Yoruba Tribe 1 Hausa Book Complete

Description

She just stood silently staring at her daughter, unable to say anything to her except for the tears streaming down her face, along with the deep sighs she released from time to time, and the intense bodily pain which, had she not been so used to hardship, one would have expected her to be accustomed to.

Haulatu stared back at her mother with bloodshot eyes as she wore a bitter, cynical smile.

"I know, this is the exact silence you always resort to whenever I ask that we run away. Fine, Umma, go ahead and keep quiet if you think this is the solution you've chosen for us. You prefer the way I live at school, being bullied because of my father's behavior; well, fine, I will continue living with you in a neighborhood where even neighbors avoid us and look at us as worthless people solely because of your husband. No one views us with respect except the thugs who gather at our doorstep every single day making a nuisance of themselves, praising your husband as 'Oga' even as his head gets smashed. I will continue living here until one day I too follow in his footsteps and become a drug dealer..."

"Shut your mouth, Haulatu! Shut it before I knock your teeth out!"

Her mother's harsh shout interrupted her words while she was almost out of her mind. Then Umma’s body softened, and weeping, she pulled Haulatu into a tight embrace against her chest. She was her only biological child, aside from the six pregnancies her husband had forced her to miscarry, and having Haulatu was purely a decree of God that she came into this world.

Haulatu, crying as well, hugged her mother tightly; there was no one in the world she loved more. She held a depth of love and devotion for her that she knew she could never show to the man who answered to the name of her father—a man she felt she could never hand over such control to. She harbored a dream that one day she would reclaim her mother's freedom and witness the end of this cruelty he subjected them to. The suppression of rights knew no bounds, surpassing the imagination of any rational mind. They lived like this simply because there was no other shade to seek comfort under; this forced shade had become a necessity, but the reality of the situation had finally reached its breaking point.

"Umma, please, do not let him marry me off to Alhaji Nazifi. By God, I will die."

She lifted her daughter’s face, wiping away her tears while shaking her head.

"You will not die and leave me, Haulatu. In sha Allah, you will live a long life and find the happiness I always dream of for you. As for this marriage, it will not happen. I feel it in my bones that from today onwards, this talk is over. Your father will not bring it up again."

Haulatu closed her eyes, feeling a sharp pain in her chest. Whenever her name was linked to that man, she felt like stabbing herself—she truly loathed being called his daughter. She heard what her mother uttered, but not out of conviction; rather, she marveled at how her mother could be a hundred percent certain that the matter had been completely dropped.

The calls to the Asr prayer interrupted their silence. Umma stood up and went outside to perform ablution, while Haulatu dragged her body and leaned against the bedroom wall.

Before Umma came back in and laid out her prayer mat beside her, Haulatu hadn't even noticed. Umma looked at her intently; delaying prayer was nothing new in her daughter's life. This was one of the things that constantly weighed heavily on her mind. She knew—just as her maternal grandmother had told her before death parted them—that prayer is the remedy for every catastrophe. Because of this, no matter how tough things got, she tried her utmost to pray on time and pushed hard to ensure Haulatu did the same. Yet, she was always amazed by how much struggle it took before Haulatu would get up to pray. She feared that her daughter might have inherited this terrible trait from her father, who didn't care about prayer at all. This was one of the main reasons she stood firm and made sure Haulatu never skipped going to Islamiyya school. Sometimes she went, and other times she feigned fake illnesses to laze around at home.

"Haulatu."

Hearing her name called made her startle and look up. A strange pang pierced Umma's heart, but she suppressed it by swallowing hard. With a voice clearly showing her vulnerability, she said:

"Quickly get up, perform ablution, and pray. All this thinking and crying won't do you any good. Do you hear me?"

She grimaced, stood up with a small hiss of irritation, and without uttering a single word, walked out of the room. If getting an attitude like hissing was anything new, Umma was already used to it. She kept trying her best to keep the girl on the right path, correcting her manners and discipline as much as possible, but she knew that a single iron bar cannot make a sound on its own. Prayer is the cure for everything.

With that, she cleared her stray thoughts and started her prayer. Before she finished, Haulatu also arrived, slipped on her hijab, and began hers. Umma had already risen and gone out to the courtyard to resume her chores. As for Haulatu, once she came out, she found a spot to sit, staring blankly at her mother while her mother struggled to churn Omo detergent to start the washing.

