Haihuwa Da Hanji Complete Hausa Novel

A kind of rain was pouring down as if from the mouth of a calabash. Almost everyone was lying sound asleep on soft mattresses, wrapped in blankets, as though the night itself had become a servant’s resting place. But she was crouched in the kitchen, which was leaking badly because of the poor condition of the roof covering.

She was fanning the fire. Even though her back was soaked and her teeth were chattering from the cold seeping into her body, it did not bother her; instead, she focused even more on the stubborn fire, not resting until it caught properly. It was a large pot—one that could even contain a person if folded—that she lifted neatly despite her lack of flesh and thin cheeks. She struggled with difficulty to pull it and place it on the stove. Then she moved to a bucket and began fetching water carefully, pouring it in until she was sure it was just the way she was used to, then she covered it and stepped out.

She poured out the raw fish that had been kept on ice into a big bowl and began washing them. They had already been cut the previous day at the market, shortly after the Maghrib prayer. After washing them thoroughly, she brought another pot and put them inside. It was then that the distant calls to prayer began to echo.

I was amazed that there was no fear on her face at all. She continued working in the pouring rain, quickly setting up another stove and placing the pot of fish soup on it. After making sure everything was exactly as she wanted, she began gathering the household plates, knowing that if daylight broke and she hadn’t done it, she would be in serious trouble. She washed hurriedly, while the water kept splashing down on her—chap chap—soaking her continuously. By the time she finished, her whole body was trembling. Quickly, she washed the rice and poured it into the first pot, then performed ablution. Even at that time, no human being had peeped into the house, despite the fact that some mosques had already completed their prayers.

In the tiny room that belonged to her in the house, she bent down and entered, removed the clothes she was wearing, and with difficulty pulled out her small bundle of belongings. She selected an old, long dress and put it on, then pulled her hijab over her head and stood to pray. To my surprise, she performed her prayer perfectly, just as religion prescribes. She did not spend long reciting supplications before she came out to avoid trouble—but she didn’t escape it. In the kitchen, she met Inna Larai and quickly prostrated on the floor.

“Good morning, Inna.”

Inna Larai looked at her, smacked her lips, opened the pots to check the soup, then turned to her and said,

“Why did you go into the room and stay there while this soup almost burned and you didn’t come to dish it out? Do you want to cause me a loss?”

“No, Inna, I went to pray.”

She sucked her teeth and pointed at the bowls used for serving the soup for sale. She hurried to bring them, and Inna Larai dished the soup neatly and placed it on the stove to keep warm. She herself went to fetch the rice pot, dragged the bag of sugar, opened it into the container, and began serving. The heat from the fire burned her as usual until she finished, all the cold that had soaked her now mixed with sweat. She continued arranging her vending plates in a paint bucket—plastic plates, water, and pieces of dollof soap with which she washed the plates after customers ate and returned them.

“Go and knock for Iro and the others to come and carry these to the stall for you right now,” she was ordered.

“Yes,” she replied softly and headed to the boys’ room. She knocked and called their names, spending over twenty minutes knocking, before two grown boys finally came out. One of them shoved her with his hand, causing her to fall to the ground.

“Didn’t we tell you to stop this cursed knocking? You wretch, you never have anything to do except disturbing people, even at dawn…”

“Dahiru, your sister’s son…! You’ve come and you’ve come—will you take the food out for me, or do you want to make me suffer a loss?”

She didn’t care whether they had prayed or not; her only concern was that they take her business goods out.

Slowly, she stood up, brushing herself off. She already knew that no one would ever be scolded for abusing or oppressing her. Everyone in the house saw her as a dumping ground—whenever they gathered trash, there was nowhere they threw it except on her.