Me & My Lion Part 4 Complete Hausa Novel

A Mother’s Decision and a Husband’s Jealousy
 
He opened his mouth, his voice tense. “School, Mami?”
“Yes, school. Is there any problem?”
“No, Mami, I can’t allow my wife to go to school.”
“What exactly do you mean, my son? Will she leave school and come stay at home with you, both of you just sitting idle? Hmm, Sam, that won’t happen. You know she will return to school, and I’ve already made my decision. If it weren’t for discipline, would I even have to explain to you now that she is your wife? All these years she has been regarded as your wife—only now? All that time in the past she was attending school, even when you were already married to her, without even knowing her real status with you. And now that she has become a woman, you come to me with this nonsense? Let it be known there is no discussion about stopping school. Even now, Failusha will continue until she reaches the level she desires in her education.”
 
Everything Mami said pierced him, and he felt as if his heart would burst from jealousy and fear. “My driver will be taking her and bringing her back—I already told him. I was informing you, not asking for your permission.”
“No, Mami, I’ll take her myself. I don’t want anyone else carrying my wife.”
“I won’t accept that either. Find another way if you don’t want my driver.”
He bit his lips hard, then spoke angrily, “Then Auta will be taking her, Mami. I don’t want anyone alone with my wife unless it’s blood-related.”
 
After saying that, he stormed out of the parlor, walking as if he would split the ground from the force of his steps, consumed by intense jealousy. Mami watched him until he disappeared, then smiled faintly—she already knew Musayyeer’s temperament when he was angry. Under her breath she said, “And you’re talking to me—how shameless.”
 
Kano: A Marriage Proposal and Family Deliberations
 
“Aunty Munira, Abba said you should come,” Mudassir called repeatedly from the parlor, but she ignored him until he entered their bedroom. She shot him a glare and said, “Hypocrite—go and tell him I’m coming.” He said nothing and turned to deliver the message. As he reached the parlor door, someone pinched him hard; he screamed. It was Mubarak, standing there glaring and clicking his tongue as he walked past.
 
Alarmed by the scream, Abba called out, “Mudassir, are you okay? What happened?”
Mudassir entered the parlor and knelt. “Abba, Aunty Munira is coming.”
“What happened that made you scream?” Umma asked.
“Nothing, Umma. I bumped into the door,” he replied.
“That’s not true, Umma,” Rukayya said as she entered. “It was Yaa Mubarak who pinched him. Yaa Mudassir, Mama said we shouldn’t lie—it’s bad. I’ll tell her you lied.”
 
Umma widened her eyes. “Go and call him.”
Rukayya went but found Mama teaching them their lessons. She returned and said, “Mama is teaching them; if I speak she’ll scold me.”
“Alright, leave it. Let’s all go and wait until she finishes,” Abba said.
 
They all went to the parlor and waited. Soon Munira came in with her Qur’an, followed by Rukayya and Mudassir, each prepared for lessons. They sat, recited where they were told, and Mama continued teaching. When they finished, she prayed for them as usual and dismissed them.
 
Abba smiled and said, “Mother of the girls and boys, we’ve been waiting to talk to you about our daughter.”
“Yes, Alhaji, I’m listening,” she replied with a smile.
“Yesterday, Alhaji Saminu came to me about his son wanting to marry Munira. I respect Alhaji Saminu’s character and integrity, and he’s my friend. So I decided to give her to him, Insha Allah. That’s why I wanted to inform you all.”
 
They all sighed. Umma said, “Masha Allah, that’s good.” Mama looked at Munira and saw tears filling her eyes, her head bowed—confirming she didn’t want the marriage.
“Munira,” she called gently.
“Yes?”
“Do you have someone you love, or do you accept your father’s choice?”
“I do,” Munira answered quickly.
“Who?”
“His name is Bashir, son of Alhaji Musa, from Sharada.”
 
“Okay, no problem,” Mama said, then turned to Abba. “Alhaji, we’re not challenging your decision. But our children deserve happiness in their marriages. The young man you mentioned is your friend’s son—I haven’t heard anything about his character, only his father’s. You say his father is honorable, but what about the son? We need to know his character before giving him our daughter. It’s not the father who will live with her. Many parents make this mistake. Let’s investigate the one she loves first; if he and his family are good, we drop your friend’s son. If not, we then investigate your friend’s son properly. If he’s suitable, we proceed; if not, we pray Allah brings what is best.”
 
They all sighed in agreement. Abba said, “Alright, Shamsiya, Insha Allah, that’s what we’ll do. May Allah grant us goodness.”
“Ameen,” they all replied, dismissed the children, and continued their discussion.
 
Munira returned to her room, clicking her tongue angrily. “Useless talk—hypocrisy like a family of devils. Whatever they want, they pretend it’s love. No one believes we’re hypocrites,” she muttered, angry that the solution came from her co-wife rather than her own mother. Mubarak, meanwhile, was lost in thought: “How could someone they see as an enemy seek lasting happiness for Munira? Marriage is for life—unless Allah decrees otherwise. Have we misunderstood this woman?” He couldn’t settle on one thought. Later, their mother warned him severely about pinching Mudassir, threatening consequences if it happened again.
 
Abuja: Zeemama’s House
 
A slim young man entered the parlor, glancing around, then pulled out his phone and called a contact. Only then did I recognize him—it was the same young man Aunty Mubina had encountered at Hajiya Kuliya’s house, now here at Zeemama’s. When the call was answered, he said, “Hello, I’ve arrived.”
“Okay, come upstairs to the room near the last one—I’m inside,” Mom said, ending the call happily. Hajiya Kuliya had kept her promise to send her boy; clearly, there would be pleasure before anything else involving the soldier Hajiya Kuliya mentioned.
 
As she thought this, the bedroom door opened. The boy entered and locked it, eyeing her with a predatory look. She rushed to him and hugged him—she wore nothing but a very thin dress that revealed everything. He stared at her curvy hips, exhaled sharply, grabbed them, and groaned with desire—Mom had bigger hips than Hajiya Kuliya, and he loved them immensely. He squeezed and slid his hands between them as she whispered, “Washhh, Hajiya, there’s plenty here,” before he lifted her leg and pushed his hand between her thighs, trying to slip a finger inside to feel it…