Buzu Book 2 Complete Hausa Novel

Jamila burst into a strange kind of sobbing, trembling as she cried. She said, “I’m finished… does this mean a spirit slept with me?”

“Yes—but it entered a human body and used you,” she told Jamila bluntly, without any sense of shame.

“I’m ruined. Who will marry me like this now? What will I do? I’ve destroyed my life.”

Hajiya Sa’a held Jamila’s hand and said, “I’ve told you many times, Jamila—cowards never become champions. This marriage isn’t compulsory. As long as you’re with me, you’ll get whatever you want. If you want marriage, you’ll choose the man yourself, and you’ll be perfectly treated—no one will ever know you were used. The organization has already paid your yearly money. It’s with me; I’ll give it to you little by little so no one suspects. Calm down, relax your body, don’t let anything frighten you. You have money now—you’re done with suffering. Free yourself and enjoy life. You’re the youngest girl in the group. I truly love you. I wanted to bring your sister too, but it wasn’t possible. I pity the kind of life you live at home. Remove all worry from your heart, cast away fear and pity—you’ll go places you never imagined.”

Jamila raised her head and gave Hajiya Sa’a a look whose meaning only she knew. She wiped her tears and said, “Alright.”

Hajiya Sa’a smiled and said, “Good girl, my daughter. Get up, let me warm you. Eat something—the organization’s doctor will come to examine you.” Jamila moved with difficulty. Hajiya Sa’a held her, and they went to the bathroom.

Today made it the fourth day Sayyid had been in this condition. What worried Nana most was his refusal to eat and his failure to pray—he only slept or sat silently. He never complained, not even a word; he only followed her with his eyes. Nana kept praying, asking Allah to help her. Even Ummi hadn’t come around, so she didn’t even know what they were going through.

At nine o’clock at night, Nana sat on the floor where she had placed a mat, watching him lying on the mattress. She raised her hands as if to pray and recited Suratul Mulk, Ayatul Kursiy, Suratul Falaq, and Suratun Nas. She blew into her hands, moved closer to him nervously, and rubbed his face with them. She stepped back, waiting to see what he would do—but he did nothing. She found a place to lie down, deep in thought.

In her sleep, she felt someone nudging her. She opened her eyes quickly and saw him trying to lie beside her, despite how cramped the space was.

“Sayyid,” she called his name.

“Yes.”

She released a deep breath of relief, held his hand, and said, “What is it?”

“I couldn’t sleep. You left me alone on the mattress.”

With happiness and care, she stroked his back and said, “I saw you were breathing with difficulty, like you were being pressed—that’s why I came down here.”

“My life.”

“Yes, my leader.”

“I’m hungry… like I’ve never eaten before.”

“I’ll quickly cook something for you, but come, let’s go—you should rinse your mouth. It’s the middle of the night.” He struggled to get up; she supported him as he swayed—from hunger, illness, and weakness.

She took him to the bathroom, he rinsed his mouth, and she brought him back to sit.

She peeled yam inside the room, brought the gas stove, placed it near the door, and lit it. She took a fan and kept fanning him.

“My life.”

“Sayyid.”

“Didn’t we eat breakfast today?”

Nana said, “You’ve been sleeping for four days. I have nothing to say to Allah except gratitude that you woke up.” He fell silent and said nothing more. She finished cooking the yam, made tea, set it down to cool, then fed him herself. He didn’t wait—he ate eagerly. That made Nana happy, seeing him eat so much today.

After he finished eating, she heated water, held his hand, and took him to the bathroom, bathing him like a baby on her back. Even he felt a healthy breeze pass through him then. She made him perform ablution, and he came out, sat down, and began making up the missed prayers.

She said, “Sayyid, don’t try to do them all at once. They’re many—make them up slowly.”

He only nodded. At first he prayed standing, but couldn’t maintain it and continued sitting. She watched him silently. In some ways, they were very similar. No matter his condition, as long as his mind wasn’t completely gone, he never played with prayer at all. That made her feel that even in his normal life he was truly devoted to praying on time.

By 3:30 a.m., he said on his own, “I can’t continue—my breathing.”

She said, “Then will you pray lying down?”

He shook his head. “I prefer sitting—or standing.”

She lifted the curtain, seeing how much he was sweating. She spread a prayer mat near the door, arranged pillows for him, and he lay down. She sat beside him, fanning him. She placed her hand on his forehead, reciting whatever Allah brought to her heart.

She felt his hand slip under her dress, though his eyes were closed. She smiled and continued what she was doing. When he tickled her, she lay against him laughing. He laughed too.

“Lie close to me,” he said, gesturing beside him. Before she could speak, a flashlight shone on them.

Quickly, he turned his head and buried his face in Nana’s thighs, his hair falling onto the pillow. Nana raised her hand to cover her face.

She heard Barira’s voice say, “Please forgive me. I heard movement and got scared, so I came to check. Sorry.” She switched off the torch and returned to her room.

“Sayyid, forgive me. I know you’re not comfortable. Please forgive me.”

He stayed silent and didn’t lift his head from her thighs. She stroked his hair and said, “My leader, talk to me. I’m happy. You’ve been sleeping for four days—you haven’t spoken to me. Please don’t let someone else’s fault fall on me.”

Slowly he turned. She said, “That’s it, my life.”

“Have you stopped vomiting?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Yes, I have.”

“May Allah let you deliver this time.”

“Amin. And may Allah give you health so I can bring together my two children—the big one and the small one.”

He smiled and said, “In sha Allah. Before you give birth, once I feel better, I’ll look for work and take care of you myself.”

“May Allah accept. But Sayyid, what about that money I saw the other day in your wardrobe? When I packed our things, I didn’t see it. We could use it for your treatment and change houses.”

“Habu took it—the last day he came, he took a lot of the Nigerian money and left me some. He said the rest was Niger money. And if you check my things properly, they’re still there.”

“No, I don’t search your belongings. If Allah lets us reach tomorrow, we’ll count it and see if it’s enough.”

He said, “Alright. Lie down and sleep,” pulling her closer. She lay down smiling.

“Sayyid, if we don’t see Habu again, I think you and I should go to Niger ourselves and look for your relatives.”

He stayed silent. She touched him lightly and realized he had already fallen asleep.