Kanwar Maza 1&2 Complete Hausa Novel

The Forest at God’s Reserve (Dusk)
 
God’s Reserve forest! Late afternoon; when the sunlight was beginning to thin, evening was about to fall. The twilight gloom was trying to creep in and replace the last traces of daylight before it completely vanished.
A collection of trees — tall and straight — together with grasses and different kinds of roots, joined to decorate the forest. It might be fascinating to a tourist who comes to sightsee, if only he did not know what the forest contained.
But to one who knows what is hidden there, it becomes a place of dread, terror, and unrest.
She is running between life and death, clutching some cloth to her chest; from a distance you cannot tell what she is holding because she is running so fast.
Her feet are bare, her body without a wrapper; though the weather is not hot, her lips are dry like a rock that has not seen water for a long time. There is no sign that she knows where she is placing her feet. Despite her terrible condition, she treats what she holds as extremely precious.
Without realizing, she bumps into something she cannot even identify herself; only the force and weight of the thing make her fall to the ground, releasing a half-broken cry as blood begins to pour from her womb.
Only then does the thing she was holding start to cry too, frightened by the shock.
It is a newborn baby, raw and weak — its strength or falling has not yet been tested. Its body is covered in birth filth as if the child has been lying there for two days; yet it seems the baby has never seen water, let alone been washed.
 
In Kano City — Dorayi Tinga Neighborhood (Around 4:00 PM on Thursday)
 
In the city of Kano, Dorayi Tinga neighborhood, around four in the afternoon on Thursday: a medium-sized house in a row of small houses. At first glance you can tell these are low-income homes — by the state of their fences and the presence of rope-dried clothes, no proper gutters, no neat streets. Everyone’s house face looks the same; everyone fixes their house as they can — some repaired, some not — the small houses are close together as if one might climb onto another.
 
“Won’t you come out and go run my errand, or must I wait until the evening prayer is over?” said an elderly woman, sitting in front of the hearth with a pestle in her hand, grinding, beside a metal plate containing cornmeal for stew.
A girl came out of a room behind the woman, holding one side of her hijab in one hand, pushing back tears with the other.
The woman looked at her and asked, “Why are you crying?”
Like someone expecting a scolding, the girl replied, “It’s not Huzaifa—”
“Be quiet! You are always crying as if you were born of the same entrails. If I forbid you to go where he is, you won’t obey. Now take this money and go to Laure’s house; take this change and your sixty kuru (?), bring me forty daddawa and one hundred naira worth of fat — hurry and make the evening stew for me.”
The girl protested, “Today we are making stew of laments, innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.”
The woman looked at the girl with a harsh glance and said, “If I tell you to take the lament and not drink it, take your money and go out, or shall I shame you here?”
The girl crouched, took the money, put on her hijab and headed out, thinking to herself that today they will hardly have anything to eat; that cornmeal feels like charity.
The woman warned, “If you see a chance, sit there — do not rush to see how I deal with you. Or obey the children and stop being foolish on the road.”
Without more arguing, the girl went on, glancing about.
 
Her friend Habiba’s house was the next stop. She found Habiba’s mother in the courtyard having her hair plaited. She crouched to greet her, then told her Habiba had come. Habiba came out smiling at her and asked where Ruma was going.
In a timid voice Ruma said, “Please Habiba, can I borrow Sani’s wrapper? My mother sent me; I want to go quickly and come back.”
Habiba said, “Ruma, you know Sani is worse than a goat; I won’t let you go and waste it on her. The three of us are involved.”
Ruma, confidently, said, “I swear she will not spoil it; please lend it to me, I’ll run and come right back.”
Habiba pulled her to the chicken coop area in the small porch, took Sani’s wrapper down and handed it to Ruma saying, “Please Ruma, be careful; don’t let anything happen to this wrapper. Hurry and return it to me.”
Ruma smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll hurry and come back. I want this wrapper because Sani once gave it to me; I’m close to her — you’ll see I’ll return.”
Habiba smiled, “Okay, hurry before he returns.”
Ruma tucked the wrapper, wrapped herself quickly like a man rather than a woman, and hurried away. She didn’t stop to secure the wrapper until she reached Laure’s house. She finished her shopping, came out and packed the items to take home. Then she saw some schoolmates playing at Hanne’s gate with a dressmaker’s mark. Forgetting her mother’s warning, she left the bundle of purchases and change with the borrowed wrapper and joined the girls.
 
