Macijine Shi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Beautiful Fulani Girl and Her Graceful Presence
 
I saw a beautiful young girl dressed in traditional Fulani attire — a saki gown and matching wrapper. Her gown barely went beyond her waist, yet the wrapper was tied in a way that decently covered her body so that no part of her was exposed.
 
Her skin was a fair, yellowish tone, smooth and glowing. She had a long, perfectly shaped face with a slender pointed nose and small lips like a thread. Her big dreamy eyes looked half-sleepy, adorned with long eyelashes. Her eyebrows were beautifully arched as though carefully drawn, and a few baby hairs rested on her forehead like those of an infant.
 
Truly, she was a complete beauty — tall and slim, yet with the graceful figure of a woman. Her hips were rounded, and her chest bore the early signs of maturity — a true Fulani maiden blessed with charm.
 
She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old, but one glance at her was enough to know that God had perfected His creation in her. In her hand was a Fulani stick, which she lifted high, seemingly calling to her herd of cattle grazing peacefully in a lush green pasture not far away.
 
She began walking toward them from where she had been standing under a tree, watching them graze. When she looked up, she saw dark clouds gathering — a sign that rain was about to fall.
 
“Let’s go home, my friends, before the rain catches us. I don’t want to catch a cold!” she said in Fulfulde, raising her stick again. The cattle, as if understanding her, started heading home, and she smiled while following them joyfully, still waving her stick.
 
Despite walking alone with her herd in the wilderness, there was no fear in her. She hummed a soft tune, her voice blending with the sound of the coming wind as the sky darkened.
 
The Cruel Stepmother and Fattu’s Pain
 
After walking for about five minutes, their huts came into view. But as they drew closer, the brightness on the girl’s face began to fade. By the time she reached the compound, sadness had replaced her joy.
 
She tied up the cattle neatly and entered the house just as the rain began to fall. Finding no one in the yard, she sighed in relief and hurried toward one of the huts. But before she could reach the door, a loud, harsh voice startled her so much that the stick in her hand dropped to the ground.
 
Terrified, she turned to see a woman glaring at her — an elderly fair-skinned woman, but her unkemptness and filth had darkened her complexion. Her face showed no mercy, only bitterness.
 
The woman barked in harsh Hausa:
“So, you were sneaking into the room? Is your father the one fetching water now? Or have you brought your slave to do it for you?”
 
The girl trembled, stammering in fear.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I saw that it was raining, so I didn’t fetch the water yet.”
 
Before she could finish, the woman slapped her hard across the face, a heartless blow that sent her stumbling. Despite knowing the girl had just returned from herding cattle and hadn’t even eaten, she shouted again:
 
“You stubborn brat! You’ll fetch that water now, I swear by your useless father! You good-for-nothing girl!”
 
She shoved the girl roughly. Fattu fell hard, her hand striking a stone. She screamed in pain, clutching her wrist.
“My hand! Grandma, my hand is broken!” she cried in agony.
 
“Good! I wish it had shattered completely!” the woman yelled with hatred. “You think you’re beautiful, don’t you? I’ll ruin that pretty face of yours today! Get up and fetch that water before I strangle you!”
 
Crying bitterly, Fattu picked up a plastic bucket and ran into the rain. Her hand throbbed painfully, but she kept going. When she reached the stream, the downpour had grown stronger. She bent to scoop the water — and froze.
 
Before her lay a massive snake, hissing violently.
 
Terror at the Stream and the Saving Encounter
 
Terror seized her. She shook uncontrollably, her bucket dropping and breaking against the rocks. Her cries pierced through the storm.
 
“Help me! Oh God, help me! Father, please!” she wailed.
 
The snake raised its head and lunged toward her. Fattu screamed and collapsed in a faint. But just then, another large snake appeared and struck the first one. The two serpents entangled in a deadly fight, biting and wrapping around each other in fury.
 
Minutes later, Fattu began to regain consciousness. Weak and trembling, she tried to touch her head, but the sharp pain in her injured hand made her cry out again.
 
When she opened her eyes, she saw the snakes still locked in battle, blood spilling from their bodies. Horrified, she screamed and ran blindly through the rain, lightning flashing above her. Somehow, by God’s mercy, she reached home safely.
 
She rushed into her small room, barricaded the door with sticks, and collapsed on the worn mat inside. Rainwater streamed down her body as she shivered, terrified that the snakes might follow her.
 
She began changing out of her soaked clothes. Her long, shiny black hair fell loose as she removed her headscarf. Despite her fear and tears, her natural beauty was undeniable — her skin glowed like polished gold, her figure delicate yet radiant.
 
She put on dry clothes, hung the wet ones to dry, and sat down in misery. Hunger, pain, and loneliness consumed her. She had no mother to comfort her — she didn’t even know what her mother looked like or whether she was alive.
 
Just then, she heard someone push open the sticks blocking her door. She jumped in fear, ready to scream —
 
“Calm down, Fattu. It’s me, your uncle,” said an elderly man in a simple robe, holding a bowl in his hand.
 
Relieved, she sighed and said, “Uncle Usee, I swear, I was scared!” her eyes fixed on the bowl he was carrying.