Bani Nayi Kaina Ba Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

She lay on her back on her small royal bed, tossing from side to side. Oh Allah, what kind of life is this? Has humanity truly reached a point where a person dares to belittle the creation of Allah? Has this era become one where someone looks at their fellow human being and says, “You are ugly”? Subhanallah. Or you hear someone say, “So-and-so is too beautiful, they don’t even appeal to me.” Innalillah. Truly, Allah did not create anything just to please this person or that one.
If you see something that doesn’t appeal to you, keep it in your heart—since you didn’t create it, and whoever created it did not do so to impress you.
She turned again, filled with bitterness, thinking about how even her own husband hated her appearance.
She shut her eyes when she began to hear his voice shouting in her ears, a harsh voice like that of a demon:
“Hey you demon-like creature, you cursed girl, don’t you fear? If you don’t go around licking the feet of everyone in this house, then I swear to you, as for my feet, they are pure—QAWWAMA😘. In your dreams will you lick them. Stop staring with those evil eyes of yours, or by Allah I will pluck them out until they fall.”
She remembered again the day one of his friends asked him if she was his younger sister, and he replied, “Look at the eyes in our house—do they look like those of witches? This one is a witch. Can’t you see her? Doesn’t she look like a demon?”
Suddenly she stood up and went to the tall mirror, examining her appearance. What exactly was wrong with how she was created? Tears streamed down her face as she remembered that this very same appearance was what caused her husband to hate her.
“I didn’t create myself,” she whispered softly.
A bitter smile escaped her when she remembered the man she was talking about—he had already gone far away from her just seven days after their wedding, leaving her completely behind.
What hurt even more was that he had gone to console his girlfriend who was studying in Europe, about the marriage that had been done for him back home without his consent.
A “surprise visit,” he said—just as she heard him telling his friend that he would leave the next day.
Slowly she returned to lie down at the edge of the bed. By Allah’s will, in her husband’s entire family, there was no one who hated her except her husband alone. From the moment he opened his eyes and saw her, there was no creation he despised as much as hers.
So what exactly was wrong with her appearance? Wasn’t it his duty to accept the choice of his parents, even if he didn’t like it?
A part of her heart spoke up: Of course you’d say that, because despite all this hatred and maltreatment he shows you, he is the only man—one single man—who ever appealed to you, the one you took all the love of this world and placed on.
She frowned and said to herself, That is the annoying part—loving someone, and not just that, but loving someone who hates you, who despises seeing you because of how you were created. Does such a person really deserve your love?
She adjusted her position, lifted her eyes, and stared at the ceiling of the room, trying to remember her past life…
HWOL BUJI
Hwol Buji is a settlement—one might call it a village—located on the outskirts of Mister Ali town, within Jos city in Plateau State.
It is a town made up of Fulani from Bauchi and Jos, along with other Plateau ethnic groups such as Jarawa, Angas, Birom, and others.
It is a mixed town, with both people who pray and those who do not—anyone who knows Jos knows that such people exist there.
As I mentioned, there are Fulani from Bauchi in the town, and indeed my parents are Fulani from Bauchi and they live in this same town.
Unlike Yayah (our father), who was born and raised here, Dada (our mother) is an original Fulani woman from Tilden, in Toro Local Government Area of Bauchi State. From there, Yayah married her.
The occupation of the people of Hwol is nothing beyond farming and livestock rearing. When I say farming, I mean cultivating vegetables such as tomatoes, onions, cucumber, red and green peppers, carrots, cabbage, green beans, lettuce, spinach, and all kinds of vegetables.
My father’s name is Malam Yusuf. His profession is teaching heads of households religious knowledge, and he also farms and rears livestock like the rest of the villagers.
Dada Zakee, as our mother is called in the town—her real name is Ruqayya—also teaches children and married women religious studies. Because of this, we grew up deeply grounded in religious education.
There are only three of us with our parents: Yah Auwal, myself Zakkiyah, and our youngest sister Salma, who was named after our grandmother who lives with us in our home.
Despite Hwol being full of Fulani people, the beauty of our family stands out among everyone—my siblings and I resemble Dada more than Yayah. Almost all of us look more like Dada; even our way of walking is the same, our manner of speaking, even her character. From her, I inherited patience and a dislike for unnecessary talk.
Hwol Buji is truly a rural village because there is no Western-style school there. We have to depend on Mister Ali. Every day we walk a long distance—setting out early and returning exhausted in the scorching sun. We walk on foot, though sometimes Yayah takes us on his motorcycle or pays our neighbor Ilah to take us. But most days, we go on foot.
Yah Auwal is in his first year at the University of Jos, where he is studying Agriculture, while I have completed my primary education and am waiting for the result of the scholarship examination we wrote.
I am generally a very quiet person. Even in our village, aside from a few friends, I don’t go out much. Wherever I go, people praise my beauty, and that made me withdraw. I stay close to Dada, and she prefers it that way too, to avoid people’s talk.
Our grandmother, Inna, often scolds me, saying, “You always keep your mouth shut like someone with a mouth disease—you never come to chat with me.”
But what would I go there for? Just to be filled with endless chatter.