A Ranar Sallah Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

I was standing at the door of our house's bathroom, with a towel wrapped around my waist, covering me from my navel down to my knees.

Beside me was a bucket full of water. My right hand was holding a sponge basket, while my left hand was clenched into a fist. Every now and then, I would punch the bathroom wall in frustration.

Nothing made me punch the wall except for the sheer annoyance my older brother caused me.

Whenever my older brother, named Abdul, went into the bathroom to bathe, urinate, or use the toilet, he would spend at least half an hour inside before coming out. You'd wonder what on earth he was doing in there.

Just like every other day, today he was going on nearly a full hour.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of the door opening. Out of excitement, I immediately stood up and picked up my bucket of water, waiting for him to step out so I could head in.

Then he poked his head out and said to me, "Great, Shuraih! My bathing soap just ran out; please help me with yours."

A heavy lump of frustration lodged in my throat. I scrunched up my face as if I were about to cry and said, "Brother Abdul, you mean you haven't even finished bathing yet?"

"Yes, I was still bathing when the soap ran out—it was just a small leftover piece anyway," he replied.

I handed him the soap without arguing. He ended up spending almost an hour and a half in total before finally coming out.

I hurriedly took my bath and came out, heading straight to my room.

While applying lotion, my BlackBerry phone rang. When I answered, I heard the voice of Mujahid (Mijin Biza). He told me to hurry up because he was on his way. I quickly finished applying lotion, pulled out a pure white Zaria-style tunic that reached my knees, put on the matching trousers, and grabbed a matching grand flowing robe (Babbar Riga).

I didn't even stop to eat breakfast due to how rushed I was and the excitement overwhelming my heart.

Today was a great day for every Muslim on the face of the earth—a grand occasion that comes only once a year: SALLAH DAY (Eid al-Adha).

So, how would this day unfold, and what kind of event was about to happen?

DEAR READER, FOLLOW Shuraih 99% in the story "ON SALLAH DAY"

(A Fictional Story by Shuraih 99% & Mijin Biza, BY Shuraih Usman — Part 2)

I came out to the main road and stood there while people rushed by to reach the Eid prayer ground. Some passed by on motorcycles, while others went by in cars.

As I stood by the roadside, right as I began to tire of standing, I heard someone call out my name: "Shuraih!"

Even though the voice was raspy, I recognized who called me. When I turned around, I bumped right into him—it was none other than Mujahid, dressed in a white embroidered grand robe (shadda).

As he walked up to me, I extended my hand for a handshake. Then I said to him, "So you only felt like showing up now?"

"No, I was delayed ironing my mother's clothes," he said.

I looked closely at him, analyzing his words, because I already knew him for telling fibs.

"Alright, shall we go?" I asked him.

He looked at me confused and asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the prayer ground, man! Or are you not going?"

"What would stop me from going?" he replied as he tried to hail a commercial motorcycle rider (acaba).

He hailed about five motorcycle riders, but didn't agree on a price with any of them, simply because Mujahid could not bring himself to pull out 100 Naira to pay for the ride.

From where we were to the Eid prayer ground was a distance of about one kilometer. For motorcycle riders, any trip close to that distance wouldn't cost less than 150 Naira.

The first rider he hailed was a skinny, dark guy wearing a jacket and an Islamic prayer cap.

Rider: "Yes sir, looking for a ride?"

Mujahid: (adjusting his stance) "Yes, take us to the Eid prayer ground."

Rider: "How much are you paying?"

Mujahid: "30 Naira."

Rider: (revving his motorcycle engine) "Malam, please don't waste my time. I have work to do. If you'll pay 100 Naira, fine; if not, I'll be on my way."

Mujahid: "To be honest, sir, we only have 50 Naira. If you can help us out and take us for that, please do."

Rider: (twisting the throttle) "Sorry young men, I didn't come out to do charity work. How can you be dressed up so sharply only to claim you don't have a dime beyond 50 Naira? Mtcheww..." (and he drove off).

We hailed four riders after that, with Mujahid telling each one he only had 50 Naira. One rider nearly slapped him, while another almost grabbed him by the collar.

