Hadin Allah Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

I hurried as fast as I could so I would reach my house quickly, because the sun was extremely hot that day. When I got to the gate, I found it locked, but it was locked from the inside, which gave me a bit of relief. Normally, if I came home and didn’t find my husband around, I would go and sit at my neighbor Binta’s place until he returned. But that day, I couldn’t go to her house or to my parents’ house as I usually did most of the time.
I stood there with my heavy pregnancy, knocking on the gate repeatedly, yet there was no sign of anyone opening it. The sun was blazing directly on my head, my body was tired, my stomach was heavy, and exhaustion overwhelmed me. People passing by shook their heads—some out of pity, others as if to say, “You think you can manage?” I was completely worn out. I was coming straight from the hospital, where I had gone for my antenatal check-up, and I suffered a lot that day. I left the hospital around 1 p.m. Hunger and thirst were tormenting me, the sun was merciless, yet Deeni refused to open the gate for me.
I kept wondering to myself, “What kind of sleep is this that he can’t hear my knocking?” I was totally drained, wiping sweat off my body. I stood there until I could no longer even continue knocking. A young man from the neighborhood stopped and said,
“Bride, hasn’t he opened the gate yet? I passed you earlier and came back, and you’re still here. Should I climb the fence and open it for you, or is his sleep so deep that he can’t hear you?”
I sighed deeply; tears were already welling up in my eyes because of my condition. I didn’t refuse. I said, “Please, S.K., go in and open it for me. I’m really exhausted.”
He removed his shoes, climbed the short fence, opened the gate for me, and I entered weakly, thanking him for his help.
When I greeted and got to the door of the bedroom, the sight of some shoes made my heart drop violently. Fear rushed through me, I clutched my chest which was pounding as if it would burst out. With trembling hands, I pushed aside the curtain of the room. Immediately my eyes fell on the middle of the sitting room. What I saw made my eyes almost stop seeing. My head began to spin; I held my head and collapsed heavily onto the floor in shock and confusion. From my mouth came a faint utterance,
“Safiya!!!”
It was the name that escaped my throat but couldn’t come out clearly.
In panic and fear, Safiya hurriedly put on her clothes and ran out in disgrace, glancing back at her friend who lay helpless on the floor—caught red-handed with her husband in her own house, in her own bedroom, betraying her. As for Deeni, no matter how much he tried to shake her, it was useless. He panicked, fetched water, and sprinkled it on her until she sat up. When he saw that she had regained consciousness, he left the house without saying a word to her.
It felt as though it wasn’t me who had returned home exhausted. As though it wasn’t me who was hungry and thirsty. As though it wasn’t me who was nine months pregnant. I felt like I had forgotten everything. Everything froze. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t feel; I became like someone whose memory had been erased. My heart shut down, my body went cold. I couldn’t even tell what state I was in—I just felt like I existed in the world without truly being alive. Everything in my life came to a complete halt.
I stayed in that state for over two hours before my mouth finally managed to say,
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji’un.”
Painful tears poured down my face. Why would my close friend—the one I trusted and valued above everyone—do this to me? What did I deny my husband that made him betray me in the worst possible way? What kind of life was I living in my husband’s house? When did I ever deserve such a reward? We had only been married for one year. He was the one who loved me, the one who personally came to my parents’ house to ask for my hand. He wasn’t my choice at the time, but out of respect for my elders, I was given to him without considering the man I truly loved.
I heard Gaje’s greeting—my sister-in-law—but I couldn’t wipe the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t hide what was written all over my face. Safiya and my husband committing adultery in my own house, in my marital bedroom! Truly, I had to cry—if there was something more than crying, I had to do that too.
Gaje placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Jiddah, are you okay? Why are you crying alone in the house? Are you unwell? Where is Deeni?”
She asked all these questions at once, questions I didn’t feel capable of answering even one. How could I cry in the market and stab my own womb with a knife? Deeni was my lawful husband, the father of the child in my womb. Safiya was my true friend—the one I loved with a whole heart. I had no friend closer than her. Even though she was older than me, I treated her like my peer. Whatever I did, I did for her. I met her through her marriage—she was a hairdresser, that was how we became close. I sympathized deeply with her marital struggles, which made me trust her and accept her as my closest friend despite the age difference.
“Jiddah, please tell—”
The greeting of my neighbor interrupted Gaje. She replied and turned her attention to Binta, who had entered the house.
“Gaje, so you came and found the situation like this? Wallahi, I always intended to tell her the truth, but I was afraid because of how people say you might destroy someone’s marriage,” Binta said.
I stared at Binta in disbelief. What truth was she talking about? What would people say? Whose marriage would she destroy?
Gaje replied, “Binta, the truth is always bitter, but as her neighbor, you shouldn’t hide the truth from her. If it were her, she wouldn’t hide anything from you.”
Binta sighed and said, “Today, we went together to the hospital for antenatal care. She later went to Aunty Usaina’s place to eat because she couldn’t bear hunger, which made her turn come very late. When I finished before her, I told her I was leaving and that she should come after. She said she would eat at Aunty Usaina’s house before returning home in the evening. That’s why I left alone. Not long after I got home, her husband greeted me and asked when she would return. I told him it would be evening, just like we planned. He turned and left. Later, when I was going out to the drummer’s house, I saw her friend Safiya sneaking around. He opened the gate for her, she went in, and he locked it. I don’t know how it happened, but she returned earlier than expected and knocked until the gate was opened right before my eyes. That’s when I saw Safiya run out in confusion. I knew it was the end, because it wasn’t the first time—everyone in this neighborhood knows she comes here whenever Jiddah leaves the house.”
