Yankan Kauna Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Pain on the Bare Floor
She rolled over on the floor of their room, a room that had not even been blessed with a proper floor covering. Her hands clutched her stomach. Her eyes were swollen and watery, and her face was flushed red—especially the bridge of her nose, which, because of her fair skin, looked as if blood would come out if you touched it.
Yet poverty and the hardship of life were clearly reflected in what she wore. The clothes on her body looked worn and faded, exhausted by suffering. The fabric—an atampa wrapper—was torn in places as though it might rip apart, though it had been washed very clean; only the dust from the floor she lay on clung to it.
“How is your stomach? Are you feeling any relief from the pain, or should I go check if that chemist has come out so I can call him to examine you and give you medicine?”
“Don’t call anyone. It feels like my stomach is about to burst. Oh, my dear Hajiya!”
Ummi wiped her tears. They were used to this kind of crisis at the end of every month whenever Sa’adah’s period came.
“So you’ll just sit there in pain, Sa’adah? I must go to the chemist’s place and see if he’s out. Since he gives you medicine, he can come and see you. The fainting spell you had earlier frightened me. I was shouting alone in this house, and Umma even turned on the radio so they wouldn’t hear my cries,” Ummi said.
Sa’adah bit her lip and shut her now-widened eyes. Her face flushed red again, especially her nose, which had turned as red as a tomato because of her fair complexion.
She rested her head against Ummi and sighed deeply, one hand on her stomach as she felt the cramps tightening. She wished there was something she could take to ease this pain. It was not only the pain of her stomach she cried over, but also the pain of poverty—when something you desperately need is beyond your reach and overwhelms you.
Sleep finally took her. Ummi gently moved her and placed a small pillow under her head.
Care for Hajiya
Ummi, the house daughter, then went to the main room. Their Hajiya was in a pitiable state because half of her body was paralyzed.
“Oh my dear Hajiya, forgive me. I haven’t come to tidy you up; things have just been too much for me,” Ummi said as she struggled to lift her and lean her against the wall. She removed Hajiya’s soiled wrapper and carried it outside to the well. She placed it in a basin, fetched water with a kettle, and returned to the room to wash Hajiya. She poured the water into a large basin they used for bathing her.
They had not been able to bathe Hajiya properly today because of Sa’adah’s illness, and there was no warm water. Sa’adah had even planned to braid Hajiya’s hair that day, but the monthly stomach pain had returned, leaving them all unsettled.
When Ummi finished washing Hajiya, she lifted the basin and kettle and stepped outside.
The Quarrel in the Compound
“By your father! Ummi, who told you to take our kettle to wash filth? I swear I’ll never touch it again!” Zainura shouted as she came out of her mother’s room, hands on her waist, clearly looking for a fight.
In a calm voice, Ummi replied, “Please be patient. Ours broke. By God’s will, when I go out I’ll buy you a new one. For now, let’s use this one for the dirty things. Everyone gets sick sometimes.”
Even though Ummi lowered her head in humility while washing the clothes in the basin, Zainura was not satisfied. It wasn’t that Ummi feared them; she simply knew she was at fault for touching their kettle.
As Ummi bent down, Zainura took the opportunity to jump on her back and grab her neck. Ummi began to gasp for breath, her eyes bulging. In pain, she threw Zainura off and climbed on top of her, beating her. Ummi was strong despite their poverty—she was always the one who fought for their freedom in that house.
Zainura’s screams filled the compound as she cried for help. Umma and Jamila rushed out, Umma’s wrapper nearly falling off in her haste.
“You wretched girl, Ummi! You want to kill my daughter? I swear if I tie you up, you’ll end your life in prison. Evil, ill-mannered thing! What has Zainura done to deserve this?” Umma shouted as she dragged Ummi off Zainura.
Ummi stood there breathing heavily, her body trembling. Her eyes were red, and Zainura’s fingernails had left scratches on her fair neck. She panted, unable to speak, silently enduring the humiliation as Umma insulted her.
“Useless work, worthless girl! Let her father come back—I’m tired of this disrespect. You’re strong like poverty itself, beating my child just because you think you can. Let him come so we can settle this. No foolish girl can intimidate us in this house!”
Ummi lowered her head again and continued rinsing Hajiya’s clothes. Her heart slowly calmed; at least she had vented some of her anger. She had long resented Zainura for the way she treated Hajiya. Whenever she tried to speak or act, Sa’adah would stop her. And if she insisted, Sa’adah would cry, urging them to be patient with the situation they were in.