Rabon Kwado Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Lonely Night and Quiet Tears
As usual, that night I was lying on my narrow bed, busy with my personal routine—crying. It had become part of me; every single night I had to cry ever since I found myself in this new life. The sound of the door opening made me quickly try to swallow my tears because I really didn’t want the children to come in and see me like that.
Iman came in and started shaking me, thinking I was asleep.
“Aunty! Aunty! Wake up. Daddy said you should prepare us for bed so we can sleep. We have school tomorrow.”
I wiped my tears with the hijab I was wearing before getting down from the bed. I bathed her, dressed her in her pink nightgown, and packed her hair with a band.
“Go and call Shahida so she can also come and sleep,” I said, pointing at the door, because her noise was already giving me a headache on top of all the crying I had done.
They both came in together holding their yoghurt.
“Aunty, look, daddy bought this for us and even chocolate. We kept it in daddy’s sitting room,” Shahida said, pointing at the jar in her hand.
I smiled and said, “Honestly, daddy did well. Did you thank him?”
“We did, but Shahida didn’t,” Iman replied.
“Is that true, my baby?” I asked, stroking Iman’s head as she was already getting sleepy.
I carried her—since they were both as light as I was—and placed her on the bed before bathing the other one. I prayed for them and made sure they were asleep before preparing to take my own bath. I finished my preparations and wore my milk-colour nightwear, then sprayed perfume on my body because I love good scents.
I stared at myself in the mirror. No one needed to tell me—I knew I had grown thin. How wouldn’t I? Constant work, children’s stress, crying, and too much thinking.
Honestly, I miss Amminah so much, but it seems she and Abbi have forgotten me. Even when I call, she doesn’t pick, not to talk of letting me hear their voices. This loneliness has started troubling me. Once Iman and the others leave for school in the morning, I’m alone till evening. As for my husband, sometimes five, six, even a whole week passes without seeing him.
Everyone has their destiny from Allah. Is this really how my life turned out? Me, Khadija, Ammi’s last-born? This wasn’t how I planned my married life, but this is how it came. Even so, I remain grateful to Allah and I accept destiny.
I know you, dear reader, are eager to know my full story—so here is who I really am.
My Childhood and Family Background
FLASHBACK.
My full name is Khadija Isah Muhd. We are pure Hausa people living in Kano, in the Karkasa area. Our father is a civil servant—not rich—but we lived modestly, always trying to make each other happy.
Our mother gave birth to five children, all girls. Because of that, our father’s relatives developed hatred toward her, saying she only gave birth to girls and failed to produce a boy—as if a person chooses what they give birth to. The misunderstanding between our mother and our father’s relatives made us dislike going anywhere connected to them. Even when we did, we always returned unhappy.
Aisha is our firstborn, followed by Ruqayya, then Fatima, then Zainab. After Zainab, our mother got pregnant again but the baby didn’t survive. After that, childbirth stopped for three years, until she got pregnant again when everyone had already lost hope. That pregnancy received so much love and prayers for safe delivery.
After nine months, my mother gave birth to me. Everyone said all the beauty in our family was gathered into me. They said I was the most beautiful even as a baby.
I grew up surrounded by love and care from my parents and sisters. Whatever was available, they believed it belonged to Ammi’s last-born—me. Whenever Abbi went out, he always came back with something for me.
When I was in Primary 5, Aisha got married and moved to Sharada. We missed her a lot. Even though I was young, I understood the closeness between us. They used to share problems with me and resolve them without Ammi knowing. Even though I didn’t fully understand their discussions, they never excluded me. School was the only thing that separated us.
Because of that, I didn’t have friends apart from my sisters—except Nusaiba, my classmate whose house was at the start of our street. We always walked to and from school together.
When Aisha left, the house became quiet. Ruqayya was schooling at CAS Kano. Fatima had finished secondary school and was waiting for her result, always at home but not very talkative. Zainab was in SS1, while I was preparing for Common Entrance.
By Allah’s will, we wrote the exam. One afternoon, Abbi came with shocking news—he wanted to send me, Ammi’s last-born, to boarding school. It took a lot of persuasion before Ammi agreed. I did nothing but cry. Ammi and Fatima kept comforting me, buying me things until the day came and I was taken to DALA Girls’ School.
The amount of crying that happened that day can’t be explained. Even Abbi was clearly holding back tears. Zainab cried a lot too.
Luckily, I didn’t suffer much in school. Because I was neat and good-looking, the seniors liked me. But the first term felt extremely long because I was the type who missed home deeply—especially my mother.
The day we went on holiday was pure joy. Abbi came to pick me on his motorcycle. When we got home, all my siblings were waiting. Food of all kinds was prepared, as if they were welcoming a student from Malaysia. That day was full of happiness.
Encounters, Innocence, and Growing Emotions
I spent the day glued to Aisha’s baby, Muhibba. I heard discussions about Ruqayya’s wedding, but sadly I was in school. From then on, my childish stubbornness started—I would stamp my feet and cry because I was the last-born.
One day, after school resumed, I went to visit my friend Nusaiba. Her brother, Sadiq, had just returned. He was tall, well-built, with tribal marks that suited his long nose. I was only 13 and didn’t really know beauty, but even I could tell he was handsome.
We stared at each other silently until Nusaiba interrupted us. I felt shy, but he calmly walked away without saying a word.
Later, while walking with Nusaiba, a speeding car splashed dirty water all over my new hijab. People stared; some even laughed. My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t stay there, so I walked home angrily.
Near our street, I saw the same car parked. Without thinking, I walked up to it and knocked on the window. When the glass rolled down, I shouted at the driver for being careless and rude, then walked away in anger.
At home, I burst into tears. Ammi and Fatima tried to console me. I cried until sleep took me.
The next day, Nusaiba came to apologize and comfort me, and we talked as usual.
The day before school resumed, I went out with Nusaiba again and ran into Fatima—with the same man who had splashed water on me. Nusaiba greeted him, but I only glared at him and walked past.
“Khadija, why didn’t you greet Fatima’s friend? She won’t like that,” Nusaiba said.
And that was how another chapter of my story quietly began.