Duniyata Compelet Book 1

Description

Page 01

The Gateway

"Maaaam.......please maama, abbee is very sick, you know it maama...... if you leave, who is going to take care of us?, if you leave maama, who is going to take care of abbeee?" The voice of the boy, who could not possibly be more than thirteen years old, came out in a sort of cold and intense vulnerability. Even if you were not told... even if you did not look at his face which was soaked with tears... even if you did not look at his trembling hands supporting the bundle sitting between his thighs, you would understand that he was in a state of utter shock, terror, and absolute fright.

His eyes were fixed on her, hoping to hear the specific words, "I have called off the trip," from her mouth, despite the fact that there was not a single sign, no matter how small, indicating she might change her mind. Instead, she adjusted the edge of the veil draped over her head, bent down, and began stuffing the remainder of her clothes that couldn't fit into her front black bag.

"Please Mariya.......not for my sake......or for the sake of these children, please bear with it......stay and hold them, my condition is easier, I am certain that only a few days are left for me, they are the ones who need looking after..." The man, whom illness, poverty, and the pressures of life had ganged up on, affecting every part of his physical existence. He spoke with difficulty, struggling to breathe as though his breath might be snatched away between his chest and his lungs.

He looked away from the face of the man who was his FATHER, shifting his gaze to hers while his heart melted with a profound self-pity, save for HER! His heartbeat quickened with intense distress and a unique pity as though it would split his heart open. He had waited for a long time to hear certain words from the mouth of their father, who roughly hadn't uttered a single sound for about ten solid days now—not even a murmur. He had spent countless nights straining his ears to catch something from his mouth.....and behold, today his mouth had opened, but they opened because of the extreme disaster and fright she was about to plunge their lives into, not because he opened them to speak to them with those kind words he never spared them.

With his eyes filled with hope that she would yield to their father's words.....even because of the word of death he mentioned to himself, which had become one of the reasons he wished he hadn't spoken, wished he had kept his mouth shut despite the pile of desires and longing he had to speak, which filled his heart. While he was swimming in this river of conjecture and hope, he heard the dry, voiceless voice of his father once more, gathering all his endurance to say, "Mariya......if you go, who will take care of them?"

Furiously, she turned around, shot him a fierce look, and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Did I come with them? I met them right here and right here I will leave them. A child whose mother died the very day he was born is living right now, they are over a million, let alone those who are thirteen and eighteen years old." Upon saying this, she began lifting her feet, giving the room a farewell match—which convinced him that she was truly serious! She was not going to yield! And it seemed nothing would make her yield either!

He did not know what kind of thought he should have, because at that moment his brain was too small to process all these events, let alone distinguish which decision was appropriate from the one that wasn't. He found himself right in front of her, clutching her feet, crying softly with all his strength at his tender age.

She looked at him as if she was going to yank her foot away, but then she reached out, lifted him up, and made him sit down, saying, "Right here is where you must stay, whether you like it or not, through hardship or ease, when things are tough or absent. If I say I will continue to stay too, all of us, me and you, we will live a wasted life—flat out on the floor, and your father is the same. It is better I move a bit, perhaps provision lies ahead."

The words struck his heart like a piercing dagger. His eyes could see his father closing his eyes. Then he pulled his gaze away and shifted it to the boy who had scrambled to follow her out the door of the room.

A terrifying roar, far beyond his years, erupted from him: "Come back and sit down!...... We will live...... We will live with our father!...... We will live through hardship or ease!...... We will live with happiness or without it!...... We are bound to each other now!...... We have no one except ourselves and our father!" He finished speaking while panting, his chest rising and falling.

She stopped abruptly, turned back, and their eyes locked into one another. It wasn't knowing him for a year or two.....nor was it knowing him like cattle.....she knew his traits, which resembled the traits of a man who had taken a long journey through time or a century in the vast expanse of the world.....traits that threw her into a world of wonder at times. But even in the wildest stretches of her imagination, she had never thought such intensely burning words would ever escape his tongue. Words that were neatly arranged! They delivered a message as though he had been storing them for a long time.....as though they had been written down for him and he had spent a long time practicing how to utter them.

The way she pulled her eyes away from him, he pulled his as well. He redirected all his energy into trying to settle his father comfortably. His body grew heavier and settled down completely. Yet, air continued to escape through his nostrils, which kept his mind from dwelling on anything else.

