Mummunan Zato Part 3 Complete Hausa Novel

The Rush to the Hospital
 
He ran out calling frantically, “Jabir! Jabir!!” just as Jabir was coming out of the garage where he had parked the car they had arrived with moments ago. Hearing his boss’s terrified voice, Jabir rushed toward the living room door. They collided there—his boss carrying A'isha, blood streaming down her. Jabir sprinted back, brought out the car, jumped in, and they sped off. Even with the speed, Uncle felt Jabir wasn’t driving fast enough. He urged, “Jabiru, hurry please, she might already be gone.”
 
Upon arrival, Uncle carried her out immediately, unconcerned about the blood soaking his clothes. He burst into the hospital yelling, “Doctor! Doctor!?” The nurses, seeing the blood, led him quickly toward the emergency bed area. Before they reached him, he had already gotten to the doctor’s office. At the doorway, they met the doctor who was shocked by the sight. The nurses arrived, placed her on the stretcher, and rushed her to Emergency. Uncle followed, but before he could enter, the door was pushed shut. The other nurses said, “Sir, please be patient and wait. The doctor is doing his work.” He then noticed his clothes—shirt and trousers—were soaked in blood. His heart immediately feared the worst: the baby may have come out. He clenched his fist and struck the wall, resting his head against it in deep anguish.
 
“Oh Allah! Will I not see my child?” His conscience warned, “Do not sin.” He quietly said, “Allahumma ajirni fi musibati.” He submitted himself to Allah’s will, believing the One who gave him this child could give him another. He pulled out his phone and called his father. Hearing his father say, “Abubakar, how are you?” broke him even more; he always felt like a small child when speaking to his parents. Voice trembling, almost crying, he said, “Alhaji, A'isha had a miscarriage. We’re at the hospital.” It was like piercing a horn through his father’s heart. “What did you say, Abubakar? Your wife miscarried?” He replied, “Yes, we’re at the hospital.” Jabir watched his master with deep sympathy. After informing his father and then Nafisa, Jabir suggested he change his bloody clothes. Uncle dismissed it, “Don’t worry about that, Jabir. Let’s first see her condition.”
 
Soon Hajiya Jummai and Hadiza rushed in. Jummai began crying at the sight of his stained clothes. “Alhaji, what am I seeing? It was a miscarriage?” Hadiza, worried, asked, “We’re in trouble. Where is A'isha now?” Their panic forced him to start consoling them instead. Later, his father arrived, followed by Nafisa. Despite Jummai’s loud crying and Hadiza’s agitation, Nafisa wasn’t convinced by their display. Nurses kept running in and out, which made Uncle fear A'isha’s life was slipping away. Nafisa touched his shoulder gently, “Be patient, Bros. Allah is with us. Insha Allah, He will give us victory.” He held her shoulder, unable to speak—only nodding slightly. Shortly after, the doctor emerged with nurses pushing A’isha in on a stretcher. Uncle rushed, “Doctor, how is she?” The doctor said, “Give me a moment,” and went to his office. They wheeled A’isha into her room. He instructed the nurses to prepare her properly and allow no one inside. The doctor then addressed them, “We need blood.”
 
Uncle’s father sighed, “You can test us; if ours doesn’t match, find someone.” The doctor said, “Sir, we cannot take yours because of age. We will take from your son.” Uncle, drained and silent until then, exhaled heavily. “Test me. Use mine.” The doctor added, “We still need to test it first.” Uncle insisted, “I can give blood to anyone.” Soon, A’isha was transfused. Anyone seeing her would pity her—lifeless, pale, with blood still being removed and replaced. Uncle’s parents also visited, deeply worried.
 
The Struggle for Survival
 
Hajiya stood over her, shocked at her state just as the doctor entered with Uncle and Father. Father asked, “Doctor, what progress?” The doctor said weakly, “We thank Allah, but the situation confuses me. When we block one side, another starts bleeding.” Hajiya moved closer, held A’isha’s hand, and asked the doctor bluntly, “Tell me the truth. Is this girl still alive?” He replied, “She has life, Hajiya. She’s not dead.” Hajiya exclaimed, “Innalillahi wa’inna ilaihir raji’un. What kind of illness is this?” Father asked, “Doctor, what do you advise now?” He answered, “Only prayers. I’ve never encountered a case like this.”
 
