Tsutsar Nama Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Mal Saminu came to us with wonderful news that I had received a scholarship to continue my studies. Imagine how I and my two siblings were overwhelmed with happiness that day. Meanwhile, Abba, Mom, and Baby openly showed their jealousy and unhappiness about it. At first, Mom even said it was a lie and that there was nowhere I would go, and Abba supported her. But Malam Saminu reassured them that if anyone tried to stop me, there would be consequences, because the government could trace the matter and punish anyone who interfered unjustly. Hearing this made them leave me alone, and so that year, I was fully focused on my studies at B.U.K., while Baby and her child Abbas were pursuing their own education as well.

FIRST LESSON

Uhm, we must call this class the first stage because everything began with it—the start that feels like the opening chapter of my conscious life, even though I am now seventeen years old. I can say I entered the university at the right time because I got the course I desired the most.

In my first year of studies, I understood the situation Baby was in at school. She had already put aside her studies for social life. They would go into lecturers’ offices and waste time, sometimes even going to their homes or taking them out in a car. Studying was completely absent for them, yet they had a group. Surprisingly, their names would top the exam board as if they had done everything perfectly, except for minor things that didn’t matter. Abbas, too, had not changed. He focused more on campus politics and friends with cars than on studies.

As for my older brother Musaddiq, I never informed anyone at home about him, and since he had forbidden me from doing so, I didn’t bring it up again, focusing instead on my studies.

By the fifth month, we went to settle a dispute with Mansoor. Mansoor Khalil Musa, a young man from Kwali. Handsome, knowledgeable, and impressive. He was in his third year at B.U.K. The way Mansoor dressed elegantly and drove a car showed he was from a well-off family. His charm and good looks also drew the attention of many girls at the university. However, he never looked at anyone with interest, let alone let words involve him. That earned him the nickname “arrogant person.” Apart from his two friends, no one else dared approach him among students below or above him.

But one day, Allah brought us together in the cafeteria. While my friend Joy and I were chatting happily, he entered with his friends. Despite the murmurs directed at him by others in the cafeteria, we ignored them. Suddenly, one of his friends told us we should move so they could sit. Fearful, Joy intended to get up, but I gave her a stern look without saying anything. Whispering, she said, “Please Sam Gee, let’s move. I really don’t want trouble. You know these guys aren’t respectful.”

I immediately grabbed her hand in frustration and said, “If you think I’m leaving, I’m not stopping what I’m doing, Joy.” I then continued eating. Surprisingly, when Joy finally stood, all the others in the cafeteria watched Mansoor calmly pull a chair next to me and sit. That shocked everyone because no one had ever seen him interact in such a way before. His friends were used to disregarding everyone. Even speaking with someone was rare for him.

After ordering food for themselves, his friends sat quietly; I neither spoke to them nor looked at them. After finishing my meal, I removed my face veil. I always entered school fully veiled, sometimes with a nurse mask and eyeglasses, so no one could recognize my face—not even people from my department. That’s why people called me “Hijab girl,” and anyone describing me would refer to me like that, except Joy, who calls me “Sam Gee.”

We left the cafeteria, with students gossiping as usual. From that day, it became a pattern: whenever we went to eat, Mansoor and his friends would come. Even if we were sitting with others at a table, they would leave and sit next to us. I never confronted them, nor did I show I knew what they were doing. Two weeks passed like this before Mansoor started paying for our meals himself.

The first time, the second, and on the third day, I tried to avoid him, but he didn’t get upset; he just smiled and left the cafeteria after eating. I was annoyed but reminded myself not to skip going to the cafeteria, and he didn’t stop paying for us either. Even if we paid ourselves, they would say we were already compensated. It frustrated me, and I didn’t know what to do. But I refused to stop going to the cafeteria.

Even when I felt like scolding him, I stopped, realizing my words might provoke him. A month passed like this. It seemed trivial, but small matters became significant because a bond was forming between Mansoor, his friends, and me. Even when they didn’t come to the cafeteria, I felt uneasy, just like he probably did when he didn’t see me. Yet, surprisingly, our interactions were never long; mostly greetings and meal times.