Aure Da Karatu Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Morning Routine and Life for the Children
As I have already made it my habit, I cleaned the house and prepared a quick breakfast for the schoolchildren. I do everything in a hurry because I don’t want them to be late and end up being punished at school.
Everything I know that will make my children happy and help them focus on their studies, I do—from their food, to their clothing (uniforms), to all the things that will support their learning. Every term, I change their uniforms because their school is expensive, and they see how other children are treated. So I also do my best to do what I can, always reminding them that you can never succeed alone, just as no one else succeeds alone.
Because of this, I have raised them on that principle. Whatever they ask for, I try to provide with the little means I have, trusting God for sustenance.
At the moment, there is nothing that makes me happier than my children. They are my joy, my relief. If you ever see me smiling, it is because I am in the middle of my children, listening to stories about their school and their ambitions, which keep growing every day in my heart.
I have three children: Safwan, the eldest, who is 12 years old; Aysha, who follows him, aged 9; and the youngest, Amra—my little stubborn one—who is 6 years old and the joy of our entire lives.
Please don’t think I’m boring you with stories about my children, or wasting your time. This story cannot go the way I want it to unless my children appear at the beginning of it.
You may be asking yourselves—where is the father of all these children?
Family Tension and a Painful Marriage
Their father, Lawal Muhammad, is here and we are still together with him, but…
The smell of food about to burn suddenly brought me back from my long thoughts. I quickly served everyone their portion because I also needed to leave for school—I had a lecture by 10 o’clock.
The cry of Amra made me rush outside. As soon as she saw me, she ran toward me, stomping her feet like a stubborn little child.
“Mommy, did you see that Aysha took my socks?” she said, holding my hand as we entered the sitting room.
“Where is Aysha? Why would you take her socks?”
“Wallahi, Mommy, I didn’t take her socks. I was just checking and took mine, but since I once touched her things, she wanted to retaliate by touching mine.”
I smiled inwardly and said, ‘Little troublemaker.’
I then straightened my face and warned Aysha, “Don’t ever touch your sister’s things again. You know she doesn’t like her clothes being messed with. Don’t do it again.”
Aysha held her ears playfully, smiling. “I’m so sorry, Mommy. I won’t do it again.”
“Alright, everyone sit down and have breakfast before the school bus arrives.”
I prepared the tea. Safwan poured his, then poured for Aysha, while I was left with my little one—since she is always my responsibility.
After they left, the house became quiet. I sat down, had my own breakfast, washed the cups we used, then went to my room to get ready so I wouldn’t be late.
I cast just one glance at the bed where he was lying and quickly looked away. I was certain he hadn’t even prayed the dawn prayer. When I left earlier, I had left him there, and even now I found him in the same position.
I bathed and dressed, and he was still lying there. After finishing everything, I went to the side of the bed. I gathered myself, suppressing what I felt, remembering what he did to me yesterday, and began hitting the pillow in frustration.
“Abban Safwan,” I called him softly, careful not to shout at him—but there was silence. I continued hitting the pillow. He then turned, frowning in a way I still can’t understand, yet I stubbornly chose him.
In anger, I struck the pillow harder. This time, he sat up in the middle of the bed, glaring at me.
“What kind of woman are you? You want to deafen me? Since morning, you and your children have filled the place with useless noise, and now you’ve come to shout at me!”
I swallowed my bitterness, knowing nothing good would come from arguing. “I’m just heading to school, and there’s no one in the house. You never know who might come in.”
“So because of your useless school, you want to deny me sleep? Haven’t I told you I have nothing to do with your school? If you’re tired, go—and if you go, don’t come back. And by Allah, if you disgrace my marriage, you’ll see!”
I quickly left the room, holding back the tears that were about to fall, reminding myself of the promise I made to myself—that I would never again cry because of Lawal.
School, Sacrifice, and a New Beginning
Once I got to school, I pushed aside my worries and focused on why I was there. I had only one lecture, and by 12 o’clock I was out, rushing home so I could prepare food for my children before they returned.
Luckily, as we were leaving, I found a tricycle (napep) and boarded it, saying goodbye to my classmates. I heard Nafisa say, “See you tomorrow, mother of children.” That’s what they often call me. Sometimes they feel I love children too much. I excuse them, because they don’t know why I feel like no other mother loves her children as deeply as I do.
Just as I expected, he was sitting on a bench at the shop that rents the front of our house, arguing about politics. “This is your area of expertise,” I said in my heart. I paid the tricycle fare and was about to turn when a boy came to me and handed me the house key. “Here,” he said, “Abban Safwan said I should give you this.”
I took it and went straight in, opened the house, and entered.
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