, give me kalallaba.” A small boy said, stretching out his hand with money. She collected it, thinking it was two five-naira notes, but then she realized it was only one.
“Ah! Your mother is very disrespectful. Is it not foolishness to send you with five naira to buy flour snacks? You’re lucky today my temper is off, or I would have dealt with you. The way you came here smiling, you would go back crying, because I would have beaten you for annoying me.”
“Get out of my sight, you little thing!” she added, throwing the five naira into the fire. “I won’t take this five naira—I’ve burned it because of the annoyance it caused me.”
Seeing this, the boy ran out of the kitchen crying back to his mother.
The other customers buying kalallaba wanted to correct Zainabu for what she did, but they were afraid of her temper. So they just paid for their food quietly and left.
“Zainabu, hurry up and finish. I’ll send you to Dole market to buy spices.”
“Okay Umma, I’m almost done. I’ve fried about a hundred already and the dough is nearly finished,” she said, showing the remaining small quantity in the bowl. Honestly, one would wonder what kind of profit Zainabu was making.
“Zainabu, Mama said you should please give him the kalallaba for five naira—the child just had his head shaved,” a girl said.
Angrily, Zainabu turned and looked at the girl and the boy whose money she had thrown into the fire: “I won’t give it! Does she give out her own goods on credit? She wants to insult me in my own business? I already burned the money—let that child’s shaved head bring him luck elsewhere. Now get out before I get up!”
The girl quickly dragged her younger brother away.
Zainabu continued selling her kalallaba to many customers, but before she finished, she had argued with countless people.
When she was done, she didn’t even bother to bathe or wash her face. She just wore her hijab down to her knees—she looked dusty and unkempt.
“Umma, where is the money?”
Umma looked her up and down before saying: “Zainabu, won’t you at least wash your feet before going out like this?”
She adjusted her hijab slightly and replied: “Yes, Umma, I’ll go like this. Those Lagos people are shameless. Even if I bathe, dress nicely, and wear fine clothes, they will still call me a married woman. They will never call me a young lady unless I dress improperly—like wearing three-quarter trousers. If that’s what you want, I can go and buy one now with the profit I made from kalallaba.”
“No, no. Just go and buy the spices I told you—everything for one hundred and fifty naira.”
“Okay Umma, I’ll be back.”
“Safe journey.”
Zainabu then left the house, heading toward Dole market.