Gidan Uncle Book Compelet Oum Hairan

Description

Two girls in Islamiya uniforms walked together, chatting in low, quiet tones.
Asmy nudged Zarah and said, "Zarah, look, that guy is standing at your house gate again today, and I swear I know he is waiting for you."
The one called Zarah let out a soft sigh. Her voice was naturally gentle and subdued; everything she did was carried out with composure and calm. She replied,
"I am not going into the house right now, I swear, not until he leaves."
Only then did I take a proper look at her. She was tall with a moderate build. Her skin was chocolate-toned—you could not quite call her fair, yet she was far too bright to be called dark. She had a round face, a high nose, and small, slightly pursed lips that naturally formed a heart shape. Both of her dimples were deeply indented, and they stayed dimpled even when she wasn't speaking, instantly accentuating the natural beauty gifted to her by Allah. Her face was fresh, wearing nothing save for a subtle stroke of kohl tracing her eyes.
Zarah possessed an extraordinarily striking figure—the coveted Coca-Cola shape. Her physical stature and natural body proportions were the primary features that drew men to her. Zarah couldn't help it; even when she walked, her hips naturally swayed in a way that made observers think she was doing it on purpose, though she had no such intention. Even though she constantly wore large, oversized hijabs, they could not hide the magnificent curves with which Allah had blessed her.
Asmy quickly grabbed her hand, and they hurried into Zarah's house, which was of moderate size. Once inside, Zarah let out a deep sigh of relief and said, "I pray that weirdo didn't see us; otherwise, he might follow us here."
"Even if he did follow you, I swear he would have seen how ruthlessness is handled, because I am not you! He sees you looking like this and takes advantage of the fact that you have no mother—no mother at all—which is why he has the audacity to disrespect you like that, Zarah. You need to tone down this excessive gentleness of yours! Your health is too good for this. Goodness, must you always be so meek? Even Rabi treats you the way she does because she realizes you aren't a modern, street-smart girl. Honestly, even at school, I always have to step in and fight your battles. You need to learn to defend yourself early on; your patience is simply too much, I swear!" Asmy finished, panting heavily.
Her stepmother, who had just stepped out of the kitchen and overheard their conversation, chimed in: "Zarah, don't listen to her. Keep living your life just as you do; Allah loves the patient. Every human being has their own test, and my dear, this is yours. Strive hard to pass it, and may Allah bring ease to your affairs. Here is food, come and eat."
Zarah lowered her head, wiping away the tears of self-pity that had slipped down her cheeks, and whispered, "Insha Allah, Mama."
Mama then turned to Asma'u and said, "You should be encouraging her instead of always instigating her, you hear?"
Asmy nodded and replied, "Insha Allah, Mama."
They sat down and began to eat the rice tuwo served with delicious, rich groundnut soup (miyan taushe).
After finishing their meal, they brought out their Islamiya books and began reviewing them together, keeping their minds focused on the upcoming recitation exams. Once they finished studying, the call to Maghrib prayer prompted them to stand up. After performing Maghrib, Zarah put on her hijab and said, "Let me head home now, see you tomorrow."
She bid Asmy’s mother farewell, and the two girls stepped outside together. Since their houses were just three compounds apart, Asmy stopped at her own doorstep and said, "See you tomorrow, Zarah, I'm heading in."
Zarah looked at her and asked, "Aren't you going to walk me right to my door?"
Shaking her head, Zarah replied, "No worries, we'll just meet tomorrow."
"Alright, may the Almighty bring us to tomorrow safely, my friend," Asmy said, slipping into her house.
In her soft, gentle voice, Zarah murmured a quiet greeting as she stepped inside her own home.
It was a small house consisting of four rooms: one for Mama Rabi, one for Baba, a third room belonging to Zarah herself, and the fourth occupied by her younger siblings. She met Mama Rabi in the courtyard. The moment Rabi caught sight of her, she shot her a vicious glare and launched into a furious tirade:
"You hide behind Islamiya to go whoring around, you daughter of a dead mother! When you went and sat outside, did you arrange for someone else to cook your chores, or did you leave a husband waiting in the house, eh?"
