Bakin Rijiya Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

"Hafsat!!" their teacher shouted at her. The entire class was startled by his outburst, but Hafsat remained unbothered. She didn’t even lift her head to look at the teacher. In frustration, he walked up to her desk and slammed it hard.
“How dare you! Are you stupid?” he yelled.
Slowly, she stood up from her seat and nonchalantly replied, “No sir, I’m not.”
"What!! Repeat what you just said now," he demanded angrily.
Calmly and without a trace of fear, she replied, “I just said I’m not, sir.”
The teacher smirked maliciously. He was waiting for this moment.
“Hafsat, look into my eyes and repeat after me, okay?” She didn’t respond, so he continued.
“Oya, say, ‘I am stupid.’”
A sly smile crossed her face as she retorted, “You! You are stupid!”
The teacher's eyes widened in shock; he hadn’t expected such a response.
“How dare you? Are you in your senses?” he exclaimed.
Mocking him, she also widened her eyes and repeated, “How dare you? Are you in your senses?”
The enraged teacher immediately raised his large hand and slapped her so hard she felt dizzy. She held her cheek and began to cry. The teacher, visibly shaken, puffed up angrily. Without hesitation, she headed straight to the principal’s office, crying loudly in her bratty manner.
When the principal saw her, he immediately stood up, fearing that the teacher might be in trouble.
“Hafsat, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? What happened?”
Through her sobs, she narrated a mix of truth and exaggeration. Eventually, the teacher was summoned, and he apologized profusely. Hafsat only agreed to forgive him after promising not to tell her father, who happened to own the school. Being his only child, Hafsat was untouchable, and everyone feared her father.
<hr>
Back in class, the boys cheered loudly as Hafsat entered.
“Poojah! Poojah! Poojah!” they chanted.
One of the wealthy boys, known for being among the elite students, asked, “Poojah babe, I hope you dealt with that teacher?”
Another boy, his partner in mischief, added, “We don’t even want you to report him; you should have slapped him back. How could he slap you, the daughter of the school owner?”
Hafsat felt annoyed by the lack of enthusiasm in their voices. She glared at him and said, “I didn’t see the point in retaliating. You know me—slapping him would’ve been one of the least things I could do, just like I could easily slap you too.”
The boy stood there, stunned, while his friend Wizkid began cheering, “Poojah! Poojah! You’re amazing!”
Hafsat, in her dismissive manner, replied, “Can you all shut up? I’m tired of your useless noise.”
The boys quickly quieted down and returned to their seats without further comment.
<hr>
Hafsat’s behavior in school was consistent—she only submitted blank sheets during exams. Any teacher who dared to fail her risked losing their job. This wasn’t because she didn’t know the answers but because she wanted to assert her power as the school owner’s daughter. Her father never reprimanded her for her antics.
At 1:50 PM, school was dismissed. She looked around but didn’t see her driver’s car. Walking absentmindedly, she descended the stairs while thinking about how she would punish Ayuba, the driver, for this oversight.
When she finally reached the school gate, Ayuba arrived hurriedly, took her bag, and placed it in the car. He opened the door for her to enter, and she did so while sulking.
“Wallahi, the tire got punctured. Please forgive me, don’t make me lose my source of livelihood,” Ayuba pleaded as he entered the car.
“That’s your biggest mistake,” Hafsat said coldly. “Stop bothering my ears with your apologies. It doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you.”
Ayuba began sweating profusely. He was the sole provider for his younger siblings and his mother, relying on this job to sustain them.
Upon reaching home, Hafsat rushed to her father, crying.
“Hafsat, what’s wrong? Who touched you?” her father asked, concerned.
“Daddy, it’s Ayuba. He left me stranded until I had to walk to the gate on foot.”
“Subhanallah! Ayuba, how did this happen?”
“Wallahi, sir, the tire got punctured. Please forgive me.”
Hafsat cried even louder.
“Alright, Hafsat, what do you want us to do now?”
“Daddy, I want him fired! I don’t like him,” she demanded.
Despite Ayuba’s pleas, Hafsat’s father eventually agreed to replace him as her driver. However, he reassigned Ayuba to other household tasks, such as driving Hafsat’s stepmother and washing the cars. Ayuba was grateful to still have a job, knowing it was only due to Hafsat’s parents’ sense of fairness and humanity.
