A Rubuce Take Book One Complete Hausa Novel
It was a spacious, magnificent living room, plushly laid with a soft maroon carpet. A luxurious set of sofas, perfectly color-matched to the elegant window drapes, encircled the perimeter. The room was arranged with such modern taste and high-end aesthetics that, at first glance, no one would ever suspect it belonged to an elderly matriarch, thanks to the abundant comforts of modern life gracefully displayed throughout.
Seated right in the center of the soft carpet was the owner of the parlor—a dignified, elderly woman. Her long, smooth hair had begun to show silvery strands of grey along the hairline, visible because her headwrap had slipped slightly out of place. She possessed a striking, radiant fair complexion with golden undertones. Age had failed to diminish her youthful elegance, a beauty clearly carried over from her early years to this day. A single glance revealed she was neither a pure Hausa woman nor of typical Fulani heritage.
Sitting directly in front of her was a younger woman who shared a striking resemblance with her. Barely thirty years old, she too had the same brilliant fair skin as the matriarch beside her—making it instantly clear to any observer that they were mother and daughter. The younger woman was nursing a baby on her lap while her elderly mother, known affectionately as Ummu, inspected a pile of newly purchased clothes laid out before them.
“Even though these clothes look nice, Humaira, I honestly prefer ones that are more expensive,” Ummu remarked thoughtfully. “I don’t like buying cheap clothes for Widad. It is much better to get items that are slightly pricy and of high quality.”
Halimatu shifted her gaze back to the garments, scrutinizing them again—even though she had personally selected and bought them with her own hands. She had bought similar clothing for her own children and had purchased the same for Widad, assuming it would thoroughly impress and please Ummu. She looked back up at her mother.
“Ummu, after seeing how lovely these clothes are, you still don’t like them?”
Ummu shook her head firmly. “I don’t. And since I said I don’t like them, shouldn’t we exchange them? After all, it is my money being spent, not anyone else’s.”
Halima pouted, using one hand to gather the clothes to the side. Her heart swelled with quiet frustration. A barrage of sharp words rushed to her mind, but she knew better than to utter them. Tempers could flare instantly whenever Widad was involved.
“Did you collect the money from Yaya?” Halima asked, holding back her irritation.
“He said he will pay when he returns, so I set it aside for you.”
Halima’s mood soured further. This time, she failed to conceal her annoyance completely. “Uhm… poor things. Well, may Allah grant them the opportunity to wear the matching festive outfits.”
Ummu glanced at her silently without uttering a word. She had grown accustomed to such behavior over time. She often wondered why they struggled so much to understand her, chalking it up to simple self-centeredness and typical human envy.
“Latifa!” Ummu called out toward the kitchen doorway behind her. A voice answered from within, and a medium-built woman with a calm demeanour and warm, dark-honey skin stepped out.
“Yes, Ummu,” Latifa answered smoothly.
“Go into my bedroom. On top of the pillow, you’ll find my purse. Bring it to me.”
Latifa acknowledged the instruction with a soft nod and turned to head toward the bedroom.
Before Latifa could even reach the bedroom corridor, a sharp, high-pitched scream echoed through the compound, followed immediately by desperate, loud weeping.
Latifa froze in her tracks, turning quickly to look at Ummu. Ummu returned her gaze, her face suddenly etched with concern and fear.
“Ummu… that sounds just like Widad’s voice,” Latifa whispered.
Ummu nodded hurriedly. “That’s exactly what I was about to say.”
Halima chimed in with a scoff, “Who else would it be if not her? Who else in this entire compound causes such dramatic chaos over nothing besides her?”
Ummu ignored Halima’s commentary, looking back at Latifa, who was already heading for the main door. “Please, go check on her quickly, Latifa.”
“Right away,” Latifa replied, hurrying out of the parlor.
Halima carefully laid her nursing baby aside on the carpet, stood up, and followed Latifa, grumbling under her breath.
The vast compound was paved cleanly with interlocked tiles throughout. Despite its grand size, delicate green plants and decorative floral vines ran neatly along the perimeter walls, adorning each of the five distinct residential quarters built within the family estate.
Standing outside one of the residential wings, several household staff members were gathered. From a distance, you could easily spot the source of the commotion—a young girl no older than ten or eleven years old. She possessed a strikingly fair complexion laced with delicate reddish undertones. Her thick, silky hair flowed all the way down to her back and spread across her shoulders as she jumped up and down hysterically, holding up the hem of her long maroon dress. Her large, beautiful eyes were filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks, mingling with tears and sniffles around her straight, delicate nose.
“It’s nothing, Widad! I swear I removed it moments ago!” a female worker wearing an Ankara wrapper attempted to soothe the frantic young girl, trying to hold her still.
