Sanadin Gata Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Burden of Talla
 
Kuluwa balanced a tray of boiled cassava and groundnuts on her head, striding with the gait of someone carrying the world’s weight. Her waist was tied tightly, her voice rising in song:
 
“Iye nanaye, ayye yaraye nanaye carmama…
I’m traveling on the kola ship, don’t let it strike me…
Take my message to my mother, to my father…
When dowry money comes, I’ll choose whom I love…
Be he soldier, policeman, servant, or poor boy…”
 
Her song drew curious glances, but she didn’t care. This was her rhythm, her only comfort.
 
Suddenly, voices called: “Kuluwa, bring cassava!”
She broke off the verse, hurried to the men by the roadside, and sold quickly. Counting her earnings with a bright smile—₦200 exactly—she lifted her tray and rushed home. Iyatu, her stepmother, was waiting.
 
Their house, made of red mud, loomed ahead. Entering, Kuluwa spotted Iyatu sprawled lazily in the courtyard, as usual.
 
“Assalamu alaikum,” Kuluwa greeted softly.
 
Iyatu sneered. “Give me the money.”
 
Kuluwa handed it over. Iyatu counted carefully—every kobo was intact. “Good. Now go buy food for supper. Don’t delay, or I’ll crush you in this house, useless girl!”
 
Kuluwa lowered her head. She was used to the venom. Without a word, she rose and left for the market.
 
The Weight of Hunger
 
Her stomach twisted with hunger; it had been long since she’d eaten her fill. Still, she bought the items, started back, and on the way met her dear friend Mairo.
 
Mairo wore a clean Islamic school uniform, looking radiant. Unlike Kuluwa, she attended both Western and Qur’anic schools despite also hawking.
 
“Kuluwa, from where?” Mairo asked.
 
“You know already—talla, errands, house chores. That’s my life. I love school, but Iyatu forbids me.”
 
Mairo touched her shoulder kindly. “Be patient. Everything in this life passes. One day, it will only be a story.”
 
Tears welled in Kuluwa’s eyes. Mairo slipped her ₦10. “Shamsu said I should give you this.”
 
Kuluwa’s face brightened. “Thank you! Shamsu truly loves me. May Allah let our love end in marriage.”
 
Mairo smiled faintly. “Amin. But let’s see what destiny brings.”
 
Kuluwa walked away smiling, imagining a future with Shamsu—though she knew it was a dream fragile as glass.
 
The Wrath of Iyatu
 
As she entered the compound, Iyatu’s voice thundered:
“This useless girl! She angers me every day. Today, I’ll finish with her!”
 
Kuluwa trembled. She greeted timidly, but Iyatu sprang up, grabbing a pestle. “You think I don’t know where you wasted time? Say it now before I kill you!”
 
Kuluwa cried, “Wallahi, I didn’t stop anywhere!”
 
Iyatu charged, but her father rushed out, blocking her. “Enough, Iyatu! Stop tormenting this child. Fear Allah—many oppressed children rise in life, honored by God.”
 
Iyatu hissed. “Shut up, old fool! Don’t praise her in my presence. She’s worthless—born to disgrace. Not my blood, not my problem!”
 
She stormed off, leaving father and daughter shaken.
 
Kuluwa carried a bucket to fetch water at the palace well. Sitting aside as her turn approached, she reflected bitterly:
 
She had no siblings. Her mother had died giving birth to her. Her father later married Iyatu, hoping for care, but found cruelty instead.
 
Her late mother, Salaha, had been described as a pious woman who prayed to name her daughter Hawwa’u. She never lived to see it.
 
Her father often told her of distant relatives in the city, but Iyatu had cut him off from them. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She pitied her father, patient but constantly humiliated. She pitied herself most of all.
 
Endless Tongue of Iyatu
 
Returning with water, she found Iyatu in the courtyard, ranting:
“Taking care of stepchildren is nothing but trouble. If you’re soft, they spoil. If you’re harsh, they say you’re wicked. Curse whoever brought this burden on me!”
 
Kuluwa quietly began cooking. Iyatu’s tirade continued until a neighbor, Maryama, entered.
 
“Kuluwa,” Maryama said kindly, “we just came from school. On the way, Shamsu sent me to call you.”
 
Iyatu snapped like fire. “What nonsense? Leave my house at once! Tell Shamsu to seek a proper bride, not this bastard with no lineage!”
 
Maryama retorted, “Whatever a man sows, he will reap. Remember that, Iyatu.” She left in anger.
 
Iyatu tightened her wrapper, storming out. “I’ll deal with your mother! Shameless people!”
 
Kuluwa sighed. She knew Iyatu’s true aim—to sever her from Maryama and Shamsu.
 
A Father’s Comfort
 
Her father came to her side quietly. “Be patient, Hawwa’u. The world has an end. Patience never spoils.”
 
She wiped her tears. “I’ll endure, Baba.”
 
“Amin. May Allah bless you.”
 
From the doorway, Iyatu’s voice sliced through: “So you bless her and curse me? Hypocrite!”
 
Her father shook his head, too weary to argue, and walked away.
 
Tuwon Dandali
 
That evening, Kuluwa carried her pot of tuwo to the neighborhood square, where she sold every portion quickly. With the ₦10 Shamsu had sent, she bought food for herself—finally eating to satisfaction.
 
As she washed dishes, Mairo rushed to her, troubled.
 
“Kuluwa, do you know what Iyatu did? She came to our house, insulting my parents and warning Shamsu never to see you again!”
 
Kuluwa’s heart sank. Iyatu’s hatred had gone beyond her—it now touched those she loved.
 
Under the fading night sky, Kuluwa sat still. Hunger, insults, curses—these she bore. But being cut off from love? That pain went deepest.
 
Still, her father’s words echoed: “Patience never spoils.”
 
She held onto them like a fragile rope, praying silently for the day her story would change.