'YAN GUDUN HIJIRA complete Hausa Novel

This is a fictional story, although its core is based on real events. All elements that appear in this tale are fictionalized. It is the story of a woman of faith who navigated life's challenges from her youth until she reached 31 years. She was married off to a man named Qasimu, who lives in the city of Maiduguri. The woman, named Sajida, was born in the town of Kalgo in Kebbi State. She was married at the age of 16, even though she had a strong affection for someone else. Yet, she complied with her parents' wishes and went ahead with the marriage, despite not desiring it. After her marriage to Mallam Qasimu, she endured countless indignities. Despite her efforts, nothing she did seemed to please him, and he even went so far as to physically abuse her. In their marriage, they had two daughters: the older, Bilkisu, who is now 14, and the younger, Amisha, who is four years old. Before Amisha’s birth, Sajida had a son, but due to her husband’s neglect, he did not survive. This tragic loss pushed her to be more determined in caring for Amisha as she grew.
Qasimu’s reason for mistreating his wife was that he too had someone he loved but was forced into marriage by his family. This frustration led him to mistreat his wife in an attempt to ease the heartache inflicted upon him.
Sajida, on the other hand, never stopped trying to win her husband’s affection, despite not loving him. However, her efforts were in vain; things only got worse between them, even as they continued to raise their children who were now growing up.
Suddenly, while they were living this way, Boko Haram militants attacked their town, forcing them to flee into the wilderness, not knowing where they were headed. They would encounter numerous hardships and face various life lessons and meet new people in the jungle.
What will happen to them? Where will they go? All these answers lie within this book titled ’YAN GUDUN HIJIRA The Story of Sajida
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Chapter One
It was the rainy season, and it was around five in the evening. Dark clouds covered the sky, making it appear as if night had fallen. A cool, gentle breeze was blowing, bringing calm. Maiduguri, a city bustling with people, was experiencing all these comforting signs of rain. But none of it stopped tears from falling from Sajida’s eyes. She was sitting inside their small home, which only had a single room shared by her, her husband Qasimu, and their two children, Bilkisu and Amisha. She was weeping intensely, sniffing back tears with all her might, but the grief was overwhelming.
In the midst of her sobs, she heard Amisha’s cry from their small, dirty room. Hearing her four-year-old daughter's cry plunged her into a new wave of tears. She felt unable to move to comfort her daughter, who hadn’t eaten anything since she had a bit of porridge that morning. Between sobs, she raised her face to the sky, silently praying, "Oh Allah, you see the suffering my children and I endure; please bring us relief." Before she finished her prayer, she heard Bilkisu's voice as she entered with a greeting.
Her face streaked with tears, Sajida looked up at her daughter, whom she affectionately called "Mamanne" after her own mother. "What’s wrong? Why do you seem troubled, Mamanne?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "Sani, the shopkeeper, said he won’t lend us porridge flour anymore because we never pay. He says we owe him for more than a year, and he won’t let us run his shop into the ground," Bilkisu explained, breaking down in tears.
With compassion, Sajida pulled her daughter close, and together they wept. She had only one thought: her children were facing yet another night of hunger and suffering.
While they sat like this, they heard a greeting. Recognizing an unfamiliar voice, they quickly wiped their tears and welcomed the visitor, who turned out to be a woman. One glance was enough to see she was a woman of means, though not wealthy. She introduced herself as Madam Aisha.
"I was nearby when your daughter came to ask for credit at the shop," she explained, handing them a bowl filled with fried potatoes and bean cakes, garnished with cabbage and onions. "Please, take this, and remember that everything God does is for the best. One day, this hardship will end. If you are willing, I would like to hire your daughter to work in my home, where she can bring food from me and I can pay her monthly."
After a long sigh, Sajida accepted, not even considering telling her husband, as she knew he would never approve. Although he did nothing to support them, he would not allow her to work.
"Are you married?" Madam Aisha asked, looking around the humble house, which was clean but in poor condition. "Yes, I am married," Sajida replied. "May Allah ease your difficulties," Madam Aisha said.
She assured them she would return the next morning to escort Bilkisu to her house and decide on her start date. She gave them money to buy food, saying that no one can live on an empty stomach.
She saw Madam Aisha out, then called Amisha to sit and share the meal of bean cakes and potatoes, now cold. They ate together, filled with sadness, until the evening call to prayer reminded them to wash up and pray.
Sajida, a tall, strong-built, dark-skinned woman, was compassionate, religious, and very caring. Tears formed in her eyes as she thought about their situation. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful nor unattractive; she was a native of Kalgo in Kebbi State, and marriage had brought her to Maiduguri with Qasimu.
After the prayers, Sajida sent Bilkisu with the money Madam Aisha gave them to buy food. About five minutes after she left, strong winds began sweeping through the town, causing those on the streets to rush indoors.
