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The heat was unbearable everywhere due to the extreme hot weather, but the heat she felt was nothing compared to the burning sensation in her heart. The pain, anguish, and torment that lay heavily within her only grew with time, gradually weakening her spirit.
“Fauziya! Hey, Fauziya, come out and lock the door for us. You know this is a house for married women, and you want to leave it open so that a stranger might barge in?”
A'ilo’s loud call interrupted the chain of thoughts Fauziya had unknowingly sunk into. She got up sluggishly and walked to the courtyard, intending to respond, but A'ilo cut her off again.
“May God separate the innocent from the thief because this is getting too much! Every day, we have to endure the banging on the door. Neighborly rights are important, but this is too much. Baban Walid came in a while ago; go and lock the door. When your husband comes back, hold his hand and take him straight to your room. Because if that drunkard barges into my room again, I swear we will deal with him.”
Fauziya felt no anger towards A'ilo’s words, as she was used to her outbursts. Without saying a word, she made her way to the dimly lit corridor, using the small torchlight from her phone to lock the door. She then checked on her children, who were sleeping outside, and adjusted their sleeping positions. Due to the extreme heat, she had laid them outside, just like the other women in the compound had done with their children. Later, when the night cooled down, they would take the children back inside.
She sat down slowly, turned off her phone’s light, and dialed her husband Kabir’s number. However, the call did not go through—his phone was switched off. She glanced at the clock on her phone; it was 11:30 PM.
She sat drowsily, eventually reclining against the bed so that she wouldn’t fall into a deep sleep. If she did, Kabir might return, bang on the door, and shout insults in front of the other women. As sleep took over her, she drifted off.
“Mommy, my leg! Mommy, my leg! A scorpion stung me!”
Fatima’s cry jolted her awake. In a panic, she ran into the courtyard, frantically shining her phone’s light around. Fatima’s wails filled the night as the sharp pain from the sting overwhelmed her.
“What is it, Fatima? What happened to your leg?”
Fauziya bombarded her with questions while shining the light on her leg. She saw nothing at first, but the area Fatima was clutching had turned red. She gently moved Fatima aside and then spotted a large black scorpion heading toward Na’ima, who was still asleep. Quickly, she grabbed a nearby shoe and smashed it. The scorpion died instantly. Fauziya let out a sigh of relief but was now overwhelmed with worry—she had no idea what first aid to give for a scorpion sting. Fatima was still crying loudly, visibly shaken.
She grabbed her hijab, picked up Fatima—who was barely three years old—and strapped her onto her back. The weight felt unbearable due to her advanced pregnancy, coupled with carrying Fatima. She walked to the mirror stand where she usually kept money, but she wasn’t sure how much was left.
She found only 200 Naira. Without hesitation, she took it and rushed out into the courtyard, heading straight to Lawisa’s room while calling out,
“Salamu Alaikum. Lawisa! Lawisa!”
Half-asleep, Lawisa responded. Fauziya adjusted Fatima on her back and pleaded,
“Please, can I borrow 1,000 Naira from you? I need to take Fatima to the pharmacy; she was stung by a scorpion.”
"Subhanallah! A scorpion?" Lawisa exclaimed, getting out of bed. Fauziya waited as Lawisa searched for money. Eventually, she lifted her curtain and handed Fauziya some cash.
"Fauziya, I only have 150 Naira," she said.
Fauziya took it and quickly responded,
“Please, when I leave, close the gate in case I don’t return before it’s locked. I’ve heard it’s dangerous to leave a scorpion sting untreated until morning.”
Lawisa nodded. “Alright, may God protect you. That’s why I always keep my kids indoors at night. This heat is unbearable; may we survive it safely.”
Fauziya murmured an acknowledgment and left.
She headed to the pharmacy behind their street, but from a distance, she could see that it was closed. She looked at the crumpled cash in her hand—350 Naira.
‘If Bala’s pharmacy is closed, where else can I take Fatima?’
A new idea struck her. She quickly redialed Kabir’s number, but his phone was still switched off.
Determined, she decided to go to his shop, assuming his phone had run out of battery. She made her way toward the main road, where only a few people were moving about at that hour. Her heart felt heavy as she walked, troubled by Fatima’s relentless crying and the pains in her legs and back.
She waited at the roadside for a while, but there were no rickshaws in sight. Just as she considered walking, she spotted one in the distance and waved frantically. The driver initially passed her but, upon noticing the child on her back, turned around and stopped.
“Madam, this child crying—where are you coming from?”
The driver looked at her suspiciously.
“She’s my daughter. I’m taking her to her father’s shop. A scorpion stung her, and I need to get her to a pharmacy.”
Fauziya explained, exhausted. The man’s doubtful gaze unsettled her, so she turned to Fatima and said,
“Fatima, tell him what happened to your leg.”
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