Wasu Mazan Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Anxious Steps and a Bitter Call
She walked in agitation, constantly checking the time on her phone. Anyone who looked at her could tell she was deeply worried—so worried that it had completely changed her facial expression.
Musaddik adjusted the wrapper she had tied around him just as her phone began to ring, signaling an incoming call.
“I’m finished! He’s already back and I haven’t reached home yet,” she muttered, clutching her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Hello, Abban Raihan. Wallahi, I’m already in our neighborhood. Please give me just a few minutes and I’ll be home.”
From the other end came a loud, mocking hiss. “So you don’t see me as your husband, Nasreen? Since your schooling is more important than cooking, then you’ll see what you’ll eat in this house. I swear to you, today there’ll be no food until eleven when I return…”
“Please, forgive me for the sake of our children. You know starving them is useless. And you know the leftover pasta we ate last night—that’s what I packed for Raihan to take to school,” she cut in, her voice trembling.
“So you care about her? If you truly cared, the moment I called you should have dropped whatever you were doing and rushed home. That useless education won’t take you to the hereafter.”
“Please forgive me, it was the lecturer. You know he has no patience; even if I asked for an excuse, he wouldn’t accept it.”
“So now your father, eh?” he said with a deep sigh before hanging up.
Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. In her state, she couldn’t go and pick up Raihan, especially since the child was already waiting for her.
A Home Filled with Hunger and Tears
She hurried into the compound after opening the gate and found him trying to get into his car. She rushed toward him just as he entered the car and shut the door.
When she saw him start the engine, she quickly ran to open the gate for him.
At the gate, he looked at her and said, “Since you listen more to your teachers, go and let them feed you.”
Fresh tears burst out as her stomach cramped painfully with hunger.
After he drove out, she walked to where Musaddik was and picked him up.
She entered the living room and sat down, feeling her heart pounding with sorrow. Desperately, she rushed to the kitchen, hoping he had left her something to eat—but there was nothing. His room door was locked.
She returned to sit down, her heart beating as if it would burst out of her chest.
Out of frustration, she couldn’t step out, so she called Mama Muwadda, her neighbor, and begged her to send Raihan home.
She was sitting there reading when they entered.
Raihan ran to her and hugged her. “Umma, you’re back?”
“Yes, Raihan. How was school?”
“It was fine, and they taught us a lot. But the food you gave me spoiled before I could eat it, so I stayed hungry all day until Mama Muwadda served me something.”
“Oh, my poor dear. Forgive me—I thought it might spoil because it had beans.”
“Okay,” she replied, taking her phone and sitting beside her.
She had hoped he would feel pity and return early, but she later abandoned the thought—he wasn’t that kind of man. After performing the Isha prayer, she prayed Shafa’i and left the place, intending to wake up later in the night.
She laid Musaddik on the bed after spreading his bedding, then held Raihan’s hand and they went inside.
“Umma, Abba still hasn’t returned. I’m sleepy and I’m hungry.”
“Let me give you some water to drink and sleep. When he comes back, I’ll cook and wake you. Musaddik is already asleep too.”
“Okay,” she said as she climbed onto the bed.
“What about the sleeping prayer?” she reminded her, and Raihan recited it before closing her eyes.
She too changed her clothes, lay down, recited the sleeping prayer, and wiped her face and theirs.
She lay tossing restlessly, tears soaking the pillow beneath her cheeks.
Cruelty, Insults, and a Shattered Heart
In the middle of the night, she couldn’t sleep. Musaddik began to cry for breast milk. Even though there was nothing left, his loud cries—enough to wake the neighbors—made her put her nipple in his mouth. He sucked desperately, gasping for breath.
Pity filled her heart until tears rolled down her eyes.
“Please stop, there’s nothing there,” she said softly, trying to pull him away, but he cried even louder.
She quickly returned him to her chest and rocked him. Feeling there was nothing, he let go and cried, “Umma, food, food,” weakly, hitting her with his tiny hand.
She stood up and rushed to the kitchen while rocking him, even though she knew there was nothing. “Please, forgive me and sleep,” she pleaded, showing him an empty pot.
When she handed him the empty pot, he pushed it away and cried harder.
She stood frozen, staring at the child who was barely a year and a half old, overwhelmed with pity.
His crying kept her from sleeping again, deepening her exhaustion. This was why she couldn’t wean him—to get relief from the constant sucking.
Her stomach growled loudly. She quickly clutched it, feeling everything inside twisting, knowing that if she vomited, only bile would come out.
She raised her head to look at the wall clock. She knew he never returned early, but tonight was worse. Dizziness clouded her vision until she could barely see the room.
She didn’t know when she burst into tears, thinking about her life—her marriage, worse than living in her parents’ home. Her husband Farouk didn’t value her; he didn’t see her as someone honored by God. She preferred death to the life she was living—yet even that was beyond her reach.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the gate opening and his car entering. Trembling, she rushed out and opened the door for him, stepping forward to collect the items he brought.
“Because of your stupidity, I’ve been back and you didn’t come out. Who were you calling to come and carry my things?” he snapped.
“Please forgive me, the latch refused to open and—”
“Stop!” he shouted, making her freeze without picking up the items.
“I swear by Allah, if you damage my gate again, your father will fix it!”
She looked up at him as the tears she had been holding back streamed down her beautiful face.
“Yes, your father—the one with so much ‘honor’? The man who can’t even feed you, let alone give you a good life?”
“Fear Allah, Farouk. Stop insulting my parents. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. You married me, brought me into your house, then turned me into your servant. Marriage is not slavery…”
“Even so, I did you a favor. Otherwise, you’d be struggling with rough food and cassava flour,” he said with a cruel glare.
Her heart shattered at his insults. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un. O Allah, reward me in this calamity.”
“Are you insulting me, or am I lying?” he said, moving toward her and reaching for the belt at his waist.
She stepped back in fear—if she didn’t dodge, he would beat her before sleeping.
“Please forgive me,” she pleaded, quickly picking up the items.
“No. Stay there and disgrace yourself since you have no manners. Go and sleep in your parents’ house—with no decent place to sleep. Stupid girl. You even have the mouth to talk. There are plenty of women in the world who lie quietly, not like you with your hips tied like a sack. You worthless thing,” he finished as she entered the living room.
She broke down crying, sinking to her knees.
“I’m waiting for you to come and carry the rest of the things!” he shouted, forcing her to rush out and collect them.
He hissed loudly, slammed the trunk almost on her hand, then followed her inside with heavy steps, his phone already in his hand—the same habit whenever he returned, the phone becoming his companion.
He sat on a chair in the living room, relaxed and tapping on his phone, while she stood beside him anxiously watching.
He smiled, even tapping his foot. The smile alone told her he was chatting with another woman. It wasn’t new, but still, a deep pain overwhelmed her as jealousy and love tangled painfully in her chest.
“Where did you go that I kept calling and you weren’t available?”
His question snapped her back to reality.
“Wallahi, I didn’t go anywhere. I only went to school and came back. My phone battery died—you know it drains fast.”
“It didn’t concern me,” he said with a shrug, then added mockingly, “Your foolish love for showing off and rubbing shoulders with rich people’s children. Are you the daughter of Malam Shehu, or what made you insist on schooling? I warned you—by Mommy, you and that school are finished forever!”