Rayuwar Safeeya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Rayuwar Safiyya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel 
The first wife is Hajiya Atika from Makarfi, the second is Hajiya Maryam – my mother – who hails from Zuru in Kebbi State, and the third is Hajiya Hauwa’u from Huntuwa in Katsina State.
Our family is large – we are 25 children in total, but three have passed away. So currently, there are 22 of us. I am the 19th child. Among my mother's children, I’m the sixth. Hajiya Atika gave birth to nine children, eight of whom are still alive. My mother had ten, and eight are alive, while Hajiya Hauwa’u had four children in our house, though she had children from a previous marriage before marrying my father.
I grew up very close to my sister Firdausi. Even though I’m older than her by a few months, our father always ensured that any of his children who were close in age went to school together. That’s how I ended up starting nursery school with her and a few other kids from our neighborhood.
Our father was known to be a kind man who loved helping others, so he took not just his kids but also the children of the less privileged to school. Luckily, the school was right behind our house, so we went together every day.
As in any household with multiple wives, there was often tension and gossip among the women. However, my mother was a peaceful and patient woman. She never allowed us, her children, to get involved in the disputes of the adults. Because of that, we learned to love all our siblings regardless of who their mothers were.
Despite that, some of our step-siblings didn’t like us much. They were influenced by their mothers and joined in their jealousy. But Firdausi and I remained close. Although I was older, I always followed her around like a younger sibling. The funny thing is, whenever we went out to play, she’d somehow get me into trouble with the other neighborhood kids, and they’d beat me up.
I wasn’t good at fighting back. Every day I came home crying, and my mother would scold me. Sometimes she even hit me and said,
“Why don’t you ever fight back? You just come back crying every day.”
But still, I didn’t learn to defend myself.
One day, Firdausi hit me on the face with something and made my cheek swell. Her mother saw it and instead of scolding her, said,
“Good for you! Stop following her around. She should be the one following you!”
My mother didn’t say anything at the time. She just took me in, comforted me, and treated my swollen face with care.
Eventually, we finished nursery and moved on to primary school – L.E.A. Kabala – again with many of the neighborhood kids. We were together from primary one through six. Even though we were siblings, Firdausi still often ganged up with others to beat me up on the way home from school. I’d cry, come home, and tell my mother, who always advised patience.
One thing that made me unpopular among my step-siblings was that my father clearly loved me more than most of the other children. People in our neighborhood always praised me, and somehow that drew even more jealousy from others in the family.
Despite everything Firdausi did to me, I never stayed mad at her. I always followed her around, even if it meant I’d get beaten again. We continued on to secondary school together, in the same class. By then, Firdausi had become very aggressive and quick to anger, especially with me. I started distancing myself, just watching her from a distance.
In secondary school, I started attracting a lot of attention. I began to mature physically, and boys started liking me, including some of the seniors. One of them was named Nazir. He was very interested in me. Outside school, another boy named Abubakar also liked me. Nazir was later made my Amir (male partner in MSSN – Muslim Student Society), and that didn’t sit well with Firdausi.
After school one day, Firdausi and some girls confronted me, asking,
“What were you doing at MSSN that made Amir say he likes you?”
I replied, “I don’t even attend MSSN.”
One of her gang, Fati, said,
“She won’t tell the truth unless you slap it out of her.”
That made me angry. I turned to her and warned,
“Don’t you dare slap me.”
Fati was surprised and asked,
“Did you just warn me not to slap you?”
I said, “Yes. Try it and see.”
She raised her hand to slap me, but I grabbed it and held her back. Her friend tried to attack me, and I slapped her twice. That started a fight. Even though I’d always been peaceful, something snapped in me, and I beat them up. A teacher arrived during the fight, and Firdausi ran away. The teacher was surprised, saying,
“Safiya? You, of all people, fighting your sister? I always praise your good behavior!”
He calmed me down and warned me to stop fighting.
Firdausi ran home and lied to her mother, who then started yelling and insulting me. My mother didn’t say anything at first, but eventually, she came out and told her:
“It’s not right to shout about something involving children. You should hear both sides before deciding who’s wrong.”
The shouting turned into an argument between the two women. Later that night, Firdausi’s mother went to our father and told him that I was bullying her daughter. My father called us in and asked what happened. I told the whole truth, and he turned to Firdausi and asked, “Is this true?” She replied, “Yes, it’s true.”
He then asked,
“Why are you two fighting when you're sisters from the same father?”