Yaa Sheikh Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Yaa Shek in the Classroom
 
Before reaching the corner of Sahsib Islamic school, the deep and melodious recitation of Yaa Shek could already be heard. Allah had blessed him with a powerful, mature voice—each letter flowing with precision.
 
Inside the maroon-uniformed class, students sat quietly, Qur’ans in hand, listening with focus. Yaa Shek sat on a bench, reciting with calm passion, eyes half-closed in devotion. He wore a spotless milk-colored kaftan with brown embroidery, matching cap, well-groomed black hair, polished brown shoes, and a neatly kept beard that added to his elegance.
 
Finishing an ayah, he said “Sadakallahu al-Azeem,” then looked at each student. “It’s already 4:05. Anyone who’s not in now won’t be allowed,” he said before leaving.
 
The moment he stepped out, boys and girls chattered in excitement. One girl urged her friends to hurry back for the next session—missing his lecture was worse than falling ill. Another claimed she’d rather sit crying at the door than miss it. The students rushed off together toward the prayer area.
 
Admiration and Reputation
 
At the prayer ground, a group of girls discussed him. “Do you know how handsome he looked today?” one said. Another asked about the soap he used, while others teased those whose class he had taught. Soon, Yaa Shek emerged from the office, walking with graceful confidence, wiping his face with a brown handkerchief—clearly fresh from ablution.
 
Yaa Shek, 27, was well-educated in both Islamic and secular studies. A graduate from Usman Dan Fodiyo University in Hadith and marital relations, he was tasked with giving pre-graduation lectures on marriage, since many unions failed quickly in modern times. Students loved his practical examples and humor—men were “Lado,” women “Kande” in his scenarios.
 
That day, he continued from the previous lesson:
 
> “Kande, you can’t cook, dress up, or speak sweetly, yet complain Lado comes home late. And Lado—you can’t buy a toothbrush or cologne, you’re grumpy, and still expect romance at night.”
 
 
 
The class laughed quietly to avoid being scolded. After a closing prayer, he left, collected his books from the office, and went home.
 
Evening at Home
 
At home, Yaa Shek sat on a large prayer mat, listening to Dr. Zakir Naik’s lecture on his phone. Nearby, Ummee and his younger brothers Abdulmalik and Abdulmajid were on the mat.
 
“Abdallah, aren’t you eating?” Ummee asked.
“I will, Ummee,” he replied. Abdulmalik fetched his food. Before eating, Yaa Shek looked at his brothers. “Have you done your Qur’an memorization?” Abdulmalik said yes; Abdulmajid admitted he would do it at dawn.
 
Ummee scolded Abdulmajid, suspecting laziness. Of the two, Abdulmalik seemed more studious; Abdulmajid was playful, much like Yaa Shek had been in youth.
 
The Cry from Next Door
 
Suddenly, they heard crying from the next compound—Baffa Usman’s house. A girl’s voice wailed, calling for help from Ummee and Yaa Shek.
 
“That’s Jidda,” Abdulmajid laughed. “She’s just been given tuwo to eat.” Abdulmalik confirmed she always refused tuwo, preferring noodles.
 
Yaa Shek, curious, decided to check. In Jidda’s house, he found her sniffling and leaning toward him. Her mother explained:
 
> “I didn’t even touch her. I just told her to eat tuwo, and she started wailing. She’d rather roam the neighborhood for food than eat what’s here.”
 
 
 
Yaa Shek advised patience—perhaps she’d eat slowly in time. But Jidda folded her arms, making it clear she wouldn’t eat. When he stood to leave, she followed, afraid her mother would scold her if she stayed.
 
Back at Ummee’s House
 
Beating Yaa Shek to the door, Jidda went straight to Ummee’s lap, complaining,
 
> “Ummee, I’m sleeping here tonight. My mom says she’ll beat me for not eating tuwo.”
 
 
 
The younger boys teased her, and she whined to Yaa Shek for support. He didn’t respond, focusing on his meal—until she approached and asked,
 
> “Yaya Abdallah, will you feed me? But you must feed me with your hand.”
 
 
 
He stared at her, continued eating, and she ran to Ummee, pretending to complain. Finally, he told her to wash her hands. She obeyed, and he served her from his plate, musing internally about how children often reject necessity for preference.
 
Ummee then asked if he’d spoken with Abii—their father. He confirmed he had and that Abii would return tomorrow.
 
Jidda ate happily, her earlier drama forgotten. When the food was done, Yaa Shek checked if she was full, then retired to his room for the night.