Kana Naka Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Late Return from Abuja
 
It was nine o’clock when he arrived home, as usual, though this time he was late because he had spent some hours at Mama’s place near the gate after returning from work in Abuja. He had driven himself home this weekend since his driver, Mallam Iliya, had gone to his village to visit his sick father with his permission. The long drive had left him completely exhausted — his whole body ached and longed for a hot bath and gentle hands to soothe the fatigue. He wasn’t used to such long-distance driving anymore since Mallam Iliya usually handled it.
 
As he entered his elegant sitting room, he greeted aloud in his deep, commanding voice. But the sight before him ruined his mood — the children had scribbled on the walls with pencils and markers, ruining the beautiful paint that hadn’t been retouched in a long time. The chairs were worn out and the cushions flattened, the carpet stained and dull. The sight made his heart sink; this was why he preferred staying in Abuja — every time he came home to Katsina, the house was always a mess because his wife never stopped the children from wrecking everything. He hissed slightly and scanned the living room again, noticing even torn pieces of the children’s schoolwork scattered on the floor. He didn’t call out for anyone; he knew his wife wouldn’t hear him unless he raised his voice repeatedly because of her hearing condition.
 
As he made his way toward his private section, which was always locked until his return, he suddenly heard a voice behind him: “Welcome back, Yaya Ishaq.” He stopped in his tracks, tightening his grip on his laptop bag before turning. His eyes widened in surprise — she wasn’t around when he left last week. She must have come to the house after his departure.
 
He didn’t show much emotion and simply replied, “Welcome home,” before heading to his room. She didn’t take his coldness personally — she was used to it. Since childhood, Hafsatu had never seen her brother-in-law, Ishaq, smile or show warmth in the house except when he was at Mama’s place or among his siblings. To them, he was a man difficult to please.
 
A Glimpse of Ishaq and Fa’iza’s Lives
 
Ishaq entered his room and locked the door behind him. Hafsatu sighed and shook her head, remembering what her aunt, Aunty Binta, used to say: “Apart from destiny, I don’t see how Fa’iza and Ishaq ever matched as husband and wife.”
 
Ishaq was a tall, fair-skinned man with a refined look inherited from his parents — his mother, a Fulani woman from Kofar Soro, and his late father, Baba Kabiru, from Karofi in Katsina. He had the elegant height and posture of his father’s people, the sharp nose of his mother, and a calm charm that made him handsome and respected. He was also highly educated — both in Islamic and Western studies — and had built a strong reputation for himself. Now, he was a senior staff member at the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) in Abuja. He had been with the organization for seven years — three in the Katsina branch before his promotion and transfer to Abuja — and was thriving under the supervision of Dr. Lawal Bako, his boss and soon-to-be father-in-law.
 
Fa’iza, on the other hand, had barely finished primary school. In Western education, she was unlearned, though she had some background in Islamic knowledge. Still, in modern times, that wasn’t enough. She had also been born with a hearing condition — a partial deafness that ran in her maternal line, making it necessary for people to speak loudly for her to hear.
 
While Hafsatu was cleaning the living room, she thought about how Fa’iza probably had no idea Ishaq was returning that night — she hadn’t mentioned it earlier, and there was no food in the house except for the noodles she had cooked for the children earlier. She gathered the scattered papers and went outside to dispose of the trash before returning to check on her sister.
 
Tension Between Husband and Wife
 
When Hafsatu entered the children’s room, only Amir, their eldest son, was awake. The rest — Anum, Mustapha, and baby Ahmad — were asleep. Fa’iza was helping Ahmad with his diaper when Hafsatu entered quietly and began scolding Amir for scattering clothes again. He mumbled a soft apology, and they prayed the bedtime supplication together before he drifted off.
 
Fa’iza then left the room to put Ahmad to bed in her bedroom — a once-beautiful room now worn out, the carpet faded and furniture dull. She laid the baby down and was about to leave when she nearly bumped into Hafsatu, who was coming in.
 
Startled, Fa’iza said softly, “Oh, Hafsatu… I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’ve been here for a while,” Hafsatu replied. Then, after a pause, she added loudly, “Do you know that Yaya Ishaq is back?”
 
Fa’iza froze. “What? When?”
“Just a while ago — I saw him in the living room,” Hafsatu said.
 
Without another word, Fa’iza hurried toward her husband’s section, adjusting her oversized atampa gown as she walked. She prepared some juice and water on a tray and went to his sitting area, which was far more elegant than the rest of the house — golden-brown furniture, matching curtains, a soft carpet, and a familiar masculine fragrance in the air.
 
She placed the tray on the center table and quietly opened the bedroom door after knocking. Ishaq was standing in front of the mirror, dressed in his soft white nightwear, speaking gently on the phone. Seeing him like that made her hesitate; she turned to leave quietly.
 
But before she could reach the door, his deep, harsh voice called her name:
“Fa’iza!”
 
She froze, turned slowly, and faced him, trembling as he glared at her. Before she could speak, he raised his hand and said sharply, “Just go! Seeing you only increases my frustration!”
 
His tone carried years of buried resentment. Even though she didn’t fully hear his words, she could sense the anger in them. Kneeling on the floor, her voice trembling, she whispered, “Please… forgive me.”
 
But that only seemed to enrage him further. He stepped closer, his expression darkening.
“Forgiveness?” he snapped. “Haven’t I forgiven enough?”