Uncle leaned on the wall, feeling he might collapse. Even the AC couldn’t stop the sweat pouring down his body. Father said, “We must intensify our efforts; her womb is always a problem.” He told Hajiya, “Maybe I should call Malam Yakubu?” She agreed, “Yes, call them. These matters need spiritual help.” Meanwhile, Alhaji Bello and Alhaji Salisu tried to comfort Uncle, who was saying he knew A'isha wouldn’t survive—every wife he married died, so what would he tell Mustapha? They reminded him not to speak like that, that he was a Muslim.
 
Nafisa and Uncle stayed by A’isha’s side. Hajiya Jummai also insisted on staying, crying endlessly until they finally convinced her to go home.
 
At 6 a.m., Father returned with Malam Yakubu and others. The nurses were cleaning A’isha and changing the bedsheets, so they waited. When they were allowed in, they began reciting prayers and blowing over her. By Allah’s will, her legs began to move. Seeing this, they intensified the recitations. She shifted again. They instructed Uncle to hold her so she wouldn’t fall. After more prayers, she groaned. They spoke, but she didn’t respond. Suddenly, she stretched, yawned, and relaxed. They completed their prayers and told him to step outside. They promised to send medicine and advised her to stop sleeping in the late afternoon—if she must sleep, it should be after zuhr until asr for proper rest and reward.
 
After they left, the doctor came to check her and was shocked by how stable her breathing was—like someone healthy. After hearing what happened, he said, “We thank Allah. Now that we’ve found the root of the problem, we’ll monitor her.” Uncle quickly asked, “Doctor, do you think the pregnancy survived?” The doctor looked at her solemnly and said, “I cannot confirm. She lost a lot of blood with clots. I don’t know if the baby was expelled, considering it was still tiny.”
 
Uncle sighed heavily. He had already lost hope but prayed Allah would grant him another healthy child.
 
Meanwhile, Hajiya Jummai and others were celebrating. Jummai excitedly told her friend Karima, “The pregnancy had already been moving toward danger. Didn’t you see the amount of blood?” Karima replied, “Didn’t I tell you? Sometimes you must take certain steps to get what you want.” Jummai laughed, “This was easy. I’ve done worse things; this one didn’t bother me.” Karima teased, “I know you. You’re wicked.” Jummai boasted, “My tears were fake. I was crying because she refused to die.” Hadiza also informed Hajiya Lanti, who said, “The witch doctor told me this would happen. Now keep pushing so you can take over. Your charm will be ready soon; it’s expensive but worth it.” Hadiza agreed eagerly.
 
Awakening and Pain
 
At almost 1 p.m., A’isha woke up. She stretched and said some prayers, then felt something tied to her hand. She looked—blood tubes. Startled, she exclaimed. Nafisa hurried over, held her, and said, “Take it easy, A’isha.” Terrified, she asked, “Aunty Nafisa, what happened to me?” Nafisa replied, “Nothing major. Just rest.” A’isha asked, “Where is Uncle?” Nafisa said he went to the mosque.
 
She lay quietly, then memories hit her—the strange smoke she inhaled, the feeling of something crawling up her legs, the moment she touched her stomach and felt a sanitary pad placed on her. She sat up abruptly, “Aunty Nafisa, did I miscarry?” Nafisa squeezed her shoulder gently, “Don’t worry. The Allah who gave you this one will give you another.”
 
A’isha lay back, shut her eyes tightly, and whispered, “Allahumma ajirni fi musibati, wakhlufni khairan minha.” She felt deep pity for Uncle. She remembered how difficult it had been for the pregnancy to even form, and how she feared the child’s breath—its very soul—might have been taken. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
 
Suddenly she felt a soft hand wiping her tears. Without opening her eyes, she knew it was Uncle. He used his fingers to brush the tears off her face. She opened her eyes slowly. He gave a small smile. “Baby, you’re awake?” More tears fell. He whispered, “Don’t cry, Baby. Insha Allah, very soon we will have another one.”
 
In her heart, she thought, “There is nothing like the first child.”