Al'adarmu Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

She was squatting in front of the cooking fire. A size-fifteen pot had been placed on it, but the fire was not catching well, which was why she kept fanning it with a hand fan woven from palm fronds, blowing into the hearth with her mouth as she worked. It seemed the firewood was damp too, because it had barely caught at all; instead, thick smoke had already filled the whole house.
It was in this situation that a woman, dark-skinned and about seventy years old, came out dressed in a complete wrapper outfit. She looked very much like a proper Hausa woman, the kind from the old generation, from the time of grandmothers and great-grandmothers.
“Honestly, Asma’u, look at how you’ve filled this house with smoke. I swear I don’t like this. Every single day when you want to cook, instead of finding good firewood, you go and bring the kind that will only torture us and make us cry tears by force...” She hissed and then continued, “I swear by Allah, I do not like this kind of thing at all.”
She finished speaking as she searched for a place on her mat, which she always kept by the wall of their compound, while spitting saliva in her usual manner.
Asma’u, the elderly woman, kept minding her business until the wood finally caught with difficulty. She stood up and went to their water pot, which was fixed into the ground. She scooped some water, washed her face, then rinsed it, and afterward returned to sit by the hearth, wiping her face, which had turned red because of her fair complexion, almost like an albino’s, while her eyes were full of tears from the smoke. Sitting on the stool beside the hearth she was tending, she finally opened her mouth and said,
“Please forgive me, Inna. It is the rainy season now, and dry firewood is hard to find.”
Inna gave a loud hiss before continuing to roll the fermented locust beans and spread them out on a sack she had laid under the shade of a tree. She said, “Asma’u, because of your foolishness, I finished talking long ago and only now you are answering me. Though it is not really your fault... Allah have mercy on Yusuf, my son Yusuf. If he were alive, wallahi, you would not be treating me with such disrespect...” Then suddenly Inna burst into tears, claiming that Asma’u had insulted her. She cried noisily like an old woman, saying Asma’u was making her cry.
Asma’u knew Inna’s character very well, and this was nothing new, so she did not even react beyond turning to look at her. Then she apologized and said,
“Please forgive me, Inna. I swear I did not mean it as disrespect. I was only eager to get the fire to catch...”
“Shut your mouth before people! Just a fair-skinned witch, your whole body glowing as if you are an albino.”
Asma’u was already used to the insults Inna had been hurling at her since her late husband was alive; now that he was gone, it had only continued. Sometimes it even seemed deliberate to her. At times they would sit and chat as if Inna were the gentlest person alive. At other times, Inna would suddenly start abusing her, pouring out endless complaints, insults, and harsh words, even when Asma’u had done nothing wrong.
Truly, if habit could be learned, she had learned it, because Inna did not treat only her that way. Even if a visitor came that very day, and the visitor did nothing to offend her, she could still say right in front of the person, “As for me, this visitor has no presence in my eyes,” or, “Tir, this visitor is just a wasted birth; you have no popularity among people.”
She had been like that from long ago, while her son was still alive, even from her youth perhaps. Her son had long been in his grave—it had been twenty years since his death. Still, to her credit, Inna had kept them under her care and lived with them through both ease and hardship, from their old house until she herself asked them to come and live near her.
It was simply Inna’s nature, which was why Umma had become used to it. Because Inna knew Umma was very patient, that was why she was able to live with her.
At exactly six o’clock, she dished out the tuwo into plastic bowls and set them in front of the hearth, while the soup simmered richly, filling the house with the smell of locust beans and garlic. At that very moment, he entered the house.
He greeted them calmly, as was his habit, with no agitation about him, only the clear marks of hardship he had endured. He went straight to the household water pot, opened it, and took a drink after rinsing his mouth. Then he drank until he had finished half a cup, set it down, and looked at his mother with pity and determination, seeing her in her role as a mother. Then he went directly to where she was and knelt down to greet her.
“Umma, well done.”
“Yes, Aiman, how did it go? Did things work out?”
“Uhhmmm...” Aiman let out a long sigh while collecting the plastic bowls his mother had filled with tuwo. At the same time, he greeted his paternal grandmother. She glared at him and said, “You have your mother’s character. If you had come here only as my grandchild, wallahi I would have insulted you properly.”
