Tantiriya A Gidan Yari Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

It was a decent, modest house—nothing extravagant, but respectable. The house was located in a neighborhood where people lived quietly and decently. It had four rooms, a living room, and two toilets in the courtyard. Everywhere was cemented; only the living room and toilets were tiled. The house wasn’t far from the city of Kano.

A young man—very handsome—entered the house with a greeting. He was fair‑skinned, though not extremely so, and looked about 31 years old. He was holding the hand of a little girl who looked about three years old. She too was very pretty and closely resembled the young man, whose name was Mohsin.

The children of the house greeted him warmly, “Welcome, Yaya Mohsin.” He smiled and responded. Hidaya came forward, held his hand, and they entered the living room. After greeting him properly, he asked, “Where is Umma?”

Hidaya lowered her eyes shyly, suppressing her laughter, and said, “Yaya, she went out to look for the smell of armpit sweat. You know, pregnancy made Umma like strong smells.”

“I don’t understand,” Mohsin said.

Hidaya burst out laughing again and said, “Look, Yaya, Umma insisted that Abba stop bathing because she liked the smell of his armpit—it gave her comfort. But he refused and kept bathing. So she goes out to the construction workers to sniff around a bit, then comes back. Honestly, we’ve tried to stop her, but she refuses. And Aunty Naila is in prison; she’s the only one who could have restrained her.”

Mohsin was astonished. Was it really pregnancy cravings that made their mother constantly seek out the smell of sweat?

As they were talking, they heard Umma’s voice greeting as she entered. She was wearing a long, wide silk boubou, with a veil draped over her shoulders, her pregnancy clearly visible in front. She looked radiant and cheerful.

She entered the living room and sat down, saying, “Subhanallah, Alhamdulillah, I feel so good. That smell was really strong—just the kind I like.”

Mohsin looked at their mother and said, “Umma, you’re married and have a husband. Going out to sniff other people’s sweat, even if it’s because of pregnancy, isn’t appropriate.”

Kubra—whom they all called Umma—said, “Ah! Is it my fault? Your father is too obsessed with cleanliness. I tried and tried, but he refused to stop bathing for even three days. I had no choice but to leave to find peace of mind. Since I started going out, today is the first day I found the exact smell I like. The moment the man raised his arm, I felt such calmness.”

As she spoke, she even closed her eyes, saying, “Wallahi, a kind of blessing and peace came over me. All the worries I had—especially Naila being in prison—just melted away. I even slept well today, with dreams. If you want to make me happy, stop bathing and shaving your armpits so I can enjoy your smell.”

Mohsin frowned and said, “God forbid.”

Umma then asked, “Where is your wife, Hanan?”

“She’s fine,” Mohsin replied.

“Hmmm… that wife of yours is stingy. She didn’t even bring the usual gifts for in‑laws—not even small ones. What do we do with a woman like Hanan?”

Mohsin said, “Come on, Umma, the respect she shows is what truly matters—”

Before he could finish, Umma interrupted, “No. True respect nowadays is gifts. Who still cares about so‑called respect? Just being called ‘in‑law’ is what matters.”

Mohsin changed the topic and said, “Umma, when will we go and visit Naila? She’s been in prison for almost a week; we should go.”

Umma replied, “No one is going to see her yet. She knows what she did. Naila, with her stubbornness, would surely do something like this. Let her realize her mistake first.”

Mohsin said, “But Umma, even Abba said he won’t go, and Hidaya and the rest aren’t going either. I don’t believe Naila would try to kill herself—she was framed.”

“I said no one should go!” Umma snapped. “Anyone who goes, whether I know or not, I won’t forgive you. Naila had decent, wealthy suitors we could have rested with. Instead, she chose this useless, foolish father of yours who can’t do anything. I told her to choose one and marry him, but she refused. Now look at her—this disgrace and stubbornness dragged her into prison. I gave birth to Naila, but everyone knows her character. She’s stubborn to the core. I regret ever taking her to my father. He ruined my daughter. When I remember Alhaji Ibrahim, who wanted to marry Naila—a wealthy man she rejected—I feel like Naila has betrayed me…”

Umma burst into tears, crying loudly, saying, “My heart is burning!” Then, angrily, she added, “That’s why no one will go see her.”

“That girl, out of dishonesty, dressed in Ankara fabric and went out pretending—she went to cut her hair and dressed like a man just to sell drugs. Now she’s in the men’s section of the prison pretending to be male. Do you want us to go and expose her secret that she’s a woman? By Allah, if they discover it, the court will finish us completely!”

Mohsin, shocked by his mother’s behavior, said, “But Umma, when you went to Abuja and fate caught up with her, weren’t you the one who told her to go, saying she’d make money there?”

“So now you’re blaming me for her problems?” Umma snapped. “Don’t annoy me, wallahi I’ll curse you. Get up, take your daughter, and leave my house!”

Mohsin stood up, adjusted the edge of his milk‑colored robe, picked up his daughter Amal, lifted her onto his shoulder, and left the house angrily.

He went straight to where his father worked as a guard at a fuel station owned by foreigners working on road construction. He arrived there in the late evening.

Their father was one of those simple, foolish men God creates—people like that just exist. Because fuel theft was common, guards were hired. That day, his co‑workers hadn’t come yet; he usually worked from morning till evening.

Some street boys saw him lying there, clueless. They cleverly borrowed a donkey, loaded it with two 50‑liter jerrycans, and came as if they were in a village. Naila’s father was lying under a tree, mouth open, when they arrived. They inserted a hose and siphoned the fuel, filling their containers neatly and loading them onto the donkey. Only then did he wake up.

From a distance, he shouted, “Hey! What’s going on?”

The thieves replied, “Oh, we brought fuel to sell to the foreigners.”

Angrily, he chased them away with hand gestures, shouting, “Go away! They won’t buy! They won’t buy! You greedy fools, wanting to sell cheaply—go away!”

They turned back with the donkey, their jerrycans full of the fuel he was supposed to guard.

Mohsin watched everything from his motorcycle, with his daughter Amal in front of him. Honestly, the whole incident made him laugh uncontrollably—people had stolen fuel right under his father’s nose, tricked him openly, and he himself chased them away. Even the thieves, after leaving, stopped and laughed loudly, knowing there was a whole fuel tanker there and no one would even notice the theft.