Meanwhile, I stood on the side watching this drama. I know the reader might wonder why I didn't step in to negotiate with the riders myself. Well, that was because my pockets were completely dry. Frankly, I didn't wake up with a single dime. How could someone without a penny negotiate with a rider when he wasn't the one paying?

But truthfully, I knew Mujahid had more than 50 Naira on him. The truth was, no matter how long the distance, Mujahid preferred walking rather than taking out money to pay for a ride. And even if he were to take a ride, the amount he'd be willing to pay never exceeded 40 Naira.

SO, DEAR READER:

What name would you call Mujahid?

And what name would you call ME, Shuraih?

PART 3

(ON SALLAH DAY — BY Shuraih Usman)

As we stood by the roadside, I was restless to get to the prayer ground. I felt like if I could just close my eyes and open them, I'd find myself at the mosque. I checked my wristwatch and saw it was 9:43 AM.

At this prayer ground, the Eid prayer started at exactly 10:00 AM. Suddenly, an idea came to mind. I looked at Mujahid and said to him, "The next rider you hail, don't stand there negotiating. Let's just hop on! Once we reach the mosque, we'll hand him the 50 Naira, apologize, and tell him the remaining 50 Naira fell along the way."

"You really brought up a great idea, my friend! That's why I like you," he said while stomping his feet on the ground.

Luckily, a commercial rider rolled up. Looking at him would remind you of those hulking villains in Indian movies. He was a massive brute of a man who I was certain could carry his motorcycle on his head if he wanted to. He was wearing a white jacket, extremely dark-skinned with a shiny sheen, and didn't have a single strand of hair on his head due to a clean bald shave. Just looking at him gave you a sense of trouble. I immediately stopped him.

When I stopped him, Mujahid leaned close to me and whispered, "Hey Shuraih, you stopped this giant brute? Honestly, I'm scared. If this guy spins me around, only God knows what will happen when he lets go of me!"

Even though what Mujahid said made me laugh, I suppressed it and said, "Don't worry, we'll trick him first, and later we'll coax him and apologize." He just nodded to show he understood.

As soon as the rider stopped, I said to him, "Malam, take us to the Eid prayer ground." Without waiting to hear his reply, I hopped onto the back of the motorcycle. When Mujahid saw me climb on, he climbed on too.

When the rider saw both of us seated behind him, he started the bike, revved the throttle, and drove off. In my mind, I kept imagining the chaos that was about to unfold, because I knew this rider wouldn't take 50 Naira, nor would he tolerate any tricks. I knew that come what may, this rider wouldn't accept 50 Naira, and come what may, Mujahid wouldn't pay more than 50 Naira because he felt even 50 Naira was overpaying him.

While I was lost in thought, Mujahid handed me a crumpled 50 Naira note and said, "Hold this money for me while I adjust my seat." I took the money just as we reached the top of a small hill, very close to the mosque. The rider didn't even turn around, completely unaware of what was happening.

In my mind, I had already planned that as soon as Mujahid and the rider started arguing, I would slide off quietly and slip away. That way, I'd leave him to handle the trouble, because I knew that if I made the mistake of staying, this Sallah day wouldn't be a DAY OF SALLAH for me, but rather a DAY OF ADMISSION IN THE HOSPITAL.

The rider slamming on the brakes interrupted my thoughts. I paused, waiting for Mujahid to get off first so I could get off too, but everything remained silent for almost 20 seconds. This made me turn around to tell him to get off...

I nearly peed myself because of what my eyes saw! Astonishingly and mysteriously, THERE WAS NO MUJAHID, NOT A TRACE OF HIM! If you looked behind me at the ample space left, you'd swear to God that nobody had ever sat there.

When I got off the motorcycle with a terrified look on my face, wondering how this giant brute of a rider was going to accept 50 Naira... Here I was thinking I would leave Mujahid in trouble, not knowing I was the one about to be trapped in it!

"Hey sir, pay me so I can be on my way!" His deep, booming voice—sounding like a donkey's bray—snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked at him closely. He was a huge guy, and in a fight, there was no way I could overpower him. Even if I decided to run, he'd easily outrun me and catch me—and from there, I don't even need to tell you what would happen next!