She was bent over, trying to read, but it wasn't working. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself and keep her mind off what was happening in their courtyard between their father and her older sister, Khadeeja, she couldn't. She clicked her tongue in frustration and covered her ears with her fingers, trying to block out the sound of her father beating her sister, Khadeeja, while shouting, "I swear I didn't raise a child who would defy me! You're saying you don't want to marry my relative?" Her sister, undeterred, continued to scream, "I don't want him, and I swear I won't marry him!" But their father kept beating her. This had become a daily occurrence in their house. Every day, their father beat Khadeeja, insisting she marry his relative, while she steadfastly refused. Even I am amazed at how brave Adda Khadeeja is because our father is quite the disciplinarian. We are all afraid of him, not just us but even the neighborhood kids, as he would punish any child he saw doing something wrong by beating them with his cane that hangs in his room. This has made him feared by everyone. However, surprisingly, Adda Adeeja seems to have lost that fear; she no longer cares about the beatings he gives her, which started with a cane and have now escalated to a stick. Yet she remains adamant, refusing to marry him, saying she already has someone she loves, Abdulhameed, and that she's determined to marry him. Our father has even stopped her from leaving the house and going to school, but that hasn't changed her stance. Our mother never gets involved; she just goes about her business, even when he's beating Adda Adeeja. She doesn't even look at them and just locks herself in her room afterward. I sighed and got up to check the door. When I lifted the curtain, I saw the upsetting sight of my father tying up my sister, Khadeeja, while she was crouched, crying softly because her voice was hoarse. Off to the side, our mother was kneeling, performing her Maghrib ablution. Tears streamed down my face in sympathy for my sister. As soon as our father left for prayers, I rushed to Adeeja's side, knelt down, and lifted her chin. Her eyes were swollen and sunken from crying all the time. I smiled at her, which only made her cry more. She said, sobbing, "Adda Adeeja, please help yourself and accept father's choice. One day you'll reap the benefits of your obedience." She smiled weakly at her younger sister and, with a choked voice, replied, "Fateema, you're too young to understand what I'm going through. I don't love him; I love Abdulhameed. He's the one I want to spend my life with, not this boy." Before she could say more, their mother called for her, so she quickly got up and went to their mother's room to perform the prayers as instructed. The next morning, as Fateema was getting ready for school, she noticed that Adeeja was still lying in bed, wrapped up in a blanket, shivering with cold and fever. The previous night, their father's punishment had been particularly harsh, leaving her out in the cold courtyard overnight in the freezing Jos weather in early December. When Fateema touched her sister's neck, it felt hot, and she was visibly shivering from the cold. She clicked her tongue in frustration and went to their mother's room to tell her, but her mother's response was indifferent. Fateema returned to her room, feeling frustrated that her mother didn't seem to care about what their father was doing to Adeeja. It wasn't as if he was the only one who had a say in her life. Why should it be mandatory for her to marry someone she doesn't want? She finished getting ready for school, dressed in her blue knee-length skirt, white shirt, blue waistcoat, and long white socks that went up to her knees, before putting on her leather sandals and white hijab. She looked smart and neat. As she was leaving the room, she heard her friend and schoolmate, Charity, greeting her mother in their Birom language. Fateema came out and joined her, and they started walking to school, which wasn't far—just a short walk to Bishop College. On the way, Charity asked, "So, your father still hasn't given up on Adeeja?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "You Hausa people have serious issues, honestly. To think someone can control another person's life like that! Adeeja is only 17 years old, just in SS2, and they're already trying to marry her off? For Christ's sake, that's not fair." Fateema didn't respond, her mind occupied with how she could help her sister. Charity went on, "I can't stand seeing Sister Adeeja like this. I'll talk to our granny about it. Maybe she can talk to your granny and get her to say something to your father. What he's doing to Adeeja isn't fair. Just because he gave birth to her doesn't mean he has complete control over her life." Although Charity's words hurt Fateema, she was more concerned about her saying she'd tell their grandmother, who would then talk to their grandmother. Their grandmother was unaware of the situation because their mother had forbidden them from telling her, saying it was her father's right to decide, even to the point of killing her if he wished. But now, if Charity told her, their grandmother would surely intervene and put a stop to it.