Mijin Matacciya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Fear, Pain, and the Struggle for Life
 
In deep confusion, worry, and overwhelming panic, he tightened his grip on her hands inside his. Sweat poured from his body as though someone had poured a bucket of water over him. His eyes were red and severely narrowed.
 
On her side, she was no different — tears were the only thing she could produce. Drops kept flowing endlessly from her eyes.
 
“What kind of foolishness is this…? You Arab man, won’t you allow them to take her in quickly for the operation?” an elderly woman’s voice rang out where they stood. It was as if her voice triggered another wave of tension inside him, and he tightened his hold on her even more.
 
Gathering courage, strength, and the resilience typical of men, he gave her a charming smile — the kind that could melt any woman’s heart. With great effort to swallow the sob threatening to break out of him, he locked eyes with her and said in a soft voice mixed with deep distress:
 
“It’s okay, my heart… stop crying like this. Insha Allah you will enter safely, and you will come out safely. This is my constant prayer for you. May Allah bless you, daughter of Paradise. Insha Allah, you and our beautiful twins — who will look just like you — will come out together.”
 
She turned her face away from him as tears streamed down.
 
“Oh… my half, my soul… I don’t think I will survive this. Please forgive me. Forgive any wrong I ever did during our time together. And if I die, give our children the names you promised me. I love you deeply, my husband…”
 
Before he could respond, she burst into another scream as the labor pain returned even stronger than before. Without delay, the medical staff pushed the bed towards the operating room. He held her hand until the very last moment though tears brimmed in both their eyes. His tears, however, remained trapped in his heart. They pushed her inside while he stopped at the door — not because he wanted to stop, but because he had no choice.
 
He could not stand still. He paced back and forth, wringing his hands together, eyes tightly shut. In his heart, only one prayer repeated:
 
“Ya Allah, bring Ramlat out safely. Ya Allah, bring out the child in her womb safely…”
 
He repeated this for thirty minutes. Yakumbo Mariya begged him to sit, but he couldn’t — he was restless like a newly recruited soldier. Eventually he looked at the clock on his wrist; it read 11:30 pm. He approached Yakumbo hurriedly and said respectfully:
 
“Yakumbo… let me go and pray. I’ll be back.”
 
“Yes, my son. Go and pray for her — she needs it most right now.”
 
Without another word, he left for prayer.
 
Birth, Loss, and the Shock of Tragedy
 
After ablution, he entered the masjid. His sujud took long, his prayers deep. When he finished four raka’ahs, he lifted his hands for du’a, then wiped his face and rose slowly, adjusting his jeans. A strange uneasiness filled his chest — a heavy, painful tightness as if his heart would burst through his ribcage.
 
He walked out, holding his throbbing forehead, dragging his feet that suddenly felt heavy. He headed back to where Yakumbo Mariya waited. Seeing her standing, he hurried to her.
 
“Mu’azzam, Ramlat has delivered. They removed two babies — a girl and a boy. But the girl didn’t survive… only the boy is alive.”
 
“Where are they now, Yakumbo? And where is Ramlat?”
 
“Come, let me show you the babies. As for Ramlat, they haven’t brought her out yet.”
 
He fell silent and followed her. The babies were beautiful — reddish and striking like him. Even now, one could already see the beauty Allah had blessed them with. The girl was lifeless, only the boy’s soft cries filled the air.
 
“May Allah make it what is best. May Allah preserve him,” Yakumbo said as she carried the girl.
 
“Amin, Yakumbo…”
 
“I’ve called Zaid. They’ll be here soon.”
 
He nodded and left with the surviving baby.
 
From the moment the operation ended until dawn, Ramlat never regained consciousness. Fear consumed everyone present, especially him — the husband. He barely managed to pray Fajr. On returning, he sensed trouble from a distance — people weeping loudly, crowding around Ramlat’s bed.
 
The world spun. He collapsed on the spot and was rushed to the emergency unit.
 
They placed him on IV fluids mixed with injections. He did not open his eyes until around 5 pm. In pain, he struggled to sit despite having no strength.
 
Zaid rushed to him.
“Sorry, brother Khalil… please don’t stand; your body is weak.”
 
He looked at Zaid with tired eyes and whispered:
 
“Zaid… let’s go home. Take me to see Ramlat…”
 
Zaid wanted to refuse but knowing how his brother hated arguments, he simply helped him. They returned to the family house where mourners filled every space. He walked, but he did not know where he was going — by the time he realized, he already knew the truth.
 
Ramlat was gone.
 
They took him to Zaid’s room and continued IV treatment. Everyone pitied him — he was even more broken than her parents. Anyone who came to offer condolences would check on him, though he barely noticed anything.
 
Three days after Ramlat’s death, he regained full consciousness — but only to cry like a child. People tried to console him, but it was difficult. Ramlat’s mother, Hajiya Raihan, and her father, Alhaji Tamim, came to comfort him, but nothing changed.
 
Finally, his maternal uncle, known as Abban London, sat beside him and advised:
 
“Ibrahim, be patient and accept destiny. Everyone you see in this life goes through this. Pray for Ramlat’s forgiveness and mercy. Accept what Allah has decreed. If you reject destiny, Allah may become displeased with you. Life itself is a test — where is your father today? Mine too have died. You were patient then, so why not now? Please, my son, keep praying. Insha Allah He will give you a replacement — maybe someone even better…”
 
The moment he heard “a replacement better than Ramlat,” he froze. Impossible. There was no one like her and never would be. Marriage was pointless to him now. He would only marry again when he died — in the Hereafter — when he would reunite with his beloved Ramlat in Paradise.
 
He did not even realize when Abban London left. His thoughts had swallowed him whole.
 
Seeing his condition, Hajiya Zaitun called their family imam to pray for him. Little by little, the uncle’s advice entered his heart.
 
He finally left Zaid’s room and went to see his child, now about five days old. He carried the baby, speaking through tears:
 
“What is his name?” his eldest sister, Anty Saudat, asked.