Abban Sojoji Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete
As she stepped out of the toilet, she saw the ministers dragging the children as if they were sheep. She returned to the wardrobe, grabbed a sheet, spread it on the floor, and lay down.
The next morning, they left early, with Hajajju driving and the girl seated beside her. As they drove, the girl stared out at the road through the windshield. Hajajju broke the silence, asking, "You still haven’t told me your name. At least I should know your age, right?" She said this while maneuvering the steering wheel to switch lanes.
The girl smiled. “My name is Sehrish, but our Oumman calls me Rishi. I’m 17 years old.”
Hajajju nodded, her tone warm. “Wow, what a beautiful name! It really suits you.”
Sehrish beamed with joy. “Thank you.”
They didn’t talk much after that until they arrived at the hospital. Sehrish led Hajajju to the ICU, where her sisters were admitted. As they entered, a beautiful young girl suddenly stood up and embraced Sehrish tightly. The sight left Hajajju stunned; it felt like a dream. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
The children were strikingly unique—none of them shared even the faintest resemblance. Hajajju’s confusion deepened when she saw another child lying on a hospital bed, connected to oxygen, breathing laboriously. All three were so different yet undeniably tied together.
Tears streamed down the faces of Sehrish and her sister, Jahad. Sehrish held Jahad’s hand, patting her gently. “Jahad, stop crying. You’re making me more anxious. Everything will be fine, Insha Allah.”
Jahad pulled away and said, “I’m not crying for myself. I’m crying for Husanna. The doctor said if we don’t start paying for her treatment, she won’t survive. How will we afford this without help?”
Sehrish’s face darkened with worry as Hajajju, standing nearby, observed the heartbreaking scene. Compassion overwhelmed her as she noticed Jahad’s forehead wound, covered with a bloodstained bandage. A cannula was fixed to her hand, indicating recent IV treatment. Hajajju felt the weight of their suffering, piecing together the tragic lives of these three children.
Sehrish’s voice pulled Hajajju from her thoughts. “Jahad, go and greet Hajajju. Thank her; she’s going to help us.”
Jahad wiped her tears, walked over to Hajajju respectfully, and said, “Thank you, Hajajju. I’ll start working as soon as I can repay you.”
Hajajju smiled and patted Jahad’s shoulder. “Are you okay, my dear?”
“Alhamdulillah, I’m fine,” Jahad replied. “But Husanna... things are getting worse. The doctor said even if she undergoes surgery, she might never fully recover.” Her voice broke as tears overcame her again.
Hajajju pulled Jahad into a comforting embrace. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Don’t cry. Insha Allah, everything will be okay.”
Jahad replied between sobs, “May Allah make it easy for us.”
Sehrish turned to Husanna, lying weakly on the bed. Sitting on the edge, she gazed at her with teary eyes. “May Allah protect you, my sister. I feel all the pain in your heart that has brought us to this point. May Allah shield us from the cruelty of oppressors.” She broke down, resting her head on Husanna’s fragile body.
An older woman entered the room, carrying medicine and bandages. Hajajju and Jahad stepped aside as she approached. The woman greeted Hajajju warmly, “Welcome, Hajajju. I’ve heard about you.”
Hajajju smiled, sensing the kindness in her voice. “Thank you, Auntie. I see you’re caring for these children, but I’ve never seen them before.”
The older woman chuckled. “That’s because you never looked. They’ve been here for some time, and I’ve been taking care of them.”
Hajajju nodded. “Are they your grandchildren?”
The woman smiled but did not immediately answer, leaving Hajajju more intrigued.
