Jid atulkhair 1 Hausa Novel Complete
She sat in the small courtyard of their house, her bowl of food before her, but she wasn’t eating. Her hand rested in the bowl, motionless. In one of the three small rooms around the courtyard, a young woman sat with a plate in hand, pressing it to her chest. Nearby, a middle-aged man, likely around 58 years old, lounged on a mat in the courtyard.
From inside the young woman’s room, her voice rose sharply:
“You hypocrite! Always lying and refusing to talk! That’s how you end up miserable and depressed. And why did you waste my fifty naira? You act like a rat, always causing problems. I’m sick today, and your father couldn’t even bring me five naira. He said, ‘You must have saved something.’ So, tell me, what is the reason?”
The girl in the courtyard remained silent, her hand still in the bowl, unable to eat. The young woman stormed out, adjusting her chest strap angrily, snatched the bowl from the girl, and snapped, “Malam Isuhu, come answer for her!”
Malam Isuhu, seated on the mat, looked up and asked, “What’s wrong, Hansatu?”
Hansatu shot him a glare. “Then eat what you cooked today!” she retorted before setting the bowl back in front of the girl and storming back into her room.
The girl quietly stood, carried the bowl to the sink, and began washing the dishes. After finishing, she approached her father, reached into his pocket, and pulled out fifty naira. Handing it to the girl, she said gently, “Go buy fried potatoes, Jiddah.”
The girl accepted the money with a small smile. “Thank you, Dad.”
Hansatu suddenly rushed out, snatched the money from the girl, and counted it. “Four hundred and fifty more for today’s savings,” she declared before locking the money away and retreating to her room. Jiddah blinked back tears and slowly went to her room, careful not to let them fall.
---
The following morning, an elderly woman, about 55 years old, entered a large room and locked the door behind her. She found someone lying on the bed, rubbing their stomach. She knocked on the bed, and the person quickly sat up, startled.
“Aunty, where were you sleeping?” he asked.
“I was here last night after Isha. You didn’t come in,” she replied.
“Oh, I thought you were asleep,” he said, smiling awkwardly.
“Did Ahmad come back yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“Hmm, I thought you were with him,” she said.
He smiled faintly. “No, Aunty. He’s in Abuja.”
She studied him briefly before turning toward the door. Without another word, she exited, locking it behind her.
---
It was Saturday. By eleven o’clock, Abuturrab emerged from his room, impeccably dressed, the scent of his cologne filling the air. His younger sister, seated in the main parlor, watched as everyone turned to look at him. Ignoring their stares, he headed toward his stepmother’s section of the house.
In the parlor, he found her holding his sister, Aisha, in a warm embrace.
“I’m going to Ahmad Aunty’s house,” he announced.
“What about breakfast?” she asked.
“I already ate this morning,” he replied.
“Ah, so you came back for breakfast?” she teased.
“Exactly,” he said, smiling.
She chuckled. “My friend is leaving for Lagos on Monday. Maybe you’ll be piloting the plane.”
“If it’s an early flight,” he joked.
“God willing,” she said softly.
As he left the room, Aunty turned to Aisha. “Why don’t you wait for him?”
Aisha shrugged. “Honestly, Aunty, he told us not to greet him anymore. On Thursday, he came home, and we greeted him—twice! He ignored us completely. Then he said, ‘Don’t greet me again.’ And since then, we haven’t. He seems fine with it.”
Aunty sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
---
Later, Abuturrab arrived at Ahmad’s house and woke him up, their conversation continuing as the day unfolded.
