Turken Gida Book 3 Complete Hausa Novel

Slowly, I began to open my eyes, which felt heavy as if weighed down. As my vision adjusted to the bright POP of the room’s ceiling, I started bumping into things. Carefully, I turned right and left, trying to understand where I was, as if I were in a small room. Only when my eyes fully focused did I begin to comprehend where I had found myself.

I struggled to sit upright, scanning the room with my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It was clear: I was in a hospital, lying on a hospital bed. Looking at my right hand, I noticed it was tied up and soaked with some extra liquid. I raised my eyes and saw more fluid being added. “Dis! Dis!”—I squinted as the liquid ran down into my body. I looked around, following it with my eyes, and realized I was not wearing the clothes I had left home in. Instead, I was wearing a long gown that, if I was not mistaken, belonged to Amina.

“What happened to me?”

I said aloud, unable to recall anything. I could not remember the moment I had ended up on the hospital bed. The room was empty except for me, resembling a VIP room. I placed my head on my left hand, feeling a slight dizziness, trying to recall the last memory before I lost consciousness. I remembered being at Amina’s house, in her bathroom, vomiting—and then I saw blood. Yes, blood. After that, I lost my senses, and I had no idea where I was until now, lying on the hospital bed.

“Innalillahi.”

I said as I touched the base of my back and felt a burning sensation. It was indeed blood. But what had caused it? Anxiety and fear had brought on my period earlier than expected. I said this to myself silently. I tried to understand the timing, but I couldn’t. There was electricity in the room, and the window was far away, yet I could sense some daylight from outside. Whatever had happened to me had not lasted long; night had not yet fallen, and the day was still ongoing.

I adjusted my posture and tried to sit upright. At that moment, the door opened and someone entered. I followed the newcomer with my gaze—it was a nurse, dressed in white, accompanied by a young, plump girl.

“How are you feeling?”

She asked as she approached the bed where I was seated.

“Better… slowly,” I replied. She took a file from the small table beside my bed and began examining it.

“Please, who brought me here?”

She glanced at me before continuing with the file, as if she hadn’t heard me.

“Dr. Ibrahim Aliyu.”

I looked at her but could not speak; I did not recall anyone with that name.

“Yesterday, they brought you with another woman.”

“Yesterday?”

I said, astonished, widening my eyes. She placed my file aside and removed the extra fluid from my hand, continuing:

“Yes. They brought you while you were unconscious. You regained consciousness, but we gave you another dose of anesthetic.”

I just looked at her, unable to speak. I had been in the hospital since yesterday without realizing it. What had happened to me?

“I removed it so you could rest. By Friday, you will be returned to him.”

She began to leave, and I could not bear it.

“Sister, please, what happened to me?”

She turned to look at me and shook her head:

“Miscarriage.”

“Mis…carriage,” I repeated, clearly, trying to understand.

“Yes. You lost the pregnancy yesterday.”

Having said that, she turned and added, “The woman who brought you yesterday spent the night with you. She went home and returned shortly after.” She then left, pulling the door lightly so it didn’t make a sound.

“Pregnancy? What kind of pregnancy?”

My mind froze, unable to interpret the nurse’s words.

“Wasn’t it pregnancy? Isn’t miscarriage the loss of a pregnancy?”

I asked myself aloud before getting an answer. The door opened again, and someone entered. I raised my heavy, tired eyes to see who it was. It was Amina, followed by her husband, carrying a basket, while she held two long gowns. That’s when I remembered the name the nurse had mentioned. Indeed, it was Amina’s husband, Dr. Ibrahim Aliyu, a professor at Kaduna University. Being over forty and married to Amina, anyone seeing him would know he was no child.

“Are you awake, Sadiya?”

Amina interrupted my thoughts. I looked at her as she sat beside the bed, holding my hand that had no IV attached.

“How are you feeling? You scared me yesterday, really,” she said, laughing softly while glancing at her husband.

I could only look at her, unable to speak; my mouth felt heavy, and I could not form a single word.

“Maman Jidda, how is your strength?”

That was when I spoke, looking at him.

“Better, Dr.”

“Masha Allah. May God grant you continued health.”

I whispered softly. Amina rose and went to the basket they had brought in, asking what I wanted to eat. Her husband suggested she prepare tea to soothe my stomach, as I had not eaten anything since yesterday.

“So, it’s true that I’ve been in the hospital since yesterday, unconscious?”

I asked myself, still without an answer. Amina prepared the tea and handed it to me. My hands trembled slightly, so she helped hold the cup.

“I still feel weak.”

“You know, slowly,” Dr. Ibrahim replied, checking his phone.

I sipped the tea with a spoon, feeling my strength gradually return. Dr. Ibrahim would soon return to school, and Amina gently left to accompany him.

“May God grant you continued health, Maman Jidda.”

“Amin, Dr. Thank you for the care you’ve provided.”

“It’s nothing. Allah grant forgiveness for the circumstances.”

“Amin,” I replied softly. They left, and I only followed them with my eyes, then remembered myself and Yallabai. Now even Amina might, one day, see the true nature of men after marriage. Perhaps her husband was not like Yallabai; perhaps he knew what restraint meant. I finished the tea, as my body felt limp like paper. I was slightly hungry, but not much; the warm liquid helped restore the dryness in my stomach, throat, and lips.

I felt my bladder tighten, so I carefully tried to stand. I placed the cup on the dresser beside the bed. That was when I realized I wasn’t even wearing my hijab—just the hospital gown. God help me; I had forgotten to cover myself in front of my in-laws. I struggled to my feet and made my way to the bathroom in the room, feeling as if my body would crumble like paper from weakness.