Makauniyar Kaddara Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Her mind was unsettled until they arrived at the station, where everyone was handing the driver ₵150 for transport. Nervously, she handed him the ₵80 she had left. A careless glance from him made her feel belittled as he examined the money.

“I see you’re giving me just eighty naira. Didn’t you notice what everyone else is giving?”

With a trembling voice and tears welling in her eyes, she said, “By God, it’s all they left me with. I originally had ₵500 when I came from Katsina, and now I have only this little…”

“Okay, wait. This is your worry, not mine. If you know you don’t have enough for the fare and didn’t let me help carry your things, then that’s your issue. I only care about my money, not how much you brought from Katsina.”

Tears poured down her face uncontrollably. She knelt, about to beg him, but he scolded her loudly, creating a commotion. The onlookers started paying attention. She sat there crying and pleading.

The crowd didn’t help her directly. They wondered why she hadn’t spoken up earlier so someone could have assisted her. But she didn’t know the exact fare, so she endured. Even the driver and some others, prompted by the crowd, began nudging her to give him the money.

As she pleaded, looking pitiful, a young man feeling compassion gave her ₵100 to give the driver. Relief returned to her. She even fell to the ground, thanking the young man. He told her not to worry, just make sure next time she checks the fare before getting in. She thanked him again, handing over the remaining ₵30 she had after paying him the ₵100.

Still, she had no idea how to find the way to their town. She had never been to Kusada before; her travels were limited to small villages near her own.

She wanted to ask for directions but felt afraid. A sharp stomach pain began building slowly. The further she walked, the worse it got. She barely managed to drag herself to a roadside shelter to sit. It seemed the shelter was for resting travelers. Since it was already evening, she had to get up.

She sat with her knees drawn up, her body trembling. Sweat poured from her due to the stomach cramps. She stayed there, writhing until she finally lay down, turning over from side to side. She didn’t care about minor irritations—like mosquito bites—because her stomach pain dominated everything.

The time passed without her noticing; night had fallen. The town was now quieter. Hunger and thirst added to her troubles—she had been separated from proper food since yesterday at Hajiya’s house. The food she had eaten there had made her anxious, fearing it was unsafe for her.

She rose slowly, feeling a little stronger. The street was dark, and people were heading home in small numbers. Vehicles were few, maybe three or fewer at a time. The only light came from a tea stall at the bus stop.

She lay down again, gripped by fear. She closed her eyes and recited the prayers she knew. By God’s grace, sleep overtook her. Likely, her exhaustion from traveling and the harsh ride on the Napep had helped her sleep.

At the first Fajr call, she woke with intense stomach pain. She groaned and cried for a while before it eased. She attempted to join Fajr prayer. Rising carefully, her hunger pressed heavily. She slowly walked to the nearby masjid. She washed her hands for ablution, barely finding water, and returned to the shelter.

She urinated and performed wudu properly. She drank the remaining water she had. Only then did she realize she had missed yesterday’s Asr prayer. She had neglected prayer since Azhar, after leaving her previous location.

She began performing her missed prayers, though not in the proper sequence, continuing until Fajr. By then, people and vehicles were appearing.

At first, she just watched. Then, following her heart, she approached the tea seller she had seen earlier, trying to place her small teapot on his stand while humming a tune. She greeted him politely; he returned the greeting with respect.

“Sir, please, may I ask a question?”

He lifted his head and looked at her for the first time. “God willing, I will know, my daughter,” he said with a serious gaze.

Her head lowered, fingers fidgeting, she asked, “Sir, please, where is the way to Danya?”

“Danya? Danya? Well, if you mean Danya near Gozarki, the road is east of here.”

Hearing the name Gozarki, she looked at him with delight. She nodded, her face brightening in joy, and said, “Yes, that’s it, sir.”

He said, “Okay, wait here for the motorbike drivers. If you cannot wait, find a driver here and pay ₵30; they will take you straight to Gozarki. There you will find the Danya drivers.”

She appreciated his advice. Although she had only ₵30 left and felt hungry, she followed his guidance. Soon, she found a motorbike driver. As the tea seller said, she gave him the ₵30, then rode.

Within a few minutes, she reached Gozarki, and the driver took her all the way to the road leading to her village, Danya. Her happiness grew. She waited to find other motorbike drivers since few people were out that early. But she decided to walk since she had no choice, despite knowing it was far. Her longing to be near home overcame her hunger and fatigue.

The journey began along the long road. A slight morning breeze blew intermittently.

For two days, the stomach pain, for reasons she could not explain, had tormented her. She rested briefly under a tree, trying to calm herself before continuing. Eventually, local motorbike drivers began appearing, taking passengers.

Before she knew it, the sun rose. Hunger continued to gnaw at her stomach. She pressed on, dragging her feet like someone heavily burdened. When all her strength was nearly gone, she finally saw the roof of her school building, taller than anything else in town. A smile spread across her face despite her closed, squinting eyes. She exhaled deeply, relief washing over her. Slowly, the elderly woman began turning her path toward home, exhausted, nearly breathless…