Sanadin Labarina Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Caught in the Rain
 
She was running through the heavy rain pouring down like water from an overturned calabash, trying her best to reach home before the darkness of Maghrib settled. Though she was only about fourteen or fifteen years old, this was how she was sent on errands—far and difficult. This wasn’t the first time rain had met her on the way and beaten her harshly, nor would it be the last. Yet she still hadn’t gotten used to the sting of rain. Anytime it touched her, she fell sick, but that never stopped them from sending her again whenever another storm gathered.
 
As she reached a shop, some adults hiding there told her to come take shelter. She only glanced at them and kept running in the rain. If she stopped, she knew she would receive another beating on top of the rain—so she preferred the rain’s beating over Iya Lami’s blows. Whenever Iya Lami beat her, the pain lasted for days. Her back and legs were full of marks from those beatings, and she deeply feared whatever might cause her to cross paths with the woman.
 
Her slipper snapped as she ran. She crouched, removed both, held them in her hands, and continued running barefoot. At the entrance of their compound, she found Iya Lami blowing firewood. The look she received made fear run through her bones. Quickly she said:
 
“Wallahi, she stopped me! They had to look for change and by then the rain had already started.”
 
Her teeth chattered from cold.
 
“Give me,” Iya Lami commanded, stretching out her hand.
 
With trembling hands she handed it over. Iya Lami threw it aside and glared.
 
“Useless child of witches! Go inside, take off those clothes and come back here. Standing there staring at me with those cursed eyes like a hyena.”
 
The girl hurried inside, removed her wet clothes, hung them by the wall, wore another set, still shivering to her bones, and returned to the corridor. She knelt by the fire, grinding and tending it. When she finished, she pushed the fire back and curled up in a corner, her fever rising.
 
Suddenly she felt a hard shove. She looked up quickly—It was Iya Lami.
 
“So you’ll sit there letting the pot burn? You put your head on your knees and pretend not to see it boiling over from disrespect? Act like you didn’t notice!”
 
She rushed to the pot and adjusted the fire. Iya Lami left, and now the rain had reduced to a light drizzle. The girl sat before the fire until the meal was done, served it, then added water to the pot to heat for her uncle’s leg.
 
She carried the bowls into Iya Lami’s room, then fetched the hot water and went into her uncle’s room after greeting him. He lay on his thin mattress, worried since the rain started. Seeing her relieved him.
 
“Bongel…”
 
“Yes, Uncle.”
 
“You’re back? Did the rain touch you?”
 
She shook her head.
“No, just drizzle.”
 
“Alhamdulillah. I kept thinking of you since I saw the rain. Please endure, you hear?”
 
She said nothing, only picked up the cloth and massaged his leg as Iliya had taught her. Afterward she poured out the water, returned to sit beside him, pity filling her heart. Ever since he had surgery on his leg, every rainy season caused his leg to swell until he couldn’t walk at all. She did over half of his care. Iya Lami did nothing except yell and complain, always saying she was tired of caring for him and his daughter. He never replied because he feared she might leave—and life would be too hard for him and his daughter if she did.
 
Later she entered with food. She served him and slipped out, going to her room, laying on her old mattress, wrapping herself in her late mother’s cloth. She still felt the cold but had no choice. She shivered until late night before sleep finally overtook her.
 
Sickness and Neglect
 
In the morning she woke with a headache, but still did all her chores. When she finished and just lay down, Iya Lami showed up telling her to get up and fetch water. She wore an old hijab, picked up her bucket, and left.
 
Inside the uncle’s room, Iya Lami peeped in. He told her:
 
“Lami, I said to stop sending this child to fetch water, please.”
 
“If she doesn’t fetch it, will you fetch it yourself? Eh?”
 
He kept silent.
 
“What should I feel? Your suffering or hers? Or do you want me to fetch the water myself!?” she shouted as she walked out.
 
He regretted speaking, watching her storm about the compound until she exhausted herself, then returned to her room. Meanwhile the girl’s headache worsened. A cold and congestion blocked her nose and throat.
 
By Zuhr time, Jidda was still lying down. She knew the rain had caused the fever but pretended otherwise. Iya Lami didn’t check on her at all.
 
Saude then arrived, carrying her little brother Muhsin.
 
“Grandma said we should come check—Jidda hasn’t come out today.”
 
“Go to her room and see,” Iya Lami said dismissively.
 
Saude found her curled up tightly under the cloth.
 
“Jidda? Jidda?” she said, pulling the cover gently.
 
“I’m cold, Saude… cover me,” Jidda whispered.
 
She tucked her back in and left to inform her mother. They returned together. Iya Lami blocked them at the corridor.
 
“What is it, Asabe?”
 
“I came to check. Saude said she’s sick and has been lying down since morning.”
 
“What will you do? Is this another excuse so people will say I don’t look after her?”
 
“Do you even look after her? Fear Allah, Lami! Allah will ask you!”
 
“I will do what I want in my house! No bastard will come and lecture me.”
 
“A person who hasn’t birthed a child may not understand a child’s pain. I must check the condition of someone else’s daughter—you’re a wicked woman who knows nothing about compassion!”
 
The words cut deep. Iya Lami tried to grab her clothes to fight, but Asabe dodged and entered the room. She helped Jidda stand, held her, and took her outside while Iya Lami followed behind, fuming and cursing, but she ignored her until they were out of the compound.
 
Rescue and Comfort
 
At her home, she boiled water, bathed Jidda, dressed her in Saude’s clothes, fed her, and gave her paracetamol. Jidda lay down weakly—pitiful to behold. Anyone who has lost a mother understands the depth of such suffering.
 
By evening her fever worsened. They hired a machine from the nearby area that took them to a chemist shop in town. She received an injection and medications. When they returned, Asabe refused to let her go back.
 
“You’ll sleep here until you recover,” she said.
 
She sent Saude to inform Jidda’s uncle. He thanked them, relieved—his mind rested easier knowing she was safe.