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ACI YAU ACI GOBE BOOK COMPELET
In the same house, but four hearts—each carrying pain, secrets, and a destiny unlike its sibling’s. The home that was supposed to be a sanctuary has become a source of fear and neglect. The father, upon whom they depended, has turned into a barrier of oppression and selfishness, leaving his children to find their own way out of the darkness.
“Kawaici” is not merely a character trait—it is a facade that each of the children uses to hide from the harsh reality consuming them from within. In four parts of the story, each reveals their own struggle and the destiny that unveils a powerful lesson.
What secrets are hidden beneath this silence? Who will survive such a home?
This book is filled with sorrow, confusion, and moral lessons—making you look at life and family through entirely new eyes.
PAGE 1
Dokoki Ramiye Area, Kankia LGA, Katsina State, Nigeria
She felt dizziness threatening to knock her down. With a swift movement, she steadied her head while holding onto the overhead rope. She had simply been sweeping when she felt something whiz right through the center of her head.
Emerging from the room and seeing Mama standing and holding her head, she dropped the broom in her hand and rushed over to her, saying:
"Subhanallah, Mama, what is wrong with you?"
Mama lifted her head, breathing heavily with difficulty, and clutched her hand, saying:
"It is nothing, Falmata. I have just been feeling dizzy these past few days."
"Ahayee nanaye, that is how you people will end up starving, because if you wait for Baba to provide food for you to eat, you will surely die of hunger."
Falmata looked at her, shaking her head in pity for the people of their household as a whole, who completely lacked discipline or self-control. Everyone looked out only for themselves, and the blame rested entirely on their father, who had gathered a family of more than three wives yet lacked the financial strength to bear their responsibilities or care for any of their affairs. A woman was forced to seek out a trade to feed herself, or go outside where bad boys would give her money to bring home—and even that did not bother Baba; in fact, if you brought something for him to taste, he would gladly take it.
With great effort, she opened her mouth and looked at Hindatu, saying:
"You yourself know who is waiting for things from this house. You should know who you are talking to, Madam."
A wave of bitter disgust gripped Falmata as she recalled the nature of their household. A profound sense of depression overwhelmed her whenever she opened her eyes and saw how her younger siblings and older brothers had surrendered to poverty and the harsh realities of life.
She had repeatedly asked herself why Baba, knowing he lacked the means to sustain them, had gone ahead and fathered such a large family. There they were, approaching nearly ten children born to the father of the house. Among the males were drug addicts and thugs dwelling right in their midst.
She shook her head again, looking at Hindatu, who had made her remark while chewing gum. Mama was sitting nearby and had heard the words, so Falmata merely snorted and shot her a glare. Hindatu also hissed back, stepped forward, and walked out of the house dressed in an outrageous outfit, all glammed up as if she were heading to a global beauty pageant.
"Let's go inside, Falmata."
Mama said, taking her hand. Mama rarely involved herself in the affairs of the house at all, and she had only given birth to two children in this home—Falmata and Shamsiyya.
There were three wives in the compound. First was Inna, who was the senior wife. She had five children in the house: Shamsu was the eldest, though he rarely got involved in household matters unless things went south regarding their gang activities. He was a number-one hardened thug; any riot or conflict in the town of Rimaye would feature him at the center.
Next was Zahariyya, who was notorious for attending Gala dance shows—she knew the location of every Gala house. You would always find her in the company of famous, wealthy Alhajis right outside their doorstep. Their house gate was never free from shady men. Even if Baba saw them, he didn't care; in fact, he would go and stand there so they could give him a little something for himself, and he would even boast about it. The people of the neighborhood had no shortage of gossip about Baba Saminu's household—most people called him Baba Saminu, while others simply called him Baba. Yet none of this bothered him at all. If you confronted him face-to-face, you would part ways in bitter anger, as he never listened to public criticism or people telling him the truth. Accompanied by bad female friends who corrupted her mind, she was the one who brought goods into their room.
Then came Hindatu, an habitual liar who loved a fake lifestyle, trailing after equally fake friends. She was constantly away from home, sometimes spending days without returning.
