Batuul Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Beauty of Batuul
 
She wore a black abaya heavily decorated with Swarovski stones, with a small scarf draped loosely over it without wrapping. On her feet were Vinci slippers, also black, glittering with Swarovski stones. Slim and moderately tall, her body carried the kind of shape people call figure eight. Her skin tone rested between fair and dark, the smooth chocolate color of a watermelon’s heart.
 
Her round face was small, with delicate lips and a long, well-set nose. When she smiled, dimples blossomed and lit her features with charm. Her eyes shone brightly like the full moon; one could say, “See the moon, see Zara.” Truly, Batuul was beautiful beyond quick description.
 
She held her iPhone in her left hand while the right held a small boy, not more than three years old. Their steps were calm and steady as they crossed the open space of Ramat Square in Maiduguri. Above, heavy clouds gathered; rain could fall any moment, the cool breeze sweeping gently around. She looked at the boy, saying,
 
“Babich, see? Mama and the others have gone ahead, leaving us behind. If we miss the prayer, it will be their fault.”
 
The little boy laughed. “We’ll still pray. I’ll even ask Allah to give me a CLS like Yaa Ahmad’s.”
 
She chuckled. “Then we must hurry.”
 
But the boy tugged her hand, protesting, “Yaa Baatul, you’re the one who never hurries. I’m the one pulling you.”
 
“Alright,” she replied softly, “I’ll be fast now. Let’s go.”
 
They reached the women’s prayer side, already spread with mats. A fair woman, around thirty-five, carrying an infant, turned to ask them,
 
“Where did you find the cap?”
 
Batuul replied, “Aunty, he left it in the car.”
 
The woman frowned. “You indulged him. If you had left him to pray without a cap, he wouldn’t remove it again.”
 
Batuul smiled. “At least now we didn’t miss the khutba.”
 
Then she turned to a young girl her age. “Fa’iza, did you bring the bag I asked for?”
 
“Yes, Yaa Baatul,” Fa’iza said, handing her a grey Hermès bag. Batuul thanked her with a smile. Soon, the khutba ended, and people rose for prayer. Batuul handed the baby to Fa’iza, since she would not pray. Together, they bowed, prostrated, and thanked Allah for bringing them through Ramadan to Eid.
 
When the final sermon ended, the congregation of thousands began to disperse.
 
Morning Preparations
 
Meanwhile, the wall clock struck 6:30 a.m. Abu stirred from his wide, soft bed, reciting the morning prayer of gratitude: Alhamdulillahilladhi ahyana ba‘da ma amatana wa ilayhin nushur. He added salawat for the Prophet (SAW) before rising.
 
At 6:40 he hurried to the bathroom, brushing and bathing quickly. Emerging with a towel, he dried his face at the mirror, just as his phone rang. At first he ignored it, then reached for it. Seeing the caller, he picked up respectfully.
 
“Hello, Ammah. Nda wattu?” (Good morning.)
 
“Lafiya, Alhamdulillah,” she replied warmly. Then she reminded him, “Abu, are you ready? Prayer will be at eight, and you know you must take Abui along.”
 
“Almost ready,” he assured her, ending the call.
 
He dressed in a sky-blue shadda, fastening Mandarina Duck cufflinks. A rawaram cap, blue streaked with brown, rested perfectly on his head. He strapped on his Fendi wristwatch, sprayed Tom Ford and Rasasi perfume, and slipped into black Haven shoes. Collecting his car key and phone, he checked his watch—seven o’clock sharp.
 
He descended the staircase calmly into the grand parlour, where an elderly man, dressed in fine attire with glasses on, was sipping tea while watching Iqra TV. Abu greeted respectfully, “Abui, nda wattu. Bara ngÉ™mÉ™riro (Barka da Sallah).”
 
“Barka dai, Abutturab,” the elder replied, smiling. They spoke about the sighting of the moon, the Shehu’s announcement, and the previous night’s calls. Then Abu excused himself to find Ammah.
 
Family Interactions
 
In the kitchen, Ammah—graceful and fair—busied herself with preparations. Abu entered with a warm greeting, kissing her forehead.
 
“Ammah, barka da Sallah.”
 
She returned the smile. “BaaranÉ™m, Abu. Your father has been ready since dawn; everyone’s waiting on you.”
 
Their conversation was interrupted when Sadiq, a tall, handsome younger man, entered munching an apple. Teasing, he complained, “Ammah, no one remembers us, only Abu. He should already be in his own house instead of here.”
 
Abu glared at him playfully, but Ammah sided with Sadiq. “He’s right. You delay everyone.” Abu shook his head and left, while Ammah urged Sadiq to have breakfast before they all left for prayer.
 
The family gathered in the dining room, where a round royal-gold table bore an array of delicacies: sinasir, burabusko, miyar kubewa, peppered chicken, and kunun gyada. A younger girl, no more than sixteen, rushed in, breathless.
 
“Ammah, which dress should I wear?” she asked, then noticed Abu. “Oops, Yaa Abu, good morning!”
 
He nodded, smiling faintly, while she pressed again, “Ammah, should I wear the blue one?”
 
“Yes, wear blue,” her mother said. The girl, Farida, then turned back to Abu. “Are you going with Abui to the masjid?”
 
He answered without looking up from his phone, “Yes.”
 
Farida pouted, muttering to herself that he always took Abui along and never gave her a chance. She left sulking.
 
Breakfast continued. Abu enjoyed tea brewed with lemongrass, mint, ginger, cardamom, and clove, then took sinasir with fresh kubewa soup and chicken. Washing up, he prepared to leave.
 
Setting Out for Eid
 
Abu asked Sadiq, “Which masjid are you going with Ammah?”
 
“Polo ground,” Sadiq replied. “You know she doesn’t like Ramat Square.”
 
“Alright,” Abu said, “I’ll see if Abui is ready so we can leave. Drive carefully.”
 
The household bustled as servants carried trays, children prepared, and relatives exchanged greetings. Outside, cars gleamed in the morning sun. The air was filled with Eid joy—the scent of new clothes, perfumes, and the spirit of celebration after Ramadan.
 
In Maiduguri, thousands of Muslims flocked to prayer grounds, their hearts united in gratitude. Batuul, Abu, Ammah, Abui, and the entire household stepped into this great day, their lives woven together by faith, love, and tradition.