Karfe A Wuta 1 Hausa Novel Complete
The ringing of his phone jolted him awake from a deep sleep. Struggling to pull the blanket off his head, he reached for the vibrating phone on the bedside table. Without glancing at the caller ID, he answered it, placing it against his ear while shutting his eyes again. For about forty seconds, he listened to the voice on the other end before replying in a calm, sleep-laden voice, “Okay, sir.” He slid the phone under his pillow, turned over, and sighed heavily, irritated by the disruption.
After a few minutes, he pushed the blanket aside, stretching lazily. His eyes drifted to the small clock on the bedside table: 11:29 a.m. Surprised by how long he had slept, he let out a slow breath, swung his legs off the bed, and stood up.
The house had become a mess—four days had passed without cleaning. Since Batool’s arrival, there had been no improvement in the household’s upkeep, and the servants were visibly frustrated by the neglect. Without bothering to shower, he slipped into a long black robe, slid his feet into his slippers, and headed downstairs.
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It was past eleven when Shahudah woke up, tears streaking her face. Standing in the middle of her room in nothing but her underwear, she appeared dazed, as if haunted by unseen demons. Her nightgown lay discarded on the floor. She shuffled toward the bathroom and stayed there for what felt like an eternity.
When she finally emerged, wrapped in a thin pink towel, she approached the mirror. Letting the towel drop, she applied oil to her skin, then reached into her wardrobe, pulled out a long black dress, and put it on. She folded her discarded clothes neatly, grabbed a prayer mat, and spread it on the floor.
The sight left me stunned. Shahudah was preparing to pray Fajr at nearly a quarter past eleven. I couldn’t help but reflect on the power of ALLAH as I watched her complete her prayer in record time—no more than three minutes.
Afterward, she removed her dress, wrapped the towel around herself again, and sat down to comb and style her hair.
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Shahudah Jawaad entered the room suddenly, her gaze brushing over him briefly before she turned away, her displeasure evident. He, too, scanned the room as if assessing the situation before his eyes landed on her. For about ten seconds, he stared silently, leaning casually against the wall near the mirror with his hands buried in the pockets of his robe.
The tension between them was palpable, their silence lasting two full minutes. Shahudah finally raised her eyes to meet his, sensing his steady, unwavering stare. “I’m not going to eat you, son of ALLAH,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
A faint smile crossed his lips, his cheeks coloring slightly. Her expression softened, and she smiled back.
“Breakfast?” he asked, his tone calm as he returned her gaze.
She stared at him intently, her emotions flickering across her face, but she didn’t respond.
Removing his hands from his pockets, he crossed them over his chest and said, “Hudah, do you think this life is fitting for a married Hausa-Fulani woman? It’s only been seven months since we got married, but the house is already plagued with problems—all because of you. Do you intend to change, or is this who you’ll always be?”
The abruptness of his words startled her. She flinched, her large eyes widening as she recoiled slightly. “What do you want me to do for you?” she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration. “You’re the one who refused to bring someone to help maintain this house! How do you expect me to handle everything alone for the love of GOD?”
She stopped mid-sentence, noticing the sharp glare he was giving her. It was a look that both embarrassed and unnerved her. She knew from experience that if she pushed further, he might lose his temper completely—perhaps even throw her onto the chair or shatter the mirror in rage.
“Shahudah,” he said coldly, cutting her off, “you don’t get to tell me what to do. I will never allow a stranger to run my household in the name of being a servant. Get your act together before I lose patience with you.”
His voice dropped, deadly and final: “Do not push me, you foolish girl.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving her in stunned silence.
