Me Kamar Sarki Book 2 Hausa Novel

It was the rainy season. The town’s atmosphere was always cloudy, with lush green grass covering everywhere the eye could see. Farming was very productive in this area, which was a small village crowded with people of different backgrounds. Wherever you looked, you would see people scattered across the fields, busy with their work.

A fair-skinned man was busy cutting millet with a sharp knife. From time to time, he would glance at the road and at the three young girls helping him harvest the millet, as if expecting to see someone. When he didn’t see what he was hoping for, he fell silent, stood upright, and held his lower back as a sign of pain. He wiped the sweat from his face and looked at the girls as he spoke.

“Aishatu, please, where did you leave your mother? Why is she still at home and hasn’t come yet? We’ve already exhausted ourselves with this work. Is it the fever again today?”

He asked as he sat down, completely worn out. Just one look at him was enough to tell that poverty had settled deeply into his body. The girl he called Aisha raised her head; she too was soaked in sweat, clearly tired and hungry.

“Honestly, Baba, I don’t know. When we were coming, I didn’t see her. But maybe Asma’u saw her,” she said.

Asma’u shook her head and replied, “No, I didn’t meet her either.”

The man nodded slowly and said, “Well, it’s Allah’s will. May Allah grant her good health. I’m worried about that fever of hers that doesn’t respond to medicine. And all the little money I had is finished. You don’t have it at home, you don’t have it outside. When you have no money, people look at you like you’re nothing. May Allah cover our shame and protect us.”

He said this with deep worry as he stood up, picked up his knife, and returned to his work. His children followed him with pity in their eyes, because they knew their father—whenever he had something, he never denied his family and always provided for them, but now nothing was going well for him.

Walking along the path was a slender, beautiful young woman, about twenty-two years old. She carried a load on her head and paid attention to no one, focusing only on the narrow path flattened by grass beneath her feet. Suddenly, she heard someone calling her loudly from behind:

“AMATULLAH! AMATU! Stop!”

She stopped without turning around until the caller caught up with her, slightly out of breath.

“Honestly, Amatu, it’s like you’ve gone deaf. I’ve been calling you for so long before you finally heard me,” the girl said.

With a gentle, beautiful smile on her face, Amatu turned, revealing her large white eyes, and replied in a sweet voice, “Oh Fatima, you know I wouldn’t ignore you.”

Fatima sighed in relief and said, “But I want to ask you something,” she added, surprised by the bright smile on Amatu’s face. “This smile shows that something has made you very happy, if I’m not mistaken.”

Amatu gave a small laugh and said, “I’m in a hurry to go to Baba’s place. Let me go now—when I return, I’ll tell you.”

Fatima nodded and said, “That’s fine. I actually came to accompany you.”

“Alright then, let’s go.”

As they walked, Fatima’s curiosity kept growing because of the joy she saw on her friend’s face. She couldn’t hold back anymore and said, “Amatu, I really don’t understand. Please tell me—what made you this happy?”

Amatu sighed and replied, “Do you know what amazed me? I had a strange dream that I can’t interpret. I don’t even know what to call it. Tell me, Fatima, I find it hard to believe. I first took it as a joke, but it’s beyond my understanding. Every time I dream, it’s always the same kind of dream. Please advise me—I need someone to help me think this through.”

Fatima said, “Honestly, Amatu, I don’t quite understand you. You’re speaking in riddles. Calm down first, then explain clearly. It’s like you’ve entered a strange state.”

“Yes, Fati, I did enter a state. Last night, I dreamt—”

Fatima interrupted her, eyes wide. “A dream? May Allah make it a good one.”

They were nearing Amatu’s farm when Amatu said, “You, my friend, don’t let someone talk properly. I haven’t even said anything yet.”

Fatima laughed. “That’s true. I’ll keep quiet and listen.”

“No, we’ve already arrived. Let’s go first; when we return, I’ll tell you.”

As Fatima was about to speak, they heard Baba’s voice calling out, “My dear, where did you stop? You left me worried—I even thought the fever had returned.”

Amatu looked at his face briefly, then turned her head aside as tears threatened to fall. With a trembling voice, she said, “Yes, Baba, I’m feeling better. Here’s food—Umma said I should bring it to you.”

“My dear, may Allah bless you. Aishatu, come quickly—there’s food. Leave that work for now.”

They all came together and sat under a mango tree in the farm. Amatu sat aside, watching them while wiping the tears flowing from her eyes, feeling deep pity for her father and siblings. She made sure they didn’t notice her tears. When they finished eating and were about to return to work, she stood up to help them—but her father stopped her.