Zafin Wuta Part 4 Complete Hausa Novel

As Hajjo instructed me, I took a bath and performed my prayers. Then she prepared a strong tea for me, to ease my stomach, which was feeling tight as if something had been stolen from me. I felt a lot of relief in my body after finishing the tea. After that, she called me forward, and we went back to Fauzan’s room, which had now been turned into a kind of sitting area. Papah wasn’t in the room, but Mommy, whose feet were swollen, was sitting there, seemingly having not moved from where she had been earlier. We entered with greetings. My hand was in Hajjo’s, who held me gently, telling me not to fall. I just smiled, feeling pleased at the way they cared for me and showed me respect.
They all greeted me warmly, but I only smiled in return; I didn’t speak because my tongue felt heavy. As I looked to my side, I noticed Fauzan’s eyes straining to open my body’s defenses with the intensity of his gaze. A kind of sharp ache gripped my chest, and I didn’t notice when I raised my hand to rub my eyes until I realized that what I was seeing was real. A wave of fear and shock overwhelmed me, anxiety and tension doubling the heaviness in my body, making it difficult even to move my fingers.
"Indeed, to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return. Allah is sufficient for us; He is the best disposer of affairs."
I repeated this quietly in my heart because my mouth felt too heavy to speak. I couldn’t move properly. I took a moment, then gradually regained my composure after the momentary embarrassment passed. Exhausted, I dragged myself to the edge of the bed where Fauzan was lying. I didn’t feel the presence of Mommy nearby; what concerned me was that this was Mubaraka, not Mubeenah, who had endured life’s struggles. My eyes opened with a clarity I rarely saw in the people around me. I didn’t feel the weight or shame of resting my body on his lap. One thing kept surging in me: the constant reassurance from Hajjo, which always reminded me of the precious relationship I had with them. Her words never went beyond speaking in connection with their love and respect:
"Your husband."
This phrase unlocked something within me, linking to a promise I had made to myself before fate entwined us. When Abba had handed over the bride price and money for my upbringing, I had vowed to work hard without failing or tiring. I promised myself to create a change from the dark, painful life I had left behind. Now, feeling that I had a perfect opportunity to rebuild my dreams, I knew I had to start from the foundation—never from the top. Even if my construction collapsed later, I would carefully rebuild, step by step, to benefit from the solid foundation I was laying, so that when misfortune strikes, I would be ready.
"Yah, Fauzan," I said in a voice I didn’t know I had.
He didn’t answer but held my hand tightly. I didn’t mind his silence and continued:
"Yah, Fauzan, do you want me to tell you my story?"
I spoke while observing his face, but instead of him responding, I heard Hajjo’s voice, who was talking with Mommy, join in.
"Well done, good girl. Finish telling today’s story with lessons that I know we must all learn."
She said this gently, and I lifted my eyes from her to Fauzan, who smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth, signaling me to continue speaking confidently.
THE CONTINUATION OF MY STORY
"Since the day Halima set foot in Iroro’s house, blessings and mercy have not left the home. Umma did not rest from causing trouble between Iroro and the bride, Halima, but they weren’t affected by her. On this edge, Iroro’s wife showed that she knew how to handle situations without interference. Even when confronted, she remained steadfast, and if needed, she would only act under his orders. From there, he continued with his duties. Seeing that Iroro wasn’t focused on her anymore, his attention shifted to his bride and their interactions. But not out of malice; she descended only because she knew the arrangements planned for her, while the branch sought reconciliation and attention. She noticed that whenever Abba entered with a bag, she would receive it with care and respect. In this way, she managed everything, ensuring that Umma received her share, while she, with her new child and Iroro, would enter the room and entertain the girl with games filled with love. Observing the household activities, she sought peace herself, realizing she was treated with love and respect.
When a reconciliation occurred between Umma, her husband, and bride Halima, she prospered alongside them, understanding Halima’s calmness and obedience. Even in jest, she never spoke to her disrespectfully. Sometimes she would nod when speaking instead of calling her by name directly. She would say:
"Umman yara kaza, or Umman yara anyi kazah."
Then Umma tried to exploit the opportunity to deceive her, but when Iroro noticed her inappropriate actions, he immediately corrected her, warning her firmly, which disturbed her peace. He made her promise to follow the path that would preserve the walls of true love, nurturing the relationship he had built between himself, his daughter, and his new wife, whom he proudly showed off.
Many events occurred, some pleasant, some unpleasant. The story of Iroro’s daughter, Mubaraka, also called Mubeenah, unfolded. She grew up facing numerous challenges; if given a choice, she would naturally choose to remain strong because of the magnitude of life’s obstacles she encountered."
Tears flowed silently from my eyes as I adjusted my position on Fauzan’s lap so I wouldn’t strain him. I sneaked a glance at Hajjo and the others, who were quietly observing me. I noticed Sulaima, though I didn’t realize when she had sat down; she rested her face in her hands. I sighed in relief and continued.
Days passed into weeks, weeks into months, and months raced into years. One year passed, then the next, then the third, gradually moving on. Within those five years of life, there were remarkable changes. Both hearts experienced anguish. The day came when Iroro—whom I call Abba—lost his composure. The person he relied on for money failed him, and he had to contact her. She didn’t fail to provide a large sum of money. This led us into difficult circumstances. Five times he sent messages from Lagos to Abuja, but there was no response. This built a barrier between him and his daughter, whom he loved deeply.
Abba became highly alert, realizing that Hajiya Fatema had also failed him. He was confident in handling money matters and unafraid of buying expensive items. Taking advantage of Abba’s unease, Umma attempted to manipulate us. I will never forget that Thursday when Halima—whom I call Mama—played with my hair, prepared me carefully, and dressed me in small clothes while she dressed herself elegantly. We sat on the mat at the doorway, waiting for Abba to arrive.
Meanwhile, Umma sat chewing gum, humming songs and casting glances at us. Mama didn’t care about her, so she never paid attention to the many times Umma mocked us.
"Oyoyo Abba, welcome…"
Suddenly: “Tarassss!”—a sharp slap hit me, making me fall backward into the water Umma had washed the floor with. Mama jumped in shock, unsure of what Abba had done to me.
"Haba Abba Mubeenah, that is not right! How could you hit a five-year-old girl?" Halima exclaimed.
"Listen, Halima, are you accusing me of hitting this child without reason? With your lack of thought, how would I come home and find this girl attacking me? Enough. From today, I will not see her on my path. If I do, I swear, I will punish her," he said.
After speaking, he grabbed Sumayya and Habiba, who were unwashed and untidy, and dragged them into Umma’s room, even though the room belonged to Mama that day…