Next was Isma'il, the number-one drug addict of the house. All his money went into gambling and drugs. He was also rarely seen at home unless he ran out of funds or had something to sell to fund his gambling. Whenever he came home and found something valuable to sell, you would search for him in vain once he took it. Whenever an item went missing, everyone knew who had visited the house that day.
Then there was Ma'u, the fashionista of the house. She carried herself with an air of superiority, constantly complaining that she did not belong in such a wretched family—she suspected she might have been switched at birth in the hospital, as she felt she didn't fit in. She was arrogant and haughty; when she stepped out in public, you would swear she was the daughter of an ultra-wealthy tycoon. She spent heavily on herself because God had blessed her with an exceptional talent for applying breathtaking traditional henna (lallai). She didn't do cheap henna; only women who truly knew their worth patronized her. She lived a life that placed her far above her actual station.
Then there were the children from Umma's room. She had four children. The eldest was Sa'ade, who was married within the town of Rimaye, yet she was constantly on the road coming back to her parents' house because she had married a rogue of a husband who had turned her into a worn-out drudge.
Next was Asiya, who followed her closely. Her life was similarly detached; she declared she would never get married anytime soon, and like her sister, she had a revolving door of boyfriends—you would see her with one guy today and another tomorrow, lacking any stability in life.
Then came Amina. You could talk to her a thousand times and she wouldn't deign to reply; only someone of high standing could address her. She loved high society and refused to be disrespected, yet she had a habit of wandering and visiting the homes of the extremely wealthy to help them out with chores. Even if food was cooked at home, her stance was clear: she was too noble to eat ordinary porridge (tuwo). For this reason, she was hardly ever home, solely focused on fending for herself.
Finally, there was their last-born, whom they called Baffah. He didn't meddle in household drama, focusing entirely on earning an honest living. He knew how to take on grueling manual labor to make money by the sweat of his brow. Hearing his name mentioned in the house was a rare occurrence—except when things went completely wrong and Baba had nowhere else to get money for food; then he would call on Baffah. Baffah would give him money without arguing or uttering harsh words, whereas the others would subject Baba to a barrage of insults before handing over any cash.
Then came Falmata and her younger sister Shamsiyya's room. Falmata and Shamsiyya were the only ones considered level-headed in the house. Falmata possessed a fiery spirit; she would not let anyone step on their room or disrespect her mother—even if the heavens fell. The people of the house lacked even an atom of shame, which was why Falmata stood her ground. Mama, on the other hand, was deeply patient; people could wrong Mama a thousand times, and you would never see her lift her head to talk back. Falmata made a living by braiding hair (kitso) right at home, and she was exceptionally skilled at it. Consequently, she and Ma'u constantly drew crowds to the house—Falmata for hair braiding and Ma'u for henna. Shamsiyya had been raised under Falmata's wing, so their personalities were largely similar, except that Shamsiyya was less confrontational. Whenever Falmata arrived and found Mama being treated with contempt, Shamsiyya would just stand by and cry, which deeply frustrated Falmata. When Falmata was present, however, there would be a spectacle, which was sometimes why Mama preferred Falmata not to be around—because whenever their room was targeted, Falmata would fight back to her absolute limit......
KAWAICI
©Zahra Royal Star
PAGE 2
Dokoki Rimaye Area, Kankia LGA, Katsina State, Nigeria
Gently, she adjusted the head of the woman sitting on the floor with her head resting on Falmata's lap, while looking across their courtyard. No one else was there except her braiding a neighbor's hair. She was rushing to finish because she wanted to clean up the compound, which was as dusty as if it hadn't been swept in a year.
The neighbor cleared her throat and said:
"Falmata, in this courtyard of yours, is there really no one else to clean it except you every single day? Given how packed this house is with young women, people should be coming to find it neat, especially since the place is always crowded with henna customers."
Falmata glanced at the top of the woman's head, paused her braiding, hissed under her breath, and said:
"Slave of God, did you come here to braid hair or to pry into the gossip of our household?"
"Ah-ah, I'm just speaking the truth! I only pity you, having to always clean up a place that others keep messing up."
"Keep your truth to yourself, Madam."
"May God give you patience."
