Kwarton Manya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

“They don’t know,” she said. She dipped the dough into the hot oil she was frying and, before opening her mouth, she spoke harshly:

“Eh, I heard you! Even if it’s dirt from my body that I use to cook, and I add Maggi and salt inside, it’s none of your business. Didn’t I tell you there’s no credit in my business? I will not give you anything on credit!”

“Are you talking to me like that?” he said angrily, already looking for trouble.

“Yes, I’m talking to you! I swear I’ll argue with anyone if it concerns my business,” she replied while turning her fried snacks. She had already made about a hundred naira, aside from other items she had bought.

Sama’ila quickly rushed toward the kitchen door intending to beat Zainabu, but he suddenly turned and ran away when he met Umma Halima. She frowned and said angrily:

“Pack your things and leave this house! If you won’t go and find your own livelihood, then go anywhere you like. I separated you from Zainabu but you refused to leave her alone, right? Let Malam come back, I will make sure there’s a clear boundary between you two.”

Sama’ila, biting his fingers in frustration, turned away. He had wanted to fight before leaving, but his mother’s arrival stopped him.

“Zainabu, give me some kallaɓa (fried snack),” a small boy said, stretching out his hand with money. She collected it thinking it was ten naira, but realized it was only five.

“Hah! Your mother is very foolish. What kind of nonsense is this? She sent you with five naira to buy flour snacks? You’re lucky today my temper is off, or else I would have beaten you badly.”

“Get out of my sight!” she shouted, throwing the five naira into the fire. “I won’t take it—I’d rather burn it because it annoyed me.”

The boy ran out crying back to his mother.

People buying from her wanted to correct her behavior, but they were afraid of her temper, so they just paid and left quietly.

“Zainabu, hurry up. When you finish, I’ll send you to Dole market to buy spices,” Umma said.

“I’m almost done. I’ve fried about a hundred already and the dough is finished,” she replied.

Another girl came and said, “My mother said you should please give him the snack for five naira, they’ve already weaned him.”

Zainabu angrily replied: “I won’t! Does she give out her own goods on credit? Why should I lose respect in my own business? I’ve already thrown the money in the fire. Let him suffer!”

The girl quickly ran away with her younger brother.

Zainabu continued selling, arguing with people endlessly until she finished. After that, she didn’t even bathe—she just wore her hijab and looked dusty and untidy.

“Umma, where’s the money?”

Umma looked at her and said, “Zainabu, won’t you at least wash yourself before going?”

“No, I’ll go like this. Those Lagos people are foolish—if I dress nicely, they’ll call me a married woman instead of a girl. Unless I dress carelessly, they won’t see me as young.”

Umma replied, “Just go and buy spices for 150 naira.”

Zainabu went to Dole market. This time, she didn’t argue with the spice seller. She preferred to walk instead of using transport so she could save the money for business.

Zainabu was a hot-tempered girl. She tried many businesses but none really succeeded. She was troublesome and fearless—if you offended her, she would respond immediately. A day never passed without her fighting, even physically. She bragged that she never fought just one person—she preferred fighting two or three at once so she wouldn’t overpower one person unfairly.

She was loved by friends and even married women, but she had no respect. Fighting had become part of her nature.

One day, an Igbo man called out to her:

“Madam, for your baby,” he said, showing her children’s clothes.

Zainabu got very angry:

“These Igbo men are becoming too disrespectful! I don’t even have a baby—do I look like a married woman with children?”

The man looked confused and asked, “What is she saying?”

Before he could say more, she slapped him hard.

“Now do you understand what I’m saying? Or should I slap you again?” she said.

Shaking with fear, he replied, “Sorry, my friend, sorry please.”

Zainabu walked away, still insulting him. Not just him—many others were scared of her. They had never seen a girl, not more than 18 years old, so troublesome and fearless.

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion. I turned to see who they were calling “Kwato Kwato,” but I couldn’t tell among the four soldiers. They were all in military uniform.

One of them stood out. Everyone’s attention was on him. His eyes were half-closed, holding a cigarette, blowing smoke confidently like a hardened man of the world.

Among the soldiers, he was the most intimidating—tall, huge, and powerfully built…