_MEERAL_by_Chuchujay - Hausa Novels

She was walking fast, eager to get home, considering the weather—it was the rainy season, and the dark clouds were gathering, signaling that rain was about to fall. She prayed she would get home in time because, in her life, nothing unsettled her more than getting caught in the rain.
After about ten minutes of walking, she arrived at their house, located on Alhaji Abubakar Maitaya Street in the Rijiya Zaki neighborhood.
"As-salamu alaikum," she greeted in her sweet, melodious voice.
An elderly woman, who looked to be in her 40s, responded to her greeting.
"Miral, you're back? What happened today that kept you out so long?" the elderly woman, who was her mother, asked.
"Ma’ama, transportation was really stressful today, that’s why," Miral replied, as she took off her veil and hung it on the clothesline in the middle of the compound.
Ma’ama sighed in relief. "I was starting to get worried. You know how this town is nowadays."
Miral moved closer to her mother and sat on a small stool near the kitchen entrance.
"Ma’ama, stop overthinking and stressing yourself. You know what the doctor said—too much thinking isn't good for your health. And I promise I’ll never do anything that will make you disappointed in me. Insha Allah, I won’t neglect the upbringing you worked so hard to instill in me. I know you don’t like this job, but I have to do it for you and Asia. It’s not like I love it either, but I’m trying my best to find a better job. Every day, I keep applying. Just recently, I submitted my documents to a company, but they said I should wait until they start hiring new employees. You know how jobs are in this country—if you don’t have a degree, it’s hard to get one. Just keep praying for me."
Ma’ama sighed deeply. "I always pray for you, my dear. May Allah guide you and bless your journey. If your father were alive, he would be the happiest about your determination. I just pray you get this job soon because, honestly, I don’t like this restaurant job. It’s far from home, and I worry about you traveling across town every day. May Allah provide for you and protect us from hardship. Go and drop your handbag, freshen up, and eat. I know you must be exhausted."
"Okay, Ma’ama. By the way, has Asia still not returned from Aunty Aisha’s house? I don’t like how she’s always going out—"
"As-salamu alaikum, Ma’ama! Has Didi not returned yet?" a little girl, no older than eight, interrupted Miral’s statement.
"I’m back now, I just went on a little errand," Asia responded.
"What kept you at someone’s house until 6:30? You should have found your way home earlier. We won’t tolerate this habit."
Asia pouted her lips, making them look extra pink and cute. Tears were about to fall from her big, beautiful eyes.
"Ayya, Didi, I’m sorry. Nimra and I were doing our assignment, that’s why I was late. I promise I won’t do it again, please forgive me," she said while holding Miral’s hand.
Miral sighed. "Fine, just don’t let it happen again. Now come and take your chocolate."
She walked inside with Asia following behind her.
Ma’ama watched them with love in her eyes, feeling deep affection for her children. She knew that even if she were to die today, they would take care of each other. She wiped away a stray tear that escaped from her eye.
"May Allah bless and protect you both and keep you united always," she whispered.
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How do y’all find it?? Smh, huh? Well, I said I ain’t perfect, though. Short page, huh? ❔ This is my first… More is coming. Ehn, please, if you find any mistakes, let me know so I can correct them. Don’t forget to vote, comment, follow, and share—it means a lot to me. Love y’all ❤️ xoxo Chuchujay
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<h3 data-start="3830" data-end="3858">Page 2 – MEERAL 💗</h3>
Their Origin
Malam Yusuf Bukar was the name of her father. They were originally Fulani from Mambila in Taraba State. Malam Yusuf grew up under his father’s care, but at 18, he lost his mother. After her death, his father, Malam Bukar, never remarried. He devoted himself to raising his only son, ensuring he didn’t experience hardship or suffering.
But alas… Life is unpredictable—what you plan for yourself is different from what Allah has planned for you. And Allah does not make one person’s happiness dependent on another’s wealth.
At the age of 20, Yusuf lost his father. He wept and grieved because he had no one else to turn to in their village. His only close relative was his uncle’s wife, who never liked him. In her eyes, he was the reason she couldn’t enjoy her late husband’s wealth the way she wanted.
Left with no choice, Yusuf endured life in the village for another year before deciding to get married to Ma’amah (Fadime), a girl he had been in love with for a long time. However, after two months of marriage, he decided to leave the village. It took a lot of persuasion to convince Ma’amah’s relatives.
He sold the seven cows he inherited from his father and, along with some money he had saved, they left the village.
Their destination was Kano, where Yusuf believed they had better chances of survival. He rented a small house with two rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom in the Rijiya Zaki area.
Gradually, he started using his money wisely. He began a small business—buying and selling tomatoes and peppers in bulk. This was how he sustained himself and his family.