What fate awaited Bilkisu? What would Sajida do in these conditions? Where was Qasimu, who hadn’t returned home since morning?
All these answers will be revealed in the following pages, as the story is only beginning. 
A strong wind blew violently, accompanied by a chill that caused one to shiver uncontrollably. You could hear the terrifying sound of the wind, carrying various items from rooftops and tossing them through the skies and across the open spaces of Maiduguri. Roofs were falling like hairpins from a woman’s head. People were rushing to save their lives, running home as the sky grew dark. It became so pitch black that you couldn't even see your own hand. The power supply had been cut off long before the wind arrived, as there were warnings that it might cause damage.
In a panic, Sajida hugged Amisha tightly as she cried and thought, "How far will this calamity go? Hunger and poverty have cost me my daughter. Oh, I am doomed!" She repeated this in her mind as she noticed the roof of their room beginning to shake. Suddenly, with a "whoosh," a gust of wind carrying dust burst through the hole in the roof. Looking up, she saw the sky where the roof had been and held Amisha closer, lowering her head and crying even harder as her sobs turned to wails. She unknowingly exclaimed, "Qasimu! Where are you? How could you leave us in this disaster? Oh, Bilkisu, what could she be facing now?"
Bilkisu, meanwhile, had just returned from running an errand nearby when the wind began. Dust filled her eyes, and as she screamed, people running for safety knocked her over. The items she had bought scattered as she groped blindly in the darkness, her thin, ragged hijab barely offering protection against the biting cold. The hijab, once her mother’s, was now nineteen years old and thin from wear. Bilkisu wore it daily, even though people in the neighborhood mocked her for her tattered attire. Wrapped in a torn wrapper, the cold easily penetrated her clothes.
She managed to gather some of the scattered items and sought shelter under a small canopy, blinking as her eyes cleared of dust. The wind continued for four hours, followed by a torrential rainstorm that lasted an hour and a half. Bilkisu ran home through the downpour, soaked to the bone, and arrived shaking from the cold. She saw her mother and sister drenched in their roofless room. She cried out, "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raaji'un," and ran to hug her mother, who was shielding Amisha from the rain with her own body.
“Mother, let’s leave!” she urged, trying to pull her mother's hand.
“Don’t curse us; what if your father comes home and doesn’t find us? Be patient, for everything is temporary. Someday, you’ll tell your children about this.”
"Our lives are at risk, Mother! Look at Amisha, she's so small; she could get a serious illness. We have to protect ourselves, even if it means disobeying Father. Islam allows us to preserve life!”
“Quiet, Bilkisu. Better we all die here together than somewhere else, away from my husband’s home.”
Bilkisu retreated, glancing sadly at her little sister, her cheeks wet with the ever-familiar tears. She then looked at her mother, unsure whether to feel pity, anger, or love.
The rain continued until three in the morning, leaving them with few clothes, all soaked and cold. Amisha was trembling feverishly. Seeing this, Sajida grew even more distressed, as she knew her husband wouldn't lift a finger to help with medical expenses.
Realizing her mother was deeply concerned, Bilkisu moved closer, touched Amisha, and recoiled at the burning heat. "Mother! Now you see what I was saying. We need to go to the hospital; she might have pneumonia!"
"Bilkisu, at this hour? It’s nearly dawn, and no staff will be there."
“Our teacher told us that hospital staff work in shifts. Some work days, some nights. Sickness doesn’t wait, Mother. Let’s go, or her life could be at risk.”
After a long sigh, Sajida finally grabbed Amisha and headed into the pitch-black night, while Bilkisu followed, her drenched clothes clinging to her body. They walked swiftly through the cold night, reaching the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital. Amazingly, the door was open, but the guard was fast asleep. In shock, Sajida thought, "What kind of country is this?" They entered and followed signs until they reached the Accident and Emergency Ward.
A nurse noticed them, saying, “Sister, what’s the problem?” Holding back tears, Sajida explained everything. The nurse quickly took Amisha, feeling her fever and shivering, and admitted her to a small room with a single bed, where she examined her. Returning to Sajida, she scolded, “How could you let your daughter get drenched like this? She nearly lost her life! A child is a blessing, and mothers are known for their boundless love.”
“Forgive me, please. Sometimes we have no control over circumstances, but it will never happen again, insha’Allah.”
“Where is her father?” the nurse asked.
Sajida stammered, “He’s…away, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
They stayed at the hospital until dawn. Sajida had never experienced such peace, even as she left that morning. On their way home, they bought some fried beans from a vendor, using the last of the money Madam Aisha had given them.
Qasimu, returning home, found their roof gone and his family missing. “This wretched woman has gone out with men while I’m not here? She’ll regret it when she returns.”
They arrived home just as he was raging. Seeing Sajida carrying Amisha and Bilkisu holding a bag of hot beans, he sprang up, demanding, “Which man’s house did you come from?”