Turken Gida Part 3 Complete Hausa Novel

Waking Up in the Hospital
 
Slowly, I began to open my eyes, which felt unusually heavy. The first thing I saw was the white POP ceiling of the room. Gently, I turned my head to the right and left, but I couldn’t understand where I was. It looked like a small room. Only after my eyes widened properly did I begin to grasp where I found myself.
 
With difficulty, I sat up, letting my eyes roam around the room to be sure I was seeing correctly. If I wasn’t dreaming, then I was certainly in a hospital and lying on a hospital bed. When I looked at my right hand, I found it connected to a drip. When I raised my eyes, I saw the fluid being infused into me. Drip! Drip! I watched it as it travelled through the tube into my body. I looked down at myself and realized I wasn’t wearing the clothes I left home with. I was in a long gown that, if I wasn’t mistaken, looked like Amina’s clothes.
 
“What happened to me?”
 
I said it out loud because I couldn’t remember anything. I couldn’t recall how I ended up in a hospital bed. The room was empty; it seemed like one of those VIP wards. I held my head with my left hand, feeling slight pain as I tried to recall the last thing before losing consciousness. I remembered being in Amina’s house, inside her toilet, vomiting—and then seeing blood. Yes, I remembered seeing blood, and that was the last thing before everything went blank. Now here I was, waking up in a hospital bed again.
 
“Innalillahi.”
 
I murmured as I touched my lower abdomen and felt a sharp sting. Was it true I had bled? But what caused it? I assumed stress and fear must have triggered my period unexpectedly. That’s what I told myself in my mind. I wanted to understand the time of day, but I couldn’t. The room lights were on, and the window was far from me, though it still seemed like day outside. So whatever happened hadn’t been long ago.
 
Just as I adjusted myself on the bed, the door opened, and someone walked in. It was a nurse—a chubby woman in white uniform.
 
“How are you feeling?”
 
She asked as she reached my bedside.
 
“Fine. Getting better,” I answered quietly. She picked up a file from the small table beside my bed and opened it.
 
“Please, who brought me here?”
 
She looked at me before returning her focus to the file. I assumed she didn’t hear me, but then she replied:
 
“Dr. Ibrahim Aliyu.”
 
I looked at her but couldn’t speak because I couldn’t recall anyone I knew with that name.
 
“Yesterday, he and a woman brought you in.”
 
“Yesterday?”
 
I said in shock, my eyes wide.
 
She placed my file down and removed the drip from my hand before continuing.
 
“Yes. When they brought you, you weren’t conscious. You regained consciousness but we sedated you again.”
 
I stared at her, speechless. I had been in the hospital since yesterday without knowing? What happened to me?
 
“I’ve removed it so you can rest. By evening, we’ll reconnect another one.”
 
She was about to leave when I stopped her.
 
“Sister, please—what happened to me?”
 
She turned, shook her head gently, and said:
 
“Miscarriage.”
 
“Mis…car…riage?”
 
I repeated slowly.
 
“Yes. You had a miscarriage yesterday.”
 
She added, “The woman who brought you stayed overnight with you. She went home but will return soon.”
 
Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.
 
“Miscarriage? What kind of miscarriage?”
 
My thoughts froze—I couldn’t process the meaning of her words.
 
“Can one miscarry without knowing they were pregnant?”
I asked myself aloud, just as the door opened again.
 
Amina walked in first, followed by her husband carrying a basket, while she held two bags. When I saw them, I finally connected the name the nurse mentioned. Amina’s husband, Dr. Ibrahim Aliyu, a lecturer at Kaduna University. He was over forty when he married her, so anyone who saw him would know he wasn’t a young man.
 
What Happened the Previous Day
 
“Ya Sadiya, you’re awake?” Amina interrupted my thoughts and sat beside me, taking my hand.
 
“How are you feeling? You scared me so much yesterday,” she said with a laugh, glancing at her husband.
 
I could only stare at her. My mouth felt heavy—I couldn’t utter a single word.
 
“Maman Jidda, how’s your strength now?” Dr. Ibrahim asked.
 
“I’m better, Doctor,” I finally managed to say.
 
“Ma sha Allah. May God strengthen you.”
 
“Amin.”
 
He checked his phone while Amina prepared tea for me. He advised that I should take something warm since I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
 
“Is it true? Have I really been in the hospital since yesterday without knowing?”
 
As I drank the tea with Amina’s help, the doctor excused himself, saying he had to go to the university.
 
After they left, I remembered myself and Yallabai. One day, maybe Amina too would see the true nature of men when he takes another wife. But maybe he wasn’t like Yallabai. Maybe he was a decent man.
 
The tea warmed me. I felt slightly stronger but still weak. I needed to urinate, so I stood up carefully and walked to the toilet. My body felt flimsy, like paper. I almost fell.
 
I noticed the blood on the pad. So the nurse was right—I had miscarried.
 
But the real question was—was I even pregnant?
 
Amina returned, calling my name when she didn’t see me. I answered from the toilet, then came out and she helped me back to bed.
 
“Ya Sadiya, you scared me yesterday.”
 
“What happened? I can’t remember anything,” I said.
 
“You fainted in the toilet, bleeding. I screamed and screamed—nobody heard me. Then suddenly, Baban Yunma appeared and helped me bring you here. You were unconscious when we arrived. You regained consciousness last night but they sedated you again.”
 
“So I truly spent the whole night here?”
 
She nodded.
 
“You slept here with me,” she added. “I only went home this morning to prepare breakfast and bring you clothes.”
 
I saw the clothes she brought—including pant and pad—and my suspicions grew stronger.
 
“What happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”
 
She came close again.
 
“Ya Sadiya… you miscarried.”
 
I stared at her in silence. She held my hand.
 
“Wallahi, Ya Sadiya. You were pregnant and didn’t know.”
 
“I didn’t know either, Amina,” I whispered, and hot tears spilled down my face. Tears of heartbreak. Tears of regret. Tears of pain.
 
For ten whole years I had prayed and waited for pregnancy. And now, just when life decided to give me a chance, it slipped away before I even knew it existed.
 
“Wallahi, Ya Sadiya,” Amina continued softly, “you lost a pregnancy. The doctor said you’ll need blood-building food.”
 
“How many weeks was the pregnancy?”
 
“Four weeks—barely complete. Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice,” she added gently.
 
Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. I had never suspected pregnancy. Even when my period skipped a month, I didn’t think of it—because it used to happen before. I blamed it on the medication that regulated my cycle.
 
I cried silently, then loudly, as Amina rubbed my back trying to comfort me.
 
“Please stop crying, Ya Sadiya. In sha Allah, God will give you another soon. Thankfully the miscarriage was complete—you didn’t even need a womb cleansing.”
 
She looked at me lovingly, but I was drowning in grief.
 
The Weight of Loss and Blame
 
Amina wiped her own tears as she continued comforting me.
 
“Allah sarki, Ya Sadiya. After all the years you’ve waited… you finally conceived, but fate…” She paused, voice shaking. “Be patient. God will replace it for you.”
 
But it wasn’t fate in my eyes.
 
It was Yallabai.
 
He was the reason I lost my child.
He was the reason I had been drowning in stress, fear, and emotional torture.
 
He caused me the kind of pain that led to this miscarriage.
 
The pregnancy I didn’t even know I had—the child I had prayed for over ten years—was gone before I got the chance to celebrate it.
 
I cried with all the strength left in me.
I cried for the child I lost.
I cried out of bitterness.
Out of deep sorrow.
Out of a knot of pain tightening in my chest.
 
I cried because of the overwhelming hatred for Yallabai—a hatred I had never felt before until this very moment.