Falmata hissed again, pulling the woman's hair tighter as she began to irritate her. She loathed gossip circles among women, yet whenever someone came for hair or henna, they would sit around whispering and gossiping. Ma'u, on the other hand, thrived in those circles, opening the pages of people's lives for discussion—one minute someone was being insulted, the next they were being slandered.
As if chased out, Zahariyya emerged from their room dressed in outrageously skimpy clothes, with an oversized shirt thrown loosely on top. Before stepping out, she had heard the neighbor's remarks from inside the room, which was why she came out holding a car key in her hand—a gift from an Alhaji the previous day.
"If a woman cannot keep her eyes shut and stay quiet, she should stop coming into this house. Why don't you change your braiding spot?"
Falmata gave her a dismissive look, ready to speak, when Shamsiyya hurried into the compound and asked:
"Aunty Zahariyya, was that your car parked outside the gate? I heard Baba praising it!"
"If you're the one braiding her hair, why don't you stop her from entering this house so we can see?"
With lightning speed, Zahariyya whipped around toward Falmata, shot her a ferocious glare, pointed her car key at her, and said:
"You! Have you grown so bold that you dare speak to me insolently?"
Pouting her lips in pure defiance, Falmata retorted:
"Well, for goodness' sake, didn't you hear me warn her? When Ma'u brings her crowds of henna customers who gossip about everyone, you people never interfere with her. Why pick on me and scare my clients away?"
"Look, Falmata, finish my hair so I can leave. Please calm down, my good woman."
Zahariyya shot a fierce glare at the neighbor who had spoken, pointed once more at Falmata, and warned:
"I swear, watch your step with me."
Just as Falmata was about to reply, Mama parted the door curtain and stepped out. Her body was weak, as she lacked physical strength these past few days due to an ongoing chest illness. The little money Falmata made from braiding hair in the house was what they used to put food on the stove in their room; nowadays, every room cooked separately. If you ever saw food cooked for the entire household, it was a rare stroke of luck when Baba provided something to be cooked in bulk—and sometimes he didn't provide anything at all. Hair braiding didn't bring in customers every day, though Ma'u was luckier during weddings and naming ceremonies when henna clients poured in, bringing braiding customers along with them. That was how they survived, which was sometimes why they lacked decent food to eat, and Mama knew her chest pains were largely driven by the days they went to sleep hungry.
"Falmata, I do not want to hear you say another word in this place."
Mama said, looking at Falmata.
"Mtsww, useless behavior! Whenever someone speaks, people start hurling insults just to act holier-than-thou."
Zahariyya muttered as she headed out, furious at Mama's mild demeanor.
A bitter wave of resentment washed over Falmata as she watched Zahariyya leave. So Mama's warning was directed at her?
"But Mama, for God's sake, look at how she spoke to you and walked away, as if she were speaking to her peer! Haba Mama, why do you keep stopping me from taking action? I am the only one who keeps things straight in this house, I swear!"
She finished her sentence as she wrapped up the woman's braiding. Once done, she handed the woman a 500-naira note change, which the woman snatched up and placed angrily on the chair before storming out of the house without looking back.
"But Aunty Falmata, just like Mama said, you should just ignore them. Silence is an answer too, and it hurts them more when you don't engage."
"Oh, please shut up too! Didn't you just rush in here earlier asking if that gorgeous car outside was hers? Did she even look at your direction? Didn't you see the car key in her hand? Who else in this house drives cars like that if not her? What won't men give to women who roam around prostitution spots? Honestly, you piss me off."
"I'm sorry, Aunty Falmata."
Mama watched Falmata ranting away as if she had borrowed a tongue—looking at her, you wouldn't think she was capable of such a lengthy tirade.
Mama simply shook her head and walked back inside.
"Well, well, little blessing! I was just asking—are you the one who arrived in that insanely gorgeous car?"
Baba asked Zahariyya, stepping closer to the vehicle, pressing the key fob to unlock the doors, and peering inside before turning back to look at Baba, who was beaming from ear to ear.
"It's me, Baba! You know no one else in this house can drive up in a car except Zahariyya. Who else deserves such luxury if not me?"
Baba grinned widely and said:
"Ah-ha, of course! I even told myself that this means business. So, where are we heading? It's yours, right?"
