Amatullmaeek Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

She remained silent, listening to how her sister’s voice rose, full of anger and frustration. It was a deep anger, coupled with obvious exhaustion, written all over his face—there was no softness, no mercy, not even a little.

All this anger and frustration were amplified by the tone of their mother, who was sitting and listening to him.

For her part, Maamah—being the daughter of his aunt—felt the pain deeply in her heart every time their mother confronted her like this. She had never dared to look him in the eye, let alone intervene in the fights he instigated.

Even her older cousin Bellon, despite his age, always felt intense irritation whenever he came around, constantly scolding and lashing out at them. Yet there was no one among them who dared retaliate. He would finish, and their mother would merely endure it quietly. Jannat herself wouldn’t raise her eyes or speak.

This latest quarrel and his harsh words were too much for them. That’s why her eyes, and Maamah’s too, were filled with tears—tears he would never want to see from his sibling.

He wiped his tears on the large garment covering him and, repeating the last words to Maamah, said:

“Truly, if Abdulhameed ever goes back to that school, and someone brings him to me, I swear by Allah, I’ll end his apprenticeship; I won’t be able to bear the grief. My brother is dead and left us nothing—don’t make it worse. If you don’t stay where Allah has placed you, and don’t manage your children well, gather yourself or else we won’t manage.”

He turned and left the room without stopping the mischief and quarrel he had stirred, leaving only the small section where they mourned their deceased father.

Maamah exhaled deeply, without looking at where AmatulMaleek was sitting, who continued sewing Abdulhameed’s torn garment with a needle. She showed no ability to help because she was still very young.

None of them said a word, because AmatulMaleek’s composure was remarkable despite her youth. She could suppress and hide her feelings very well.

Knowing that AmatulMaleek wouldn’t speak, Maamah swallowed her tears so that AmatulMaleek wouldn’t notice. She stood from her seat and went to fetch their laundry, which she had already begun in large amounts.

AmatulMaleek secretly watched her, setting aside her needle and thread, and gazed at Maamah with wide, white eyes without saying a word.

One thing constantly ran through her mind: if Mommy—Maamah’s mother—was her real mother, why was it always her who was sent to deliver food and supplies? Why couldn’t she take the children away from the suffering, humiliation, and oppression inflicted on them by their father’s family?

Whenever their food ran out, her younger siblings would go to find something to eat themselves, while Maamah handled the women’s evening chores in the house. After finishing, she informed them what she would take with her children.

Her greatest surprise was that every day food was delivered from Mommy’s place, and that day, everything was separated and given to them in portions. Within two days, it was gone, leaving them in hardship again.

In the life they had grown up in, the house was crowded with their fathers’ families: two wives in some, three in others, even four. So, the house was always busy with gatherings.

Everyone in the house only took care of their own families. No one could help anyone else because everyone carried burdens heavier than they could bear. That’s why almost everyone’s life was full of struggle.

There were five elder males in the house, each with his own family. No one left the house, despite the crowded living conditions.

Her father was the youngest of them all and the only one who studied Western education. He was the only one with a government job at the primary school in their village. Despite his qualifications, he never left the village for another assignment. He remained there as vice principal until his death, leaving behind his wife and one daughter—AmatulMaleek—and the infant son of Amatun, who was renamed Abdulhameed after his father.