MATAR SO Complete Hausa Novel Document by MATAR SO

Dariya laughed so hard and then said,  

"You know I don’t like reducing the intensity of my feelings from the outside...."  

She didn’t even finish her statement before we burst into laughter, covering our faces. She then said,  

"See how you all are? Just from hearing me speak softly, you covered yourselves as if you understood the meaning of 'ayaba' in a novel’s language."  

We stopped laughing, filled with curiosity but also afraid of what she might say next.  

Haurowa sat on our mat, settling between us, and said,  

"It means… Baby Khalif’s piss..."  

I rolled off my bed onto hers and said,  

"Please, for Allah’s sake, let’s sleep."  

"Yeah, where’s my phone? I need it."  

"Your phone is right here. Are you trying to ruin our lives? For Allah’s sake, Rahila, go to sleep. May God bring you guidance in your dreams."  

Just as Rahima finished saying that, she turned her back, while Rahila just kept laughing and holding her stomach.  

None of us were even past seventeen yet, with just a few months between us, but Rahila could already read fluently, fix things, and analyze words—something I couldn’t do at the time. Sleep eventually overtook me.  

...... A knock came at the door—Mama Amarya. I opened my eyes, still heavy with sleep, and greeted her.  

"Today is Saturday! We should be resting."  

I glanced at Rahima after stepping out of the room and asked,  

"Where did you sleep?"  

"Hmmm! Allah has shortened the night for us. Yesterday, Mama Amarya’s asthma acted up. I was lying down, exhausted, when suddenly I heard a noise. I got up and went to our room, only to find a cockroach. I grabbed my pad and pants, rushed to the bathroom, and found her struggling. By the time I helped her, her energy was drained. I had to knock on Malam’s door so he could keep her safe. We kept going until her eyes started rolling up. God save us from Aunty Gausiya—she’s the reason Mama’s asthma flared up."  

We left, following Rahila, playfully pushing each other until we found her praying. We joined her in prayer, then stared at her before suddenly hugging her and crying, as if something was about to happen to her.  

She patted our heads gently and said,  

"That’s enough! You two are acting like demons while I’m still alive. Enough! Instead of crying, pray that Allah grants me better health."  

Rahila looked at her through tears and said,  

"So, Rahima… she didn’t come in at all? Except to deliver bad news. Please, Mama, stop worrying so much."  

She patted our heads affectionately and said,  

"Fine, I’ll stop."  

"Fine, but if you lie to us, you’ll regret it—you and your two little ones."  

We laughed as our elder brother Hayat entered, holding a basket. He sat quietly, and I took the basket from him, bringing it closer to her. We exchanged greetings, and he smiled, saying,  

"Mama, what happened here? But you’ve been told to stop stressing yourself. Besides, your next appointment is coming up. Allah will bring Rahima back—we don’t even have to tell you. And please, remove Gausiya’s matter from your heart. If you do, even we, your children, will find peace."  

"My children! It’s not just that I’m holding onto my worries—my pain has awakened. But I’ll try to move forward."  

Umma walked in, watching us sprawled all over Mama.  

"Hmm! Are you all just going to laze around? Have you forgotten you have chores? Go wash those dishes over there."  

We quickly got up and went to work, each taking our tasks.  

I washed dishes and prepared breakfast items, Rahila cleaned our parents' rooms and ours, and Rahima cooked, taking turns stirring the pot.  

By 7:40, we finished everything, took our baths, and went to our rooms—I went to Mama Amarya’s room, Rahila to ours, and Rahima to Umma’s, since each room held our belongings. We quickly came out to eat while Umma and Mama stayed in their rooms.  

When Malam entered, we turned to him calmly and greeted,  

"Good morning, Malam. How’s your body? Is it hot?"  

He smiled warmly, sat near us, took Rahima’s hand, and said,  

"Wash your hands like your siblings. It’s more blessed."  

As if she was about to cry, she held her hand over the jollof spaghetti and potato she had started eating. Suppressing our laughter (because she was extremely ticklish), we lifted our plates just as she started gagging. She rushed to the sink, vomiting.