Wata Kishiyar Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Sudden Announcement
I was in a hurry, gathering my documents while repeatedly checking my wristwatch, even though I knew I would barely make it on time. Our flight was scheduled to depart at 9:00 a.m. to Kano for a conference meeting I had been assigned to attend by our office. There were less than 45 minutes left before nine, but I relaxed a little since there wasn’t much distance between our neighborhood and the airport.
The door to my room was pushed open forcefully, making me say, “Not now, please.” I thought it was one of the children, but the silence that followed made me turn around. It was my husband himself—Engineer Bashir Ahmad, whom I call Baban Ali, while the children call him Abbi. Aliyu, our eldest son, was named after his late best friend who passed away two weeks before I gave birth to him.
His face was stern. Though he wasn’t naturally cheerful, he usually softened around me. We looked at each other, and with a faint smile I said, “Baban Ali, you’re seeing me just now? Honestly, it’s Amna’s fault. Since last night I told her to put these papers in my bag, but she didn’t.” (Amna is my younger sister and the youngest in our family. I take care of her after our father passed away and our mother remarried.)
“Hmm,” was all he said as he walked toward my mirror. I ignored it, zipped my bag, slung it over my shoulder, picked up my phone, and headed toward the door.
“When you return, by the end of the month, start preparing. You’ll be moving to Gombe,” his voice struck my ears.
“What happened? Let me return first, then we’ll discuss it calmly,” I said as I stepped out. Emmanuel, our office driver, was already waiting outside, so I hurried off while responding to the children’s prayers for a safe journey.
Seated in the back of the car, my mind wandered. What were we going to do in Gombe? Had something happened on his side? I had spoken to my relatives that morning, and nothing was wrong. Or had his other wife given birth? No, if she had, he would have said, “Amira has delivered,” not simply that we should move to Gombe. These thoughts followed me until our flight took off.
A House Full of Joy
I returned home around 9:00 p.m., exhausted. I regretted not staying overnight in Kano, but I caught the 6:00 p.m. flight back because I hadn’t told my children I would sleep over there. I knew they wouldn’t be happy, especially since the next day was Saturday, and we were used to spending it together at home.
After praying Maghrib and Isha, I ate the meal Aliyu brought me. Sitting in the middle of my children, each chatting excitedly, filled my heart with indescribable joy. Truly, children are a blessing. Whenever I look at them, I feel as if I have no other worries in life except praying for Allah to preserve them for me.
Amna, my younger sister who now stands like my eldest daughter, is 15 and in SS2. Aliyu is 13 and in SS1 after being promoted ahead due to his brilliance—Masha Allah, he is hardworking like his father. Then there is Jaafar, followed by Farida, Abdallah, and the twins, five-year-old Ahmad and Muhammad. These six are my entire world; nothing compares to them.
We sat together until 11:00 p.m., despite my exhaustion and growing headache. I had already sent my report to the office from Kano, so I planned to sleep throughout the weekend.
Tension Behind Closed Doors
Baban Ali’s greeting interrupted my thoughts. I looked up in surprise; I had assumed he was in his room since he rarely joined our long conversations. We welcomed him home, and he responded briefly before heading to his room. Only then did I realize he hadn’t even called to inform me he had returned. Normally, if he was in good spirits, he would sit with us for a while. And he had gone out again that evening.
I stood up, and the children followed. We exchanged hugs before the boys went to their room and the girls to theirs.
I found him standing, removing his shirt. I moved closer to help and said, “So you weren’t around? I asked the children, and they said you were in your room having a Zoom meeting.”
“Hmm,” he replied again.
Immediately, I felt irritated. I have a quick temper, though I calm down easily—but I cannot stand being treated with disregard. I traveled to Kano and returned the same day, yet he didn’t even ask how my journey was. All week since he returned from his trip, I had noticed a strange mood in him, but I ignored it, knowing he was probably frustrated over something he couldn’t express elsewhere.
In my heart, I muttered, “So because your precious girl upset you, you’ve come to transfer the anger to me? I won’t give you that chance.”
When he entered the bathroom, I left and went to the children’s room. There I found Ahmad and Muhammad wrestling in annoyance while Jaafar sang and cheered them on instead of separating them. They fight every day like chicks. Because they use bunk beds—Aliyu and Jaafar on one, and Muhammad, Ahmad, and Abdallah sharing another—there’s always an argument about who sleeps on the top bunk. Today it was Ahmad insisting his brother give up his turn.
I scolded them before settling each on his bed. Together we recited the bedtime supplications. I then closed the door gently behind me and switched off the light.