Just then, Latifa arrived at the scene with Halima following right behind.
“What happened here? What is going on?” Latifa asked anxiously, stepping toward Widad, who was still jumping frantically and crying at the top of her lungs.
The worker explained, “She was fast asleep in my parlor after running around playing. Marka and I were in the kitchen when we suddenly heard her screaming. When I rushed in, she claimed a cockroach had crawled into her dress. I checked immediately and only found a tiny harmless bug, which I threw outside. But she insists it was a cockroach. I searched everywhere, but there was nothing!”
Halima clicked her tongue in utter disgust. “Nonsense and foolish dramatic behavior that has completely gone out of hand! Move out of the way before I slap some sense into you!” she shouted harshly at Widad.
“Ah, wait, let us double-check her properly, Halima,” Latifa interjected gently, kneeling down right in front of Widad. She lifted Widad’s dress carefully and reassured her, “Look for yourself, my dear. There is absolutely nothing on your body.”
Widad glanced fearfully down at her fair, smooth legs. Seeing nothing, just as Latifa said, she nodded slowly—though tears continued to stream down her face uncontrollably.
Halima pushed Widad ahead of her, scolding and nagging her the entire walk back. Her harsh words only fueled Widad’s sobbing further until they finally reached the entrance of Ummu’s parlor.
“Is everything alright? What was done to her?” Ummu asked immediately, her attention and entire focus shifting completely to Widad. Hearing Ummu’s soothing voice seemed to burst Widad’s floodgates; she rushed into the parlor and threw herself into Ummu’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably.
“What else could have happened to her besides her usual foolish fear?” Halima grumbled as she fumed, sinking heavily into a nearby armchair. “Honestly, Ummu, this girl’s spoiled fragility is getting far too excessive!”
Ummu shot Halima a stern glare. “Have you ever seen anyone cry for absolutely no reason? Why are you always so harsh with her?”
Latifa stepped into the parlor, heading toward the kitchen as she explained, “A bug crawled on her dress, Ummu. It was removed, but she convinced herself it was still there.”
Ummu turned her gaze back to Halima with an accusatory look. “Do you hear that? Yet you claim she is crying for nothing, fully aware of how easily Widad gets frightened and that it is simply her tender nature?”
“It is sheer spoiled coddling, Ummu! By Allah!” Halima protested heatedly. “Even Nabiha, who is younger than her, doesn’t act like this. Only her—the pampered favorite!”
“Enough! Keep your opinions to yourself,” Ummu commanded firmly before turning her warm attention to Widad, who was resting against her lap, wiping away tears. “There, there… Have you eaten anything?”
Widad shook her head weakly. “Aunty Madina served food for us, but then I fell asleep…”
“Alright then. Go inside quickly; Latifa will serve you food. If the soup is too spicy, she can give you the mild one she is cooking now. Stop by the bathroom and wash your face. I won’t allow you to go sleep randomly around this house ever again.”
Widad stood up slowly and walked into Ummu’s inner room. She washed her face as instructed and changed out of her damp dress into a top and traditional wrapper (zanin). She barely managed to tie the wrapper around her waist due to her lack of skill and unfamiliarity with wearing it, then headed straight to the kitchen to join Latifa.
Back in the parlor, Ummu turned to Halima once more. “Halimatu, I have warned you repeatedly about this attitude. Even if you don’t feel deep affection for Widad, you shouldn’t constantly pick on her.”
“I am not picking on her, Ummu,” Halima countered defensively. “Her spoiled habits are just overwhelming! For goodness’ sake, who else in this house receives the sheer devotion and favoritism you shower on her? She isn’t your only grandchild here! Besides, she is growing up fast; in three years, marriage talks could easily begin for her. I am not picking on her; I just want to see her learn maturity!”
Ummu stared at her silently for a moment before looking away, realizing Halima lacked the depth to understand. “May Allah guide us,” Ummu said softly.
She picked up the purse Latifa had brought, unzipped it, and pulled out crisp one-thousand-Naira notes. Counting out the money, she handed it to Halima. “Here. Count this and take the extra money needed for the higher quality clothes you will exchange. Use whatever remains to buy the rest of the items for your children.”
Halima accepted the money with both hands, expressing her gratitude—though inside, her heart remained uneasy about Ummu’s undeniable partiality toward Widad over the other grandchildren.
Inside the kitchen, Widad sat happily beside Latifa after her plate of food was served. As she ate, she chatted animatedly with Latifa—looking for all the world as though she hadn’t just been wailing hysterical tears moments prior. Latifa listened patiently, engaging in her chatter. A deep, affectionate bond existed between them; Latifa was one of the few people in the compound who truly hated to see Widad cry.
