Ruwa Cikin Cokali Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Bitter Homecoming
 
With a loud greeting that seemed strong enough to split the house apart, Malam Bala entered his home. Mama Habiba, who was scooping water, lifted her head and replied. He glanced at her once, clicked his tongue in disgust, and turned away.
 
He began calling the daughters of the house one after another, each from the room assigned to her. When Aisha heard her name, she frowned and said,
“Ah! Trouble has come again. Baba is about to start his usual scolding. Let’s go and hear what he has brought this time.”
 
Malika smacked her lips and continued pressing her phone. Quietly, they all came out and sat one by one on the mat in front of him as he settled on a plastic chair.
 
From inside his large gown, he brought out a bundle of medicine and said bitterly,
“I am truly in trouble! Oh Allah, give me a male child, even if he is crippled!”
 
Mama Habiba felt a deep pain at his words. Though she had heard such statements countless times before, each time they sounded painfully new to her ears. All the girls lowered their heads, for both they and their mothers greatly feared Baba—he spared no one with his tongue.
 
Softly, Mama Habiba said,
“Please Malam, stop saying such things. Wallahi, it is painful to hear. Every child, of any gender, is a blessing from Allah…”
 
A thunderous shout cut her short. In anger he said,
“Habiba, I warn you all the time to stop interfering with my affairs and my children! Why do you put your mouth into what does not concern you? Was it you I asked to give me a male child?”
 
Her body trembled as he continued harshly,
“I asked Allah for a male child, even if he is crippled—not you. Even if it is just talk, let those who can give birth say it. You, who has no child at all, what business is it of yours?”
 
Tears filled Mama Habiba’s eyes as she bowed her head, feeling deep pain and bitterness. She knew Allah alone gives and withholds children, and she believed that, yet her husband’s cruel words pierced her heart like a knife. She loved children deeply, but fate had destined her with barrenness, and instead of compassion, her husband only showered her with blame, as if she had chosen it herself.
 
Cruel Words and Silent Endurance
 
Mama Talatu stepped out of her room after hearing what was happening. Though it was not the first time, it always hurt her whenever Habiba was treated this way. She moved closer to speak in her defense, but before she could, Malam Bala snapped,
“You, soft-hearted woman! You don’t even have jealousy like other wives. You act as if someone has insulted your own blood sister just because your husband is humiliating your co-wife.”
 
Calmly, Mama Talatu replied,
“Malam, any sensible woman would not be happy seeing her co-wife humiliated. Life turns—today it is hers, tomorrow it could be mine…”
 
He raised his hand, silencing her.
“Go and fetch a bucket of water for me.”
 
She answered “Yes,” cast a sympathetic look at Habiba, and went to fetch the water. Mama Habiba quietly returned to her room, her chest heavy, as though a stone had been placed upon it.
 
Mama Talatu returned with the bucket and placed it before him. He opened a nylon bag, poured medicine into two cups, mixed it, and handed one to Hafsa.
 
“Take it, drink it, and give me the cup. Since I filled my house with daughters like you, I have had no peace. I must look for medicine to attract favor so that suitors will come and take you away from my sight. As for children, daughters are nothing but bad luck to me. If I had bad luck, who would have married me when I already have four wives?”
 
He scanned them with a look that was neither praise nor mercy. Each girl lowered her head, distressed. None of them was above twenty; some were barely eighteen, yet he showed them no kindness.
 
Hafsa took one gulp and felt an intense bitterness shoot through her head. She quickly pulled the cup away, fear filling her eyes.
 
“Did you drink it and bring back the cup or not?” he barked.
 
“Baba, wallahi this medicine is very bitter. Yesterday when I drank it, it gave me diarrhea,” she said, her face crumpling as if she would cry.
 
Before he could reply, Malika spoke up,
“Wallahi Baba, the one you gave us yesterday made my stomach hurt. Taking medicine without proper guidance is dangerous. Bitter medicines, if not prescribed by a doctor, can damage the liver or kidneys…”
 
He raised his hand again, cutting her off.
“Bitter or not, you must drink it! I will beat any of you who refuses. All of you should be in your husbands’ houses by now. Six daughters and not a single son! I keep praying that Allah gives me a male child—no matter how flawed—because even a crippled son can one day help you. But a daughter?”
 
Tears at the Doorway
 
They all drank the medicine. When Arfat took just one sip, nausea rose in her throat. She hurried out, vomited, and returned, only for Baba to lash out again, accusing her of always vomiting medicine. Under threat, she forced herself to drink it, clenching her mouth tightly until she finished.
 
He was about to speak again when crying was heard from the doorway. Voices followed, saying,
“She has disgraced herself.”
 
Aisha entered the house crying. Everyone turned to look at her. Mama Talatu asked with concern,
“Aisha, why are you crying? What happened to you?”
 
Aisha, clutching a sack-like bag and pulling her hijab low over her face, said nothing. Baba thundered,
“You! What are you crying for?”
 
She pulled the hijab from her face in fear. She had not known Baba was around; she had only seen Mama Talatu near the entrance.
 
Mama Bilki emerged from her room, already aware of everything happening, and snapped,
“What is it now? Why are you turning the house into a place of mourning?”
 
Overwhelmed by the shouting, Aisha lowered her head, tears falling freely.
“They are laughing at me in school because I messed myself,” she said, her heart burning with shame.
 
Only then did the sisters understand her pain. Baba, however, scoffed,
“Of course they would laugh at you if you act foolish. You’re grown, yet you cry over such things.”
 
Mama Talatu looked at Aisha with deep compassion and was about to speak…