He stared at the car in awe, assuming someone had simply gifted it to her and she had driven it home.
"Of course it's mine, Baba. Did someone tell you otherwise?"
"Mashallah! Say we've finally acquired a car!"
He caressed the vehicle, his mouth unable to close.
"Yes, Baba, I've bought a car."
Baba paused, scratched his head, and said:
"True, you've bought a car. So... can I get a little something? I haven't put anything in my stomach since morning, and I noticed the house has been dead quiet today."
Annoyed, Zahariyya opened her handbag and handed Baba a thousand-naira note. With trembling hands, he accepted it with both hands and began showering her with praises and eulogies as if she weren't his own daughter.
"Honestly, Baba, is this how you're going to live, letting your children take care of you?"
"Are you going to curse me or let me finish insulting you?"
"No, Baba, nothing is that serious. May God give you patience—take this extra five hundred."
Hearing that, he widened his smile even further, laughing as he said:
"That's my girl! If you always act like this, we'll never have cause to worry."
He stepped back to clear the path so she could start the car. Just then, Shamsu and his gang rounded the corner near the house, marching in formation behind him.
Spotting them from a distance, Baba raised a hand in greeting and stepped away from Zahariyya's car. Zahariyya, who had been about to start the engine, paused when she saw where Baba was heading. She turned off the ignition, stepped out, and headed toward the scene as well, because she and Shamsu—and Baba—were constantly at loggerheads. Among all the children, Shamsu was the only one who didn't hesitate to confront Baba aggressively, which was why Baba was frequently insulted in town. Instead of offering support, Shamsu only brought trouble.
"What brought you to my house right now? Didn't I say I never want to see you or even near this neighborhood?"
Baba shouted as he reached them. Seeing him, Shamsu signaled his gang to halt, waving a hand at them.
Shamsu was dressed in casual clothes with an oversized agbada draped over his shoulders, all wrinkled up. His face bore scars, including knife gashes, and his eyes were heavily lined with black kohl. Wearing his cap tilted sideways and his mouth twisted in a sneer, he spoke in a rough thug voice:
"Haba Father, why are you like this? Your house is my house!"
"Whose father's house became your house, you rascal?!"
"Man, why are you always doing this? You're doing too much! Is it a crime to visit my own father's house?"
As Baba raised a finger to retort, Zahariyya stepped in, saying:
"Please, Baba, leave him to me and just go on your way."
"Just make sure he doesn't step foot inside my house!"
"Alright, I've heard you."
Baba walked away. Shamsu stared after him—would that man truly never change?
"What brought you here?"
Zahariyya demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.
"Cut out the nonsense. Tell me, is this old man ever going to stop being selfish?"
"You're calling your own father that?"
"Who else is to blame for us turning out like this? So you've even gone ahead and bought a car? Have you gone astray too, now that your eyes are open?"
"Are you trying to insult me, Ya Shamsu? What's the meaning of this?"
"Get out of my way and clear the path!"
He snapped, moving to push past her into the compound. She quickly blocked him, saying:
"Didn't you hear what Baba said? Don't you dare step foot inside his house!"
"I swear, whoever it is, no one can stop me from barging into this house. Even if he came back, by Almighty Allah, I'd knock him out of the way!"
"Innalillahi! You'd knock Baba out of the way?!"
"You're starting to annoy me. Go on with your useless wandering!"
"Ya Shamsu, don't test me. I know how to play rough too! You might have known me back then, but I now run with people far more ruthless than you."
He gave her a sweeping look, burst into laughter, scanned her up and down once more, and said:
"Is that so? No wonder you've managed to buy a car—you must think you're on our level now. Well, that's enough out of you. Are you going to move, or should I slap some sense into you?"
He stepped aggressively close to her, his eyes blazing red. She quickly stepped back, glaring at him. Though she put up a tough front, she knew Ya Shamsu was beyond her depth; he was knee-deep in violence and even worked for politicians. Her threats were mostly hot air.
She slipped back into her car and sped off from the spot.
"Mtsww! Hey guys, hold on, I'm coming out now so we can roll."
"Lead the way, Oga, may God bring you back safely!"