After finishing every last bite, Widad handed her plate back to Latifa and climbed down from her chair.
“Come wash your hands before you run off!” Latifa called out after her as Widad headed for the doorway while licking her fingers.
“I’m coming back! I’ll wash them at Aunty Madina’s section,” Widad shouted back over her shoulder. “I left my milk candy there earlier—I just hope Faruq and the others haven’t eaten it all!” Without waiting for another response, she dashed out.
Meanwhile, the sitting room dynamic had shifted. Three people were now seated inside: Aunty Halimatu, Ummu, and a newly arrived guest.
The guest was an exceptionally handsome young man. Like most members of this family, he possessed fair skin, paired with thick, smooth, dark hair reminiscent of Arab or Tuareg lineage. He wore a crisp, modern-tailored shadda (brocade suit) that fit his athletic frame impeccably. Uncovered head, mobile phone in hand, he was tapping casually on his screen while engaging in pleasant conversation with Ummu and Halimatu.
Widad suddenly froze at the doorway upon spotting him. She locked her big eyes onto him, feeling an unexpected wave of petty irritation surge within her. She let out a quiet scoff under her breath, pouting her lips as if she were about to burst into tears again.
She turned around to head back into the kitchen, but quickly reconsidered. She knew that if she went back, Ummu would realize she was hiding and call her out anyway—the exact scenario she wanted to avoid. Instead, she glanced nervously at the backs of the large armchairs. A narrow path ran behind the furniture all the way to the parlor’s exit door. Lowering herself onto her hands and knees, Widad began crawling stealthily behind the couches, her heart pounding furiously, silently praying that Ummu wouldn’t spot her.
Ummu subtly turned her head toward the seating area, hearing faint rustling sounds. Lowering her gaze, she caught sight of Widad’s fair feet peeking beneath the furniture edge. A sudden chuckle threatened to escape Ummu, but she suppressed it. Keeping her eyes fixed toward the front doorway so as not to give it away, she called out calmly:
“Widad!”
Widad stopped dead in her tracks, her wide eyes opening even wider in panic. Her heart thumped against her chest. She considered turning back, but realized her cover was completely blown.
“Widad, can’t you hear me?” Ummu called out again, facing the exact direction Widad was hiding.
Resigned to her fate, Widad stood up straight, her face scowling heavily, small mouth pouted forward in irritation as she reluctantly trudged toward them.
Everyone in the room turned to watch her. Halima scoffed, turning her head away in annoyance as Widad’s antics irritated her further. Ummu simply shook her head gently, thinking to herself, “May Allah grant guidance to childish innocence.”
The young guest, however, fixed his eyes firmly on Widad. He stared at her intently with a gaze that often earned him endless teasing from his close friends—friends who frequently joked that they couldn’t understand his obsession with an immature girl like Widad. Yet, ever since she was a tender infant wrapped in swaddling clothes, Allah had tested his heart with an unyielding love for her. To this very day, not a single thing had changed in his heart regarding his feelings for her.
Unfortunately, Widad showed not the slightest hint of warmth toward him, let alone love—a concept he was certain she was far too young to even comprehend. He held onto the quiet hope of teaching her what love meant in due time, but her aloofness toward him never afforded him the chance. In every other aspect, he was confident; he knew he possessed the means and standing to officially ask for her hand and receive her family’s blessing. The only hurdle standing in his way was Widad herself.
“Can’t you see we have a guest? Won’t you greet him properly?” Ummu asked, sharpening her tone slightly. As much as she cherished and spoiled Widad, Ummu was unyielding when it came to proper manners and discipline.
As if forcefully prodded, Widad turned her scowling face toward the young man.
“Yaya Mahfood, good afternoon,” she muttered reluctantly.
A soft, handsome smile spread across Mahfood’s face as he gazed at her. Her head was uncovered, just as he always remembered—she utterly despised wearing headscarves.
“Good day, Ummu’s Widad. How is school going?”
Widad ignored his question entirely, turning back to Ummu with a sulky face. “Here I am, Ummu.”
Ummu adjusted her hijab, preparing to stand up. “I wasn’t looking for you… Come inside and help me organize my wardrobe before you head back home.”
Halima stood up, adjusting her baby onto her shoulder, following behind Ummu while chiming in, “So despite everything I taught Widad about organizing wardrobes, she still hasn’t learned?”
“I didn’t ask for your commentary, Halimatu,” Ummu replied calmly as she walked ahead. “If you want to help, help. If you are going to critique, leave my belongings alone—Intisar can do it when she arrives.”
Hearing Ummu’s sharp reply, Halima quickly zipped her lips and followed quietly behind her, le