Matar Taj Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A large bus filled with passengers drove into the airport premises in the city of Abuja.

The driver suddenly slammed the brakes, causing the passengers inside the bus to cry out prayers.

“Hey sir, you should be driving carefully! You’re carrying human lives, not animals. This reckless driving is useless,” one of the women seated inside complained.

Angrily, the driver turned back, his mouth foaming with rage as he spoke: “Madam, please excuse me, this is how I drive. If I hadn’t rushed, you would have missed your flight.”

The woman kept quiet, seeing clearly that the driver had no respect. He, meanwhile, continued grumbling and turned back to face the road ahead.

Muttering curses like a typical motor-park driver, he insulted another driver before turning to look for a parking space.

“Wash Allah na…”

A young lady seated toward the back of the bus raised her head from where she had tucked it between her knees. The sudden braking had caused her head to hit the metal back of the seat in front of her. She was wearing a green hijab like everyone else on the bus, with a face mask covering her face.

I couldn’t make out her facial features because of the mask, except for her eyes, which were wide open and very red. They were strikingly captivating, with a bright, cloud-like glow—what people call hazel eyes.

Her eyebrows were full, suggesting she would look extremely beautiful without the mask. The woman sitting beside her kept glancing at her, surprised at how the girl had been quietly crying since they boarded the bus.

Only Allah knew what was in the girl’s heart, judging by the way she cried softly as if her soul were about to leave her body.

Her heart felt heavy like stone, her life growing dimmer by the moment. Her emotions no longer responded to anything because of the pain she felt inside. Whenever she remembered certain things, the tears flowing from her eyes refused to stop.

All she felt now was pity for herself. Only the strength of her faith enabled her to swallow the pain gripping the walls of her heart.

The questions she had been asking herself between yesterday and today were countless, yet no one could answer them. What troubled her most was whether she had some defect—or whether she was a foundling. She asked herself these questions countless times. Not knowing who her father was left her confused about everything happening in her life now and even in the past, since the time she became aware of herself.

The driver parked and stepped out, opening the bus doors. One after another, the men disembarked before the women. All the women wore green hijabs like a uniform, with backpacks on their backs. They came out in a line that seemed endless—about fifteen of them.

They formed a straight line, all eyes wide open with fear. The young women were many—around ten—some of whom you could tell were brought straight from the village. There were also about three older women and five men.

Once they lined up, one of the men addressed them: “Alright, masha Allah. I will give you your passports now. As I have told you before, this passport is your ticket everywhere. If you lose it, cry to yourselves—not to this agency. Your flight will land in Jeddah. Anyone who runs away from here and gets caught should not expect the agency to bear the consequences of her actions; everything is documented.”

After finishing, he brought out their passports with their tickets, calling their names one by one and handing them over.

“Sabeeha Dalhatu. Who is Sabeeha Dalhatu?”

When no one responded, he clicked his tongue and was about to move on when the girl raised her hand. Her voice trembled as she said, “It’s… me.”

He looked her up and down and could tell she was terrified. “Madam, you heard me calling your name and kept quiet. Don’t you know we’re in a hurry?”

She quickly lowered her head, her eyes darting around in fear, and walked over to collect her passport. He noticed her hands trembling violently, drenched in sweat, and said, “This one too—looks like she was picked from some village. Just be careful and don’t get yourself into trouble.”

What he said made her stomach twist violently, and her heart sank at his words. At that moment, she became even more convinced that her life no longer had any value.

Here was her mother—the woman who gave birth to her, the only person she had in the world—selling her off. She had no idea why her mother had handed her over to these people. She had only woken up at dawn preparing breakfast that her uncle would take to the hospital, since everyone was there because her grandmother had been admitted. She had stayed home without even stepping into the corridor. It had been three months since she last stepped outside the house, due to reasons her mother never explained.

“Innalillahi…” she whispered as tears filled her eyes.

The man led them into the airport, with them following behind. They were checked one by one before entering the waiting room, as their flight was about to depart.

The girl stayed close to the group she came with and avoided drawing attention to herself until they sat in the lower economy waiting room.

The woman who had sat beside her on the bus was seated next to her again.

The woman stood up to buy meat pie and water before returning. Everyone watched her, especially the young women. One could tell she knew the environment well and moved confidently—this wasn’t her first time. She had gone to Saudi Arabia for work many times, even from when she was their age.

Her face showed clear signs of cosmetic work—nose filler, and several gold “Makkah” teeth.

One look at her and you could tell she had Saudi roots, with wide, prominent eyes.

She sat beside the young girl, who stiffened in fear. The girl couldn’t communicate well with people; she had never been allowed to socialize while growing up. Her world revolved only around her mother, grandmother, and uncle—just the three of them.

The woman calmly ate her meat pie and drank water. After finishing, she set aside the second one she bought and glanced at the girl.

For no particular reason, the girl stirred pity in her heart. She too had been sent to work when she was no older than this girl. She had been taken from Gezawa village in Kano because of poverty.