Babbar Sakayyah Takun Farko Complete Hausa Novel

Nafisa’s Cry for Rescue
 
“Umma, please take me away from Inna’s house. Wallahi, I don’t want to stay with them. They don’t love me, especially Baba Kabiru. He beats me every single day. Inna herself never lets me sleep in peace — always beating me. For Allah’s sake, come back and take me with you,” Nafisa begged, her voice shaking.
 
Her mother — whom she called Umma — sighed heavily and replied:
“Be patient, Nafisa. Whatever happens to a person is already destined by Allah. Keep enduring, my daughter. One day you will have a story to tell. Insha Allah, I will return and leave with you.”
 
The girl burst into tears, unzipping the back of her dress to reveal fresh wounds. “Umma, look at the beating Baba Kabiru gave me! Just because I quarreled with Auwal. He broke my head and ran away, so I sat crying. Baba Kabiru came out, saw me, and beat me mercilessly, accusing me of waking him from sleep. He even said his goat has more sense than me!”
 
Endless Beatings and Hardship
 
“Nafisa, why are you fighting with your brother until he injures you? You have no sense. You’re a girl, not a boy! Stop this, be patient. Insha Allah, when I return home, I will take you,” Umma said gently.
 
Nafisa wiped her tears. “Sometimes I follow Abbati and his friends when they travel from Dorayi, all the way on foot. I have no transport money, Umma. If I want to see you, I have no choice but to go with them.”
 
Her mother frowned. “I told you not to. It’s not good for a girl to keep wandering far places on foot. Promise me you won’t do it again.”
 
“Insha Allah, I won’t, Umma. Where is Ikram? Is she sleeping?” Nafisa asked.
Her mother sighed. “No, her legs are in pain. Look at her, she can barely move unless someone carries her. We took her to the hospital, but they couldn’t diagnose her illness. We even went to a traditional healer, but it made her worse. Her legs are weakening further.”
 
“Where will you take her now?” Nafisa asked, worried.
“There’s another healer in Kwandila. They call him Sarkin Dauri. We’ll take her there,” Umma explained.
 
Nafisa nodded, quickly wearing her old, torn hijab. “Then I must go back now before Inna complains I’m late and orders Baba Kabiru to beat me again.” She embraced her mother and left.
 
Facing Baba Kabiru’s Wrath
 
Back at home, both Nafisa and Ikram trembled with fear as they entered. Their stomachs twisted, knowing they had returned without permission. They slipped off their shoes and quietly entered their small room.
 
But suddenly, Baba Kabiru appeared, standing tall with a huge whip in his hand. His face dark with anger, he roared:
“Where have you been?!”
 
Nafisa stammered, “Uh… uh… we—”
“Answer me before I kill you!” he thundered.
 
Through tears, Nafisa cried, “I went to see my mother.”
“Your mother’s house?! With whom? Who gave you money?!”
“No one, wallahi. We went on foot. Please, don’t beat us,” she sobbed.
 
Baba Kabiru hissed. “If you ever try that again, I will crush you both. Now get out of my sight!”
 
They ran off, trembling.
 
Nafisa’s Secret Prayer
 
Later that evening, Nafisa went to the tap, performed ablution, and entered her small room. After praying, she remained seated, lifting her hands high. Tears streamed from her reddish eyes — eyes that always looked inflamed, set deep into her small face. She wasn’t fair, nor very dark, with a broad nose. She wasn’t considered beautiful, but she had her own kind of fragile grace.
 
Her prayer broke the heart:
“Ya Allah, I am Your servant, with no one else in this world but You. Everyone hates me. I know every destiny comes from You, but my heart is too weak for this trial. Why is my fate like this? Why do they call me ‘shegiya’ (bastard), when my mother swore I was born after Fatiha was recited in marriage? Why does my father reject me? If I am truly a bastard, what about my brother? Why don’t they mock him too?
 
Ya Allah, protect my faith. Don’t let me commit the sin they accuse me of. Show me justice.”
 
Her sobs grew louder. Unbeknownst to her, Inna stood outside, listening. Inna entered, tears in her own eyes. She saw Nafisa’s swollen face and pulled her close. “Be patient, Nafisa. Don’t listen to people. Patience is the only cure.”
 
But Nafisa choked, asking: “Inna, is it true I wasn’t born in marriage?”
 
Inna hesitated, then forced a smile. “Nafisa, don’t say that. You were born through marriage. I personally gave your mother to her husband in wedlock.”
 
Nafisa leapt up. “Don’t lie to me, Inna! If my mother was truly married, then there must be witnesses. Why hide the truth? There’s something you’re not telling me. If I was truly born in wedlock, the world would not keep calling me shegiya!”
 
She stormed out — and ran straight into Baba Kabiru.
 
Humiliation from Baba Kabiru
 
“Where are you going?!” he barked.
“Uh… I’m going to Fatima’s house,” Nafisa stammered.
 
“You won’t go anywhere! You shameless bastard! You want to disgrace us? To run after your useless boyfriends? You won’t! Not in my house! I won’t raise bastards here!” he spat, cursing her existence.
 
Nafisa’s chest burned. Even my own blood mocks me. Even my uncle’s family tramples me. Ya Allah, show me Your justice against them.
 
Tragedy Strikes
 
Soon after, news arrived: Baba Kabiru was dead.
 
“Umma, tell me it’s not true! Don’t say he has gone to a place he won’t return from! Umma, speak to me!” Nafisa cried.
 
Umma sat silently, tears streaming. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
 
Then Amra — Nafisa’s older sister, only sixteen — burst in, collapsing before their mother. “Umma, what will we do now? We are finished! Baba was our only support. Who will help us now? We are exposed, helpless, alone!”
 
Children filled the room — boys and girls, visibly siblings, some crying uncontrollably. Amra lifted the youngest, a four-year-old girl, and hugged her tightly. “Wayyo Allah, why is life so cruel to us?” she whispered.
 
She counted them all: twelve siblings in total — five boys and seven girls. Their mother was weak and ill. They were poor tenants with no relatives to rely on. Amra realized she must now become their pillar. Not Baba’s death, but survival, was her burden now.
 
Their aunt, Abbo Fahimna, had also fled from Niger to Kano with her three children — Shafi’u, Baddo, and Badde. Seeing Amra overwhelmed, she agreed to take two of the children to ease the load.
 
Amra was relieved. She gave her younger sisters, Ninee (16) and Nabeha (14), into Abbo Fahimna’s care.
 
The Danger in Adamawa
 
But in Adamawa, tragedy loomed again. Since moving with Abbo Fahimna, Ninee and Nabeha had no peace. Nabeha, young and innocent, suffered most.
 
One afternoon, left alone at home, she lay down to rest after chores. Suddenly, her cousin Baddo (18) entered, carrying a plastic bag. He smiled and handed it to her.
 
“Nabeha, look! I bought you fish. You’ll eat well today.”
Her face lit up. “Really? Wallahi, I’m hungry. Abbo Fahimna told me I must wait for Adda Ninee before eating.”
 
“Don’t worry,” he said slyly. “Eat now. But first, give me something in return.”
 
Confused, she asked: “Yaya, what do I have to give? I have nothing.”
 
He leaned closer, smirking. “Who told you you have nothing? You have the most precious treasure every man desires…”
 
Her eyes widened in fear.