Zuciyatace Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Morning Call and a Simple Beginning
“Keh! Keh!! Ke!!! Won’t you come out and leave already—do you want to be late?” came the sharp call. From the other side a reply followed, “Yes, Inna, we’re coming out now.”
A young teenage girl stepped out, about twelve years old, with a boy of around ten following behind her. She wore a shirt and trousers of a brownish color, and in her hand she carried the Holy Qur’an along with some books and a hijab of the same shade. Clearly, they were on their way to Islamiyya school.
One look at the uniform showed it was old—worn with age. Its original dark brown color had faded into a lighter shade. Yet it was obvious the owner was neat; it was always washed and pressed. Even now the uniform was freshly laundered and well ironed, shining brightly.
She stood at the doorway, grumbling to herself, complaining about being called by shouting “Keh! Keh!!” instead of by her name. As she tried to put on her hijab, she burst into laughter at the boy who was teasing her. From their resemblance, it was clear he was her younger brother, dressed in the same type of uniform—shirt, trousers, and cap.
She shot him a glare and said, “Sajeed, Allah will deal with you. Am I playing with you?”
“Sorry, Aunty Sajeedah, I’ll stop,” he replied.
She clicked her tongue and continued fixing her hijab.
Sajeedah’s World and Quiet Dreams
Watching her, I noticed she was neither fair nor dark-skinned; she had that rare, rich chocolate complexion. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful, yet she couldn’t be called ugly either. Her nose was moderate, her lips slightly small, her eyes clear and bright. She was a little tall, with thick, abundant hair—untreated yet naturally smooth, resting softly against her body. Truly, Sajeedah had a captivating form, the kind people often describe as “Coca‑Cola shaped.”
She had well‑defined hips and a full chest—one could only say Masha’Allah. It was at that moment she finished putting on her hijab.
Sajeedah is the daughter of Malam Abubakar and Inna Saratu. The family has only two children—herself and her younger brother Sajeed, who is ten years old, with a five‑year gap between them. Malam Abubakar is originally from Niger and is an orphan; both his parents had passed away, and after disputes with relatives, he left and settled in Minna.
He struggled through small trades until Allah united him with Saratu in marriage, blessing them with two children. Sajeedah’s family lives in deep poverty, evident from their clothing and their environment.
They live in a dilapidated compound house in Tunga area of Minna, surrounded by rusted zinc sheets. The house has two rooms built with mud blocks, without plaster or paint, and a single exposed toilet. Sajeedah attended primary school and completed her junior secondary exams but could not proceed to senior secondary school due to lack of funds. Her dream is to attend a School of Nursing, but poverty stands in her way.
For now, she attends Islamiyya school, having completed Qur’anic recitation and now memorizing it. She is intelligent, excelling in both Arabic and Western education. Sajeed too is hardworking, currently in primary five at Islamiyya school. The bond between the siblings is strong; they love each other dearly.
Sajeedah is gentle, obedient, modest, patient, soft‑spoken, and devoted to worship—truly living up to her name. She rarely gets angry, but when she does, she is not easily appeased.
Friendship, Contrast, and a New Arrival
Sajeedah has only one close friend—Sadeeqah, the daughter of Alhaji Siddi, a wealthy but extremely stingy man who despises the poor. Despite warnings and beatings, Sadeeqah often brought food and school money to Sajeedah. Their bond, formed in childhood, refused to break.
Unlike Sajeedah, Sadeeqah is bold, carefree, loves parties, and keeps questionable company. She is very beautiful but lacks restraint and discipline. Unknown to Sajeedah, Sadeeqah had already fallen pregnant while still in junior secondary school and later moved to a boarding school in Abuja.
Back at home, after drinking the millet porridge Inna served them, Sajeedah and Sajeed left for Islamiyya.
It was a Saturday—the expected day of arrival for pilgrims returning from Niger. The Minna airport was filled with people, faces glowing with joy as they waited to welcome loved ones.
Within minutes, the plane landed safely. Soon after, pilgrims began to disembark calmly, their faces filled with relief and happiness.
Among them, I noticed a handsome young man of about thirty, walking alongside a taller, dark‑skinned man around forty‑five. Dressed in white shirts and navy‑blue trousers with caps, they appeared to be flight crew. The young man removed his cap slowly, revealing neatly groomed hair that gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.