Farhatul Qalbi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

On the Quiet Street of the Wealthy
 
She walked quietly with her head lowered, dressed in a sky‑blue uniform, her hijab pure white. Her feet were in sandals—one of them already worn out with loose stitches—while soft white socks covered her ankles.
 
On her back hung a small rope-handled sack. Her eyes hid behind medicated glasses. Everything on her, including her clothes, was neat and clean.
 
Her uniform had been thoroughly washed and ironed to perfection. She walked briskly as she headed home.
 
The street was silent—completely still—except for barking dogs and chirping canaries. Everywhere were tall, heavy gates, with security guards chatting at the entrances of the luxurious houses.
 
Big cars were parked outside, surrounded by ornamental plants. The cool breeze rustled the trees gently.
 
Her large eyes behind the glasses landed on a signboard that read: THE ADAMS FAMILY!!
 
She quickly walked past, almost stumbling. She could never forget the harsh slap the security guard of that house gave her and her friends one Friday afternoon.
 
Her heart pounded faster as she hurried out of the wealthy street, filled with towering gates and mansions.
 
Once she stepped out, she let out a deep sigh and continued toward her own neighborhood. One glance at her area and you would instantly know it belonged to the poor. A pile of disturbing, foul-smelling trash sat beside an open pit used as a dumpsite.
 
There, scrap scavenger children—children of the neighborhood—were busy picking through the rubbish.
 
×× UNGUWAR SHURAH ××
 
The Elderly Women and the Hidden Name
 
A group of elderly women sat near a small slope, each wearing mismatched wrappers, blouses, and headscarves. Their bodies were covered in dust as they sifted through grains of corn, millet, sorghum, and maize.
 
“Come here, Wahidin,” one of the old women called.
 
She hurried over, despite hating the name “Wahidin,” which Marka—their grandmother—always used for her. She knew her real name perfectly, but Marka refused to call her by it, hiding it for her own mysterious reasons.
 
“Good afternoon. How is the work?” She knelt down respectfully and greeted them all.
 
“We are fine, Waheedah. Did they dismiss you early today?” asked Lawuri, Marka’s close friend.
 
She only shook her head and replied softly,
“It’s because I haven’t paid my school fees.”
 
“Here, hold this and finish up. When you’re done, go to Na’Ateeku’s shop and collect what he has for us.”
 
“Yes, Marka…” she replied. They stepped past her, Marka’s shoe even brushing her hijab.
 
She lifted the grain bowls and continued sorting—one up, one down—as the wind blew dust all around.
 
She worked for a long time. When done, she poured each grain into a sack after measuring them.
 
Her uniform was now covered in dust, and so were her glasses.
 
She headed to Na’Ateeku’s shop. Standing by the side, she greeted him.
 
“Marka sent me…”
 
“Yes, I know,” he said, tugging at his lower lip. He picked a black nylon bag, placed in a bowl of cracked rice and a can of tomatoes.
 
“Here, take it to her.”
 
She stretched out both hands to receive the bag, but he suddenly grabbed her palm. Immediately, her body trembled and she dropped the bag, her heart thudding heavily.
 
“Your skin is this soft? Are you sure you're even from this goat‑herding area of Unguwar Shura? Wallahi, someone would swear you live in GRA…” he said, then picked up the bag and handed it to her again.
 
Waheedah was frightened. She stepped back, shaking her head.
 
“Take it, you scared thing… Tell your grandmother everything. Even the price. Tell her I added some extra because I’m impressed.”
 
She didn’t understand what he meant. She quickly grabbed the bag and rushed out of the shop, almost flying from how fast she moved.
 
“Waheedah, is your mother at home?” asked Najan Isubu, her mother’s friend.
 
“Yes, she is… I haven’t gone home yet. Good afternoon.”
 
“Afternoon. If she’s around, tell her… no, never mind. I’m going there myself. I’m going to Furera’s house to congratulate her on Aina’u’s naming.”
 
“Okay…”
 
She continued toward her house, her heart pounding again—still shocked at Na’Ateeku’s behavior. So he was that kind of man?
 
She released another 
eavy sigh and stepped into their compound, her mouth already forming a greeting…