Bahiyya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Unbearable Terror
The way my body was trembling and vibrating as if drums were being beaten for me in a bori shrine would confirm the unimaginable fear and panic I was in. Sweat poured from the crown of my head down to the soles of my feet as though I had swallowed a scorpion. I didn’t even realize I had urinated until a huge, brutish man slapped me so hard that I saw stars. In a terrifying voice he said,
“Damn you, you even wet yourself and it ran down to my legs?”
My body jerked violently as if I had been connected to an electric shock. Shaking my head quickly and crying intensely, I said,
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
After the severe beating they gave our father, I never imagined he could move even a finger again. But with the courage of a steadfast father, he struggled to raise his head and said,
“Please, whatever you want to do to me, do it. But I beg you, don’t touch my wife and children. Take me with you if you must, but please don’t hurt my family…”
Then—bang! We heard a horrifying sound like thunder crashing directly into our ears. It was a gunshot that hit Baba straight in the chest. They killed him instantly.
I let out a piercing scream and collapsed over Baba’s lifeless body.
Mama fell to her knees, reciting,
“La’ilaha illallah, Muhammadur Rasulullah (peace be upon him). O Allah, reward me in this calamity and replace it with something better. So that’s it, Malam Ja’afar—you have said your shahada and left me in this world with Bahiyya and Nuhaira…”
Nuhaira clung to Mama, eyes tightly shut, shaking with pure terror. Seeing Baba lying dead on the floor, she suddenly lost all composure and threw herself onto him, crying bitterly.
After that, the men gathered all the money they had taken from Baba and Mama and left the house.
“Babaaa… please wake up, Baba!”
With great effort, Nuhaira shook me and cried,
“Aunty Bahiyya! Please wake up, you’re dreaming!”
I jolted upright and grabbed her tightly.
“Nuhaira… Baba… they’ve taken his body. He’s gone and he won’t come back…”
Mama pushed the curtain aside and checked the time on her small phone—it was almost one in the morning. She entered the room and scolded me,
“Bahiyya, won’t you leave your affairs to Allah? He tests His servants as He wills. He gives and He takes—it is all within His power. Jafar was His servant; He brought him into this world and took him back. Your crying and screaming will never bring him back. It’s better you change your ways early.”
Still sobbing, I shook my head while clinging to Nuhaira.
“Wallahi, Mama, it’s not my fault. There’s no night I sleep without dreaming about that terrible day they killed Baba. Even when I return to my Creator, I will never forget it.”
Mama’s expression softened. She sat beside us and spoke gently,
“Bahiyya, be patient. I know it hurts deeply, but no matter what you do, the dead will not return. I’ve told you many times—make remembrance of Allah your companion. Perform ablution before sleeping, pray, wake in the night and ask Allah to forgive him. That’s what you can do for him—prove he left behind daughters who pray for him. And in the morning, try to be cheerful like your sister. Life cannot go on like this forever. We have lost our pillar and support, but what can we do? This is our destiny, and we must accept it with gratitude. Prepare yourself to keep living in peace. Be patient, Bahiyya. It’s been over a year now—you know better than anyone that the dead do not return.”
I stood up, went outside to perform ablution, returned, spread my prayer mat, and began voluntary prayers. Mama sat quietly, deep in thought. Seeing me engrossed in prayer, she rose and went to her room. Nuhaira adjusted herself and lay down, reflecting on our past life until sleep quietly stole her away.
A New Morning
The next morning, Nuhaira and I completed our usual morning routines. After we finished, it was almost ten o’clock, yet Mama hadn’t come out. I entered her room and said,
“Mama, are you okay? Your kunu is getting cold.”
She lifted her head weakly.
“The chest pain I told you about for the past two days is worse today.”
Worried, I said,
“Subhanallah! Sorry, Mama. I’ll go to the chemist and get medicine. Nuhaira can go to the market since we’re out of soup ingredients and people keep coming to buy. We can’t reach market day without them.”
“But who will grind with the machine? I heard children gathered outside,” she asked.
“I’ll handle the grinding today. Nuhaira will go to the market. They’ll just have to wait or grind elsewhere until evening.”
She slowly sat up and said,
“No, go get the medicine first. If the pain eases, I’ll grind for them. And you should go braid Malama’s hair—she’s been asking for you since yesterday.”
“Oh! I completely forgot,” I said. “Let me hurry and return.”
After I left, Nuhaira entered with money in her hand.
“How are you feeling, Mama?”
“Alhamdulillah. How much did you gather?”
“Eleven thousand seven hundred naira from fresh ingredients, and seven thousand from Maggi and other items.”
“Please hurry back from the market so customers won’t wait too long.”
She wore her hijab and left, saying,
“In sha Allah, I’ll be back like lightning. Pray for me.”
“May Allah protect you and bring you back safely,” Mama replied.
Within twenty minutes I returned. I gave Mama her kunu and medicine, then prepared to go to Malama Rabi’s house. By Allah’s will, the pain eased a little, allowing Mama to start grinding for the children who had brought things. Mama has always been hardworking—even when Baba was alive and had his shop, she still hustled. Now that he is gone, she must work even harder to take care of us.
Strength After Loss
Life had changed since Baba’s death, but Mama refused to give up. Despite her pain and grief, she kept pushing forward to provide for us. Watching her struggle yet remain strong reminded us that survival required courage, patience, and faith. We had lost our pillar, but we still had each other—and the determination to keep living no matter how heavy the past felt.