At present, there are three little girls in front of her, none older than seven or eight years — all grandchildren — Ummi, Zanirah, and Fa’iza.

The boys are mostly secondary and university students, and God has blessed Hajjah’s house with many of them. They all left their parents’ homes to live in Hajjah’s boys’ quarters. She never showed any sign of worry about it, nor did she complain about their presence. In fact, she felt happy seeing them everywhere she turned. She would join in their chatter, grandmother and grandchildren sharing warmth and understanding.

She loved having her grandchildren around — one teasing another, another returning the favor — while she either playfully judged their quarrels or, at times, jokingly threatened them with a cane.

However, Hajjah raised her grandchildren with good discipline: no small child was allowed to disrespect an elder, nor could the girls freely sit close to the boys or behave carelessly. Every move they made was under her watchful eye.

Now, her main focus was on raising the three young granddaughters still with her — me, Ummi (Khadija), and Zanirah.

Fa’iz was the son of Hajjah’s eldest child, Alhaji Mukhtar, but unlike us, he had been living in Hajjah’s house permanently since his early years.

Hajjah’s love for Fa’iz was unlike her love for any other grandchild because he alone bore the name of her late son, A.B. (Abubakar). She would always say that Fa’iz was the “photocopy” of A.B. Giwa, in both looks and character.

Fa’iz had a special place in Hajjah’s heart — more than any of her children or grandchildren. She often said he was a boy with a pleasant personality and the most caring toward her in the entire family. Whatever he had was hers; he never hesitated to give her anything that would make her happy.

She was particularly fond of chewing kola nuts, using olive oil, black seed, and musk perfume. From childhood, Fa’iz knew how to get these for her without her asking — before one supply finished, he would already have another ready. She called him Hafizi, because at fifteen, he had already memorized the Qur’an and could recite it fluently in the various styles used by renowned Saudi reciters like Abdur-Rahman Al-Sudais, Jabir, Abdur-Rahman Ibn Marwan Al-Juhani, and Al-Khusayri.

Fa’iz was the only one who attended secondary school in Madinah Al-Munawwarah on a government scholarship. At the age of ten, he had won a thirty-juz’ Qur’an memorization competition in Kaduna State, earning him sponsorship to a secondary school in Madinah. He returned home at seventeen and chose Hajjah’s house over his father’s home in Kaduna.

Hajjah gave her beloved Fa’iz his own room in the boys’ quarters, with everything he might need. If she didn’t hear from him for a while, she would walk over and ask,

> “Hafizi, are you okay? You haven’t come in.”

He would reply,

“I’m working on something, Hajjah. I’ll come in a little later.”

Zanirah was Fa’iz’s younger sister, also a child of Alhaji Mukhtar. She had been living with Hajjah since she was four, when her mother (Mama) traveled for Hajj. After Mama returned, Zanirah flatly refused to live at home. She would only go to Jabi Road (their family home) during holidays — and not even all of them, only the ones she chose.

Their eldest brother was Bashir, a first-year student at Ahmadu Bello University. Then came Fa’iz, who just graduated from secondary school this year, followed by Abdulhakim, Shu’aib, Yahaya, then Zanirah, and finally their youngest, Abbas, whom we called “Junior.”

Khadija (Ummi) was the first of us to call Hajjah by that name. She was the daughter of Aunty Hauwa in Kaduna. Since she was five, Aunty Hauwa would send her to Hajjah’s house during holidays so she could play with Zanirah. Over time, these visits became regular every school break. When Ummi realized the kind of freedom children enjoyed at Hajjah’s house, she began resisting going back home. Whenever her mother came to take her away, she would cry and protest loudly. If forced to leave, she would cry so much at home that nobody could sleep, sometimes even fainting. Eventually, her parents gave up and left her in Hajjah’s care.

As for me, Fa’izah Ahmad Abubakar Giwa, I am one of the A.B. Family grandchildren. As I said earlier, my father is Hajjah’s second child, Professor Ahmadu Bamalli of Ahmadu Bello University. His marriage to my mother, Maimunatu — whom we call Momin ABU — was a family arrangement. I am their first child, followed by Abdallah, then Walida, and lastly Kausar.

My mother was a nurse at the Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital (ABUTH). Because I was her first child, she believed in raising me with shyness and restraint, but in reality, it made me withdrawn. My father decided to take me away from her care when I was five and placed me with Hajjah.

Truth be told, I preferred being in Hajjah’s house — if only because of Zanirah. So the three of us — me, Zanirah, and Ummi — formed a tight bond and began a kind of life that often left our parents speechless and our grandmother busy managing us.

There was no day that passed without some drama among us, and Fa’iz was the one who knew exactly how to push our buttons. There was never a single day when we didn’t give Hajjah a reason to either mediate or scold us.