He had no more HOPE in her.....yet his mind refused to let go of her, counting the footsteps of her shoes as she walked out of their house. A departure that still refused to leave his brain. A departure that still caused him intense pain.....a departure he associated with being the source and KEY to the occurrence of every kind of hardship and pressure of life.

THEY ARE BACK WITH NEW STORIES

AFTER THE MATCH PLAYED, HERE COMES A NEW MATCH

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Page 02

His eyes, which had narrowed and sunk deep into their sockets due to intense weeping, trauma, and terror, opened. He cast his gaze to his side, to his left hand, and fixed his eyes upon the smooth, laid-out mat. The mat belonging to its owner who passed away three days ago—the mat where, three days back, around this exact time, they were together with the owner of the mat. Jadda to them, the mother of their father, who had become a wall, a pillar, and a lean-on for them after the death of their father.

To this day, he had not been able to bring himself to roll up the mat, and nobody else cared to remove it either. Oh, where would anyone care about them, let alone what was inside the house? They were nobodies; they had nothing to offer the people coming for condolences. They had no status, no steadfast person to stand by them and mourn the loss of their grandmother, with whom they had lived for three years in severe and fierce struggle—a struggle that was like a race between hardship and relief amidst extreme trials.

The tears that refused to stop flowing from his eyes welled up once more. To this day, it felt like a joke; to this day, it felt like JADDA would return. Her passing brought back the wound of his father's death, making it feel as though he had passed away today, as though today he was bidding farewell to the world, as though today MAAMA had walked out and left them—a departure that served to trigger the worsening condition of abbee's illness... a departure that felt as though she had taken away his very soul and life. He placed one of his hands tightly around his neck as if he were about to strangle himself. Bulging veins popped up over his head and forehead in straight lines. The color of his eyes turned even deeper red, and hot, painful tears broke out again, flooding every corner and recess of his body and soul.

"Hamma.....ham" The boy who rushed into the room paused his call. In that state, he turned around to look at him, and the boy stepped back a little because he was deeply frightened by how his face had transformed. It was a look that instilled deep fear of his hamma in him; whenever he saw him like that, he felt as though it wasn't his hamma at all.

He noticed this himself, which made him pull his hand away from his neck, gathering a thick, stiff lump of saliva and swallowing it with difficulty like someone swallowing stones. He cast his heart far away, cleared his throat, and threw a question at him: "What is it?"

With his voice and body trembling slightly, he began to say, "It's Abba......Farouq's dad said you should come, he is at the soro (porch/reception area)." His eyes dropped as he felt a portion of mercy and relief descend upon his heart. The single person in the world whose sight or voice announced the coming of goodness, relief, or a break from all their prevailing conditions.

He walked, but felt as though he was not walking on his own feet; he walked feeling as though he was suspended between heaven and earth due to trauma, hunger, and thirst. Not even once after the passing did he manage to put a morsel of food into his mouth from the food neighbors threw at them occasionally. He dragged himself along the wall, casting his glance across their courtyard which had become like a race track—it had gone barren and fallen apart, signaling to him that they had indeed lost yet another wall and support.

An elderly man of distinguished character whose age in the world could not possibly exceed forty-five years. Yet, signs clearly showed he was a man with a built, healthy physique capable of withstanding years. He was dressed in a pristine white gown (kufta) with intricate hand embroidery that added to his dignified stature. He pushed his cap back, his feet clad in Medina slippers, which was one of his habits whenever he stepped out to places no further than the neighborhood mosque or a nearby area, whether riding or on foot.

Vulnerably, they looked at each other—he and him. Seeing him filled his heart with another wave of vulnerability; as he prepared to bend down and greet him, the man supported him. "Stand up, stand up......well done for the effort, well done for the patience......is there anything you need to pick up from inside the house?" he asked, looking at him. He didn't quite understand what Abba was trying to say, so he looked at him intently.

"I am taking you to my house; you will not be left to sleep and wake up in a house where no one is inside except the two of you."

With that voice choked with hardship and wandering, he opened his mouth: "Just our change of clothes." "Take what is easy and lock the house," he spoke, taking the hand of the younger brother standing close to him.

As he packed things from south, west, east, and north, his mind was a tangle of thoughts. Were they moving to Abba's house? Farouq's house? Assuredly, Farouq and his crew were privileged children through and through, yet the kind of privilege they enjoyed had a huge gap and flaw. A privilege that lacked a wall and a pillar, a privilege that sometimes turned an unpleasant color. A privilege that often failed to live up to its name, while they—despite their lack of wealth and comfort—surpassed them in gaining one thing: THE FREEDOM TO RELAX AND HAVE PEACE OF MIND. So, would they live with Momy? Would they fall under her shadow and rule like the other children?