A tall woman with a bright complexion and a beautifully proportioned figure—if they walked side by side, you wouldn't think she gave birth to her; instead, you'd think they were sisters or an aunt and niece, because she belonged to those women blessed with naturally graceful bodies. Haulatu thought to herself that if they were living a life of wealth and comfort, God alone knew the radiant elegance and pure beauty her mother would possess. A smile slipped onto her face, instantly making her forget their current troubles as she envisioned their future within a life of her dreams and aspirations. Imagine them in a beautiful, well-ordered house, with her mother sitting comfortably while servants attended to her every need. Everything her mother desired for a life of luxury would be present in that house. And she, by then, would have become an accomplished lawyer fighting for people's rights. She pictured herself in court, defending her mother in her lawsuit against her husband, until he was finally sentenced and they secured their freedom. She kept daydreaming like this until Umma's attention was drawn to her.

Seeing her staring with a wide smile took Umma by surprise; she hoped worry hadn't affected her daughter's mind.

"You, what are you thinking about? What kind of staring is that?"

This remark from Umma brought her back to reality. She let out a deep sigh and slightly closed her eyes.

"It's nothing, Umma. Just pray for me that God fulfills my dream."

Umma smiled.

"Oh, Haulatu, you know better than anyone that you are at the very top of my prayers in every single prayer and other acts of worship, right after my parents and my husband."

She ended her voice in a frail tone. Haulatu didn't utter a word upon hearing the name she mentioned at the end. It wasn't the first time; Umma had told her to include him in her prayers too, saying God accepts a wife's prayer for her husband just as He accepts children's prayers for their parents, and through that, perhaps God would guide him to repent before death.

"Get up and check if the remaining palm oil is enough so you can go buy charcoal and cook the rest of the spaghetti for us to eat."

Haulatu replied, remembering how earlier "Baba" had smashed the pot containing the palm oil before starting his usual rant about Alhaji Nazifi coming to court her while she refused to step outside to see him. He was the one who slapped her first, before Umma rushed in to intervene, which only made him redirect his blows to her head by pulling off his belt and beating her mercilessly, claiming she was the one preventing her from going outside.

Thank God she found a little bit left. If they mixed the spaghetti in the earthen pot, she knew it would suffice since the master of the house wasn't around anyway; he always brought home food wrapped in nylon bags—sometimes Indomie, meat and bread, sheep's head meat, or occasionally chicken. He would eat his fill, and none of them would even be offered a taste.

She gave a slight hiss, then told Umma there was enough. Umma handed her a hundred naira note. Haulatu threw a hijab over the long, faded Ankara gown she was wearing and stepped out of the house while wiping away the tears welling up in her eyes. When she returned, she blew on the fire herself and put the spaghetti water on. By then, Umma had finished washing the dishes and was busy sweeping the courtyard. Haulatu took over the sweeping, allowing Umma to retreat to the room.

Once she finished sweeping, instead of going inside, she pulled a mat and sat in the courtyard because she didn't want to disturb Umma. During this time between Asr and Magrib, the pious woman tried her utmost to engage in worship—doing adhkar, reciting the Quran, and sending blessings upon the Prophet. She wanted to emulate her in worship, but she knew her own laziness would get the better of her, succumbing to her desires rather than fighting them.

That day, Baba didn't come back even by bedtime. As for Umma, whenever she dozed off, she would startle awake, filled with anxiety over how her husband would return.

True to form, around twelve-something, the door was banged on as if they wanted to break it down. Terrified, she jumped up, her body shaking, and opened the bedroom door to step into the courtyard. She hurried over and unlocked the door just as he staggered in. She covered her mouth, feeling a burning sensation in her chest. He unleashed a barrage of insults at her, saying:

"Damn your father! Why did you take so long to open the door when I was knocking? Did you and your father, Saleh the drummer, pool money together to buy this house?"

Umma didn't utter a single word after stepping aside as he stumbled into the house, banging his head against the wall. She quickly hurried and bolted the door. She watched as he retreated to his room, then raised her eyes to look at the bright white moon of Rajab on the fourteenth night illuminating the courtyard. She closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks, softly whispering the name of God under her breath.

Inside the bedroom, Haulatu heard everything. She buried her head deeper into her wrapper, unable to even cry anymore. She should have been used to this dark behavior by her mother's husband, as she liked to call him. Imagine a father who ought to provide moral upbringing, yet possessed no morals himself? He certainly didn't deserve to be called a father. This hurt her deeply. She remembered a few of her school friends when she visited their homes; she hated even going out because of how wonderfully their parents interacted and how careful their fathers were about anything that could ruin their morals. She would yearn with envy whenever she saw a young woman afraid of her father finding out she did something wrong—even hypothetically, in schoolgirl gossip. But for her, she knew such a day would never exist in the chapter of her life. Because of her father, she lost many friends from both Western and Islamic schools, as most of their parents restricted them from associating with her. Things escalated to the point where false rumors began spreading that she was a drug addict. Moreover, delinquent young men looked at her as if she were cheap game; some even approached her with the mindset that since her parents lived a loose life, she should cooperate and let history repeat itself.

