A Duniya Ta 1 Complete Hausa Novel

His eyes, which had narrowed and then sunk deeper into their sockets from intense crying, distress, and panic, opened. He threw his gaze to the side—toward his left hand—then fixed his eyes on the smooth mat spread out before him.

A mat whose owner had died three days ago; a mat that, just three days earlier, they had been sitting on together with its owner. Their grandmother to them; a mother to their father—who had become their wall, their pillar, and the support they leaned on after the death of their father.

Even now, he still could not bring himself to stretch out a hand and fold up the mat; likewise, no one had bothered to take it away. And truly, who even cared about them, let alone what was inside the house? They were nobody. They had nothing to offer the mourners. They had no privilege, no status—no steady person to stand by them and help them bear the grief of losing their grandmother, with whom they had lived for three years in hardship and a fierce struggle—like a race between suffering and relief, with suffering dominating.

The tears he had been unable to stop welled up again. Even now, it still felt like a prank to him; even now, he still believed Jadda would return. Her disappearance brought back the sting of his father’s death—he felt as though he had died just today, as though he had only today bid farewell to the world, as though it was only today that MAAMA had stepped out and left them; a departure that became part of what worsened Abbee’s illness… and a departure that felt as if it had taken his own spirit and life with it.

He raised one hand and gripped his neck tightly, as if he were about to strangle himself. Knotted veins bulged across his head and forehead, lining up clearly. The redness in his eyes deepened even more; a painful cry and burning tears cut through him again, while the intense hatred of his mother’s blood surged through every part and corner of his body and heart.

“Hamma… ham…” The boy who rushed into the room stopped in the middle of repeatedly calling him. In that state, he turned and looked at him, and the boy stepped back a little, truly frightened by how his face had changed. It was a look that made the boy fear his “Hamma” deeply; whenever he saw him like that, he would start to feel as though this wasn’t even his uncle anymore.

He noticed it too, which made him pull his hand away from his neck. He gathered thick, sticky saliva and swallowed with difficulty, like someone swallowing stones. He steadied himself, adjusted his tongue, then threw a question at him:

“What is it?” he began to ask, his voice and body trembling slightly.

“It’s Abba… Farouq’s father says you should come—he’s in the courtyard.” He lowered his eyes, feeling a portion of mercy and ease settle into his heart. The one person on earth whose presence—or even whose call—always signaled to him the arrival of goodness, relief, gentleness, or some easing of whatever state they were in.