Ba Ita Ba Ce Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Night of Thunder and Loss
 
A terrifying clap of thunder shook the air at the exact moment the newborn she had just delivered let out a piercing cry that filled the ears. Rain poured heavily—no ordinary rain, but the kind that struck fear into anyone sensible. It had been a very long time since such rainfall was witnessed in the town of Damaturu. Darkness filled the hut they were in, as the oil lamp was close to going out; its light was barely visible, only a faint flicker proving it was still lit.
 
The baby’s sudden silence came at the same time the rain stopped, as though it had never fallen. Slowly, the young woman released a labored breath, dragging air into her lungs with great difficulty. Her husband stared intensely at what his wife had given birth to, deeply troubled by the baby’s silence. For over twenty minutes they remained in that state, not a single word spoken between them.
 
With great effort, the woman tried to check on the baby’s condition, just as her heart gave a strange, painful throb. Seeing her daughter lying lifeless beside her, she knew without being told that this child had followed her siblings in death. She closed her reddened eyes as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Once again, she felt that familiar pain—every child she gave birth to never lived. What could she do? It was her destiny.
 
Gently, she pulled the baby’s body closer after cutting the umbilical cord and placed her on her chest. After months of carrying the pregnancy and enduring hardship as she always did, Allah had taken His possession once more.
 
Her husband stood up, picked up a bowl from the corner, and stepped outside.
 
The Discovery by the Pond
 
The cold was sharp, creeping into the body through every opening, and the drizzle had not completely stopped. The air felt strangely pleasant, filled only with the scent of wet earth and the croaking of frogs drawn out by pools of water. He walked slowly toward a place where water had gathered like a small pond.
 
He squatted, placed his foot on the pot, and scooped water, releasing a deep sigh that reflected the turmoil in his heart. Yet his fear of Allah and acceptance of destiny prevented him from revealing his inner pain. As he turned to leave, he noticed something white and wide lying nearby. He could not immediately tell what it was.
 
Lowering his gaze, he mentioned the name of Allah and stood up after finishing with the water, placing the pot on his shoulder. He moved forward without looking back—but suddenly stopped as his heart thumped violently. Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, he turned back toward the pond. The cold of dawn seeped into him, sending shivers through his body like a fever.
 
He squatted again, this time directly before the white cloth. His chest pounded fiercely as fear washed over him. With Allah’s name on his lips, he placed his hand on it and felt an unexpected softness—softer than any fabric he had ever touched, like cotton, yet covered with fine hair, like that of a cat. His hand trembled as he opened the cloth, which could only be described as a blanket.
 
“Subhanallah!”
 
He staggered backward in shock at what he saw inside. His heart raced as he whispered every name of Allah he could remember. For nearly two minutes he stood frozen, until a sudden courage filled him. He bent down, picked up the bundle with both hands, lifted it, and stood upright. Being a strong man, he carried the water pot on one shoulder and the bundle in his arms, then walked back to the hut.
 
A Child Given by Destiny
 
He returned to find his wife exactly as he had left her, the lifeless baby still resting on her chest. She was lost in deep thought and did not even notice his entrance. He quietly spread a mat at the edge of the hut and gently laid the bundle down. Quickly removing the wet covering, a rich, pleasant fragrance filled the small hut.
 
Amazed, he approached his wife. Despite the darkness, he could see the tears glistening on her face. He gently took the lifeless baby from her arms and stepped outside. Only then did she release a broken, faith-filled cry—one that came straight from the depths of her heart, heavy with sorrow. She buried her head between her thighs and continued weeping.
 
Around 5:10 a.m., he returned as faint daylight began to enter the hut. His wife slowly raised her head and followed him with her eyes, now red from crying. He lifted the bundle, and she rushed toward him. She stared at what he was holding—a baby girl, clearly newly born, not even a day old.
 
She took the baby quickly, studying her closely. The child was strikingly fair, a rare complexion among Hausa children, yet her beauty was undeniable even as a newborn. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes long and resting against her cheeks, her tiny hands clenched like any newborn’s. Feeling the dampness of her skin and sensing she was barely breathing, the woman hugged her tightly. Looking at her husband for the first time since her own delivery, she said softly, “Call the Sarkin Ruwa, Ya Gani.”
 
He said nothing, only turned and hurried out.
 
Moments later, the baby let out a cry. The woman released a deep breath as tears of joy streamed down her face. She clutched her hands together in pure happiness. When the Sarkin Ruwa arrived, he held the baby and prayed, “May Allah bless her for you.” Ya Gani replied gently, “Ameen, Ya Rabbal Alameen.”
 
As the visitor left, the woman stepped closer, gazing at the beautiful baby. “Ya Gani, give her to me,” she said—her Fulani accent now clear in her voice. Her appearance already revealed her Fulani origin: dressed in blue Fulani attire with coral beads around her neck.
 
She hugged the baby tightly and asked, “Who is she? Is my daughter alive again?” He sat quietly on the mat and replied calmly, “She is not.”
 
Concern crossed her face as she looked at the sleeping baby, then back at him. “Then who is she? Where did you find her?”
 
He explained everything softly, holding her hand, and concluded, “I have decided we will raise her as our own, as the child we lost. I believe there is a hidden destiny tied to this baby—only time will reveal it.”
 
She smiled gently and replied, “Do not worry, Ya Gani. I will care for her like my own child. I already love her, and she even resembles me.”
 
He smiled, nodded, and stepped outside. She lifted the baby’s face and gazed at her with pure love, a warm smile spreading across her face—until sleep quietly carried her away.