Yar Mahaukaciya Complete Hausa Novel

She was retching violently, gasping for breath, while the other woman pinned her down and clamped her mouth shut by force, determined to shove raw cassava she had picked from the dump straight into her mouth. She was mad. I saw her overpower a young girl, trying to force the mush into her mouth, while the girl clenched her teeth tightly, refusing to open them. In the middle of their struggle, I saw the madwoman suddenly stop, pull back, then scream loudly and begin writhing and rolling on the ground, clutching her stomach—it was clear that labor had started.

I saw the girl jump up and run after the madwoman, calling out, “Is it childbirth? Is it labor?”

But the madwoman could not speak; all she did was turn her head from side to side. Because of this, the girl ran out of the makeshift shelter they had built and tied together as their little room, where rain, cold, and dampness often caught up with them. She ran on, panting heavily, until she managed to get out onto the main path. Their place was deep inside the dump at the far end of the neighborhood.

When she came out, she stopped and looked around helplessly, unsure where to go to seek help. She spotted a house that looked like a ruin and headed toward it. Sometimes they were allowed to enter the compound to sweep—what people called the dump area—and they would be given a little grain and water, or leftovers from washing clothes. Sometimes they were even allowed to draw water from the well to drink, both she and the madwoman.

As she entered, she greeted and stepped aside, squatting quietly. I saw some children come out, their bodies already covered in dust from playing. When they saw the young girl, I heard them start singing mockingly, saying: “You, daughter of a madwoman, how crazy you are, daughter of a madwoman. Where is your mother, madwoman, still spreading her madness? Daughter of a madwoman.”

She only smiled at them, sending smiles their way, saying nothing at all, until they finished their teasing and went off. She stood there for almost half an hour before the woman of the house came out, tightly wrapping her cloth, clearly intending to grind grain. When she saw the girl, she praised God and felt relieved to see her.

The girl hurried forward and knelt before her. Larai said, “If it’s food you want, I’ll give you some well water and even the cloth I tie my vomit with—but only if you grind all this guinea corn for me.”

The girl turned toward where the grain was pointed out, swallowed a bitter lump of saliva, and said, “Alright, my lady of the house, by God’s will I’ll grind it now.”

Larai grinned broadly, grabbed the sack of guinea corn, set up the mortar and pestle, adjusted the torn cloth tied around her waist, and began pounding without rest. She worked from daytime until dusk. Larai sent her on errands, even into the market on foot. She endured everything and returned, thinking of the madwoman, knowing she had now stopped her restless muttering, as she often did.

She didn’t finish all the household chores until near sunset. Larai prepared food for her, including some from the day before yesterday that had already turned sour. She served it with a small bowl, pouring it into a rusty container, then told her to fetch two buckets of water in case the well ran dry. She fetched the two buckets, poured them into her old jerrycan, lifted everything, and hurried off. The children followed her, chanting “daughter of a madwoman,” but she ignored them, focused only on getting back to the dump.

When she arrived, she saw that the cardboard she had added as a cover had been pulled away. She quickened her pace and rushed into their enclosure. She began seeing blood everywhere on the ground. She tore away the plastic coverings she had used as shelter, her heart pounding at what her eyes beheld. She didn’t even realize when she dropped the container of food she had labored all day for—it spilled right there.

She lifted her hands and placed them on her head over the black plastic she used to cover herself and let out a scream, because she saw a baby, lying naked and drenched in blood, abandoned there—with no sign of the madwoman. She rushed forward in panic, stumbling and struggling, clearly searching desperately for the madwoman.