Dahuwar Ƙaho Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The house of Yaya Salis was full of women and children, all gathered for his wedding day. Tension simmered quietly, especially around Aunty Murja, his first wife, who had become withdrawn and emotionally fragile. She stayed mostly in her room, trying to avoid the whispers and subtle jabs that stung more than any open insult.
 
In the living room, Bilkisu sat surrounded by the other women. She turned to Hafsa and asked for the agreed-upon payment for the wedding attire. Hafsa laughed and brushed it off, suggesting Bilkisu keep it as a share of her business profits. Bilkisu was about to retort when Aunty Murja passed by, heading into the kitchen. Salma leaned closer to Bilkisu and whispered that she felt sorry for Murja. “She looks drained. Her face shows she’s been crying,” she said.
 
Bilkisu, unsympathetic, scoffed. “She deserves it. She’s had too much space in this house for too long. Just her and her three kids living like royalty. Now that there’s a new wife, she’ll have to shrink her pride.” The women around her burst into laughter. Hadiza joined in, saying she admired Murja for keeping her composure despite everything. “Not every woman would be this calm while facing a co-wife,” she said.
 
Still, Bilkisu mocked Murja further. “Did you see how Yaya Salis was fawning over the bride yesterday? Promising her a car, showering her with affection—he’s finished! That woman has swallowed him whole.” Sadiya giggled, eager to see Murja’s face once the bride was brought in. “I just hope this husband of hers shows her who’s in charge for once.”
 
Aunty Murja, walking past again, heard parts of their conversation. Pretending not to notice, she greeted them politely, “Hope you’re all relaxing well.” Bilkisu responded with forced cheer. “You’re the one who deserves a rest. Having a co-wife isn’t easy, after all.”
 
Before Murja could respond, car horns sounded outside. The bride had arrived. Laughter and squeals of excitement filled the compound. Murja’s heart dropped. Her eyes welled with tears, and she hurried inside to hide them. Bilkisu laughed wickedly and followed the crowd outside to receive the bride with dramatic excitement, as if she were part of her family. Even the bride’s relatives were touched, thinking she must love the bride more than the first wife.
 
That evening, most of the relatives had left—except Bilkisu, who claimed her husband Hafiz would come to pick her up later. Murja was stunned by Bilkisu’s involvement in the wedding, especially after she herself had refused to participate. Worse still, Bilkisu had gone ahead and made her own attire for the event. Murja began to pull away, disheartened by her cousin’s betrayal.
 
When Hafiz finally arrived to take Bilkisu home, they happened to meet Yaya Salis entering Murja’s section. Bilkisu, ever curious, followed to witness the drama. But to her shock, she saw Salis hugging Murja tightly, both of them crying.
 
“Please be strong, Ummu Sajida,” he whispered. “You know who your husband is. I didn’t marry her to hurt you. You will always be special to me, always.” He kissed her forehead gently, his voice heavy with emotion.
 
Bilkisu rolled her eyes and walked away toward the bride’s section. There, the bride’s friends were already growing restless. “He hasn’t even shown up yet,” one of them said. “Didn’t he tell you he’d be here by now?” Bilkisu sneered, “He’s probably still with the first wife, massaging her pride. You’ll see him in a day or two.” With that, she left.
 
The next morning, Bilkisu noticed Hafiz behaving unusually sweet. Once the kids had gone to school, he sat her down and said, “Ummu Sayyid, please listen. I want to talk calmly. You know I love you, right?”
 
Bilkisu froze. “What is this about?” she asked, suspicious.
 
He paused, then said gently, “There’s a young woman I’d like to marry. She’s quiet and respectful. She won’t disrupt our home.”
 
Bilkisu flared up. “Is this what you’ve been cooking up behind my back? Another wife? After all I’ve done for you?”
 
Hafiz tried to explain that he’d planned to tell her earlier, but waited until after the wedding celebrations. “Yesterday, your cousins even went to pay her bride price,” he added.
 
“What?” Bilkisu shouted. In a rage, she grabbed a knife and lunged at him. “If you marry her, I swear I’ll kill you—and then myself!”
 
Elsewhere, in the house of Alhaji Umar, his long-time wife Hajiya Karima was also nursing pain. He had just married a second wife—Shukura, an eighteen-year-old. When she was called into the living room, she found her husband sitting with Shukura leaning lovingly on his shoulder.
 
Karima masked her feelings and smiled politely. Alhaji Umar began a speech, saying he wanted both women to live in peace. “Karima has never given me trouble in all our years together. I want you both to respect one another.”
 
Karima nodded, hiding her heartbreak. That night was the first time in 25 years she slept without her husband. She performed ablution, prayed, and poured out her heart in supplication until she felt at peace.
 
At dawn, a knock woke her. It was Alhaji Umar. She asked if it was time for prayer. He said no, and hesitated before saying, “It turns out Shukura’s gas cylinder wasn’t connected. I was wondering… could you help boil some water?”
 
Karima didn’t reply. Her silence said everything.