He let go of the remaining clothes in his hand and slid down to sit on the floor. This single thought alone shattered the rest of his remaining energy.

His thoughts scattered. Yet, succor had found him because Abba was the kind of elder who strove to help and support every vulnerable person. Ever since the days when their father and mother were alive, his hands, his pockets, and his time were spent in serving them. The passing of their father made him redouble his kindness. He had supported their lives and Jadda's with both hands, and now he was about to place that burden squarely on his shoulders.

"If you can't pack the clothes, just come out and leave them until tomorrow, okay?" Abba's voice hit his ears, forcing him to stand up and grab whatever he could. He dragged his feet out of the room, his eyes scanning the nooks where he and Jadda had spent the remnants of their life's struggle three years after their father's death. The bundle of years summed up to give him the total age of FIFTEEN years in the world.

THEY ARE BACK WITH NEW STORIES AFTER THE MATCH PLAYED, HERE COMES A NEW MATCH A STRAIGHTFORWARD JOURNEY OF ENTERTAINMENT COMPETITION AND FIERY DISCUSSIONS STORIES THAT BAFFLE AND BRING JOY TO THE READERS' HEARTS ZAFAFA BIYAR ... [Promotional footer repeated as above] ...

Page 03

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He was holding his hand tightly within his own, with compassion and care, while following them from behind, carrying their clothes pressed against his chest, tied inside a faded wrapper.

Every single step he took was accompanied by the beating of his heart; a sort of doubt about entering the house invaded his mind, filled with resignation, vulnerability, and uncertainty. Right as Abba turned around calmly when they reached the front gate of the house.

He smiled at him gently with the intent of calming his nerves. He understood there were many thoughts running back and forth in the boy's mind regarding entering the house. Entering this house was an old story that had long passed—roughly two whole years ago was the last time it was spoken of.

"Relax, this will make your younger brother relax too. Think of it as your father returning; I will be a father, a wall, and a support for you as long as breath flows in my body. Put it in your mind that you now have no more problems or orphanhood, you hear?" Abba uttered, placing his hand on his head, while love and pity for him coursed through him.

He had watched the boy for a long time on different days, times, and places within the neighborhood. He had long known that the boy stood out differently from other children; everything about him was unique. His composure and foresight alone would make you think he had outgrown his age. He had never heard—nor could he ever recall a time when he heard—someone approach him wrongfully in the neighborhood. Whenever you heard a cry concerning him, without a doubt, someone had provoked him, stepping onto his turf or territory.

Whenever such a case arose, most of the time when he was with his father, he would say, "Let me punish him even if he is in the right; he is too hot-tempered, too stubborn, and unyielding. These are all bad traits, he needs to change for the sake of life."

Abba would smile and return his gaze to the boy's face before answering his father: "Thank God, no one has ever brought a complaint against him for being in the wrong. Even if a complaint is brought, you will find he was in the right. What more do you seek or wish for?" Their father was an extremely patient man who would simply turn his head and smile. Abba surpassed everyone in his estimation; he was a rare, noble neighbor, which was why he accorded him all respect—not because of wealth or possessions he owned, but simply because he deserved it.

"Are you hearing me?" Abba asked again to bring his attention back, and he nodded calmly, looking at Abba as well. "Alright, let's go inside; all of Sadiq's crew are inside too, I'm sure by now." He didn't object, walking ahead of Abba while following him, teasing his younger brother who had relaxed completely. Happiness was written across his face; apparently, youth and innocence regarding the full bitterness of life made him completely unable to foresee or imagine what could happen near or far, good or bad, to them, their lives, and their WORLD as a whole.

They continued walking into the compound—a spacious yard paved with interlock tiles. One glance at the house told you there was financial ease within, though you wouldn't call it outrageously wealthy, it certainly belonged to the class of affluent and well-to-do people who had outrun the search for basic needs, keeping scarcity at a vast distance.

"Open for us," Abba uttered when he saw the boy stop without opening the parlor door that led directly into the main interior of the house. He moved forward slightly, twisted the knob, pushed it open, and stepped into the parlor filled with the cool breeze of the AC.

It was her—she was the very first woman his eyes locked onto. He didn't know whether it was because of how intensely he detested her, or because he loathed entering any of her affairs just as she openly showed loathing and hatred for them? That was why she became the first person he saw!

