The town of Sokoto, Sama Road neighborhood. This is a neighborhood of wealthy people, where the environment is dominated by those who have tasted the salt of money, meaning Naira, and have made a name for themselves. It’s a place for prominent individuals—big politicians, wealthy traders, and influential people. Anyone of significance in Sokoto is likely to own a house in this grand neighborhood. Even the young ones who come to make money in the town are not left behind.

Misbahu’s house is one of the largest on Naira Lane. It’s a modern building, constructed with what could truly be called a fortune in Naira. The house is adorned with every modern convenience. Just looking at it, you can tell it’s an extraordinary structure. The gate alone is a sight to behold, and inside, the arrangement and elegance of the house are indescribable—only those who see it can truly understand.

The house has nearly ten different sections. There’s a playground for children on the left, and if you go straight, you’ll find a path leading to a swimming pool, a place for bathing. From there, you reach the main large store where all the daily necessities of the household are kept—a distance that feels like a three-kilometer journey. Behind the house is a separate section for animal husbandry, a farm of sorts, with everything from domestic chickens and turkeys to birds, fishponds, sheep, cows, and more.

Each section has its own dedicated staff to manage it thoroughly.

Kubra is seated on a cushion, surrounded by luxury. She’s with her worldly friends, each with their own bold personality. The hookah pipe is in the hands of the boldest among them, the mother of the “barracks girls,” puffing and blowing out smoke with confidence. In their wild circle, each has their specialty—one smokes cigarettes, another takes pills, and another drinks pure syrup. When one raises a bottle, another downs it.

Soft music begins to rise from the large parlor. From where they sit, they dance their “barracks girls” dance, full of enthusiasm and excitement.

A sleek Mercedes car pulls up and parks where the big cars of the house are kept. Three young girls step out of the car, each wearing a purple uniform, holding Qur’ans, clearly returning from Islamic school. Looking at these girls, you wouldn’t think they were raised on cornflakes and milk—their faces glow with pure radiance, their fairness perfectly balanced.

As they head toward the main section of the house, the eldest among them suddenly stops, touches her head, and exclaims, “Oh shit!” The youngest looks at her and asks, “Yaya Suxee, are you okay?” The one called Yaya Suxee replies, “Honestly, my phone! I forgot it at the shop. I gave it to Sayyadi earlier to send me some sermons, and it seems I didn’t take it back!” She turns to the middle one and says, “Please, Haseena, go get the car keys from Baba Lawan and check where I was sitting to see if it’s there.”

The one called Haseena responds, “Okay, Yaya!” She hands her Qur’an to her sister and turns to follow her instructions. As she walks away, the youngest turns to Suxee with a frown. Suxee smiles.