Asanadin Makwabtaka Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete
After a while, she ran through the gates of a large house—a mansion that stood prominently in the area. A narrow path led her around the flat's water tank to the back of the house. There, she saw a tall building with two rooms aligned in a row, each with a small door opposite the other. A balcony stretched across the front, sheltering the rooms. From the building's condition, it was clear this was a Boys’ Quarters (BQ), typical of wealthy homes. However, the BQ was dilapidated, with cracks in the balcony ceiling and peeling paint. She collapsed at the base of the wall, crying loudly.
Children played in the courtyard while a woman crouched under the building near the water tank, struggling to light a fire. The sight of someone cooking there left everyone shocked. As the girl approached, a boy called out loudly, “Hey, Mom! Look, Jamila is back from the market.”
The boy's mother, startled, turned to see Jamila, carrying a bucket and a smaller container of water balanced on it. The sight made the woman rush forward, exclaiming, “Jamila! How dare you come here like this without paying for the water you fetched?” Her frustration grew as she pointed to the water tank, adding, “You know I don't allow unpaid water to be used!”
Before Jamila could respond, another woman, Saratu, interrupted, shouting angrily, “Jamila, what you did is unacceptable! You didn’t even settle the bill before fetching water.”
Jamila, wiping her tears, replied, “I swear, Aunt, I didn’t fetch it for myself! It wasn’t me.” Saratu countered, “Then who? Your father? Or Fatuu? You know she was beaten because of you, right?” Saratu angrily recounted how the water bucket had been thrown away in frustration.
The quarrel escalated until Saratu declared, “I will not tolerate this nonsense! My water must be paid for, or no one fetches again!” As she turned to adjust her hijab, Jamila quickly handed her some money, catching her off guard. Saratu stared at the money in disbelief, flipping it over in her hands.
“And where did this come from?” she asked sharply. Jamila didn’t answer, but the boy beside her whispered, “It’s dowry money, Aunt.” Saratu's jaw dropped as she began counting the money. “Dowry money?” she repeated in shock. Turning to Jamila, she demanded, “Where did you get all this money?”
Jamila hesitated, then muttered, “The person who gave it is—” Before she could finish, her mother interjected furiously, “Don’t lie! Are you saying someone handed you this for no reason? What scheme are you up to, Jamila? Did you trick someone into this?” Her voice trembled with anger as she grabbed Jamila’s arm, causing some of the money to spill onto the ground.
Terrified, Jamila cried out, “No, Mom! I swear no one tricked me! The person gave it willingly.”
“Who?” her mother demanded, gripping her tightly.
“Hajiyar Senator’s family,” Jamila blurted out confidently.
“Hajiyar Senator?” her mother repeated, stunned, as she loosened her grip on Jamila’s arm. The name clearly struck a chord. “Do you even know who she is?”
“No, Mom. I only met her for the first time today,” Jamila replied, her voice trembling as she recounted the encounter. Her mother fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Hajiyar Senator is a generous woman. She helps everyone in the community, and her house is always full of visitors because of her good deeds. Her son is a big politician too,” she mused. Then, looking at Jamila, she wondered aloud, “But why would someone like her give you so much money?”
The conversation ended with her mother deep in thought, still trying to unravel the mystery of Hajiyar Senator’s generosity.
