At present, there were only three girls in her care, none older than seven or eight years — all of them her granddaughters: Ummi, Zanirah, and Fa’iza.

As for the boys, there were plenty of secondary and university students in the household. All of them had left their parents’ homes to live in Hajjah’s boys’ quarters. She never showed the slightest worry about it; nor did she feel burdened by their presence. On the contrary, she enjoyed having them around — everywhere she turned, she would see them. She would laugh at their jokes or join their conversations, mingling with them as a grandmother who was both loving and understanding.

She felt joy seeing her grandchildren gathered around her, teasing each other, provoking one another, and making her act as judge in their little disputes — sometimes even handing out playful smacks with her walking stick. Still, Hajjah raised her grandchildren with proper discipline. You would never find a younger one speaking disrespectfully to an elder, nor would you see a girl sitting too freely with the boys or behaving inappropriately. Whatever anyone did was always under her watchful eye.

Now, however, her full attention was on the three young granddaughters still with her — determined to raise them well: myself, Ummi (Khadija), and Zanirah.

Fa’iz was the son of Hajjah’s eldest child, Alhaji Mukhtar, and unlike us, he had been living permanently with Hajjah since his early school 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). According to her, Fa’iz was the “photocopy” of A.B. Giwa, both in looks and in character. He was dearer to her heart than any of her children or grandchildren.

In Hajjah’s words, Fa’iz was a charming boy, always more attentive to her than anyone else in the family. Whatever he had, he would share with her without hesitation, eager to please her — especially knowing her fondness for chewing kola nuts, using olive oil, black seed (habbatus-sauda), and perfuming herself with musk. From a young age, he knew how to get these things for her without her ever having to ask. Once one supply ran out, another would appear — all thanks to Abubakar–Fa’iz, whom she called Hafizi.

By the age of fifteen, Hafizi was already a hafiz (memorizer) of the Qur’an. He could recite it fluently in all the well-known styles used by reciters in Saudi Arabia — such as Abdur-Rahman as-Sudais, Jabir, Abdur-Rahman ibn Marwan al-Juhani, and al-Khusayri. Fa’iz was the only one who attended secondary school in the city of Madinah al-Munawwarah, sponsored by the government. At the age of ten, he had entered a Qur’an competition in Kaduna State and won a scholarship to study at a secondary school in Madinah.

He returned home at seventeen and chose to live with Hajjah instead of his father, Alhaji Mukhtar, in Kaduna. Hajjah prepared a room for him in the boys’ quarters, fully equipped with everything he might need. Whenever she didn’t hear from him, she would walk over and say, “Hafizi, are you okay? You haven’t come around.” He would answer, “I’m busy with something, Hajja — I’ll come in a little while.” That was their daily routine.

Zanirah was Fa’iz’s younger sister — also a child of Baba Mukhtar. She began living with Hajjah when her mother, Mama, traveled for Hajj, leaving four-year-old Zanirah in her care. After Mama’s return, Zanirah flatly refused to go back home. Her visits to her parents’ house on Jabi Road were rare and only when she felt like it.

The eldest among their siblings was Bashir, a first-year student at Ahmadu Bello University, followed by Fa’iz (who finished secondary school this year), then Abdulhakim, Shu’aib, Yahaya, Zanirah, and the youngest, Abbas, whom we called Junior.

Khadija (Ummi) was the first grandchild to be named after Hajjah. She was the daughter of Aunty Hauwa from Kaduna. From the age of five, Aunty Hauwa would bring Ummi to spend school holidays with Hajjah, where she and Zanirah would play together. Her visits became more frequent over time. Once Ummi realized how much fun children her age had at Hajjah’s house, she began resisting going back home. Whenever they came to take her, she would cry and throw tantrums — sometimes screaming so much that no one in the house could sleep, and she would even faint from the drama. Her parents eventually gave up and left her with Hajjah.

As for me, Fa’izah Ahmad Abubakar Giwa, I am one of the grandchildren of the A.B. family. As I mentioned earlier, my father is the second of Hajjah’s children — Professor Ahmadu Bamalli of Ahmadu Bello University. His marriage to my mother, Maimunatu (whom we call Momi), was a family union. My father was Baban ABU, and my mother was Momin ABU. I am the firstborn, followed by Abdallah, then Walida, and our youngest, Kausar.

Momi worked as a nurse at Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital (ABUTH). She claimed her lack of attention toward me was because I was her first child — shyness and over-reserve, she said, made her awkward with me. My father took me from her care when I was five and left me with Hajjah.

I loved living with Hajjah anyway — especially because of Zanirah. So the three of us — Zanirah, Ummi, and I — formed a little unit, creating a life that often bewildered our parents and even our grandmother. There was hardly a day without some incident that required Hajjah to settle our squabbles or scold us — and almost always, Ya Fa’iz was in the middle of it, making sure there was never a dull moment.