When she tried to seek help for food for herself and her mother, men demanded her virginity in exchange for assistance. Because of this, she preferred frying awara (tofu) by the roadside. Even there, she didn't escape harassment from street youths who hurled vulgar insults whenever she spoke, forcing her to pack up and stop. As for indoor trades, if they spent a year doing them, no one would buy from them; the moment sales started looking promising, customers would completely stop coming. That was why they gave up on neighborhood businesses. Her mother instead traveled to Kantin Kwari market to sell waina (rice cakes) and stew during the day, aided by young Quranic students who helped carry her goods and assisted at the market. As for Haulatu, she went to school, and upon closing hours, she headed straight to her mother's workplace strictly by Umma's instruction, wearing a niqāb to cover her face. She didn't like the niqāb, but she knew it gave her peace of mind and served as a barrier against miscreants, so she obeyed without argument. Umma never entertained inappropriate talk, which was why most people respected her; their interactions were strictly based on polite greetings and wholesome conversations. There, she would help Umma wash what needed washing, pack the goods into a tricycle, and return home. Almost all the earnings went toward satisfying Baba, because whenever they returned, Umma had to give him his share. Sometimes he demanded all the money, claiming he needed it to offset his debts. They often went days without doing business because Umma would yield to his sweet talk or succumb to Baba's coercion to hand over the money.

Haulatu would feel immense anger, crying and vowing never to accompany Umma to the market again since the money only went to Baba. In the end, however, she would calm down. When the lack of money became unbearable and Baba refused to give them funds for food, she would wait until Umma wasn't looking, sneak into Baba's room (which was always locked, though she had managed to duplicate one of his keys), and search his stash for money. She wouldn't give it to Umma that day; instead, the next day she would claim she borrowed it from her friend's mother so they could resume their business, promising to repay once they made a profit. Whenever she did that, Baba would come back shouting insults, demanding to know who touched his money. Though he didn't beat them severely since he knew he was the only one with the keys and was left baffled, Umma eventually caught on to how Haulatu kept finding capital whenever they were broke. That was when Umma would lecture her fiercely on the evils of stealing. Haulatu remained unfazed, believing that taking from a tyrant was practically an act of worship given all their denied rights. The day he finally caught Haulatu stealing his money, he beat her as if he wanted to kill her. From that day on, he vowed to marry her off to his former political thug boss, Chairman Nazifi.

She closed her eyes as a throbbing headache set in. Indeed, if she dwelled too deeply on the trauma of their past life caused by her father, she would spend the night in agonizing mental and physical pain. That was why she forced everything out of her mind and prayed before sleeping. Feeling Umma get up to perform ablution and return to lock the room, sleep finally overtook her.

Summary

The story opens in a tense, oppressive atmosphere where a mother and her daughter, Haulatu, suffer under the tyrannical, abusive behavior of the mother’s husband (Haulatu's stepfather/father figure). Haulatu bitterly resents him for ruining their lives, subjecting them to poverty, bullying at school, and dangerous neighborhood associations, while her mother endures her pain in silence and prayer. Matters escalate when the father decides to marry Haulatu off to his former political thug associate, Chairman Nazifi, a prospect that fills Haulatu with absolute dread and suicidal despair.

Despite her mother's reassurances that the marriage will never happen, Haulatu remains deeply distressed. At school the next day, she confides in her rebellious, strong-willed friend Hindatu, who strongly encourages her to run away rather than submit to the forced marriage. The narrative highlights the harsh socio-economic struggles of public schooling, the lack of proper education, and the pervasive dangers faced by young women in compromised households, ending with Haulatu being further emboldened by her friend's advice to escape her fate.

Description

• Setting: A poor, rundown neighborhood and a government secondary school in Northern Nigeria, characterized by poverty, unpaved streets, local thugs (yan daba), and domestic abuse.
• Main Characters:
  • Haulatu: A resilient yet deeply traumatized teenage girl caught between her mother's passive endurance and her stepfather's abuse, desperately dreaming of justice and freedom.
  • Umma: Haulatu's devout, long-suffering mother who relies entirely on prayer and quiet perseverance to cope with an abusive marriage and protect her daughter.
  • The Stepfather ("Baba"): A cruel, violent, and irresponsible man addicted to control, who neglects his family, steals their efforts, and attempts to sell his stepdaughter/daughter off into a forced marriage for political/personal leverage.
  • Hindatu ("Big Mama"): Haulatu's bold, unfiltered, and fiercely independent school friend who refuses to be intimidated and acts as a catalyst for Haulatu's rebellion.
• Themes: Domestic abuse, forced marriage, poverty, resilience, the psychological toll on children in dysfunctional families, and female solidarity.

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