Asanadin Makwabtaka Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Neighborhood
 
It’s a neighborhood with a mix of large houses and small homes, but when you look at the houses you can tell it’s not an old area — some houses are brand new while others aren’t exactly new but not very old either. There are beautiful big houses whose owners are clearly wealthy, and others that suggest the occupants keep to themselves. The street isn’t very noisy; people are scattered about. At a glance you can tell there are both rich residents and those who live discreetly in the area.
 
The Incident with the Girls and the Car
 
A navy-blue Corolla drove into the street at moderate speed. Screech! The driver slammed the brakes unexpectedly because some girls, maybe 13 or 14 years old, rushed into the road from the lane on the right. One of them carried a medium white bucket with something inside — it looked like she was selling something — while the girl behind her carried nothing. They went into the opposite lane, and at that moment the first girl managed to grab the hijab of the girl with the selling-bucket, pushing her against the wall and trying to snatch what she was selling; the seller clutched the bucket tightly.
 
Inside the car, the driver looked visibly angry at how the girls had suddenly thrown themselves in front of him. If he hadn’t driven fast, a terrible accident might have happened — the car could have hit them all. He exhaled a frustrated sound, turned slowly to look toward the lane where the girls had gone, and saw them scuffling as if about to fight. The girl in a matching skirt and top had her head wrapped with a cap that made her hair look very full; she was trying hard to take the bucket from the other girl pinned against the wall.
 
When he saw how determined she was, he wound down his car window slowly and called, “Hey, you —” but she didn’t pay attention. Thinking she hadn’t heard, he raised his voice (though he didn’t want to) and said, “Let her go!” She ignored him and snubbed him. The seller responded, “Hey Fatu, didn’t you hear that man in the car telling you to leave me alone?” She tightened her hold on the bucket. Seeing that Fatu couldn’t take the bucket away, she started beating the seller, knowing that if she did that the seller would drop the bucket.
 
The Man Steps In
 
Seeing that, the man in the car got out. Wow — mashallah — he was a handsome man of moderate height, taller than average. His skin was fair and smooth, not the kind that looks reddish or rough anywhere; his face was very handsome and when you looked at him you noticed it. His head had a slight height and a small ridge from the middle to one side; he was not heavyset but had a neat, slightly rounded face with a straight, slightly wide mouth, his lips a dark peach color. He wore a navy-blue suit while the girl inside (the other girl) wore black. Around his neck he had a necktie matching his suit, tucked under the collar of the girl inside. The tie was also covered at the top with a nicely made black coat. On his wrist he wore a dark silver watch that looked expensive, and on his feet were black cover shoes. He looked well put together — his clothing, his car — everything matched.
 
He closed his car door with one hand and walked away with a certain majestic gait. From his manner you’d think he was someone of influence. He stopped beside them, his face stern, and in a low voice told the girl, “Let her go!” She sneered but then turned to face him. Angrily and raising his voice a little he said, “Am I not talking to you, idiot?” Hearing him call her “idiot” made her turn away angrily and begin to speak harshly: “I am not an idio—” but she couldn’t finish because she met his gaze and froze.
 
“Get your hands off her,” he said, his face set. The girl released the seller as if she understood his English command. She stepped back a little and muttered, “Because you’re handsome you think you can boss people around; I don’t care about your looks.” He kept watching her to hear what else she’d say; in his mind he judged that she had no shame. “Move — get out of here before I slap your face,” he added, pointing the way with his hand. She began to walk away through the lane, pouting as she glanced back at them. He told the girl with the bucket, “Go on, leave,” and indicated the path they had come from. “Okay,” she replied, adjusting the yellow hijab she’d tucked and ran off. The man turned toward his car.
 
“Woe is me! She spilled my oil…!” the seller suddenly cried, starting to wail. The man turned and looked at her with an expression that made her scared. She quickly ran out and thrust the bucket of oil toward him. Seeing how he looked at her, she panicked and ran off down the lane shouting, “I swear I won’t allow it until you pay me at your house — I’ll follow you! You wicked woman, ungrateful!” She had already picked up the broken bucket and began to sob.
 
Slowly he went to where she was crouched, emptying oil into the remaining bucket; she cried out, “See, I had my oil spilled — and the debt for the soy beans my mother took — I will sell things to pay, even the bucket is broken! I swear I’ll go to their house until they pay me.” She said this between sobs.
 
“It’s okay, just leave the rest,” he said. She looked up at him, not seeming to understand what he meant. He gently repeated, “Just leave the rest, okay?” She stood up, wiping her tears. Quietly he asked, “How are you related to her?” She explained, “We live in the back lane — Alhaji Sani Karofi’s compound. That’s where my father works as a guard; we live in the back.” She said this while still wiping her eyes.
 
“How much is yours — how much do you need?” he asked. She had five hundred naira in total; she had dropped it all—she was small and probably hadn’t had much more than two hundred naira, she cried that she’d go to their house until they paid them. He sighed and said, “You know what, leave her — since she doesn’t listen when you talk, if you come again she’ll spill more stuff. Calm down.” He put his hand into the pocket of his suit, took out a nice black wallet, opened it, and pulled out fresh bills like newly printed money. He handed the girl the sum — three thousand naira — and she stared in disbelief, grabbing it quickly. She put the torn parts of the bucket on the ground and started counting the three thousand naira, astonished, then looked up as he turned away. She hurriedly exclaimed, “Sir, the money is too much!” He raised a hand without looking back and said, “Buy a new bucket and the rest.” Then he continued toward his car.
 
The seller kept turning the money over in wonder; she didn’t even know how he had given her three thousand. She followed after him, calling, “Sir, sir…” As he reached his car, she kept calling him “sir,” which made him turn back. “What now?” he asked with annoyance. “Um, well…” she began, flustered, and he noticed her nervousness and the way she tried to avoid his gaze. He sighed and said, “Okay, tell her — if Innarmu asks who gave the money, tell her what happened.” She bowed her head and whispered something like, “She might say I’m lying; that I planned this— she always tells us not to accept money from strangers because they might want to do something bad.” He smiled slightly on one side of his face, showing a dimple; he appreciated that her selling was out of necessity, not greed. He turned, opened his car, got in, and as the car started he opened the glove box, took out two thousand naira, smiled, and handed it to her. He said, “Give this to your mother.” He closed the car door, started the engine, and the window cover began to close slowly. He turned to her one last time and said, “Tell your mother it was given by the house of HAJIYA SENATOR.” Then he drove off.
 
“Hajiya Senator!” the girl repeated in surprise, clutching her chest with one hand, then she burst into a happy laugh and ran back to where the other sellers were scattered on the ground, saying, “Let me take the rest that she didn’t drop — we’ll share what’s left and eat.” She poured more of the remaining oil into the bucket lid and ran back into the lane from where they had first come.