Takari Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

At the Village Well
At the well, the sound of the hand pump could be heard clearly. Children and married women were fetching water at the well, as was customary in every village. An eleven-year-old girl stood on the iron platform, pumping the water, while her two younger siblings busied themselves collecting it and pouring it aside. They continued until they had filled all the containers they had brought along.
With the water, they entered a small mud house, their clothes completely soaked, since the splashing water flowed back into the jerrycans they used for fetching. There was a clay water pot where they poured the water; its mouth was cracked and patched with cement. Beside the pot stood a thorny tree growing near the water storage area.
Yar Kulu and Her Children
Inna Yar Kulu came out of the mud room, bent with age as though she might fall, yet this was how she lived—inside that mud house with her four orphaned children: Hafsat, Fatima, Mariya, and Abdul, whom they called “Datti,” named after their grandfather.
“Ah, Hafsi, today you were quick to get water on time,” Inna Yar Kulu said. “Hmm, Inna, it’s because of that house girl, Fatima,” Hafsat replied. “I swear, the Kuburah line was terrible. She said before we even arrived they had already collected twenty naira, so we were forced to step aside. We fetched water, yet the line didn’t even come near us.”
Fatima entered the house carrying a very large basin of water on her head, panting heavily and asking for help to put it down. Inna Yar Kulu helped her and said, “Fatima, this basin is too heavy for you, honestly. It could harm you. Where did you get such a big basin?”
“It belongs to Asiya,” Fatima replied. “I borrowed it so I could fetch water before it got to their turn.”
“Please, my child, stop carrying such big containers,” Inna Yar Kulu warned. “If you fall sick, where will we get money for treatment, let alone going to the village hospital?” Fatima quickly went back to return the container she had used.
After Inna finished preparing tuwo, she served everyone three portions each in their bowls, with Datti’s bowl separate. Inna herself squatted alone by the fireplace on a small wooden stool, spooning soup into their bowls.
Despite their poverty and orphaned state, Yar Kulu never neglected her children’s religious or Western education. They attended both schools faithfully. They had no helper except Allah and her small business—she sold kunu and koko. Because of this trade, her children did not have to roam the streets hawking goods.
That day they had no Western school, since they had finished their work earlier, so they hurried to their Islamic school; the teacher was known to beat students who arrived late. Near the Islamic school fence, they saw three women standing and chatting. Hafsat and her siblings greeted them politely and walked on.
Village Gossip and Yar Kulu’s Resolve
“Ah, that woman is really strong-hearted,” Ramatu said, one of the women standing by the fence. “Who?” Gajiye asked. “Yar Kulu, of course—the wife of the late Sani the shop owner. Those children who just passed us are hers. She refuses to let anyone take even one of them. She claims she alone will raise her children, and that’s why she refused to remarry until they grew up and got married. They even took her eldest daughter once, but because of Yar Kulu’s stubbornness—insisting the girl must get an education—they returned her. Now all her relatives have abandoned her, especially since her husband’s origins were never clearly known. She is both mother and father to them.”
Yar Kulu had firm faith in her heart. She believed in Allah and accepted whatever destiny He placed upon her. That was why she did not fill her heart with worldly greed; as long as Allah provided them with food and drink, she felt no need to accumulate wealth. Her only desire was for her children to gain knowledge for this world and the Hereafter, so that even if they married, they would at least be able to read a simple letter.
However, the villagers thought her attitude was pride. To them, who was she to stop her children from hawking goods?
Gajiye could neither sit nor stand still. “Now that I know Yar Kulu is the one with those children—without wealth, without knowing how to put them to work, and refusing to let them trade because she says they are students—it’s a waste,” she said. “Tomorrow, I must return to Kano and ask Hajiya what ages of children she needs. If I see children like Yar Kulu’s among them, it will make things easier for me. I won’t need to roam around searching; the opportunity is right here at home.”