Dafin Harshe Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Just like every morning, nothing had changed today. My mother’s shouting and calling woke me from the sleep that had taken over me after the dawn prayer.
I woke up in shock, quickly searching for my headscarf and putting it on before stepping outside.
Many people in the house were already awake, doing their morning chores in front of their rooms. Since it was a rented house with no spacious compound, the building had ten rooms in total. That was why people in the area called it “the ten-room house.”
“Will you come and take this kunu to sell, or should I come and force you?” my mother shouted.
“Oh, Hafsatu… I am truly tired of life. If I don’t control my anger, your bitterness and that of your father will bring me down,” she added angrily.
Those were my mother’s words, and they successfully pulled me back from the world of thoughts I had drifted into. I lowered my head and listened. Her words had become part of me, even though my father always tried to calm her down.
“Mother, the day has already broken. People don’t buy kunu in the morning,” I tried to say.
She quickly interrupted me, pointing her finger.
“Has kunu stopped being drunk, or what? People buy kunu in the morning! Look, those going to work are already getting ready.”
She said this while pointing at Baba Adnan, who was putting on his shoes in his police uniform. His wife stood beside him, glaring at my mother angrily. My mother returned the same look without hesitation.
“Will you come and take it, or should I wait until I lose my temper?” she shouted again. “Useless girl with bad manners like her father!”
Just then, my father stepped into the house. Our eyes met briefly before I quickly lowered mine.
“Let’s go inside and talk, Hafsa,” my father said calmly. He was a quiet man who disliked noise and preferred privacy.
But my mother snapped back immediately.
“From the moment you came, you want to boss me around? If I go inside your house, what will I do there? I am not your child!”
I slowly lifted my head and looked at her, tears already forming in my eyes.
Baba Adnan’s wife laughed and clapped her hands mockingly at the same time my tears began to fall down my face. The bitterness rose in my throat.
This angered my father, and he said:
“What kind of words are these, Hafsa? Don’t say such things here.”
My mother hissed loudly.
“Now you are speaking up because it’s you? Mad man who fell into a well says he is taking a bath! Come and take the kunu, you hypocrite girl!”
“My mother continued: “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t like this kunu selling business you’re forcing on Amatullah?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she hissed again, rolled her eyes, and frowned in disgust.
I dragged my feet slowly, picked up my container, and adjusted it on my head while struggling with the bucket of kunu.
As Baba Adnan passed, my mother quickly bent down to greet him and prayed for his safe return.
Her last words shocked me deeply more than anything else that had happened that morning.