IN BANI Complete Hausa Novel Document by IN BANI

The entire large compound of the house was paved with the same type of cement. Children and adults were making noise while cooking rice—some were making *pate*, others were cooking rice with *miyan taushe*, and some were preparing fried rice with *zobo*. On the side, some elderly people were singing and clapping their hands, while some women were dancing, being sprayed with money. As you walked around, you could tell it was a wedding house.  

The main house was indeed very spacious—the kind you’d pass by and immediately recognize as the venue for grand celebrations. There was another door leading to *Sasan Kaka* (Grandma’s Chamber). *Sasan Kaka* wasn’t very large, and there were no people in the middle of the room. The cemented floor was so clean it sparkled, and the neatness of the place was evident. There was a pump that dripped water—*dil dil dil*—and it seemed whoever used it last didn’t close it properly. The entire floor in *Sasan Kaka* was flat and had a large, wide veranda that could easily hold fifty people. The veranda had some intricately designed maroon-colored chairs, and the living room’s ceiling was also maroon, beautifully decorated. There were arranged clay pots lined up against the wall, making the room look like an old woman’s chamber.  

A wealthy man sat wearing a white *shadda* (flowing gown), and beside him was an old woman who must have been at least 79 years old. She was dressed in a wrapper that looked like it had been oiled, wearing a *buba* top with elaborate designs over it. Her feet were covered in red henna, the kind commonly known as *dungulmin tsohuwa* (old woman’s henna). The old woman’s face had aged—her eyelashes had turned white from old age, and her nose was slightly runny. Yet, despite her aged appearance, her resemblance to the wealthy man sitting next to her was undeniable—she was clearly his mother.  

In her elderly, troubled voice, she called out:  

*"Sama’ila, Sama’ila, Sama’ila!"* (She called his name three times.)  

*"Wallahi, I’ve had enough! Can’t you discipline this boy? All he does is gather miscreants, miscreants! I’ve warned you—I’ll leave your house and go back to the village. Useless behavior!"*  

The way she spoke made the man she called *Sama’ila* soften his voice as he responded:  

*"Please, Umma (Mother), stop this talk."*  

She hissed and pointed her finger at him, saying:  

"This shameless Hamida and her mother have no shame! If not for that, do you think people fear gatherings? What’s wrong with people?"

The house was filled with relatives and friends—today was her daughter’s wedding. Her daughter, Sama’ila’s daughter, but since morning, the girl had not been seen. She had taken to the streets, wandering aimlessly. "That girl is not a girl at all."