A Duniyata Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

“Mooooom… please, mama… Abbe is not well at all, you know that, mama… if you leave, who will take care of us? If you go, mama, who will take care of Abbe?”

The voice of the boy—who could not have been more than thirteen years old—came out weak, broken, and deeply wounded. Even if no one told you, even if you didn’t see his face soaked in tears, even if you didn’t notice his trembling hands clutching the frail body seated between his thighs, you would still understand that he was in extreme shock, terror, and sheer panic.

His eyes were fixed on her, hoping to hear those carefully measured words—

“I’ve decided not to go.”

Yet there was not a single sign, not even the smallest hint, that suggested she might change her mind. Instead, she adjusted the edge of the scarf on her head again, bent down, and stuffed the remaining belongings that had no space into the black bag in front of her.

“Please, Mariya… not for me… if not for me, then for these children, please be patient… stay and hold them close. My own case is easy; I am certain I only have a few days left. They are the ones who need care…”

The man spoke with great difficulty—illness, poverty, and the crushing weight of life had damaged every part of his body. Each breath came out like it might tear loose from his chest and escape through his throat.

He shifted his gaze from the face of the man who was his FATHER and turned it back to her, his heart melting with a painful compassion for all of them—everyone except HER. His heartbeat grew heavier with intense anxiety and a strange pity, as though his heart might burst apart. He had longed for days to hear words from his father’s mouth—nearly ten full days had passed without him uttering a single word. He had spent countless nights straining his ears, hoping to hear something. And now, today, the mouth had finally opened—but it was not to speak kind words they had long been denied. It opened because of the terrible disaster and fear that was about to be unleashed upon their lives.

His eyes were full of hope that her heart would soften at his father’s words—especially at the mention of death, which itself made him wish his father had not spoken at all, wishing he had remained silent, despite the deep longing he had always had to hear him speak. As these thoughts battled within him—between hope and fear—he heard his father’s dry, barely audible voice again, gathering all his remaining strength to say,

“Mariya… if you go, who will take care of them?”

Angrily, she turned around and threw him a sharp look as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Is that why I came—to take care of them? I found them here, and here is where I will leave them. Even children whose mothers died the very day they gave birth are alive today—more than millions of them—let alone those who are thirteen or eighteen years old.”

With those words, she began to move her feet, giving the room her farewell steps—leaving no doubt that she truly meant it.

She would not bend.

And it seemed there was nothing that could make her bend.

He didn’t know what to think anymore. His mind had become too small to contain all that was happening, let alone separate what was right from what was wrong. Suddenly, he found himself in front of her, clinging to her legs, crying softly with all the strength his young age could muster.

She looked down at him as if to shake him off, then reached out, lifted him, and seated him back, saying,

“This is where your fate lies. This is where you will live—whether in comfort or hardship, whether in ease or struggle. If I stay, all of us—you, me, and even your father—will all starve together. It’s better for me to step aside a little; perhaps destiny has something ahead.”

Her words struck his heart like a spear. He could see his father closing his eyes. He turned his own gaze away and fixed it on the younger child who tried to run after her as she exited the room.

Then he shouted at him with a force far beyond his years,

“Come back and sit!… We will survive… we will survive with our father!… We will survive in hardship or in ease!… We will survive with happiness or without it!… We are all we have now!… We have no one except ourselves and our father!”

He finished, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.

She froze, then turned back. Their eyes locked in one place. She had never taught him for a year or two, nor had she raised him from infancy—but she knew his nature, traits resembling those of a man who had lived through long ages, perhaps even centuries. Traits that sometimes threw her into a world of astonishment. Yet not even in her wildest imagination had she expected such painfully heavy words to come from his tongue—words perfectly arranged, delivering their message as though he had been storing them for a long time, as though they had been written for him and he had spent ages rehearsing how to say them.

As she withdrew her eyes from him, he withdrew his as well. He focused all his effort on settling his father so he could rest comfortably. His father’s body grew heavier and more relaxed—yet breath still escaped through his nostrils, leaving his mind unable to settle on anything else.

He had no hope left in her…

yet his mind could not pull away from her. He counted the sound of her footsteps, the echo of her shoes as she walked out of their house—a departure that still refused to leave his mind, a departure that still caused him intense pain, a departure that became the cause and the KEY to every hardship and suffering that followed.