Me Zanyi Da Ita Book 1 Hausa Novel Complete 

Sumul woke up with Innaji that morning feeling slightly better. By evening, Shatu stayed with her, unable to move much as her body felt cold and weak. Innaji sat beside her on the karauni carpet, gently combing her hair. The strands of hair her mother had shed lay scattered nearby. Innaji carefully washed her hair, applied a towel, and smoothed coconut oil through it, marveling at Shatu’s lustrous locks—hair as radiant as those of Indian women. Shatu, uninterested in styling it herself, let Innaji handle it, occasionally flashing her a small smile.

After Innaji finished, they sat in silence. Innaji recited Surah Maryam, while Shatu drifted deep into her thoughts. As the day passed, Shatu eventually stood to perform ablution, pouring water for Innaji, who accepted it with a warm smile. "May Allah bless you, Shatu," Innaji said softly. "May you achieve all your dreams." Shatu responded with a choked "Ameen," her voice heavy with emotion.

Later, they sent Shatu to Modibbo's house to collect a letter. On her way, children teased her, but she paid them no attention. She was eager to return home and find her mother well, her steps quick and determined, as though she could take flight.

At Modibbo’s house, she stayed for barely two minutes before hurrying back, her heart pounding. Upon reaching the courtyard, she let out a sigh of relief. "Alhamdulillah, Allah, I feared something had happened to you, Mother," she whispered, smiling. Her mother looked up and replied, "Death is only a matter of time, Ayshatu." Shatu froze at hearing her mother call her by her full name, something she hadn’t done in years. Her mother just smiled, handing her the letter with a gaze full of love.

That night, her mother’s health worsened. Wracked with pain, she could barely move. She retrieved a small notebook and a few photographs from a drawer, writing down the address of their family home. She wrapped everything carefully, her movements slow and deliberate.

As the pain intensified, Shatu woke from a troubling dream to find her mother in distress. Panicked, she clung to her. "I don’t want to lose you, Mother! I don’t want my dream to come true!" Her mother managed a faint smile, handing her the wrapped items. "Ayshatu, I don’t know what will happen," she said softly. “But after my time, seek out my family. If my parents are alive, give them this. They will understand. Tell your father I ask for his forgiveness. May Allah grant us a reunion in the hereafter.”

Her mother’s words trailed off, interrupted by waves of pain. Shatu, overwhelmed with grief, felt as if years of her life had been stripped away. As dawn approached, her mother whispered the words of martyrdom and fell silent. Shatu convinced herself it was all a dream, unable to accept the reality. Exhausted, she lay beside her mother, eventually falling into a restless sleep.

When Shatu woke late in the morning, fear gripped her. The light streamed into the room, and she realized her mother hadn’t woken her for the morning prayer. She glanced over and froze—her mother’s eyes were wide open, unmoving. Trembling, she shook her. "Mother, wake up! Please!" She rushed outside, calling for help. Neighbors hurried in, their faces filled with sorrow.

A woman’s voice broke through the haze: "May Allah have mercy on you, Maryam. Your good deeds will never be forgotten." The words shattered Shatu’s denial. She placed her hands on her head, staring at her mother’s still form. Tears streamed down her face as she finally understood. Her mother was gone.

“Allahu Akbar,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Allah, the Most Great, the One who decides all things, have mercy on our parents. Grant them peace when their time comes.”