A Duniyata Book 2 Complete Hausa Novel

Revised English Translation

“Mooooom… please, mama… Abbe is very sick, you know that, mama. If you leave, who will take care of us? If you go, mama, who will take care of Abbe?”

The boy’s voice—he could not have been more than thirteen years old—came out weak, broken, and full of pain. Even without being told, even without seeing his tear-soaked face, even without noticing his trembling hands supporting the frail body seated between his thighs, anyone would know he was overwhelmed by shock, fear, and pure terror.

His eyes were fixed on her, silently begging to hear the carefully chosen words:

“I’ve decided not to go.”

Yet there was not the slightest sign—no hint at all—that she would change her mind. Instead, she adjusted the scarf on her head once more, bent down, and forced the remaining belongings that had no space into the black bag before her.

“Please, Mariya… not for me… if not for me, then for these children, please have mercy… stay and hold them close. My own situation is simple; I am certain I only have a few days left. They are the ones who truly need care…”

The man spoke with great difficulty. Illness, poverty, and the crushing weight of life had ravaged every part of his body. Each breath sounded as though it might tear itself free from his chest.

The boy shifted his gaze from the face of the man who was his father and looked back at her, his heart melting with painful compassion for everyone—everyone except her. His heartbeat grew heavier with anxiety and a deep, aching pity, as though his heart might burst. He had waited for days to hear his father speak—nearly ten full days had passed without a single word. He had spent countless nights listening, hoping. And now, today, his father’s mouth finally opened—but not to speak the loving words they had long been denied. It opened only because of the disaster and fear about to tear their lives apart.

Hope filled his eyes that her heart might soften at his father’s words—especially at the mention of death. Yet that very word made him wish his father had remained silent, despite how badly he had longed to hear him speak. As hope and fear battled inside him, his father’s dry, barely audible voice came again, gathering all the strength he had left:

“Mariya… if you go, who will take care of them?”

She turned sharply, anger flashing in her eyes as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Is that why I came—to take care of them? I found them here, and here is where I will leave them. Even children whose mothers died the very day they gave birth are alive today—millions of them—let alone children who are thirteen or eighteen years old.”

With those words, she began to walk away, her steps sounding like a final farewell. There was no doubt—she truly meant it.

She would not bend.

And it seemed nothing could make her bend.

He no longer knew what to think. His young mind could not hold all that was happening, let alone decide what was right or wrong. Suddenly, he found himself at her feet, clinging to her legs, crying softly with all the strength his age allowed.

She looked down at him as though she might shake him off, then reached out, lifted him, and set him back in place, saying:

“This is where your destiny lies. This is where you will live—whether in comfort or hardship, ease or struggle. If I stay, all of us—you, me, and even your father—will starve together. It is better for me to step aside; perhaps destiny has something else ahead.”

Her words pierced his heart like a spear. He saw his father close his eyes. Turning away, he focused on the younger child who tried to chase after her as she exited the room.

Then, with a strength far beyond his years, he shouted:

“Come back and sit down!… We will survive… we will survive with our father!… We will survive in hardship or in ease!… We will survive with happiness or without it!… We are all we have now!… We have no one except ourselves and our father!”

He finished, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.

She froze and turned back. Their eyes locked. She had not raised him from infancy, nor taught him for years, yet she knew his nature—traits like those of a man who had lived through ages, perhaps centuries. Traits that often left her in silent amazement. But never, even in her wildest thoughts, had she imagined such painfully heavy words would come from his mouth—words so well arranged, as though he had been storing them for a long time, rehearsing how to release them.

As she looked away from him, he looked away too. He devoted himself to settling his father so he could rest peacefully. His father’s body grew heavier and calmer, though breath still escaped through his nostrils, leaving the boy’s mind unable to rest.

He had no hope left in her…

yet he could not pull his thoughts away from her. He counted the sound of her footsteps, the echo of her shoes as she walked out of their home—a departure that still haunted his mind, a departure that still caused him deep pain, a departure that became the cause and the key to every hardship and suffering that followed.