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When Hafsat got home, she threw her bag in the middle of the parlor and kicked off her shoes on her way to the stairs leading to her room. She dropped her things wherever she pleased, not minding the mess she created. Though Hafsat was known for her cleanliness, she couldn’t stand seeing the housemaids resting.
Mero, the housemaid who had been with the family for years, approached her in her room. After Hafsat had changed her clothes and Mero picked up the scattered items to place them in the laundry basket, she asked, “Daddy’s princess, what do you feel like eating today?”
Hafsat didn’t even look at her, a clear indication that she wasn’t in the mood to talk. Mero, used to Hafsat’s behavior, turned and went to prepare her usual snacks—an assortment of light food and a smoothie made from apples and avocados. She brought the food to Hafsat’s private parlor and placed it on the coffee table.
“Here’s your favorite,” Mero announced cheerfully.
Hafsat glanced at the food disdainfully and said, “I want grilled fish and chips, plus sugarcane and apple juice. What’s this? Do you want me to get fat eating flour all the time?”
Mero stood there quietly for a moment, then suggested, “Why don’t you nibble on this for now to curb your hunger? I’ll prepare the grilled fish for you.”
Hafsat scowled. “Did I not just say I won’t eat this? Must I be forced?”
With that, Mero quietly cleared the food and left, shaking her head. Despite Hafsat’s attitude, Mero was the only staff member who could tolerate her. In fact, she had practically raised Hafsat, as she had worked in the house since Hafsat was four years old.
<hr>
When Hafsat returned from school the following day, she was surprised to see a crowd of relatives at the house. They were gathered for a celebration marking her elder brother Shammaz’s return after being abroad for eight years. Hafsat didn’t think much of the gathering and attempted to walk past everyone when Abba Haris, one of her uncles, called out to her.
She ran to him eagerly and said with a pout, “Abba Haris, I want to go with you to see Ummi.”
He chuckled. “My princess, don’t worry. In seven days, you’ll be on holiday, and I’ll personally come to pick you up.”
Hafsat smiled brightly. “Okay, Abba, but you have to change my phone. Mine has stopped working.”
“Of course! I’ll get you a Blackberry Bold 4. Nobody uses the Curve anymore,” he teased.
Excited, Hafsat hugged him and ran upstairs, ignoring the other guests. Shammaz, who had been observing her behavior, frowned in disapproval.
"Has Hafsat always been this spoiled, or is it just because I’ve been away? This will be a problem," he thought to himself.
<hr>
Later in the day, Hafsat came downstairs wearing a vest and shorts that barely reached her knees, sucking on a lollipop. The crowd had thinned out by then, leaving only close family members. Without greeting anyone, she went straight to the dining area, where she saw various food dishes in warmers.
“MEROOOO!” Hafsat shouted, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the parlor.
Mero came running. “Yes, princess, what do you need?”
Pouting dramatically, Hafsat said, “You’ve been so busy with these people that you forgot to feed me. I’ve been starving since I came home. Go and get me food now.”
Mero, used to her tantrums, hurriedly served her a plate of snacks and paper chicken. Hafsat looked at the plate in disgust and flipped it onto the floor.
“Did I ask for this? I want shredded chicken!” she yelled.
Before she could say anything else, Shammaz, who had been silently watching the entire ordeal, walked over and delivered a sharp slap to her face. Hafsat, stunned, clutched her cheek and burst into tears. Everyone in the parlor jumped to their feet, trying to calm Shammaz and console Hafsat.
Mero tried to hold Hafsat and comfort her, but Shammaz glared at her. “Maryam, if you don’t let go of her right now, I’ll slap you too. Make her clean up the mess she made!”
Terrified, Mero quickly let go of Hafsat and began cleaning the spilled food herself, tears streaming down her face.
Once she was done, Shammaz pointed at Hafsat and said sternly, “You’ll sit right there and eat every last bit of that food. I don’t care if you like it or not.”
Hafsat hesitated, still crying, but Shammaz’s commanding tone left her no choice. She sat down at the dining table and ate the food under his watchful eye.
Hafsat’s mother, Haj Nasara, said nothing throughout the ordeal, though she was visibly upset. She felt that Shammaz had crossed a line by slapping Hafsat in front of everyone. She silently vowed to speak with him later. 
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