Maraicin Nawaf 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Final Request of Sumaiyya
 
“Please, sister, take care of my child after me. Nawaf has no father, no mother—only us. Hold him as you would hold your own, and when he grows, return to him the little box I left.”
 
Her sister, trying to comfort her, replied: “Stop talking like this, Sumaiyya, illness is not death. By Allah, you will recover.”
 
But Sumaiyya only sighed. “You know how weak my body is. Promise me, please, take Nawaf as a trust. Keep praying for me.”
 
Little Nawaf, sitting close, began to cry. “Mama, please wake up, don’t leave me behind.” His aunt embraced him, whispering: “Be strong, my son. Destiny has spoken. Remember your father wronged us, but keep praying for your mother. From today I will be here for you, like she was.” She stroked his head and blessed him.
 
Yet Yaya Lami, standing nearby, only folded her arms, lips twisted in silent disdain.
 
That night Sumaiyya clutched Nawaf as he slept, her strength fading. By dawn, when Yaya Lami came to check, she shook Sumaiyya but received no response. Tears burst forth. “So it’s true, Sumaiyya… you’ve gone. You’ve left me alone.”
 
When Nawaf returned from prayer, he heard the wailing. He rushed back: “What happened, Inna?” She sobbed: “Your mother has answered her Lord’s call.”
 
Though only a boy, Nawaf remembered what the Imam had once said: We do not weep for the dead but pray for them. He held back his tears and whispered in his heart, Allah, receive my mother in mercy.
 
Thus ended the chapter of Sumaiyya’s life, and a new one began for the orphaned boy.
 
 
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Hardship in Inna Lami’s House
 
Two weeks after the burial, Nawaf began to taste hardship. Inna Lami’s kindness faded quickly; her children enjoyed food and comfort, but everything fell upon Nawaf—fetching water, grinding grain, even chores fit for grown men.
 
One day she barked at him: “Go fetch me jerrycans of water. Quickly!”
 
“Inna,” he pleaded, “I cannot carry them alone. Can Mujahid help me?”
 
She scowled. “Lazy brat! Move before I lose my patience.”
 
Nawaf lowered his head. “Forgive me, Inna. My mother taught me to obey you.”
 
Still, when he asked for food upon his return, hunger biting his stomach, she spat: “So you want people to say I don’t feed you? Is that what you’re after? Ungrateful child!” She left him standing, empty and ashamed.
 
At night Nawaf cried silently: Mama, why did you leave me here? Why this suffering?
 
Even his little friend Umar noticed his pain. Umar’s mother often sent him on errands too, but Umar tried to share. “Take this, Nawaf. Buy bread. If my mother doesn’t give me, I’ll still share with you.”
 
But Nawaf shook his head. “Thank you, my friend. Yet I cannot eat what isn’t mine. Allah sees.”
 
Still, Umar insisted, and their friendship became Nawaf’s only comfort.
 
The Plot to Send Nawaf Away
 
As the days passed, Inna Lami’s resentment deepened. Sometimes she beat Nawaf merely for asking for food. “Your whining will bring me insults from neighbors,” she shouted. “One day I will be rid of you.”
 
Her husband rebuked her: “Lami, fear Allah. This boy is your sister’s child, your blood. She entrusted him to you before death. Treat him like your own.”
 
But Lami scoffed. “Don’t lecture me. If you like him so much, take him yourself. As for me, I am tired.”
 
Behind her husband’s back, she began plotting with her friend Asabe, a woman known for trafficking children into labor.
 
“Take this boy,” Lami whispered, “make him an almajiri. I can no longer bear his burden.”
 
Asabe smirked. “Which town shall I send him to?”
 
“Anywhere. Just take him away.”
 
They conspired: when her husband asked, Lami would lie, saying Nawaf had gone to fetch firewood and never returned. Asabe coached her on how to fake tears so neighbors would pity her.
 
But Nawaf, hiding nearby, overheard everything. His small body trembled as the truth sank in. So this is how Inna will betray my mother’s trust?
 
Abandonment and Fate
 
Soon, Asabe returned as planned. Lami entered Nawaf’s room, voice harsh: “Pack your things. You’re going to your mother’s family.”
 
Tears welled in his eyes. “Inna, where are we going?”
 
“Don’t ask questions—just move.”
 
He folded his few clothes, placing also the little box his mother had left him, the only treasure of her memory. Asabe and Lami mocked him when he emerged wiping tears.
 
They traveled to the motor park, Asabe gathering ten other children bound for servitude. Among them Nawaf looked around, bewildered.
 
On reaching Kano, Asabe began dropping the children at different houses. At last, only Nawaf remained. He followed her timidly, clutching his small bag.
 
Then, without warning, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, Asabe disappeared into the crowd.
 
“Aunty Asabe?” he called. No answer. He turned in circles, panic rising. A stranger nearby chuckled: “Your mother ran down that street.”
 
Nawaf burst into tears. “So they planned to leave me! Inna Lami, you betrayed my mother’s trust. I will never forgive you. Allah, be my witness!”
 
And thus began the wandering of Nawaf—the orphan abandoned, yet holding fast to faith, believing only Allah could lift his sorrow.