"Hey, stop there! Where are you going? Who are you here to see? Didn't I forbid you people from barging into this house boldly as if it were your father's house? What did you even bring some rags along for?"

"I am the one who brought him," Abba, who was right behind him with his heart burning upon hearing her words, uttered. She paused slightly, not because she was startled by hearing him, but out of sheer malice and the suspicions starting to well up in her mind.

"Truly, just disaster inside this house," she thought to herself, drawing her eyebrows tightly together without an ounce of mercy on her face.

The boy sitting huddled on the edge of the carpet pulled his body together once more, a sign showing he was stepping back in line due to her changed mood.

"Aaaaaah......is it you again today? So you're going to barge in on us again?" A boy emerging from the house's kitchen uttered, his face beaming with pure joy as he directed all his attention to the one he threw the question at. He was holding a tray; from his hands down to his feet, he had rolled up his trousers and shirt sleeves.

"You! Why don't you have sense? Are you going to come and drop that for me or what?" The high-class woman sitting on the parlor sofas yelled again at the boy, who seemed to have forgotten what brought him out of the kitchen as all his attention went to the visiting boy who had just entered, and who looked to be of the same age as him.

He turned toward her to drop the tray for her, but that wasn't enough for him; she followed him with a nasty look, her eyes looking as though they might pop out and fall to the ground.

"Fool, like someone who saw his uncle, I'll deal with you lot," she uttered angrily. He placed the tray down a little further back, hoping her hands wouldn't reach him, even though he knew that would be difficult, if only because of the presence of their father figure there.

"Musaddiq......quickly take the items from his hand and go to your room, both of you." Suddenly, the boy sitting huddled between...

Summary

The excerpt introduces a heart-wrenching domestic drama centered around two young brothers—led by an exceptionally resilient and emotionally burdened older brother (around fifteen)—and their ailing, impoverished father. Their lives are upended by their cold, callous stepmother/mother figure ("Maama"), who heartlessly abandons the struggling family during their father's terminal illness and the recent loss of their beloved grandmother (Jadda).

Left destitute, grieving, and overwhelmed, the young boy fiercely vows to protect his younger sibling and remain steadfast by their dying father's side. Shortly after the father's passing and the aftermath of hardship, a kind, respected neighborhood figure known as "Abba" steps in to rescue the orphaned boys, moving them into his own affluent home. However, the transition brings new tension when Abba's haughty, hostile wife reacts with open contempt and disgust at the arrival of the destitute boys, setting the stage for a clash of class, cruelty, and survival within their new environment.

Description of Analytics

• Narrative Arc & Pacing: The text utilizes a slow-burn, highly emotive narrative style characteristic of contemporary Hausa popular literature (Soyayya/Zafafa Biyar genre). It heavily employs internal monologues, sensory descriptions of grief (trembling hands, physical heaviness, tears), and stark contrasts between extreme poverty and affluent comfort.
• Character Dynamics:
  • The Protagonist (Hamma): Displays maturity far beyond his age, fierce protectiveness, unyielding resilience, and deep psychological trauma.
  • Maama: Represents unfeeling selfishness, maternal abandonment, and harsh cruelty.
  • Abba: Symbolizes benevolent paternal authority, moral integrity, and community solidarity.
  • Abba's Wife: Personifies snobbery, hostility, and class prejudice.
• Thematic Elements: Abandonment, grief, orphanhood, socio-economic disparity, loyalty, and the endurance of sibling bonds amidst adversity.

Comments on Keywords

• **"The gateway" (The gateway / The gateway*): Serves as a symbolic title for Page 01, representing both a physical threshold of departure (Maama leaving) and a metaphorical transition into deeper suffering and a new chapter of life for the young protagonist.
• "ZAFAFA BIYAR" (Zafafa Biyar): A prominent commercial and branding keyword group referring to the collective of elite northern Nigerian romance/drama authors (including Huguma, Billynabdul, Mamuhghee, and Miss Xoxo). It acts as a marketing tag embedded in the text to drive readership and book sales.
• "Hamma" / "Abbee" / "Jadda": Kinship and relational keywords that anchor the emotional core of the story. "Hamma" denotes the protective older brother role, "Abbee" signifies the frail, dying father, and "Jadda" represents the lost maternal/ancestral pillar of stability.
• "Talauci" / "Tashin hankali" (Implied Contextual Keywords): Poverty and trauma are core thematic drivers reflected in the text's vocabulary, underscoring the harsh socio-economic realities shaping the characters' actions and emotional responses.