Marubuciya Complete Hausa Novels by autar Marubuta .pdf Autar Marubuta

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He gently caressed her body with a strange smile on his face, then suddenly began to say, “Honestly baby...”

It was Salma who stood up and walked to the front of the class, snatching a book from a young woman who was reading it aloud.

Everyone stared at her in surprise as she fumed, but no one dared say a word—except for a girl her age, who happened to be the author of the story.

"Hey Salma, come on, stop acting crazy. What’s the meaning of this?" she said angrily.

Salma looked at her without smiling and replied,

“Please, Hadiza, what kind of book is this? Honestly, this is too much. This is indecency and disrespect—and right here in an Islamic school? I swear, I’m reporting this to Mallam Auwal.”

With a look of defiance, Hadiza stood up and snatched the book back from Salma, saying,

“Useless work. I’ve long known you’re bitter because no one reads your books.”

Salma gave a faint smile and said,

“Poor thing.”

Then she went back to sit beside her friend, Zainab.

"Useless and pointless. Jealousy has eaten her up," Hadiza muttered as she looked for a place to sit.

Zainab turned to Salma and said,

“Salma, this is why Baba discourages you from writing—because of these obscene writers ruining your name. He thinks what they do is what you're doing too.”

Salma sighed and said,

“You're right, Zainab. I really do have dreams in the world of writers, but Baba is my biggest obstacle.”

Just as she finished speaking, the school bell rang—time to go home. Everyone stood up with their bags, some slinging them over their shoulders.

"Zainab, hurry up please, let's go. I need that Hadith book. You know how strict Mallam Naziru is—if I don't do his assignment, he won't spare me," Salma said as they exited through the school gate.

"You're right, he has no chill. Let’s go quickly before they call the prayer," Zainab replied, and they started walking fast as she suggested.

“May God bring us the time you’ll finally get a phone, Salma. You should go online and see the kinds of immoral books Hadiza is writing. I honestly can’t even read them.”

Salma replied,

“Hmm.”

"Well, Yaya Umar wants to get me a phone soon," she added, stumbling over a stone like she was about to fall.

Zainab laughed and said,

“Maybe it's because he’s in love with you that he wants to get it.”

Salma rolled her eyes and said,

“What love? We live in the same house!”

She finished with a sharp glare.

Meanwhile, Hadiza left the Islamic school fuming, walking home with her friend Ruma.

“I swear Ruma, I hate Salma. I really do. She’s a hypocrite and I can’t stand her.”

Ruma smiled and said,

“True, but stop stressing about her. Let’s just keep writing our books and enjoy life. If not for this, we wouldn’t even know anything—since they barely teach us anything clearly in Islamic school. All we get is constant lectures on purification rituals.”

“And why are you even bothered, Hadiza? Your name is Hadiza RM, and hers is Salma Aminu. Even your name sounds better—let alone your writing.”

Hadiza finally managed a smile.

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Salma still hadn't reached home. She was waiting at Zainab's gate for her to come out and give her the Hadith book.

Just then, a light-skinned, handsome young man, clearly a holiday returnee, stopped in front of her and said,

“Beautiful girl of the town, long time no see.”

Salma felt instant irritation boil inside her. She looked at him and replied,

“I’m fine. But can’t you hear the call to prayer? Go where you're supposed to.”

The light-skinned guy, whose name was Kalifa, said,

“Come on, Salma. I haven’t had a chance to see you. You know how much I love you.”

Zainab came out at that moment holding the Hadith book and handed it to Salma, who thanked her. Zainab simply said, "Good night," and went back inside without even acknowledging Kalifa.

Salma also turned and headed home.

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Salma’s father, Malam Aminu, had just returned from the mosque with his older brother, Alhaji Yusuf. The elder brother asked,

“Salma still isn’t back?”

He was speaking to Umar, who had just arrived.

Umar answered,

“Yes, Baba, but I know she’s on her way.”

Salma entered and greeted them, but as soon as she saw her uncle, her heart sank…

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Meanwhile, when Hadiza got to her house, she saw a large vehicle packed with luggage. Surprised, she rushed over. Her mother, who was talking with the driver, looked at her.

“Mama, what’s going on? Where are we going?”

“Just get in the car, Hadiza. There’s no time. We’re leaving for Sokoto tonight. We have no one left here in Kano.”

“Mama, what kind of sudden departure is this, for God’s sake? It’s like we’re being chased out. This is terrible.”

Her mother simply got into the front seat, and the driver entered as well. Seeing she had no choice, Hadiza entered and sat beside her mother, sorrow clouding her heart. The driver started the car, full of luggage, and they drove off.

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Back home, Salma knelt in front of them, crying, due to the harsh words from Alhaji Yusuf.

Malam Aminu had no one except his older brother, Alhaji Yusuf. They lived in peace, but Alhaji Yusuf was far more privileged, having even earned the title “Alhaji.”

Due to the respect Malam Aminu had for him, he always accepted his words. That’s why Umar came to stay with Malam Aminu until he finished school. His comfort there and his love for Salma were the reasons he hadn’t returned home yet.

Salma, however, was now getting a scolding.

"You’re not to blame," Alhaji Yusuf barked.

“I’ve told you over and over—let that girl come live in my house. She can join Karima and Husna. But you’ve refused.”

He continued furiously,

“Well, God willing, this ends tomorrow. Get your things ready—Umar will bring you.”

Salma burst into more tears as she looked at her mother.

Her father, Malam Aminu, said,

“What’s the crying for now? Haven’t I told you we don’t support that writing of yours—full of lies and filth—but you won’t listen.”

Umar, visibly upset, looked at his uncle and said,

“Baba, what Salma is doing is not wrong or...”

Before he could finish, his father cut him off.

“Keep quiet, Umar. What do you know about life? We’ve seen it all. Who writes all those immoral movies—if not writers? That girl won’t come here and bring disgrace on us.”

He glared at Malam Aminu again and added,

“Even married women write! Such disrespect! But no, not in our family, Salma won’t write.”

He stood up and looked at Salma again.

“Tomorrow, no excuses. I want to see you all packed.”

Then he stormed out, while Salma’s mother said,

“Go safely. May God make it for the best.”

Salma broke into sobs once again.

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