Matar Abbana Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Car That Refused to Start
 
No matter how hard the driver tried, the Lexus RS 350 refused to start. With courtesy and respect, he turned to Hajiya Kaka and said:
“Hajiya, I think I’ll have to get you another ride home. I’ll call a mechanic to check the car—I don’t know why it suddenly stopped.”
 
Hajiya Kaka sighed deeply, then glanced at her beautiful granddaughter, who was completely absorbed in her iPhone. She said:
“Come on, princess, let’s go. You’re glued to that phone like a queen’s daughter. The car has broken down, let’s get down and find another ride.”
 
The girl, not more than eighteen, showed no sign of annoyance. She didn’t say a word, only pressed her lips together and reached for the car door. Before she could open it, the driver hurriedly came around and opened it for them. Then he pulled out his phone to call the mechanic, while raising his left hand to hail a tricycle.
 
Hajiya Kaka wasn’t left behind either; she too raised her hand to stop a ride. Soon, a tricycle pulled over. Before the driver could even speak, Hajiya Kaka said:
“Wait, young man, take us.”
 
The tricycle driver glanced at the Lexus by the roadside—shiny and dazzling, clearly a new model. He immediately knew he had struck gold.
 
Hajiya Kaka climbed in, her granddaughter following. Their driver bent slightly toward the tricycle man and said:
“Take them to G.R.A.”
 
The tricycle driver looked at Hajiya Kaka.
“Your fare is three thousand naira.”
 
“Let’s go, may God bring us safely,” she replied.
 
Their driver wanted to pay, but Hajiya Kaka stopped him.
“Dan Ladi, leave it. I’ll pay him.”
 
She then added:
“And Dan Ladi, once you’re done fixing the car, before you pass Alhaji Biniya’s house, buy me some bean cakes.”
 
The tricycle driver interrupted impatiently:
“Hajiya, are you done talking?”
 
“Yes, we’re done. Let’s go. I swear, I don’t like unnecessary stress in life. Life isn’t supposed to be lived that way,” Hajiya Kaka muttered.
 
Her granddaughter turned to her.
“Since he’s already driving, Grandma, please be quiet. You’ve been complaining nonstop. Enough!”
 
Hajiya Kaka fell silent, though her face clearly showed displeasure.
 
Conversations on the Road
 
As they traveled, a man waved them down. The tricycle driver said:
“They hired the whole ride.”
 
But Hajiya Kaka insisted:
“Take him. A Muslim is the brother of another Muslim.”
 
The man thanked her and asked:
“How much is the fare?”
 
“Five hundred,” the driver replied.
 
“I don’t have change now,” the man said.
 
The driver began to move on, but Hajiya Kaka quickly interrupted:
“Wait, let me get you change. I don’t want my business partner searching for coins.”
 
Her granddaughter immediately snapped:
“Business partner? Grandma, when did you start calling tricycle men business partners?”
 
But Hajiya Kaka ignored her and paid the man’s fare.
 
They continued until they reached a filling station. At the queue were three young men chatting loudly about the country’s soldiers. One of them said:
“I love how the army commander confronted those kidnappers head-on.”
 
Before the others could reply, Hajiya Kaka poked her head out of the tricycle.
“You mean the commander himself faced kidnappers? And he wasn’t afraid?”
 
The boys laughed.
“Afraid? No, Mama, that man doesn’t fear anything.”
 
Hajiya Kaka shook her head.
“One day, trouble will reach his doorstep.”
 
Everyone burst into laughter, including her granddaughter, though her eyes remained glued to her phone.
 
They moved on and soon saw groups of secondary school students waiting by the roadside for transport. Many were girls, all unmarried. Every mother’s dream was to see her daughter married off. Hajiya Kaka sighed and pointed them out to her granddaughter.
“See, all of them are waiting for a ride.”
 
Her granddaughter, Husna, barely looked up from her phone.
 
A little further down, they saw another cluster of students. Hajiya Kaka again commented:
“Those ones too are waiting for transport. May God grant you goodness.”
 
Still, Husna said nothing. Irritated, Hajiya Kaka frowned.
“I hate this stubborn silence of yours, Husna. That’s why I don’t like traveling with you. I prefer Hassana—we chat all the way. You’ve inherited your brother Hafeez’s standoffish attitude. You’re exactly like him.”
 
Husna rolled her eyes.
“What do you want me to say, Grandma? Honestly, your endless chatter gives me a headache. That’s why I stay quiet. But I’m not stopping you from talking.”
 
Hajiya Kaka shook her head.
“True. So, if someone talks only to themselves, what’s the difference between them and a madwoman?”
 
The driver chuckled to himself. Another passenger sitting beside Hajiya Kaka also stifled a laugh. Husna, however, stayed quiet as if the conversation wasn’t about her.
 
Hajiya Kaka pouted her lips forward stubbornly.
“It’s true,” she muttered to herself again.
 
At last, they arrived home safely. The tricycle stopped in front of a magnificent mansion, its size and design proving enormous wealth. The gatekeeper hurriedly opened the small door, greeting Hajiya Kaka respectfully.
 
Inside the compound, luxury cars gleamed in the parking lot. Hajiya Kaka tossed her veil on the sofa as soon as she entered the living room.
“If not for this condolence visit, nothing would have made me leave home so early in the morning,” she complained.
 
Her other granddaughter, Hassana, who was setting breakfast on the dining table, walked in.
“Kaka, you’re back? Where did you leave Husna?”
 
The two girls looked almost identical—anyone who didn’t know them well could easily confuse them. But unlike Husna’s cold, reserved nature that mirrored their elder brother Hafeez, Hassana was cheerful and talkative.
 
“I went to sell her off,” Hajiya Kaka said sarcastically. “And the money got swallowed by expenses.”
 
Hassana smiled knowingly. She had already guessed they must have quarreled again.
 
Just then, Husna entered. When she and Hassana saw each other, both smiled warmly. Hassana prepared tea, switched on a Bollywood channel, and the three sat to watch. Soon Husna and Hassana started debating whether Rashmika or Deepika was the better actress. Hajiya Kaka shook her head, left them to argue, and went to eat.
 
A Different Young Woman
 
Elsewhere, another young woman awoke early, exhausted yet refreshed from deep sleep. She stretched, her chest rising as her nightdress clung tightly. With a sleepy yawn, her dimples appeared. She turned to glance at Inna ta Rasulu, still fast asleep.
 
It was always like this: she woke early for work, while her stepmother never lifted a finger to help her. She sighed in frustration. Shaking her head loosened her long silky hair, which spilled down her back. She quickly gathered it and tied a scarf before heading to the bathroom to clean up.
 
Outside in the small sandy courtyard, she paused, wondering what to tackle first.
 
She was strikingly beautiful—fair-skinned, with large grey eyes, delicate lips, and a slender frame. Her figure was slim, except for the perfect curves of her hips and upright breasts. God had also blessed her with a captivating voice, especially when reciting the Qur’an. Her greatest love in life was Qur’anic recitation—she never missed a day.
 
She began with washing dishes, swept the house, then carried beans to be ground at the local mill. Returning home, she prepared to fry bean cakes (qosai) at their usual roadside stall.
 
When it came to frying bean cakes, she was an expert. Within minutes, children, youths, and even men gathered around to buy. Many of the young men weren’t there for the food, but for her beauty.
 
In no time, she sold out. She packed up, went home, washed the dishes, fetched water, and carefully watered her mint plants. She used mint daily in her tea to help her articulation for Qur’anic recitation.