Zarah began to shake her head, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. No matter what Mama Rabi did to her, nothing hurt her quite as deeply as the insults hurled at her late mother. Brushing away her tears with a trembling voice, she whispered, "Please forgive me, Mama."
Rabi let out a harsh hiss, stood up, and barked, "Before thirty minutes are up, I want you to finish pounding the tuwo and preparing the soup, you daughter of a dog!"
"Alright," Zarah replied, her heart pounding with anxiety as she hurried into the kitchen.
She kindled two local stoves, despite the firewood being damp from the rainy season. She blew desperately at the fire, rushing to complete all the cooking tasks in record time. Once she was finished with the pots, she came out to wash the pile of dishes. Habiba and the other children were sitting nearby, tapping away on mobile phones without lifting a single straw to help her.
As soon as she wrapped up all the chores, she retreated to her room to rest. She slipped off her outer clothes and wrapped a simple cloth wrapper around herself because the heat was suffocating, perhaps worsened by an approaching rainstorm. At that moment, Mama Rabi and her children were eating the tuwo in the courtyard. Zarah curled her lips in a bitter expression, let out a hiss, and muttered, "Off she goes wandering around the town, only to come back and bathe in luxury at home."
Accustomed to the hostility, she didn't let it weigh her down. She stepped out of the bathroom after performing her ablution for Isha'i prayer, walked straight into her room, laid out her old prayer mat, put on her Islamiya hijab, and stood up for prayer.
After completing Isha'i, along with the Shafa'i and Witr prayers, she remained seated on the mat for a long time, tearfully praying for her mother's forgiveness from the Almighty.
"O Allah, have mercy on my mother. Even now, I constantly weep over missing having you close to me, yet I feel a sense of joy when I remember the manner of your passing—even though I never knew you and never laid eyes on you. But you must know that I love you dearly; I go to sleep and wake up with thoughts of you. I am certain that if you were alive, I would not find myself trapped in this wretched life of misery. But I am helpless before the decree of the Almighty; this is how Allah willed it for me, and I thank Him. May Allah grant you eternal rest," she finished, breaking down into deep, soul-shattering sobs.
She buried her face in her knees, crying over the orphan's life she had been thrust into, forced to grow up surrounded by merciless people.
Malam Yusuf, who had just stepped into the house, overheard his daughter praying for her mother. He wiped away sympathetic tears for his child. Whenever he thought of her mother—his beloved, obedient, and patient Zarah—he too struggled to hold back his tears. He walked closer, sat down beside her, and said,
"Zahra'u, please bear this patiently, you hear? It is said that everything with a beginning has an end. May Allah bless you, my daughter, forgive your mother, and grant you even more patience and endurance in living with Rabi. May He also let me witness your wedding day. Believe me, I hate seeing you in this condition just as much as you do."
Hearing her father's voice, Zarah quickly wiped her tears, because above all else in the world, she detested seeing her father distressed. Forcing a smile, she asked, "Welcome home, Baba."
Returning her smile, he said, "I am fine, Zarah. How is school? I spoke with your teacher today, and he mentioned that there are graduation fees to be paid. Why didn't you tell me about it on time, Zarah?"
Lowering her head, she replied, "Baba, I knew you didn't have the money, and I figured a graduation party isn't mandatory anyway. As long as I have memorized the Qur'an in my heart, that is enough."
Baba shook his head, gazing at his daughter with profound, unmatched affection. Zarah's maturity and foresight always astonished him; she possessed the exact same patience as her late mother.
He said, "May Allah bless you, my daughter. Even if we have to go without food, I will pay those fees for you. It's not ten thousand naira; I will source it before the time comes."
"Amen, Baba, thank you so much."
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes, Baba," she answered, nodding.
"Alright, that's good." He reached into his pocket and handed her a two-hundred-naira note, saying, "Here, hide this and use it for little expenses, you hear?"
Smiling, she accepted it with both hands and said, "Thank you, Baba. May Allah reward you with goodness."
