Hasken Cikin Duhu Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Mommah watched him leave, but she said nothing. It was not that she had nothing to say; rather, she knew that speaking would serve no purpose. Dad hissed in annoyance, turned, and walked out of the living room entirely. Mommy, who had been seated, rose and came over to her. Placing a hand on her shoulder with a faint smile, she said,
“Khadijah, stop taking things so seriously. If he does not love Zayyad, then who will? Everything he does for him is out of genuine concern. Stop acting as though you are unhappy about that.”
A strained smile crossed Mommah’s face before she replied,
“Mommy, I am not saying he should not show love to his son. After all, every father is supposed to love his child. But wallahi, what he does for Zayyad is too much. When will he grow up? When will he sit him down and correct him properly? Why must it always be me? And even when I do scold him in his presence, he makes it seem as though I am the one in the wrong. He always takes his son’s side. Is this really how he wants him to continue living? And then you tell me not to worry, when he is a trust from Allah?”
Mommy fell silent for a moment, then said,
“Very well. Later, when Zayyad comes back, we will sit him down and talk to him without Yallabai hearing, okay?”
Mommah nodded and replied,
“Alright. May Allah spare us until then.”
Maitama, Abuja
1:55 p.m.
He was seated on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, smiling faintly from time to time. She came out wearing an Ankara gown, an ice cream in her hand. She sat down and began eating it without even glancing in his direction.
“Nimra.”
She looked up briefly before answering,
“Yes.”
The careless, indifferent way she spoke only irritated him further. He set his phone aside, still looking directly at her, and said,
“So you mean to say you did not know I was sitting here in this living room waiting for you?”
She gave a slight shrug, licked the spoon in her hand, and replied,
“Of course I knew. Didn’t you see me come and sit down? I was going to keep you company, but I think you’re busy with something.”
She spoke with unmistakable insolence, and still she did not look at him. He rose angrily and stared at her.
“What kind of woman are you? Do you even understand what you are doing? Do you understand the value of the marriage you are in? Did you even attend Islamiyya at all?”
She too sprang to her feet in anger, fixing him with a fierce glare. Raising her voice, she said,
“Stop raising your voice at me. Stop shouting at me, okay? I am not your child, and I am not your younger sister. I am not the kind of woman who will stand there while you speak to me however you please. I am your wife. I got married, not into suffering. So do not ever say again that you will lecture me, otherwise...”
“Otherwise what?” he asked.
“Then definitely, I’ll show you the other side of me.”
She brushed past him and walked out of the living room as though she were floating with anger. Farooq followed her only with his eyes, then shook his head. For a moment, it seemed as though he might go after her, but he changed his mind. Instead, he picked up his phone and stepped outside.
The moment Nimra entered the room, she threw herself onto her luxurious bed and burst into tears. What kind of fate was this? How long would she continue to live with a man she did not love? Why had this been done to her? Why would Daddy leave her in darkness with someone who might even become the cause of her death?
She broke down into fresh sobs, because crying was the only thing that seemed capable of easing the weight in her heart. She remained lying there until after an hour had passed. Then she got up, entered the bathroom, bathed once again, and dressed in a black abaya that highlighted her fair complexion beautifully. Afterward, she came out and picked up her car key.
She walked straight into the vast compound of the house, opened a maroon-colored Honda Accord, and got in. She honked, the security guard opened the gate, and she sped out. As she drove, she saw his call coming in, but she ignored it. Farooq called her three times; eventually, she put her phone on Do Not Disturb and continued driving calmly.
Mararaba, Nasarawa State
Orange Market, 2:05 p.m.
Dark clouds had taken over the sky. The sun had disappeared beneath a heavy blanket of grey, and it seemed as though night was trying to descend ahead of time. The wind blew fiercely, lifting dust, scraps of nylon, and loose debris into the air.
Orange Market was as crowded as ever. Vegetable sellers, traders, and porters had all spread out their goods as usual, but one glance at their faces was enough to show that the approaching storm had begun to unsettle them. Thunder rumbled in the distance, while flashes of lightning streaked across the sky above the wooden and zinc-roofed structures. The makeshift stalls of plastic goods and cooking ingredients trembled beneath the force of the wind.
Amid all this noise, she walked on — a girl who could not have been more than seventeen years old, dressed in a slightly worn school uniform, a blouse and skirt that had clearly seen better days. She emerged from a narrow path at the edge of the market.
In her hand was an old patched schoolbag, and the books inside it bounced about because of the rough path. The wind kept blowing her hair across her face, and she brushed it aside with dust-covered fingers. She was walking quickly through the market, weaving between buyers and sellers, trying to get home before the rain began.
She stepped over an old mat spread beside the road. Children splashed in the mud, laughing loudly, but she did not stop. Her heart was too burdened with worry.
Another clap of thunder rolled through the sky. The clouds thickened even more, yet she pressed on through the market, her feet sinking into the mud, her eyes partly shut as she prayed silently that she would reach home safely before the heavens opened.
Lost in such thoughts, she finally reached Kabayi, the neighborhood where her family lived. Their house was an unfinished building; from afar, the bare blocks could be seen clearly, as not a trace of plaster covered its walls. She hurried forward and pushed open the old, worn gate. Offering greetings as she entered, she stepped into a wide courtyard. There were no interlocking stones or tiles there, only a rough layer of cement, cracked and broken in many places.
She moved slowly toward the area where three rooms stood and found them seated together, engaged in light conversation. With great respect, she bent slightly and greeted them in a subdued voice.
One of the women, who was wearing a veil, looked at her with a warm expression and said,
“So, you are back already?”
Still in her crouched position, the girl nodded. But another of the women, whose face was hardened with displeasure, said sharply,
“Was it at your father’s house that you stopped until this hour before returning from school? Where exactly have you been lingering?”
She spoke in a raised voice. The girl immediately shook her head, her own voice trembling as she answered,
“I did not stop anywhere, Umma. Our teacher did not dismiss us early today.”
“So now that you have been spoken to, you have an answer ready to defend yourself,” the woman snapped. “You will soon stop going to that school entirely, wallahi. Get up and leave my sight. And right now, come outside and do the washing. Then later, when I speak, you will say you are going to school. School indeed — Al huda huda.”
She ended with a fierce glare.
With her body weighed down by sadness, the girl rose and entered the room that belonged to her. It was an almost empty room. There was nothing in it except an old mat and a blanket worn thin with age. On one side sat a black Ghana-must-go bag, which appeared to be where she kept her belongings.
She walked further inside and removed her hijab. At once, the thick mass of hair on her head spilled free. She clicked her tongue softly, then tied it back again with a piece of cloth. When she was done, she rose to her feet, folded the hijab, and stepped out of the room toward the place where the washing things were kept, though there were not many of them.
She fetched water into a black plastic basin and sat down. Then she began to look around, but no matter how carefully she searched, she could not find what she was looking for. That made her rise and walk back to where her mother was seated. In a low voice, she said—