Aiman laughed. In his heart he said that Inna, as always, never let go of scolding whenever she felt wronged. Maybe old age was making her even more difficult. He grinned, amused by the thought in his mind, then turned back to Umma and said,
“No, Umma, wallahi it did not work out. But here is some small money. I hustled a bit and managed to get us two thousand naira...” He put his hand into his old jeans and brought out four five-hundred-naira notes, handing them to her. Suddenly, without warning, Inna lunged and snatched one of the notes, trying to seize it. He quickly hid the rest and said,
“Hey, granny! I forgot you were close by before I brought out cash like this. Wallahi, there was no share for you in this. But since you have snatched one, then enjoy it.”
She shot him a fierce glare and walked off, saying, “All of you are the same, whispering among yourselves and behaving hypocritically. As for me, tomorrow let them make us some nice breakfast, eheeee.”
Aiman laughed and handed Umma the remaining money, saying, “Here, Umma, take it. I hope you heard the old woman’s message. As for me, I have nothing to do with it.” He finished loudly as he slipped into his room and shut the door firmly, because he knew very well that Inna could easily follow him and start another round of trouble.
Inna was one of those truly difficult old women who would unload a sackful of trouble on you even if you had not provoked them. She was quarrelsome and full of complaints, but she could also be pleasant to live with. If you understood her character and knew how to live with her, you would benefit from life around her.
TURKEY
Istiklal
8 p.m.
At about nine o’clock at night, Ammi had gone to bed, and our maid had also slept, while I was in my room. Outside was so quiet, as if no living being existed in the whole house. You know how life is abroad; people do not really live in fear of anything. I was lying out on the upper balcony attached to my room, a place decorated with charming, eye-catching flowers. It was built as part of my room, really my relaxation space. I was lying on a soft, comfortable swinging chair, gazing at the sky, staring at the stars and the moon. I found it deeply fascinating... it was as if my blood was flowing in a different world entirely.
Many times I would ask both myself and Ammi, “Ammi, you have never been to Nigeria, and you do not even pressure Daddy that you want to go?”
Then Ammi would smile beautifully and give me the same answer she always gave:
“If Allah grants us life, one day we will go, In Sha Allah.”
I would only smile, growing more eager to set foot in my father’s homeland. But then, what exactly was so exciting about it? Or what was so attractive about it? What was so special about going to Nigeria? I often browsed about the country; its climate and tribes fascinated me, but above all, its culture. Nothing fascinated me more than their traditions. They had many different languages, and among them the one I researched most was Hausa, because that was my language too, and naturally it was what I would take pride in.
I remained in those thoughts until sleep stole over me.
The next day
The sound of the alarm woke me from my deep sleep. At 5:30 a.m. I got up and stretched. Then I brushed my teeth, because habit says you should brush first thing in the morning before anything else. After that I prayed, then sat down and opened my Qur’an. I recited Surah Aal-Imran, closed it, stood up, and changed into my gym wear. Then I went to the gym room attached to my apartment. It was a large gym with different machines, and I used whichever one I felt like, doing whatever exercise I wanted because it belonged to me; Abhi bought it for me.
When I finished, I bathed with cool water, dried myself, and headed to the kitchen, where I was sure I would find Ammi.
I went straight to the dining table smiling, and stretched out my hand to cut a slice of red velvet cake with chocolate on top, which was my favorite. Then suddenly someone slapped my hand away. Even without looking up, I knew it was Ammi.
“Anam!!!!!!!”
I smiled at her and quickly stretched out my other hand, cut a piece, and stuffed it into my mouth, laughing in triumph. I was just trying to run away when Ammi, laughing too, started chasing me. Then we heard the sound of the door opening. In surprise, I looked up and saw Abhi standing there holding wrapped gift packages in his hands.
I opened my mouth in delight and said, “Ammi, look, Abhiiiiii!!” I said it, but I do not even know when I ran and hugged him. The next thing I knew, I was lying against him, clinging to him and acting spoiled like a little child on someone’s back. That was simply my nature.
If you want, I can also make it read more like natural novel English instead of direct translation.