Amatulmaleek 1 Complete Hausa Novel

She stayed silent, listening to the way her uncle’s voice kept rising as he shouted in anger and frustration. His face showed deep exhaustion mixed with rage—there was no softness or mercy in it at all.

All this anger and bitterness poured out while her mother sat there listening. From the mother to the daughter—who was old enough to feel the pain deeply in her heart—every time their mother was made to sit and endure such scolding, it hurt them both. None of them even lifted their heads to look at him, let alone respond to the harsh words he threw at them, his neck veins bulging as he shouted.

Their uncle Bello was always like this. He carried constant anger and bitterness, and whenever he came, he would unload all his frustration on them. Yet none of them ever answered back. When he finished, their mother would only plead with him to be patient. As for Jannat, she never even raised her head, much less spoke.

This time, his shouting and words were especially harsh on them. Their eyes—hers and her mother’s—filled with tears, though neither wanted the other to see them crying.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his long robe and repeated his final warning to their mother:

“If Abdulhameed goes back to that Western school again and I hear another complaint, I swear I’ll send him to a Qur’anic school as an almajiri. I can’t bear this grief. My brother died and left me nothing but your problems. If you and your children can’t stay within the limits God has set for you, then pack your things and leave—we can’t keep carrying you.”

He turned and walked away, still muttering angrily until he left the doorway of the small section of the house where they had lived alone since their father’s death.

Their mother let out a long breath without looking toward where AmatulMaleek sat. The girl continued sewing Abdulhameed’s torn trousers with a needle, though she wasn’t very skilled at it because of her young age.

Neither of them said anything. AmatulMaleek was very quiet and deep in thought. Despite her young age, she had learned how to suppress her feelings and hide them inside her heart.

Their mother, knowing AmatulMaleek wouldn’t speak, swallowed her own tears so the girl wouldn’t see them. She stood up from where she sat and went to begin washing the large pile of clothes she had brought out.

AmatulMaleek stole a glance at her, then set down the needle and thread in her hand, staring at her mother with wide eyes without saying a word.

One question constantly moved through her mind: if Mommy was truly her mother’s sister, why did she only send them clothes and food from time to time, yet never take them away from this life of humiliation and suffering they endured at the hands of their father’s relatives?