Matar So Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

He stared at his computer, lost in thought—not just one, but all three of them—and then let out a deep sigh, saying:

“Yunus, I’m sorry. I’ll give you as much as I can, honestly. Be grateful to Allah that you’re alone in this, but they don’t have your time. Nifa is just one to me, yet I feel like I’ve set her aside and can rest. When I think about the dignity of her parents and mine, I feel my chest tighten.”

He adjusted his seat before continuing:

“Aman, you mean even now Hindu hasn’t let up… Honestly, I don’t understand our women sometimes. No matter how much effort you put in, they always outsmart you. I don’t know how we’re going to deal with them, wallahi.”

Aman, stroking his forehead, adjusted his own seat and said:

“If I want peace with her, I have to pay her, then bath her, then take care of her needs. What’s the harm if I bring food from outside for a woman who doesn’t even know her own ailments? I’m on one side, leaving it to Allah to guide her through the WhatsApp apps—Hindu knows WhatsApp but doesn’t know how to handle our household.”

“Hmmm… Aman, you can handle her at home, but Hafsa? You’ll never manage Hafsa at home. She’s used to roaming outside, chasing degrees instead of staying home. Today is her family’s celebration, tomorrow is her cousin’s wedding. My brother couldn’t even step into the house without causing a scene. The moment I raised my voice, she left. When I asked her, she said her back or chest hurt. What are we doing, Allah? We’ve been given daughters who are unjust.”

From the moment they started talking, he had been holding his iPhone 8, temper flaring at everything, yet calm in himself. Aman was about to speak, but Yunus raised a hand with a smile, as if he wouldn’t say a word. They all knew Yunus Mai Nasara’s temperament—he didn’t care for noise or chatter; if something bothered him, he’d sleep through it without telling anyone.

He wasn’t interested in pomp or arrogance. Some people are made like that by Allah and remain unaffected. After over forty minutes, he finally spoke:

“Ahmad, Aman! Honestly, your problems are minor. All of them—Balkisu is my wife, I love her. The others: Fareeda is Alhaji’s friend’s daughter, Aneesa is my cousin. Honestly, I don’t know what people mean by the joys of marriage. If I get involved with a woman’s affairs, there’s nothing I can do. That’s why I keep it secret, fasting in privacy. But the matters of our women, I leave to Allah.”

Ahmad and Aman exchanged glances. Ahmad said:

“You know, Allah, marriage will bring me peace too.”

“Pray she’s a good one, or if she’s not, may you at least find someone suitable,” Aman said.

They remained silent, saying nothing else. By five in the evening, on the outskirts of Dubai, they packed their things, heavy-hearted. Despite Allah’s blessings in everything else, He hadn’t given them good wives.

They headed to the airport, where they would take a flight to Kano and then connect to Kaduna.