ZUCIYAR NAMIJI

About this Novel

This time, I bring you news from the town of Sokoto, a small, modest house with slightly swollen, mud-covered walls caught my attention. The rusted door creaked as I entered, having to bend slightly to pass through. As I entered, I observed a young woman engrossed in drawing what appeared to be a depiction of a bustling village market with various stalls, referred to as "Atamu" in the Hausa language. The rain had momentarily subdued her, but it showed no sign of abating. Her youthful appearance, combined with long, white hair, seemed to belie a certain distress, evident in the occasional wiping away of tears from her cheeks. "Hey, fans, I can't help but feel sorry for her. Where is her husband or any of her relatives? How is she managing all of this on her own?" I muttered to myself. Soon, a young man emerged, offering a helping hand to the young woman. He seemed to be in his thirties, with a striking dark complexion and a well-groomed beard.