Gobe Na Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel
Milk was the most among the things I bought, not for any other reason but because I knew my father needed tea more than anything right now. I had one basket full of snacks and sweets, and I also took another basket filled with daily essentials like bath soap, washing soap, perfume, and omo (detergent).
I was wearing a black abaya with just a small veil, which allowed me to carry both baskets easily as I headed to pay. Amal was behind me holding her biscuit. On the small table, I placed the baskets and then took my ATM card out of my bag, holding it in my hand while waiting for the cashier to finish with the people before me so he could start with mine. I usually pay with my ATM card unless I withdraw my entire salary beforehand.
After he finished with two people, he started with me. Once he finished counting everything, I handed him the money, and he began packing the items into bags. From what I know, when you shop at Jifatu, you pay first, then they pack your items into bags and hand them to you.
“How much is it?”
“Hajiya, it’s paid for.”
He told me while still packing my things into a bag. Suddenly, my legs gave out and I almost fainted, but I regained my composure after a few moments and asked him again:
“Who paid?”
“Outside.”
I turned around and saw Abdallah standing by his car, eyes on the phone he was holding. I averted my gaze and kept watching him until he finished packing the items into the bag, then I extended my hand to receive it.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Hajiya.”
Holding the bags tightly, I headed toward the exit door. Amal was holding onto the edge of my abaya as we stepped outside. I didn’t look back at Abdallah, not even once, even though I knew it wouldn’t stop him from talking to me if he wanted.
As I walked down the street, I heard his voice behind me.
“I didn’t pay so you’d thank me, and I know you wouldn’t. But at least look at me; won’t you feel a little warmth?”
I stopped abruptly, turned, and gave him a sharp glare—a look as dark as a thunderstorm. But it seemed my glare pleased him, because a smile spread across his face and he removed his white sunglasses to look at me clearly. I looked away and continued walking until I felt him grab Amal’s hand. I turned quickly and saw him slipping money into her hand.
“Get into the napep (commercial motorcycle). You know stubborn mothers like yours won’t go if I say I’m taking her.”
Amal said nothing and took the money, as she usually does with money and biscuits no matter who offers them. I pulled her hand and kept walking.
“I left your husband over there in the Damba area with his friends and some women.”
I turned to look at him again, feeling bitterness and disgust at the sight of his face.
“What benefit will you get by telling me that? Do you think I will believe you? What would make my husband look for other women?”
“Well, I saw him. What man would leave a woman like you and look elsewhere?”
“Are you not afraid of God, Abdallah? Because you do not fear His law, you’re committing adultery and breaking the rules of marriage. Would you like it if another man cared for your wife? Would you like it if another man said hurtful things about you to your wife? Don’t you care about yourself? From now on, don’t say anything about my husband. My husband is not a womanizer. I can tell you don’t understand the value of marriage or your own worth, much less how to protect your family’s honor.”
“I know the value of marriage, Halimatu. I respect marriage and everyone who is married. I just love you. I want you to know that appearances and nature may change, but the heart never changes. The bond between us can never be cut. Even after love, I am your brother, right?”
“You are a stranger, and I hope you know that.”
He nodded and smiled at me. I turned and continued on my way.
“If I had a woman like you, I wouldn’t allow even a glance at her, let alone any man talking to her. I would do everything to protect her honor and dignity.”
I didn’t respond or stop to argue anymore. Luckily, as I was reaching the main street, I saw a napep, raised my hand, and it stopped. I got on, Amal followed, and I sat down.
“Mommy, here’s the money,” Amal said, handing me the money Abdallah gave her. I took it, put it in my bag, and began collecting my change. Just then, my phone rang. Seeing my sister-in-law’s number, I quickly answered.
“Assalamu Alaikum, Hajiya.”
“Yes, Halimatu, are you well?”
“Very well, Hajiya. How are you?”
“Alhamdulillah. Did you talk to Aminu about the money?”
“Yes, Hajiya, I told him.”
“If you didn’t, you should have. I still haven’t heard anything from him. I don’t know if you told him or not, but if you haven’t, you should now. You should understand that a mother-in-law is like a mother. Anything that concerns me should matter to you.”
“I swear I told him, Hajiya, but I will talk to him again.”
She cut off the call before we could say goodbye, clearly upset. That’s how it usually is with his siblings—they ask me to talk to him when they need something, but they never speak directly to him themselves. Even his mother is closer to him, but she only tells me to tell him when she needs something urgently. They treat him as if he’s owned and controlled by me, just because I handle his affairs. But I know I have no such control as they imagine.
When we reached home, I gave the napep driver his fare. Amal came out frowning, complaining about the weather. Seeing Abdulhamid’s car—Abdallah’s rebellious nickname—parked near our gate confirmed his arrival. He often stops by briefly to greet Mama.
I went inside with Amal crying behind me. Our house is full of young women and men; as I entered, the younger girls—my sisters and those we share parents with—rushed to me, shouting with joy.
“Oyoyo, Auntie Halima!”
They quickly grabbed the bags from my hands. One even lifted Amal, laughing. That’s how our house is; it’s hard to distinguish whose room is whose since we share parents or have the same father, and we don’t consider distinctions like rivalry or half-siblings.
I greeted Inna in her room, then headed to my mother’s room.
“Welcome, Sadiya,” Mama said with a smile. I sat on a chair and greeted her and Abdulhamid.
“Here again today?”
“Yes, really. How are the kids?”
“All good.”
“Just now I asked if you came because you missed two nights.”
“I’ve cut back on going out because there’s too much to do—taking care of the kids, going to work, then doing housework when I return. I really have no rest.”
“May Allah help you. I’m leaving now.”
“Already?”
“I came earlier and even had lunch here.”
“Please greet them, Hajiya.”
“They will hear.”
He stood and took his keys from his pocket. He looked a bit different from Abdallah—his front teeth are slightly more covered and his demeanor is unlike Abdallah’s. But the resemblance is close enough that if I hadn’t seen the car outside or heard him speak when I came in, I might have mistaken him for Abdallah.
Mama accompanied him to his car and then came back to tell me he brought rice for us, as he’s from Baba’s family who love hospitality, especially Baba himself, since they see him not working and struggling with his leg ailment and a large family. Our house alone has four young women; besides me (the second eldest) and my brother Maimunatu, who’s married with children in Kano, and Inna’s seven children—all girls except three whose father married four wives.
“This rice is expensive; may Allah reward them.”
“Ameen.”
Mama asked where I left Namra and Salim.
“They’re at their older brother’s house. You know it’s the weekend, and he said he’d take them out with his children. So they went, but Amal refused to go.”
“She’s always stuck to you, the queen of clinginess. When you have a child, I’ll see how she behaves.”
My sister Amina said this, and I laughed.
“No, she’s just a spoiled child.”
Kausar replied, “Not spoiled—some spoiled child will show us what clinginess really is.”
I didn’t continue their conversation; I looked at Mama and laughed.
“I brought soap for you all. I’ll bring the rest of the shopping next month.”
“No problem, may Allah bless you.”
That’s how I do shopping sometimes—buying for them some months because I also take care of myself, especially since no man supports me, especially not my husband. Men here don’t like to provide for their wives, so I focus entirely on my work. Whenever I receive my salary, I set aside some for myself and my parents for small needs that don’t affect me much.
