Mafari Hargitsin Rayuwa Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Inside a dilapidated mud house, three young girls were eating some hot, mushy grain tuwo with watery kuka soup from an old metal bowl that had been completely ruined by dents and rust. The oldest could not be more than 16 years old, the middle one was about 14, and the youngest was around 8 years old.
Calmly, the oldest was putting morsels of the tuwo into her mouth after placing some in the youngest one's mouth, who was unable to use her own hands to eat because of the heat of the food. It was a sign that the reheated tuwo had just been taken off the fire, even though it was early morning and not yet quite 6:30 am.
A tall, slender woman with a very pale complexion—almost like she was on the verge of being an albino, given how her fairness resembled theirs—was sitting at the entrance of a rickety shed. It was obviously a kitchen, judging by how that area was darker than anywhere else in the house. In her arms, she held a baby boy whose head was completely shaven. She pulled out her withered, thin breast and tried to force it into the child's mouth. He would take it, suck once or twice, release it, and resume letting out sharp cries that clearly showed hunger was tormenting him.
A tall, dark man emerged from behind their two slumped rooms, holding a large plastic water bottle. The neck and upper part of the bottle had been cut off, and water was slightly leaking from a hole near the bottom that had been plugged with a black plastic bag.
He bent down and washed his dark feet, which were wearing a pair of tattered slippers, using the little remaining water. He looked up toward where the children were sitting and spent a few moments watching them. He analyzed how the oldest girl was feeding her younger siblings, for by now, she was using her hand to scoop the tuwo that was submerged in the excessive watery soup that had risen well above the food. She would scoop it out, blow on it with her breath, break off a piece into the hand of the second girl, and put the rest into the mouth of the youngest. Immediately after, she would quickly plunge her hand back into the bowl as if she didn't feel the heat of the food at all.
"Yakaka, nyidin biri bun? Duwan bii lanyen wande kausuzuin (Yakaka, aren't you going to eat the food? Hurry up and eat so we can leave before the sun gets hot)," the man said to his oldest daughter, whom he called by the name Yakaka, in their native Kanuri language.
She answered him with a "Yes," just as she quickly stood up and walked behind the woman whose fair complexion resembled hers. She picked up a blackened, severely dented metal tray and headed toward their cracked clay water pot, which was buried in the ground with only its broken rim visible on the outside—making it look almost like a hole. She bent down low, scooped some water from deep inside, and rinsed the tray.