Tuna Baya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Life of Maikalwa
 
In the town of Karaye lived my father, Malam Mamman — famously known as Maikalwa, a nickname tied to his inherited trade of selling kalwa (tamarind). A noble, humble man, Maikalwa was known for his integrity, simplicity, and deep contentment. Though poor, he never begged nor desired others’ possessions, living quietly off his honest earnings. Everyone in Karaye respected him.
 
His wife Indo, the first and senior wife, was the mother of his three sons: Auwalu, Sani, and Salisu. After Salisu’s birth, Indo had no more children. Maikalwa later married Lami, a woman from a wealthy family. She gave birth to Rabi’u and Atika. Like Indo, Lami also had limited fertility; her childbirth ended with Atika.
 
Lami, being young and of status, quickly dominated the household. Indo, however, remained focused on household management and the wellbeing of the family. She oversaw food supplies and was the silent pillar that ensured the children and husband never lacked a good meal — all from her own pocket. Because of this, she earned profound respect, not just from her husband but also from the children — even those of Lami.
 
A Harmonious but Unequal Home
 
Maikalwa and Indo’s relationship was defined by mutual love and respect. So when Maikalwa decided to marry a third wife — Saudatu, daughter of the town’s Imam — Indo supported him wholeheartedly. Despite Lami’s bitter resistance and her attempts to sabotage the marriage through local clerics and spiritual means, Saudatu joined the household peacefully and later gave birth to me.
 
I was named after Maikalwa’s mother, as I was born on a Monday — hence, Atine. Our house was modest — mud walls, no roofing at the entrance. My eldest brother Auwalu shared the entrance room with his books and belongings. He was the academic of the family, while Sani preferred to assist Baba at the market.
 
In the compound stood a large dalbejiya tree, under which we ate, studied, and shared family time. Maikalwa’s room was to the right; Indo’s room was next, followed by Lami’s, and finally Saudatu’s (whom we affectionately called Amarya). The kitchen and bath areas were rudimentary — typical of poor households.
 
Raised by Indo
 
Goggo Indo, having no daughter of her own, raised me like her own blood. I slept in her room, wore her best gifts, and shared a closeness many could envy. While Indo wanted to raise Atika too, Lami’s overprotectiveness kept her daughter under her wing.
 
My mother, Saudatu, was well-educated — the only child of the Imam. She ran evening Islamic lessons for women in the neighborhood. She never showed jealousy toward Indo, and their peaceful coexistence further endeared her to me.
 
Goggo Indo was my guide, teacher, and best friend. Though I was younger than Atika by two years, I was often more mature and grounded. Atika was mischievous and stylish — more interested in beauty, attention, and gossip. She would often repeat whatever Lami said about us, usually things like “Indo bewitched Malam” or “Atine was nearly killed by poisoned food.” I always corrected her gently.
 
Different Paths
 
Despite our age gap, Atika and I grew close. Still, our personalities differed. She loved fashion and boys; I preferred books and silence. She was famous in Karaye for her beauty, and suitors crowded our gate. I was quieter, more religious, more studious.
 
Every morning after Subh, we joined Baba in prayer. While someone prepared breakfast (usually koko and leftover tuwo), I swept the compound, cleaned rooms, fetched water, and washed dishes. Goggo Indo and Amarya would praise me, bless me, and support my efforts. Atika only helped when guests were around or when Baba insisted. Otherwise, she’d crawl back into bed.
 
Only Auwalu, Sani, and Rabi’u went to Western school. Atika and I went to the madrasa — Qur’an school. My father didn’t support girls attending secular education, and neither Indo nor Saudatu challenged him. But that didn’t stop us from learning.
 
After our morning Qur’anic lessons, we’d return home by noon. While Atika napped or visited friends, I stayed back to help Indo in her kalwa business. Over time, Lami accepted that we — Indo’s and Saudatu’s children — were all one blood. Even she softened.
 
My Love for Knowledge
 
In the evenings, we studied Qur’an and Hadith at my grandfather’s house (Liman Karaye). Books like Arba’una Hadith, Ishmawi, Bulugh al-Maram, and Sirah were part of our learning. Atika often skipped classes to visit friends or socialize. I preferred the company of older, married women who attended advanced Islamic classes at home.
 
Despite my youth, I found strength in spiritual pursuit. I may not have been as outwardly stunning as Atika, but I had something else — knowledge and contentment. Goggo Indo was proud of me, and I never prayed without remembering her in my du’a.
 
That month, Amarya gave birth to a baby boy — Jafaru. I took full responsibility for him. From feeding to cleaning, the baby was mine. Lami had little to do with his care. The experience nearly overwhelmed my studies, but Goggo noticed and offered help. Even Amarya weaned her daughter Sadiya early just to help balance the load.
 
Eventually, it became clear to all that “Atine can sacrifice everything for love and duty.”