Gaje clutched her chest, reciting prayers. As for me, all I could think was that the secret had been exposed—my husband’s dignity had been gone for a long time without my knowledge. Who exactly was the man I married? Was that why he always encouraged me to go and spend the day at my parents’ house or his family’s house? Was that what he had been doing all along? Was that why I often saw Safiya’s scarf, hijab, or shoes in the house, and he would say she stopped by on her way to the neighborhood and left them behind? Since when did they start betraying me? Why didn’t he even apologize before leaving?
Follow Haupha to find out how the story unfolds…
Who is Jiddah really?
Who is Safiya really?
Who is Deeni, Jiddah’s husband?
What kind of marital life is this?
What step will Jiddah take against Deeni and Safiya?
Gaje, judging by everything, was also deeply affected by my situation. She finally said, “Jiddah, there is a serious problem here. Your husband has no sense at all. May Allah guide him and make him realize the truth.” She stood up, adjusted her wrapper, and said, “I’m leaving now, Jiddah. Be patient in your life. Marriage is like that—some days are dark, some days are bright. Today, darkness has come to you, so calm your heart and be patient. Everything will pass. It’s painful, but patience is necessary. As for Safiya, staying close to her will only bring trouble—nothing else.”
Binta added, “We thought she already knew, but she didn’t. Please, let this matter end here among us. I don’t want to be seen as a hypocrite.”
I said nothing until Gaje left the house. Binta then adjusted her sitting position and said, “Jiddah, honestly, whenever you’re not around, your husband brings loose women into this house. Everyone in this neighborhood knows it. They don’t argue with you openly, but they gossip about how you go out, leaving the house for him to bring women in. If he’s at fault, you are too. Why do you roam around when you’re married? What do you gain from it, Jiddah?”
Up to that moment, I couldn’t speak. Her words only increased the heaviness in my heart and the darkness in my mind, pushing me into deeper thoughts beyond my ability to cope. I pulled myself onto the bed, closed my eyes, and let the tears flow. Truly, my marriage was full of turmoil and challenges that could drive a person to death if they weren’t careful. Seeing that I wouldn’t talk, Binta stood up and left quietly. I knew she felt pity for me as a neighbor I cared about more than the others.
After she left, I opened my eyes with great difficulty. My head ached terribly, splitting as if it would break in two. I struggled to understand who among the three of us was the real problem—me, my friend Safiya, or my husband.
“Whenever you’re not around, he brings loose women into this house,” Binta’s words echoed in my ears. So it wasn’t only my friend he brought home? What kind of miserable life was I living? Was this what marriage truly was?
I cried bitterly, as though I had been told of my mother’s death. In my pain, I forgot about my pregnancy. I stood up quickly, put on my hijab, and went straight to my parents’ house. When my mother saw me, she recited prayers and asked if I was well. Of course she would—anyone who saw me would think I wasn’t in my right mind. My body was fine, but my heart wasn’t. Peace had completely abandoned me since the moment my eyes witnessed that horrible scene in my own house, my own room, with my husband and my friend.
I went into the room, climbed onto the bed, and lay down. The tears still wouldn’t stop, and I couldn’t erase the image from my mind. I heard my mother greet as she entered the room, but I didn’t lift my head. At that moment, I felt foolish for coming to her—what would I even tell her? I could never tell her what was troubling me. It would hurt her just as much as it hurt me. She would carry it in her heart and lose her peace as I had lost mine. I didn’t want to drag her into my suffering. Better that I endure it alone while my mother remains at peace.
I tried to wipe my tears and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. I could tell she stood there for a long time, worry clearly written on her face. Thinking I was asleep, she sat beside me, staring at me with a deep sigh. After a while, she stood up and left the room, then returned again, restless and thoughtful. Finally she said, “Allah Ya sawwake.”
The smell of kunu kanwa made me realize she had prepared it for me. Whenever I spent the day at her house, she always made it for me. Despite my hunger, I felt no desire for it—my appetite was completely gone.
“Get up and drink the kunu while it’s hot,” she said.
I didn’t move or respond. There was no place in me for food in that terrible state. She touched me before I opened my eyes, and the tears I had been holding back poured out. We sat there in silence for a while before she asked, “Where is your husband?”
I understood she wanted to know if we had fought, so I answered through tears, “He’s not around.”
She sighed. “You came in distressed and refused to tell me what’s troubling you. What do you want me to do for you?”
I only continued crying, my sobs coming from deep within. I could feel the baby in my womb moving violently, as if trying to come out, but I ignored it, overwhelmed by the turmoil caused by the very man who fathered the child. My mother sat very close to me and said, “Tell me the truth of what’s troubling you. You’ve put me in distress. You keep crying and refuse to explain. If you fought, tell me what happened—I’m listening.”
I lifted my head and looked at my mother, wondering in my heart whether I should tell her the truth or remain silent.