Auren Wata Tara Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

On the Way from Islamiya
 
They were walking together in their Islamiya uniforms, talking softly as they made their way home.
 
“Asmy,” always the curious one, leaned closer to Zarah. “Zarah, look! That guy is at your gate again. Wallahi, I know he’s waiting for you.”
 
Zarah scoffed softly. Her voice, always calm and composed, replied,
“I’m not going in until he leaves.”
 
Zarah was tall, with a cocoa complexion—not too dark, not fair—her round face adorned with a pointed nose and a small heart-shaped mouth. She had dimples, always visible even when she wasn’t smiling. No makeup—just natural beauty and a soft glow.
 
Her body curved like the famed “Coca-Cola shape,” and even in her oversized hijab, her hips swayed gently when she walked—something she didn’t do intentionally but couldn’t hide.
 
Hiding from Trouble
 
Asmy grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly into Zarah’s house. It was a modest home. Zarah sighed, “May God make sure that charmer didn’t see us—he better not follow.”
 
Asmy huffed. “Wai, Zarah, you’re too quiet! That’s why people like Rabi treat you the way they do. You act like someone from the past—this is a different world now. Even in school, I’m always defending you. Wake up!”
 
Before Zarah could reply, her stepmother, Mama Rabi, emerged from the kitchen.
 
“Zarah,” she said warmly, “don’t mind her. Keep being patient. Allah loves those who endure trials. Everyone has their test—this is yours. Just do your best, and God will ease your pain.”
 
Zarah wiped away tears. “Insha Allah, Mama.”
 
Turning to Asmy, Mama Rabi added, “Support her. Don’t push her.”
 
They ate the rice and delicious miyar taushe Mama had prepared, then reviewed their Islamiya books before heading to Maghrib prayer.
 
Into the Lion’s Den
 
After Maghrib, Zarah donned her hijab. “I’ll head home. See you tomorrow,” she said to Asmy. Asmy hesitated. “Not coming with you.” Zarah frowned. “Alright then. Till tomorrow.”
 
She entered her home quietly. It was a small house with four rooms—her father’s, Mama Rabi’s, hers, and her younger siblings’.
 
She barely stepped into the courtyard when Mama Rabi’s sharp voice pierced the air.
 
“Hiding behind Islamiya to sleep around, just like your dead mother! You think you can fool us?”
 
Zarah’s head dropped as tears welled up. That kind of insult—especially against her late mother—hurt more than any beating.
 
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispered.
 
Mama Rabi scoffed, “You better be! Now, you’ve got thirty minutes to make tuwo and soup—move!”
 
Zarah hurried into the kitchen.
 
Buried in Chores
 
Despite the damp firewood and rainy season, she quickly cooked. Her stepsisters sat idly on their phones, not offering help.
 
Exhausted, she finally returned to her room to rest, wearing only a wrapper due to the heat.
 
As Mama Rabi and her children ate the food she prepared, Zarah walked past quietly.
 
“Sai an gama yawon banza, now she comes to act holy,” Mama Rabi snapped.
 
Used to this abuse, Zarah simply moved on, made her ablution, and prayed.
 
After Isha and Witr, she sat on her mat, hands raised.
 
“Allah,” she wept, “have mercy on my mother. I never met her, but I love her. If she were here, I know I wouldn’t suffer like this. But I trust in Your decree.”
 
A Father's Quiet Love
 
Her father, Malam Yusuf, stepped in quietly, moved by her whispered prayers.
 
He wiped his tears and sat beside her.
“My daughter, be patient. Everything has an end. May Allah bless you, grant you ease, and forgive your mother. I hate seeing you like this.”
 
She quickly wiped her eyes and smiled. “Baba, welcome.”
 
He smiled back. “Zarah, your teacher told me about your graduation expenses. Why didn’t you tell me?”
 
“I knew you didn’t have much, Baba. It’s okay if I don’t have a celebration. I’ve memorized the Qur’an—that’s enough.”
 
Tears filled his eyes. “Even if we go hungry, I’ll find that ten thousand. May Allah bless you.”
 
He handed her ₦200. “Keep this. Use it wisely.”
 
“Thank you, Baba. May Allah reward you.”
 
Qur’an and Comfort
 
After he left, she hid the money safely, then pulled out her Qur’an and began to recite softly, her voice filled with calm and beauty.
 
Eventually, sleep took her away.
 
Another Hard Morning
 
As always, she woke at dawn, prayed, and did all the house chores before 8:30 am.
 
Her stepsisters, Habiba and Khairat, only stirred around then, yawning as they fetched water for ablution.
 
Zarah said nothing. She remembered what happened the last time she reminded them about Fajr prayer.
 
Young Khairat, the only kind-hearted one, peeked in.
 
“Good morning, Aunty Zarah.”
 
“Morning, Khairat. Slept well?”
 
“Yes, let me help you,” the girl said, taking a pot from her hands.
 
Zarah smiled. “No need, I’ve got it.”
 
But Khairat insisted, helping until...
 
Punishment for Kindness
 
Mama Rabi stormed in.
 
“You useless girl! Trying to look good in front of my kids? How many times must I say YOU alone will do all housework?”
 
Zarah flinched at the heavy slap. Khairat tried to explain, “It wasn’t her fault, Mama. I chose to help.”
 
“Shut up and get out!” Mama Rabi screamed.
 
Zarah said nothing, tears silently falling.
 
After Mama Rabi stormed out, she quietly continued her chores. Then she bathed, dressed in an old but clean Ankara, and walked to the far side of the room, head bowed.
 
Her stomach growled, but she didn’t dare ask for food.