Because she was skilled at play and able to sew, the game quickly heated up; eating the treats freely led to play that turned into a fight. At Ruma’s place she forcefully knocked off one girl’s marked scrap with the strength of a horse. Only with difficulty did someone break up the fight. Ruma pushed the other kids and slapped some of them; a man threatened to tell their parents, so she stopped fighting.
 
The girls who had been in the scuffle, seeing their marked scraps ruined, attacked Ruma and her sisters, grabbed the fat that Ruma had bought for her mother, took the change and tore open the bag of purchases and ran off; even the daddawa was barely retrieved. The bag was torn and its contents spilled.
 
She gathered the remaining items and hurried home, thinking of what lie to tell her mother to avoid being scolded — she hates being scolded by her mother. On the other hand she planned how she would beat Safiya when they meet at school, because of what had been done to her.
By the time Ruma arrived home, the calls for evening prayer had already begun from some mosques. Fear seized her.
 
She slipped inside and peeped into the house, she saw her mother performing ritual ablution at the water jar. Her mother glanced once at her, then resumed her ablution.
Silently, Ruma entered and stole a look at her mother, she expected her mother to speak but she did not. She set down the remaining items of the errand, then went to the toilet and purified herself. She entered the sitting room and stood behind her mother, raising the prayer to join in. Her mother finished prayer, stood and went to the courtyard to check the items Ruma had brought — seeing how Ruma had managed the errand, she returned to the sitting room waiting for Ruma to finish her prayer so she could reprimand her. But Ruma refused to finish her prayer and instead performed voluntary prayers without reason — the woman who sometimes beat her even during prayers was the mother, but today even the voluntary prayer was included.
 
When her mother saw that her portion was not complete, she refused to finish prayer; she seized Ruma by the neck from behind, made her sit down, and looked at her with a stern face: “Which stranger’s house did you go to when I sent you?”
Terrified, Ruma shook her head, “Nowhere, Mama.”
“You are lying. Tell me or I will twist your neck. Since afternoon I sent you but you came in after evening prayer — whose house did you go to?”
Ruma, rolling her eyes and writhing, swore she was not lying, “I swear Mama I did not go anywhere.”
In great anger her mother said, “You will not tell me?”
“Mama, I swear it is true.”
 
“Assalamu alaikum,” came a greeting from the courtyard. Her mother replied with composure. A young man entered the room saying he had just come; the mother greeted him “Welcome.” He nodded and looked at the mother standing over Ruma, and Ruma glared like she was cursing a king.
“Mother, what has happened?” he asked gently, wanting to understand.
With irritation the mother said, “Because of this girl’s shamelessness — she went to Laure’s house to buy stew ingredients after afternoon until now she returns with no errand explained and no change. I asked her where she stopped but she refuses to tell, only swearing it isn’t true.”
He looked at Ruma and said, “Won’t you tell where you went, and where is the change? Or go and spend it since that’s what you usually do.”
With sarcasm and insolence Ruma said, “I don’t know, who are you to order me? This is outrageous —”
At that point the mother clapped her hand and struck her in the mouth, so hard Ruma thought her mouth would split open.
 
She staggered back quickly, held her mouth and bit her hand because the beating hurt so much.
He shook his head and said, “Mother, forgive her. It’s not that she is decent; don’t trouble yourself. Let the man named Baba or Haidar come and accuse her.”
Hearing this made Ruma suddenly anxious; she begged, “Mama, I’m telling the truth for God’s sake — please don’t tell them. The change must have fallen on the way, I fell and the jar burst — please don’t tell them.”
“I swear she is lying; you know her lies — accuse her and wait for the man named Baba to come and you will eat your punishment,” the mother insisted with satisfaction.
He rolled his eyes at the mother and gave Ruma a mock smile, “Mother, you see he is even laughing; please be patient.”
Mother dismissed him and handed Huzaifa (the young man) some money and made him do a favor.
 
Ruma retreated to a corner and lay down, her heart heavy with the thought of what trouble she could be in if the man named Baba or Haidar is told. Even if she had drunk local brew she would not be able to tell her mother the real events. She prayed privately, begging God to keep her secret, that her mother would not tell them. Deep in her heart she also prayed that Huzaifa would advise her mother to attach her to Haidar’s household.
 
While lost in thought she overheard her mother and Huzaifa talking in the courtyard as if the argument had not yet finished. They continued while the mother finished preparing her stew. A greeting sounded again in the courtyard; Ruma got jittery because their voices were almost the same. She calmed a bit when she remembered the voice of the greeter was not Haidar’s — his personality is gentle and calm.