Matar Habibi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Morning Routine and Missed Prayer
 
He uttered as he reached for his phone, checking the time — 5:12 AM. His stomach growled, confirming the sound was hunger; he hadn’t eaten anything reasonable since the night before. But then came another rumble — this time, more alarming. Quickly, he jumped out of bed, opened his door, and hurried toward Jamila’s room. He couldn’t remember the last time she overslept; if not for her, the neighbors might have added him to the list of men who never showed up for the dawn prayer at the mosque.
 
“Jamila…” he called as he pushed her door open.
She was lying on her prayer mat, wrapped in a grey hijab, curled up — clearly asleep after praying.
He walked closer and tapped her lightly while calling her name again.
 
“Jamila.”
 
She stirred, mumbling God’s name, yawned, and struggled to sit up.
 
“Are you okay today?” he asked.
 
She sat up properly.
“I did pray, but I must have fallen asleep while doing my lazim (supplication).”
 
He sighed lightly in relief knowing she was fine.
“Well, we’re late today — really late.”
 
Her face changed instantly.
“Subhanallah! Late?” she exclaimed, grabbing her phone from the bed.
 
“Indeed,” he confirmed.
 
After checking the time, she looked back at him.
“Oh no, sleep caught me. You know I don’t use alarms since I’m used to waking up early.”
 
He rubbed his head and sighed.
“May Allah make it easy. But I’m worried — I barely ate yesterday, and I’ve got a lot to do at the shop. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this weak.”
 
Her heart tightened in sympathy. His earlier words echoed in her head:
“You’ve been such a big help since you started waking me for prayers. Without you, my other wife would have made me a lazy man.”
 
She smiled faintly through the sympathy.
“Well, that’s how Allah destined it. You should go and pray. Time is passing — I’ll freshen up.”
 
He watched her closely as she walked into the bathroom. She heard the sound of the door closing — he had left.
 
After two minutes, she came out, removed her hijab, and sat near her sleeping daughter, Nana. Her chest felt heavy again. Since marrying Baffa, he never hid his desire for marrying more than one wife. She had accepted that fate long ago, though her jealousy was fierce.
 
Sometimes after praying for his success, she would silently add, “But Allah, please don’t give him too much — just enough to care for us, not to marry another woman.”
 
Once, she even laughed at herself. She remembered when he first showed her the plot for their new house. He’d taken her there on his motorcycle, explaining that he planned to build a two-story home.
 
“I want the upstairs,” she had said.
 
He laughed. “And what if that’s where I keep the new bride?”
 
The words had struck her deeply, but she replied calmly,
“Then she can stay downstairs. I’m the first wife, and I’ve earned the right to choose.”
 
He only laughed again.
 
Now, eight months after they moved in, he had said construction upstairs was ongoing — but no one had brought even a single block. She had slowly relaxed her guard.
 
But just before Ramadan, she noticed changes. Baffa, who used to drop his phone after coming home to play with the children, now stayed glued to it — smiling, typing, and lost in it.
 
At first, she told herself it was business — he dealt with many people, including women. But then, the late-night and early-morning calls began. Sometimes he’d answer in front of her using the loudspeaker, his voice calm and composed. Yet, seeing him clutching his phone at 2 AM or dawn made her heart burn.
 
That’s when she knew another woman had entered his life. Every time she saw him holding his phone, she remembered how tenderly he used to treat her when they first met — the words, the care, the affection. Now she imagined another woman enjoying that same tenderness.
 
It hurt deeply.
 
Still, she decided not to fight, especially as Ramadan approached. She focused on prayers, begging Allah for peace.
 
“Oh Allah, don’t let my husband turn his back on me.
Oh Allah, never let me lose my respect in his eyes.
Oh Allah, protect me from jealousy that could destroy my peace.
And if he must marry again, let it not bring harm between us.”
 
She repeated those words in every prayer. She thought she knew her husband completely — after seven years together, eight including their courtship — never once did she imagine he’d humiliate her by flirting with another woman.
 
Because there’s no greater shame than realizing the man who should protect your dignity is the one ruining it.
 
Even now, she whispered, “Hmm…”
 
When they first married, she thought he would be the one waking her for dawn prayers. That’s how it was in her father’s house — even children were woken for prayer. But she learned quickly: if she relied on Baffa, she’d miss every Subh.
 
Today, though, the “sweetness” of his secret romance had made him lie — telling some girl that if not for Jamila, he would be lazy. The same girl who calls him every morning at sahur (pre-dawn meal) time, her call vibrating through his phone.
 
That was when Jamila made a vow: until Ramadan ended, she would stop waking him up. She’d leave him to his “girlfriend.”
 
It took her enormous strength to make that decision — she didn’t even eat sahur anymore, only drank water.
 
As for Baffa, he would just drink water and head to the mosque, returning after Tarawih.
 
Last night too, when he came home, she served him food — but his phone stole all his attention. Every now and then, he laughed softly while texting, and though she tried to ignore it, eventually she had to speak up…