SARKI SAMEER BOOK 1 Hausa Novels

A young unmarried girl, not more than about twenty‑one or twenty‑two years old, entered the living room without greeting anyone. She was calling out to her mother as she climbed the staircase inside the living room. After a few minutes, she came back down, pursing her lips, pacing around the living room in confusion, wondering where her mother had gone.

Before she could finish thinking, she saw a woman—no less than forty, maybe forty‑two or even forty‑five—entering. The woman’s face lit up with a wide smile as she said, “Oh, daughter! When did you arrive?”

The girl didn’t reply. She walked up to her, grabbed her hand, and said, “Mom, do you know that shameless little girl I saw with the BOSS? She was smiling at him nonstop, even laughing loudly, and he just stood there staring at her like he wanted to devour her.”

She finished speaking as if she would swallow her heart and die from sheer anger.

The mother, who had been watching her daughter closely from the beginning, said nothing—only gave a faint smile that didn’t reach her heart. She gently pulled her daughter into the living room and sat her down on the luxurious couches, beautifully decorated with expensive furnishings. Just standing there, anyone could tell this wasn’t a home of ordinary people—the wealth was obvious.

Without saying a word, the mother lightly wiped her daughter’s face, then went into the kitchen and returned with a tray filled with fruits, biscuits, and chilled soft drinks. She placed it before her and was about to speak when the girl rudely interrupted her, raising her voice disrespectfully:

“Mom, what is this? I’ve been talking to you all this while and you’re ignoring me. I’m not a fool! Take your things away—I don’t want them!”

She tried to stand up angrily, but her mother quickly pulled her back down, soothing her. Calmly, she said, “My daughter, calm yourself down. Honestly, I see nothing worth getting worked up over. What exactly happened? That insignificant girl—she looks like a demon, has no background, no value. Who is her father? Who is she to cause this much trouble? Honestly! As if she’s not from the Cikas family, as if you didn’t come from my womb.”

She said this while tightening her grip on her daughter’s hand, then added, “Leave everything to me. She will come to this house and meet me—I’ll deal with her properly, including that useless old woman.”

She said this while looking at her daughter, whose anger was clearly written all over her face.

The daughter replied, “Honestly, my anger stopped me from even talking to them. I felt like my heart would burst if I spoke. That’s why I just came straight home to tell you.”

The mother nodded and said, “Good thing you stayed away from her. If you had engaged her, she would’ve embarrassed you more in front of him. Get up now—you’ll explain everything to me properly. Drink this, then go take your bath, get dressed, come out, and have lunch before she arrives.”

The girl stood up happily and said, “Mom, I won’t eat. Let me just go and splash some water and come back.”

She said this as she left the living room and went upstairs to her room. Her mother also went to her own room, reaffirming the punishment she would give that girl when she returned.

Just then, the younger girl—who had overheard their entire conversation—entered the living room nervously, her eyes darting around in fear, filled with anxiety over what she had heard and the punishment she imagined awaited her.

She was a girl not more than fourteen or fifteen years old—not tall, not short, medium in height. Even though her hair wasn’t fully visible, it was obvious she had thick hair, judging by the strands resting on her forehead, nearly touching her eyebrows. Her edges lay smoothly around her face. She had long, thick eyelashes, strikingly large eyes—very white, with brown pupils. Her eyes were sexy in a sleepy way; when she looked at you, you’d think she was half asleep. Her skin was very fair, almost as if blood would spill if touched, but the hardships of life had dulled her glow.

She had a long, sharp nose—so prominent that if you came too close, you’d worry it might poke your eye. Her lips were small and pink, as if she had applied gloss. Her chest had begun to develop—not too much, not too little—and her hips and backside were perfectly proportional to her body.

She hadn’t finished her thoughts when she suddenly heard a thunderous shout. She turned to run, but another furious yell stopped her in her tracks:

“Go back to your father’s house, you bastard child! If you ever leave this living room again, may your mother only give birth to another child in the hereafter—or that useless old woman give birth to someone like you if she can! You demon-like bastard with witch eyes—who knows, maybe you’re even a witch!”

Overwhelmed by the cruelty of the words, she slowly turned around like someone without bones in her body, tears pouring down her face like rain, washing over her cheeks. Before she could react, she felt a violent grip around her throat and her ears twisted as if they were about to be ripped off. She raised her hand to defend herself but felt her arm seized and twisted painfully.

The attack combined choking her neck and twisting her ear. She wanted to scream but couldn’t—the grip on her throat was too tight. She struggled but couldn’t utter a single word. Finally, she managed to loosen the grip slightly and, in a broken, hoarse voice filled with terror, she cried:

“Please, Mom… forgive me…”