Garwashi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

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All praise is due to Allah, the Almighty King, the One who has power over everything and everyone. The One who says “Be” and it is. May Allah include us among those who receive His Kun Fayakun in this world and the Hereafter.

Greetings with respect to Hajia Saliha Abubakar Abdullahi, Zaria.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The way I saw Ammi crying made me realize that something very serious had happened—or was about to happen—something I was not prepared to hear, see, or even carry in my heart.

By Allah, I never imagined Daddy’s death. The only thought that crossed my mind was that he might be ill. Even that thought threw me into confusion and panic. I never included Daddy’s death in my plans at this time. In my mind, he would live long enough to see me married and have children. That was how I had arranged life in my head—never knowing that my plan could be different from Allah’s plan.

This destiny became the beginning of everything. Though there was an older destiny that I had earlier hinted at regarding Daddy and Ammi—a destiny that brought them together and created yet another chain of destiny. Allah does not act because of love or hatred; He acts as He wills. Whether we live or die, His decree stands. The pen of destiny does not erase its writing. So we continue living out our destinies—sometimes with tears, sometimes with laughter.

Ammi’s crying was filled with deep agony, the kind of cry that shows the blow death leaves behind. I began to hear what she was saying to Daddy’s body:

“Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un… Where will I put myself now, Faruk? Why did you do this to me? What about the promise you made to be my mother and my father? Who have you left me with, knowing I have no one but Allah and you? Not because I don’t have relatives—but because you were my everything.

“Please get up. Don’t tell me you have left me with your children who have no privilege except you. Umar, get up and continue being my happiness like you promised. You know better than anyone that I have no one but you. Your relatives will now have the chance to oppress me. My own parents will kill me if they know you are no longer alive. Please get up and tell me you are alive.”

The way she shook his lifeless body made me realize that we had reached a place some people had long wished for—a place where they could humiliate us. Especially Ammi, whom Daddy’s relatives never liked simply because she had once been from Ahlul Kitab before marrying Daddy. They had placed hatred on her from the start. And now that Daddy—her shield—was gone, they saw their chance.

Though I do not know everything Ammi carried in her heart, I could tell she was feeling two pains at once:

The pain of losing a husband who honored and protected her… and the fear of what would follow from his relatives.

Once I heard Ammi say Daddy had died, I joined her in crying. Or perhaps she was only comforting me—because I was the one who had truly lost a father.

We filled the airport with our cries until Daddy’s close friend, Alhaji Mustafa, interrupted Ammi with a harsh shout. He glared at her in a way that shocked her deeply. She saw something like hatred in his eyes—something he had never shown her while Daddy was alive.

“Listen to me!” he snapped. “This is how converts behave. Even if they stay in Islam for Prophet Nuh’s lifetime, they will still show their true origin. In Islam, wailing over death is forbidden! Don’t raise your voice here. Move back and bring the car. Let’s take him home. Look at how you’ve gathered people as if you’re the one who just lost a husband!”

Ammi, shaken, handed him the car keys, saying she was too unsettled to drive. They placed Daddy’s body in the car and drove home.

In the living room, Daddy’s body was laid down. Alhaji Mustafa told Ammi to call Daddy’s village and inform them.

With trembling hands, Ammi called Daddy’s elder sister, Yaya Badura. After several rings, she answered.

“Who is this?”

“It’s me, Aminatu…”

“I recognize your voice. Why are you crying?”

“Faruk… Yaya Badura… please come and tell him to wake up. Don’t let him leave me…”

“Is that your intention, you pagan woman? You wished him dead to inherit his wealth? If anything has happened to my brother, I swear you will not survive it!”

Ammi cried harder at the insults. But then Badura overheard Alhaji Mustafa saying on another call that Faruk had died. She screamed loudly and gathered the entire household.

Within no time, they arrived—men, women, children—filling the house with noise and dramatic crying. Some even pretended to faint, especially Yaya Badura, claiming she had lost the brother who cared for her.

Daddy was prepared for burial. When it was time for Ammi to say goodbye, she approached quietly, tears streaming down her face. She prayed for him—asking Allah to grant him a good resting place and mercy.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her violently and threw her outside.

She looked up to see Yagana glaring at her furiously.

“What do you know about Islam that you’re pretending to make dua? Trying to show us you can pray? You people don’t inherit Islam. Get out! Don’t cause him punishment by standing here. Filthy woman, child of idol worshippers and the Pope!”