They chorused in agreement...
KAWAICI
©Zahra Royal Star
PAGE 3
Sabuwar Abuja, Kankia LGA, Katsina State, Nigeria
Running breathlessly, she dashed into the house, gasping for air.
Ummi dropped what she was holding and stared at Amna, who had rushed inside.
"Will you ever learn to be steady in life? You're always starting fights. I suppose you just provoked another one, didn't you?"
Amna looked around wildly, rolling her eyes in panic and glancing repeatedly toward the entrance before she could utter a word, just as Ya Khamis's voice rang out in greetings.
With lightning speed, Amna dived behind Ummi to hide.
Ummi simply watched her, shaking her head slightly.
"Let me guess—she went out and started another fight?"
Khamis walked in holding a whip, glaring at Ummi as he said:
"I swear, Ummi, this girl has no self-control. Just move aside so I can discipline her! I caught her picking a fight with a girl much older and bigger than her, acting like they were about to brawl. Someday someone is going to smash that insolent mouth of hers, and then you'll come complaining to us!"
"Well, I swear, if you let someone break that stubborn mouth of hers, you wouldn't be wrong. In fact, you were wrong not to let them beat her up!"
Ummi snapped, turning toward Amna hiding behind her. Ummi added sharply:
"Get behind me right now, or I'll shove you out of this spot! You're a grown girl, not a toddler, yet you still behave like a five-or-ten-year-old child!"
Amna pouted, glared fiercely at Ya Khamis, and seethed with deep resentment.
"Are you glaring at me? We'll see about that. You'll find me right here waiting for you!"
Suddenly, Umma burst out of her room, tying her headscarf in a rush as she began speaking furiously, fixing Ummi with a venomous glare:
"And you, Khamis! Did I not tell you to stay out of that bastard child's business? Is it by force? I said I do not want to catch you interacting with her, yet you act like my word means nothing to you!"
"Umma, what is wrong with me seeing Amna misbehaving and correcting her? I treat her just like Siya—whenever I see Siya doing wrong, I correct her too. It's all the same to me."
"So you talk back when I speak? You've completely lost respect for me because of this woman and her child?!"
She finished her sentence, pointing directly at Ummi, who was on the verge of stepping into her room.
Summary
Kawaici explores the fractured dynamics of a large, impoverished household in Kankia, Katsina State, headed by Baba Saminu—a neglectful father incapable of providing for his three wives and numerous children. The narrative centers on Falmata, a hardworking young woman who struggles to maintain dignity, protect her mother (Mama), and keep their living space orderly amidst chaos, drug addiction, thuggery (exemplified by her half-brother Shamsu), and moral decay among her siblings (such as Zahariyya). Concurrently, family tensions spill over into neighboring compounds, highlighting a culture where silence (kawaici) and facades are the only survival mechanisms against crushing poverty and familial dysfunction.
Description
- Setting: Dokoki Ramiye & Sabuwar Abuja, Kankia LGA, Katsina State, Nigeria.
- Core Themes: Family dysfunction, poverty, moral corruption, neglect, sibling rivalry, and the psychological burdens of survival.
- Tone: Gritty, sorrowful, realistic, and reflective.
Target Audience: Readers of contemporary Hausa literature focusing on societal critique, domestic drama, and moral lessons.
Analytics Table
Analytical CategoryDetails & Metrics from TextPrimary SettingDokoki Ramiye and Sabuwar Abuja, Kankia LGA, Katsina State, NigeriaCentral PatriarchBaba Saminu (Weak, neglectful, enables bad behavior for personal gain)Key CharactersFalmata (Resilient, hardworking braider), Mama (Patient, ailing first/co-wife), Zahariyya (Arrogant, materialistic, associated with shady elites/Gala shows), Shamsu (Hardened neighborhood thug), Amna (Rebellious, quick to fight)Major Household IssuesExtreme poverty, hunger, drug abuse, gambling, lack of parental guidance, thuggery, prostitution/immoralityPrimary ConflictClash between moral integrity (Falmata/Mama) and total moral collapse/lawlessness among the other siblingsLiterary MotifKawaici (Silence/Facade used as a coping mechanism to mask internal pain and societal shame)
