Ku Dube Mu Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The house of Malam Ali Gidado is a large household in Sumaila Local Government Area of Kano. He is a wealthy man whom God has blessed with a great number of livestock. His herds of cattle, sheep, and goats are beyond counting because of their multitude. He owns a huge farm outside the town where he keeps them, taking care of his property with the help of only a few people, because he cannot bear paying many workers. He is a Fulani of pure lineage, slim and not at all fat, yet a single glance would confirm that he was quite handsome in his youth. The townspeople and his family call him Malamijo. Despite all his wealth, almost everyone knows him as an extreme miser and a very stingy man. His money is never touched unless he is about to get married. That is when a girl and her parents will feast and raise their heads high. During the marriage, the bride becomes a star—she eats well and dresses well. The entire household falls under her control until Malamijo grows tired of her or she becomes pregnant. After that, whether she exists or not is the same to him, for he is an expert at humiliating and abusing women, since he knows they marry him for his money.
Malamijo does not even wear decent clothing so that he won’t spend his money. Often you’ll see him roaming around in faded clothes because he has never agreed to sew clothes that fit him properly, for fear of waste. At present he has fifteen children, but only six of them live in the house with their mothers. The rest have no privileges; they rely only on God and on Yadikko, the second wife in Malamijo’s line of marriages. He has not divorced her to this day because she is a woman who has managed to stand her ground against him. She has never given birth, and even her father was wealthy when they got married. Even so, their marriage has lasted long, for all of Malamijo’s children were born under her watchful eye. Whenever he divorces a child’s mother, she tries her best to care for them, but his failure to provide properly makes things difficult. Those children fortunate enough to grow up with their own mothers in the house get whatever is brought home. Everything is shared out and placed for those with mothers by the cooking hearth, and they at least survive on that. Those without mothers simply sit aside and watch.
Despite all of Malamijo’s harshness, his children have benefited in one area: modern education and Islamic studies. This advantage came from advice given by his friend, with whom he transports livestock to the south. The friend told him that if the children studied, he would benefit, because they could get government jobs, and as their father he would enjoy the rewards of having successful children. Since his heart only cared about gain, he agreed without much resistance. But his friend, Malam Kallamu, only did this to help the children who wandered aimlessly around town. As a friend, he kept trying to advise him about his lifestyle, but Malamijo refused to listen. Besides Malam Kallamu, who else could speak so directly to Malamijo without him seeing it as disrespect, even if someone brought him half a bowl of food to his doorstep?
Today he was returning from the south where he had taken three truckloads of livestock. Although Fulani people are known for loving their animals, for him money comes before anything else. And he is fortunate, because he makes a lot of profit—like today when he returned.
His children and wives came out to welcome him, congratulating him on his safe return, while he snorted through his nose, wary that any of them might try to grab his bag.
Two girls were in one room. One lay on a wrinkled mattress while the other, who seemed older, stood over her.
“Didn’t you hear that Malamijo has arrived?”
She clicked her tongue lightly and turned to the other side. “I heard.”
Her elder sister, from a different mother, sat beside the mattress and lowered her voice. “Mairama, you know if we don’t go, whatever he brought will be taken by Inno and the others, right?”
Annoyed, Mairama turned. “Adda Salame, I didn’t stop you from going.”
Knowing her younger sister’s temperament, Salame smiled again calmly. “Mairama, don’t play with elders. It’s not good.”
Mairama sprang up angrily, but before she could speak she burst into tears about what was hurting her. “Adda, have you forgotten the day he left? He told us we fill his house like children who aren’t really his—like children who aren’t loved, just born out of necessity. At least you can go to your mother’s place. As for me, since mine has died, I have no privilege at all.”
Mairama cried bitterly while Salame tried to console her. She was a sensitive girl, which is why the injustices in their household hurt her deeply. Back when they were in boarding school, she never even longed for holidays. Now they had graduated and even months had passed. Since they were the eldest—Salame’s mother being his first wife and Mairama’s the third—neither of them had grown up with their mothers in the house. While Salame was very calm by nature, Mairama was quick-tempered, especially about the conditions in their home.
The room’s curtain was suddenly flung aside. Hajjo, now the one in charge of the house because she was the newest bride and still in her favored period, glared at them.
“So, you’re just lying here. Malamijo has returned and you won’t go greet him?”
Trembling, Salame stood and pulled Mairama up. “We’re coming now.”
They stepped out after her click of annoyance. In the courtyard there was no one except their younger brothers and sisters, nearly all holding bottled drinks in their hands, along with their mothers. Even Yadikko held one, savoring it happily. Mairama’s eyes reddened as she looked around.
“What stopped you from coming out early until he finished sharing the gifts?” someone asked.
Salame felt hurt and upset. It was rare for them to receive such bottled drinks as gifts unless they were very lucky. She shot Mairama a look, remembering that he once brought them drinks from the south that even had sweets inside. Together they entered Malamijo’s hut. A floor fan had been placed for him and he was cooling himself before his bath water would be prepared. He curled his lip and turned his head aside.
“Malamijo, how was the journey?” Salame asked. He answered reluctantly.
“Welcome back,” Mairama said stiffly.
“You little scorpion, are you angry because I stopped feeding you before I traveled?” he snapped. “Your uncle Kallamu told me that when you finish school you’ll start government jobs and begin earning salaries, but I haven’t seen anything—just silence.”
They stared at him in surprise. So that was why he had insulted them that day, even calling them useless children. Then he relaxed a little and said he had investigated and been told they would have to attend further schooling after secondary school.
“By God’s Qur’an, I will not pay for anything else for you again. Go and bring husbands so I can marry you off and create space in this house. Look at your younger ones—they’re always growing and stressing me. I’m tired of this school expense that shows no sign of profit.”
Dije, now the second wife, stormed into the room.
“By God, Malamijo, my children must finish school. Others have finished—mine too, and they are boys.”
He pushed his cap forward and narrowed his eyes. “Watch yourself with me, Dije. Always lurking like a lizard, sticking to the wall. I’m warning you—one day you’ll bring trouble upon yourself.”
She widened her eyes in fear. Salame and the others left them there.
In the days that followed, nothing changed in the house. In fact, the pressure on Salame and Mairama grew because they had not brought suitors. Malamijo even claimed he might marry them off to his livestock workers. His daughters were beautiful, mashallah, but had no fair complexion—and even if they did, no one wanted to associate with Malamijo because of his character. There was nothing appealing about him at all.