Dabi'ar Zuciya Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete
All the work he did, though he neither knew how nor had the skill for it, had one simple goal: to earn money to buy something delicious for his mother. He would bring it to her secretly, careful never to let his father see. He knew that if his father found out, even if the money or food was Bilal's, his father would take it for himself without shame, leaving none for the family. Bilal had learned to guard his actions, even if it meant enduring scoldings.
What struck Kaltum most was Bilal’s enduring nature. She loved him dearly, for he was kind-hearted and calm, not noisy or troublesome like many children. Yet the weight of the hardship they faced was overwhelming. It seemed to crush his spirit, turning him into what felt like a slave. He couldn’t spend a single day at home idle, not even when he was sick.
Kaltum and Bilal both aspired to study, though circumstances made it difficult. As the only male child, Bilal bore the responsibility of providing for their mother. Despite his struggles, he fought hard to earn money, valuing it above education. Kaltum often reflected on this; if she insisted he return to school, how would they eat? Yet, she vowed to save for his education, even if he resisted, because she saw in him the hope of their family—a ladder that could elevate them to safety and security in the future.
They waited until midday for their father to slaughter the cattle. He never showed up. Hunger etched itself into their faces, but no one dared voice their need. The faint scent of red oil drifted from their father’s side of the compound, teasing them. Yet, they knew he wouldn’t share—not even a little—despite the bond of family. It was as though fate had denied them their portion of God’s provision.
As Kaltum finished her noon prayers, she stretched, her black hijab brushing the ground. She looked at her siblings with a mix of pity and resolve.
"Our people," she began, “I still owe money for the food I gave her since the day she was born. Let me see if I can find some and buy what we need.”
She glanced at her sister with sorrow. This life was not one she wanted, but it was the one they had to endure. She had no business, no capital, and no assets to sell. Even if she tried to start something, their father’s interference would ruin it. She had no choice but to remain vigilant, juggling the many challenges of their lives.
She never faltered, though the burden of their upbringing weighed heavily on her. Her resolve was unwavering, and those who knew her understood she carried their struggles silently.
"If I don’t find anything, we’ll just have to come home," she said quietly.
"In sha Allah, let’s go," her sister replied.
As they walked, silence stretched between them, each lost in thought. They had not gone far when they saw Asia approaching, carrying a school bag as though she had just returned from school. The sight was unusual; Asia rarely came home at this time.
Kaltum and Asia exchanged glances. Asia’s expression held defiance, and as Kaltum looked away, she sighed. "This girl," she muttered to herself. Kaltum’s frustration grew, knowing that Asia’s behavior would only bring more shame to their family.
Habiba, walking beside her, noticed. "Did you see the way Asia looked at you?" she asked.
Kaltum nodded. "She’s ready to cause trouble," she replied.
Curious, Habiba pressed for details. "What happened?" she asked.
Kaltum hesitated, but eventually, she shared everything that had been on her mind. Habiba listened intently, her face hardening with disappointment.
"I’ve seen this behavior in Asia before," Habiba admitted. “Yaya, I pray God intervenes.”
Kaltum turned to her, frustration evident in her voice. “But Habiba, you’ve never tried to stop her from ruining herself! Don’t you realize that by doing nothing, you’ve allowed her to bring harm upon herself? You share in the responsibility!”
Habiba lowered her gaze, her voice quiet. “What can I do, Yaya? I told Umma, but she said to just pray for her and avoid conflict. She doesn’t want violence.”
