Ja Ya Fado Ja Ya Dauka Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Fate Feels Bigger Than You
 
Sometimes a person feels as if their destiny is larger than everyone else’s — until they meet someone new and suddenly their own life seems small in comparison. That’s how the world is.
That feeling bothered Aeesha every day. It often stopped her from going out: even though she grew up among her relatives, whenever she left the house people would stare or whisper — as is the custom when a stranger’s behavior looks different.
This was not new for her; she had been talked about and gossiped over before, and that hurt her deeply. That pain made her avoid going out, and it’s the same reason people in town often treated her differently.
She could be called “the daughter of a woman who went to the Arab countries” — many girls and women from the North travel there, return, then live differently and are mocked in front of parents or relatives. They aren’t guilty of anything, but ultimately they carry the blame.
Readers will know such cases — people who left, who others did not understand. Many of our families have relatives like that because of travels to seek work or other reasons. Aeesha was one of them; the way she was born set her apart.
Her skin color was different from ours — not entirely dark, but mixed; you might call her partly Arab. Aeesha was well-mannered and religious, raised with the kind of discipline parents wish for their daughters.
She was bright in both Western and Islamic education, not arrogant, but her quiet composure made people think she was proud — and that misunderstanding followed her. In truth, she purposely kept to herself, arranging her life carefully to avoid trouble.
She never knew her origins clearly, but she sensed there was a reason she looked different from others in her region. Some classmates even called her by a nickname that threatened to overwrite her real name. Still, everything about Aeesha was Hausa — except for the color of her skin that set her apart.
 
At Home — Daily Life and Tension
 
She disliked noise; when Aeesha’s voice shifted, it meant she was upset and she could not easily say what she felt. She was strong-willed in her neighborhood; not everyone could challenge her, so she made a few friends but kept most people at a distance — at best one or two close companions.
She came home from school to find her grandmother (Ammah) sitting, withdrawn in thought. Aeesha greeted her; Ammah replied in a worried tone. When Aeesha entered her room she changed out of her Islamic dress and sat beside Ammah. “How are you, Ammah? Are you well?” she asked. Ammah forced a smile and said she was fine but lost in thought.
Ammah mentioned that Father (Abbu) hadn’t returned yet, though his arrival time was near. Aeesha straightened the household items while waiting for the old man they called Abbu — who was like both father and grandfather to her. When he returned from the market they would use the money he brought to buy food for the house so they would not sleep hungry.
This was routine: Aeesha would wait expectantly for Abbu’s return, listening for the sound at the gate. When visitors arrived, the family always welcomed them warmly. Today the visitor was “Maman Gwarzo,” greeted with joy. Maman Gwarzo teased Aeesha about her studies and marriage with a laugh, asking if she would marry so soon. Aeesha replied that she was close to finishing her studies and then relaxed. She collected the items she had been given and put them in her room. In their small home there were only two rooms: one for everyone and a small partitioned corner where Abbu slept.
Aeesha took twenty naira she had saved and went to buy water for the household, presenting it to the woman who called out “Mama” and received a warm “well done.” She then went to the kitchen to sweep, as the other women watched and noted that Nana (another relative) was still quiet with no news.
Ammah said they would discuss some matters later and lit a pot of water to prepare tuwo (a staple) — food they would share that evening. The household women helped set the meal and served the guest. Abbu had gone to the mosque and had not returned immediately, but when he did everyone would gather to eat together — a neighborly custom that used to be stronger, though now people mostly kept to themselves.
Around nine-thirty they assumed the girl had slept, since she had been in bed from around eight-thirty; Ammah remarked that Aeesha still did not know her true origins even though everyone in town kept showing curiosity and gossip. Nana would remember and speak of it from time to time, and that made Aeesha uneasy.
When the husband (Ammah’s husband) arrived the conversation turned to the reason Aeesha’s relative had come and the preparations they planned for visiting the village — arrangements made without informing some family members. They planned who would go and who would remain. If money wasn’t available they would pool what they had to secure land or a place to buy in the city.
The next morning, after preparations, Ammah told Aeesha that when she returned that day she would have a room ready because Ammah had to travel to the village later. She advised Aeesha to wait in the sitting area until the teacher (malam) returned, since it wasn’t certain when he’d be back. Aeesha felt timid and worried: she didn’t know their town well, nor who her relatives were. Ammah calmed her, promising she would meet them soon and reminding her to be ready to cook for the teacher when he came home hungry.
So Aeesha left quietly, following Ammah’s plan. She obeyed Ammah’s guidance and went to visit “Tabawa’s” house, as Ammah had told her, then returned home to do small chores. By midday she had swept and cleaned until evening. She then decided to tidy her room: she cleared the trash and packed some things into a tightly wrapped bag. Initially she thought to throw the bag away if it had nothing useful, but when she loosened it she found old photographs inside.
 
The Photographs and the Return
 
Carefully she pulled out the photos and studied them one by one. The first showed a woman and her daughter; Aeesha stared hard at that picture, then noticed Arabic writing on the back. She tried to read it but could not — it was Ajami script (Arabic letters used for Hausa), though she could only make out the year: 1982.
Turning the next photo, she examined a woman and her child again, then another picture of the woman with a man — the man looked Arab, but different from the others. In that photo the daughter seemed eight or nine years old, wearing a traditional ribbon and the mother in a dark robe with a black jilbab. The man in that photo was fair-skinned, dressed like an Arab. Arabic writing was on that photo too.
She gathered the pictures and, after a pause, set them gently on the small table where Ammah kept things. She hurried to finish cleaning so that the teacher wouldn’t return and find her chores undone. She lit the cooking fire and sat to wait, and soon she heard the familiar sound of a bicycle — the sign that he had returned.