Baccin So Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The house was packed full of people. From the structure and layout of the building, you could tell it belonged to a modest family of average means. It was a fairly large compound with a small, slightly faded metal gate left open because of the steady flow of guests going in and out. The young women were heavily made up and dressed in matching aso-ebi. They surrounded a young lady who was clearly the bride, judging by her outfit, jewelry, and the henna decorating her hands and feet. They danced enthusiastically in the middle of the compound in front of the DJ, who kept changing songs while people sprayed the bride with ₦50 and ₦100 notes.
Despite all the loud music and celebration, someone was asleep in a dim room with the curtains drawn. Suddenly, as if startled from a nightmare, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, then quickly sat up. Her long black hair fell down her back in thick strands. She wore an atampa dress that looked new and matched what the guests outside were wearing. The long gown fit her beautifully—simple and elegant, with no heavy styling.
She began looking around as if searching for something, then stood up abruptly and waved her hands slightly. Her small lips formed the word “Ammi,” but her voice barely came out. She started walking slowly, still looking around, touching her face and head, scratching her hair until it became slightly messy. She opened the door. The living room was full of people and noise. As soon as she stepped out, everyone looked at her. The room fell silent except for whispers. She lowered her head and walked slowly without making eye contact with anyone, murmuring,
“Ammi… Ammi… Ammi.”
You wouldn’t even hear her unless you stood close. People moved things aside for her, picking up food wraps from the floor. She walked past them and went outside while the guests whispered among themselves:
“She’s so beautiful, but her mind isn’t right at all.”
“Was she born like this or is she possessed?”
“No, she was born with mental illness. They even take her to a psychiatric hospital…”
The compound outside was filled with dancing guests. She kept walking with her head down, still murmuring “Ammi” to herself, wandering without direction. People began staring at her.
The bride, who was dancing, noticed her and clicked her tongue. Turning to one of the girls nearby, she said,
“Please go call that mad girl’s mother before she ruins my wedding. I swear, if she spoils my day, I’ll deal with her father before I even go to my husband’s house.”
Her friend quickly went to the backyard where women were cooking and ran up to a woman in her mid-forties wearing the same atampa fabric.
“Ammi, Amirah is in the compound again. She’s about to start acting up.”
Ammi turned toward her, but before she could speak, another woman scolded,
“Why are you children so disrespectful? Is that how you talk, Zainabu?”
Zainabu pouted. “Did I lie? At least I told her. If I had stayed quiet and gone looking for her later…”
Ammi didn’t wait to hear more. She hurried into the compound, scanning everywhere with anxious eyes. She stopped a little girl and asked,
“Have you seen Amirah, baby?”
“She’s outside looking for you,” the child replied.
Ammi rushed to the gate and found her outside, walking barefoot. She quickly grabbed her hand.
“I’m here, Amirah.”
For the first time, the girl lifted her head. She was breathtakingly beautiful—strikingly so. Her features were delicate and perfect, even more beautiful than her mother’s. Her eyelashes were long and dark, her brows full, her nose pointed, and her lips small and pink like a baby’s. Yet her face showed no emotion—no sadness, joy, fear, or anger. Just a blank calm.
Ammi sighed in relief and spoke gently,
“You’re out here without your scarf or shoes again. I’ve told you, whenever you wake up and don’t see me, stay where you are—I’ll come back. But you don’t listen. Come, let’s go.”
She held her hand tightly and led her back inside. Another well-dressed woman, the bride’s mother, stopped them and said angrily,
“If you knew you wouldn’t focus on cooking, why did you say you would? You’re always busy with this thing,” she said, pointing at Amirah.
Calmly, Ammi replied,
“I’ll go back and continue now, Mama Baby.”
“You’d better,” the woman snapped. “Leave that mad girl and focus on the food.”
Ammi didn’t want her mood ruined that day, so she simply led Amirah to the backyard. She placed a plastic chair down and made her sit.
“Stay here, I’ll get you food.”
She moved quickly, as if Amirah might stand up. The other women watched. Ammi returned with a plate of white rice and stew, tested it to ensure it wasn’t too hot, then fed her. Amirah opened her mouth quickly, revealing bright white teeth, and began eating while staring into her mother’s eyes.
“Good. Finish it. Don’t get up—I’m right here cooking,” Ammi said.
In her small, barely audible voice, Amirah replied,
“Okay, Ammi.”
Ammi smiled warmly and stroked her cheek.
“That’s my good girl. Keep eating.”
She watched her for a moment before returning to the stove, glancing back repeatedly to make sure she stayed seated. The girl kept eating while watching her mother without blinking. Ammi sighed in relief.
A woman nearby asked,
“Are you seeking Islamic treatment for her?”
“There’s nothing we haven’t tried,” Ammi replied. “It’s not possession. It’s an illness from Allah.”
Another woman said,
“You should really try harder. Her mates are getting married. No one will marry a sick girl.”
Ammi didn’t respond. She finished cooking, brought water, and helped Amirah drink. Afterward, she led her inside, reminding her gently to always wear her scarf. They entered the living room full of guests, greeted people briefly, and went straight to the bedroom.
Inside, Ammi asked her to use the bathroom and make ablution. The girl obeyed quietly, did everything exactly as taught, then prayed perfectly. Afterward, she lay on the bed and rested her head on Ammi’s lap.
“You look beautiful,” Ammi said softly, taking a comb and ribbons.
“I’ll braid your hair. Give me your head.”
Slowly, obediently, Amirah lifted her head onto her mother’s lap, and Ammi began to comb and arrange her hair.