Reina Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

“These days, family ties belong to the wealthy. People only foster relationships with the affluent and well-off; as for those with empty hands, they are left to reach out on their own.”

Saudat scoffed as she adjusted the sleeping Suhail in her arms, who had been lulled to sleep by the breeze of the Keke Napep (tricycle).

“But it’s getting out of hand, Abban Yaseer. For every single one of their events, we are constantly commuting on the road, but not even once! Not even once, I swear, have these people ever sent a single soul to congratulate us when I gave birth or for a naming ceremony. Yet, we are always wasting money on tricycles to go to their houses.”

He grimaced, clearly displeased by her words. Yaseer, who was sitting between them, kept his eyes fixed on him, waiting to hear the answer his father would give. For truth be told, even at 12 years old, he understood that the frequent visits they paid to his father’s relatives were neither needed nor appreciated—let alone by the mother who bore them.

“They are my family, Saudat. Please, try to love them for my sake.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t love your family, I just really don’t like how they treat us. They don’t see us as relatives; they treat us like their servants. And it’s not because they don’t have enough people to serve them, no! It’s just to show us our place.”

“Even when I try to join Jamal and the others to play, they chase me away, saying their games aren’t for villagers,” Yaseer chimed in.

Saudat gasped in disbelief. “Listen to these disrespectful children! Aren’t you older than all of them? Just because they are privileged, you go looking for them only for them to disrespect you?”

Kamal placed his hand on Yaseer’s thigh, wanting to stop him from fueling his mother’s anger and turning a small issue into a big one.

“Money dictates status, not age,” Kamal said. “Look at them; Alhaji Tahir is the youngest, yet he is at the forefront of every family affair. Even during family meetings, no one speaks until he does. And whenever he offers an opinion, it instantly turns into a command. No one challenges him on whether he is being fair or unfair—simply because God has blessed him more than the rest. So, don’t feel bad just because you’re older than them. Since you’re visiting their house, you just have to humor them until they let you join the game, okay?”

“Oh, so now you’re teaching him how to tolerate humiliation too?” Saudat’s face darkened with anger.

He didn’t get a chance to answer her because they had arrived. Various luxury cars were lined up almost to the end of the street, which was why the tricycle driver parked across the road, waiting for them to get out and settle the fare.

Kamal carried the sleeping Suhail, while Saudat carefully managed her heavily pregnant stomach to get out, adjusting the neckline of her hijab and her everyday black handbag—a hand-me-down from Hajiya Fauziyya that had become her go-to bag for gatherings.

She held Yaseer’s hand while Kamal paid the driver, who then drove off. They headed toward the gate of the massive mansion, greeting the security guards who already knew them and opened the gate for them to enter. They walked a bit further and passed through a second gate, where the sheer grandeur of the house and the bustling crowd inside became even more apparent.

Saudat didn’t know why her heart grew heavy as they neared the gathering, but Kamal felt the exact same way. They had come to celebrate the wedding with them, but they were unlikely to be given any importance. The same thing had happened yesterday and the day before—once they finished doing all the chores needed of them, no one would notice them until they left. They weren’t even given the customary wedding souvenirs since they hadn’t brought much to contribute.

Saudat had brought a contribution from the village: wooden stirrers, local bluing agent, calabashes, coconut and soft brooms, as well as dried baobab leaves, dried okra, locust bean cake, chili pepper, and potash. But they had told her, “Thank you, but we don’t need these. We don’t use this kind of junk anymore. Sweeping is done with a vacuum cleaner, and soups are mixed with a whisk.”

To that, she had asked them, “Is even the courtyard swept with a machine? The broom can be used for that, and the rest of the ‘junk’ can be given out to anyone who needs it.”

They had accepted the items with zero respect, giving her no reason to expect any gratitude. In fact, before she even left the house, she watched with her own eyes as the items were distributed among the other housemaids.