AMFANIN SOYAYYA AURE 1 COMPLETE HAUSA NOVEL

Three young women, beautiful and stylish, sat together wasting time. They were all fair-skinned, each with a distinct appearance, but their mode of dressing resembled those of foreigners—Europeans even—shameless ones. Their clothes were minimal, barely covering their bodies. The living room they were in was a sight to behold, but it seemed that their gathering was just another way of wasting time.
They were engrossed in a heated discussion. "Ruwaida," one said, "we will start our revenge with Nura, and then we will move to Mama Arima and her husband, that old useless man."
"Malama and your father are not part of this yet; we’ll handle them at the end," Hamra added. Hamra continued, “Honestly, if we start with the head of the snake, the fight will end quickly. But we need to start with someone we can gain from first.”
The one lying on the couch, eyes half-closed, opened them at that moment and fixed her gaze on the speaker. “Ayyaram,” she said, “I would have preferred to start with Malama, Kamal, and my father. But since Nura is the smallest of our problems, we can begin with him. However, Hamra, taking revenge on a 2-year-old is too little for us. Just as he ruined your life, we will ruin his family’s life. We’ll destroy his career, forge documents to tarnish his certificates from primary school to his degree. Then, when we’ve broken into his life and shattered everything, we’ll harm his wife and daughter right in front of him after extracting all his secrets. That way, his employer will have no choice but to fire him. We have our connections.”
“After that, we’ll move to Maiduguri to deal with Mama Arima and her husband. By the time we’re done with them, it’ll be over.”
The three of them clapped and cheered in excitement.
But then, a voice on the TV caught their attention: the well-known scholar, Sheikh Idris Falala, was speaking. They paused, staring at the TV. Though it wasn’t new to hear him criticize people like them, today’s sermon hit a nerve.
“Women, you have abandoned your responsibilities, and now these corrupted souls have overtaken your homes. They stand shamelessly among men, ruining families and tarnishing reputations. And you, out of neglect and frivolity, allowed it. Do you see how these disgraceful people live? Young men even chant their names and call them 'Abasu Kala Yan Uku Balai' (a term of ridicule).”
“These so-called women throw money in the air while these children follow them blindly. Just recently, a young boy was hit by a car because he was running after their vehicle. These young women are truly troublemakers. I saw something horrifying yesterday—young men were screaming in a supermarket. I thought there was an emergency, but I found it was because someone was shamelessly carrying a woman for fun. It’s sickening.”
“We’ve tried to address this, even to the point of sending people to their hideouts, but shockingly, police officers protect them because of their powerful connections. And now, two of our own are in police custody because we tried to intervene. What else can we do but pray? If they are meant to be guided, may Allah guide them; if not, may He keep us far from their influence.”
“I advise women to hold onto their dignity. Women are the custodians of our families, yet they let these young, corrupt girls dictate their lives.”
The sermon ended with a prayer, and the women switched off the TV.
Hamra hissed. “This man never gives up. I sent him our pictures on Facebook yesterday, yet he isn’t afraid.”
Ruwaida, who was seated, asked, “Yayyaram, is it true you ran into him at the supermarket yesterday?” Ayyaram responded, “I didn’t see him myself, but Khashim picked me up. From the car to the store, he didn’t let me out of his sight.”
Hamra said, “This time, we’ll teach this man a lesson.”
Ayyaram asked, “Do you mean we’ll publish a file on him in a magazine, or go on TV?” Hamra nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Ruwaida added, “I prefer we go to his house and confront him directly. If we tell him why we ended up like this and he still continues, then we’ll take him down publicly.”
The other two agreed with Ruwaida’s suggestion. They clapped and cheered again.
Just then, a beautiful woman, about 6 years old, and a boy around 5, entered the room crying. The woman was holding her little brother’s hand. They dropped their schoolbags and flask and continued to sob.
Hamra rushed to them in panic, “Barrat, Abdallah, what happened? Who hurt you?”
Through her tears, Barrat replied, “We don’t have a father, but Salma and her friends always taunt us about it. Today, Salma’s sister, Hamida, came into our class and saw Anur and Abdullah fighting. She called Abdullah ‘the son of a prostitute’ and told everyone to stay away from us because we’ll spread disease. The whole class laughed at us.”
Abdullah added, “I’m not going back to school. Even my friends said they don’t want me around. During break, they spit on me.” He broke into sobs again.
Ayyaram, in tears, hugged Barrat tightly. “You’re too young to face this, Barrat. I faced the same shame you’re facing now. The only difference is that I only lacked a father. Your pain is three times worse. That’s why I pray Allah takes you before you grow up to face this world fully. Your life has no purpose.”
Ruwaida also hugged Abdullah, tears streaming down her face. “Abdullah, I don’t know if you’re illegitimate or not, but you’re my blood. My mother gave birth to you in front of me, but she accused me of being your mother. That’s why my father disowned me.”
Hamra interrupted angrily, pulling the children away. “Stop it! You’re filling their young hearts with things they don’t understand. Let me clean them up and take them to the zoo for ice cream.”
The kids, cheered by the mention of ice cream, followed Hamra upstairs, leaving Ayyaram and Ruwaida crying.
Caballiya, the maid, overheard everything and muttered to herself, “When the Larabawa cry like this, it means something has touched their hearts.”