Masarauta Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Kamal and the Strange Girl
 
Since he left his shop, he had been keeping watch, waiting to see from where she would appear. He knew it was exactly around that time she usually came to collect bread from him. He didn’t have much money in hand, because business wasn’t going well at his tailoring shop. He sewed men’s clothes, and from that he managed to take care of himself and his mother, whom he was also supporting. From that little income he paid the shop rent whenever due. He had no other work to rely on for money apart from this.
 
Suddenly, a mentally ill pregnant woman appeared in their street, frail and clearly starving. Everywhere she went, no one cared for her; instead, she was insulted. She was a very young girl, with madness and pregnancy, and one could not help but pity her. When she came to his shop, his heart longed to help the poor girl. He brought out his food—rice with oil and pepper—and offered it to her. But she frowned and shook her head in refusal. That surprised him, yet she kept moving her hand toward her mouth, showing she was hungry.
 
“Why won’t she eat?” he asked himself, puzzled. His heart suggested maybe even mad women with pregnancy sometimes felt disgust toward certain foods. He sighed, not knowing what else to offer her. Luckily, just then a bread seller passed by. He bought bread for her, and she quickly grabbed it and began to eat. He also gave her pure water. She sat down eating while everyone passing by watched them. After she finished eating, she stood up and left without looking back.
 
From that day onward, she came at the same time daily, he bought her bread, and she would eat and leave. He didn’t know her name, her background, or where she lived.
 
The Day She Did Not Come
 
On this particular day, he kept waiting, eyes glued to the road, but she didn’t appear. He grew worried. The bread he had already bought for her was sitting by his side untouched. Finally, he left his sewing to look for her. He searched around but found no sign of her. “Could it be she delivered somewhere?” he asked himself, then shook his head, “No, her pregnancy isn’t due yet.”
 
He looked at his colleague in the shop and said, “Salisu, please if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’ll be back.” Salisu nodded. Kamal quickly wore his slippers and walked out, turning left and right, searching without knowing where to begin. “Why am I even worried about her this much?” he asked himself. Another part of his heart answered: “Because you pity her deeply.”
 
After roaming the neighborhood without success, he returned quietly, only to be shocked to see her sitting at the shop entrance under the sun. He sighed in relief and rushed toward her. She recognized him instantly, for she could never forget his face—he was the only one who always gave her food, never insulted her, and treated her kindly. To her, he was like a father figure.
 
She stretched out a loaf of bread toward him. He looked at the bread in surprise before looking back at her. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you. And where did you get this bread?” She kept silent; he had never heard her voice, nor did he know if she could even speak or hear. He tried to figure out where she had gotten the bread, but no answer came. He simply accepted it, since she insisted. “Thank you. But if I take this, what will you eat?” Again, she stayed silent, rubbing her belly.
 
He shook his head in pity. He went back inside, picked up the bread and a soft drink he had set aside for her, and brought them to her. She accepted, then turned to leave. “At least tell me your name,” he said. She turned, looked at him, but said nothing. Dirt covered her clothes and face; anyone disgusted by filth would not stand close to her. Without uttering a word, she left. He exhaled slowly, glancing back at the bread she had given him. “Where could she have gotten it? How did she even know to bring it to me?”
 
He shrugged, carried the bread back into his shop, saying to himself, “Tomorrow my money will rest; I’ll just keep your share here, if you return I’ll give it to you.”
 
Salisu asked, “Why are you bothering yourself with that mad girl?” Kamal looked at him and replied, “Is it a crime for a Muslim to help his fellow Muslim, especially one in such a pitiful condition?” Salisu shook his head. “It’s not a crime, but you’re getting too attached. She’s mad and pregnant. Likely some bad men abused her and left her this way because of lack of compassion. If you keep helping her, people may start suspecting you, even linking her situation to you. These days, helping can put someone into trouble.”
 
Kamal sighed, nodding, knowing Salisu was right. Still, he couldn’t refuse helping the girl. “Thank you,” he said and went back to his sewing.
 
Kamal’s Home and Family Evening
 
By evening, he closed shop and went home. Their house was nothing grand—just a small two-room house for him and his mother, with kitchen and toilet. Thankfully, they owned the place and weren’t paying rent.
 
“Peace be upon you,” he greeted as he entered. His mother, sitting and waiting for him, answered, “You’re late today, my son.”
 
He sat by her feet. “Work kept me long today, Umma.”
She nodded. “Allah help you. I was waiting to ask you to buy charcoal; I have no money on me, so I didn’t send a boy.”
 
He pulled two hundred naira from his pocket. “This is all I have left. Nobody paid me today, but tomorrow, insha’Allah, when they come for collection, I’ll have more. For now, this will add to the rice.”
 
“Allah bless you, my son. Go buy it. Or should I go myself since you’re tired?”
He stood up quickly. “No, Umma, how can you go out while I sit here?”
 
She smiled. “Alright then.”
 
He went out, bought the charcoal, and returned just as a girl entered with greetings. They responded. She smiled, greeted Umma, then turned shyly.
 
“Don’t you ever get tired of coming here, always running errands?” Umma teased her.
 
“Umma, I came to cook for you. I heard you said dinner would wait until Kamal returned,” the girl answered.
 
Umma shook her head. “No, rest. You’ve already cleaned the house and washed dishes. I’ll cook myself.”
 
The girl smiled shyly. “Please Umma, let me do it. Just bless me for it.”
 
Umma was pleased. “May Allah bless you and let me witness your marriage with joy.” The girl pulled her veil to cover her blushing face. Kamal, smiling, went to the bathroom.
 
The girl—Jiddah—began cooking while Umma assisted her. They chatted warmly. After Kamal returned from bathing, he sat by his mother. “Umma, you’ve left the cooking for her? If the food isn’t tasty and we can’t eat, what then?” he teased.
 
Jiddah gave him a playful, longing look and pouted. Umma chuckled. “Her cooking is fine. Even in a restaurant, they wouldn’t match her skills.”
 
Kamal sighed. “Don’t praise her too much, Umma. She’s not better than a restaurant cook.”
 
Jiddah quickly retorted, “Then today you won’t eat this food!”
 
He only smiled, stood up, and left as the call to Maghrib prayer approached.