"Amen, my good girl," he said, bidding her goodnight before walking out.
After Baba left, Zarah shook her head, feeling a deep, special love for her father. She knew he hated that she had to face such hardship. She hid the money he gave her inside her box of clothes, pulled out the Holy Qur'an, and began reciting in her sweet, melodious voice, letting her recitation soothe her until sleep quietly overtook her.
True to her routine, she woke up before dawn for her prayers and did not go back to sleep. She immediately set about doing the household chores. By around 8:30 AM, she saw Habiba and the others emerging from their rooms, yawning and carrying small water jugs (buta) to perform ablution. Zarah shook her head internally; imagine only praying now, when they woke up so late that it was practically 9:00 AM.
She said nothing, remembering the vicious backlash she received the last time she dared advise them about morning prayers. She went back to her work.
While she was reheating leftover food (dumame), Khairat—a young girl of around eleven years old—poked her head into the kitchen and said, "Good morning, Aunty."
Zarah smiled at her younger sister, the only one in the household who truly shared her gentle disposition. "Good morning, Khairat. Did you sleep well?"
"Alhamdulillah," Khairat replied, stepping forward to take the pot Zarah was trying to lift. "Let me help you, Aunty."
"No, no, leave it, Khairat, I'll do it."
"No, I insist on helping you," Khairat replied.
Just as they were working together, Mama Rabi peeked in, having been tipped off by morning gossip that Khairat was in the kitchen helping Zarah. Unleashing a foul, venomous stream of curses, she delivered a blow that made Zarah's stomach twist in terror and left her completely disoriented.
Before Zarah could even look up, Mama Rabi slapped her hard across the face, screaming, "You son of a bitch! Are you going to make my child do chores for you? How many times must I tell you that you are the only one who will do the work in this house, eh? The sheer insolence! The child I gave birth to is the one supposed to be working for you?!"
Khairat stood up, overwhelmed with pity for her older sister. "Please forgive me, Mama, she didn't ask me to help; I was the one who decided to."
Mama Rabi lashed out at her with a fierce bark, pointing toward the exit. "Get out of my sight before I turn my anger on you!"
Khairat hurriedly fled the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
As for Zarah, tears streamed down her face as Mama Rabi unleashed a torrent of abuse, moving from one insult to another without stopping. Zarah didn't utter a single word in response until Rabi finished her tirade and stormed out.
Zarah shook her head, stood up, and quietly resumed her work, tears still rolling down her cheeks.
Once she finished all her chores, she went to her room, swept the floor, wrapped a towel around herself, grabbed her sponge and soap, and went out to take a bath. When she returned, she found Mama Rabi and her children eating the leftover tuwo she had prepared. Ignoring them completely, she slipped into her room to dress in an Ankara outfit that had seen better days.
Hearing her stomach growling with hunger, she stepped out again. She stopped at a respectful distance and lowered her head in silence.
Rabi snapped angrily, "Why are you standing there like a statue, you witch? What do you want?"
Zarah raised her head, tears leaking from her eyes, quickly wiped them away, and said, "I just came to get some food."
Rabi let out a long, disdainful hiss, rolled her eyes, and sneered, "We've eaten it all. It wasn't even enough for us."
Despite her tender age, little Khairat spoke up: "Mama, let me give her my portion; I'm already full."
Rabi glared fiercely at Khairat, gave her a sharp knock on the head, and scolded, "If you are full, I am not full!"
Zarah simply shook her head. The food was right there before her eyes—food she had endured grueling hardship to cook—yet she was denied a single bite despite the piercing hunger gnawing at her insides. She turned around and walked back to her room.
Retrieving the two-hundred-naira note Baba had given her, she tucked it safely into her clothes, put on her hijab, and stepped toward the exit.
Mama Rabi barked a harsh command, "Whose father's house do you think you're marching off to?"
"I am going out to buy something to eat," Zarah replied in a trembling voice.
"Get back inside! You are going nowhere, you daughter of a dog. Do you want to go out and attract more gossip and abuse for me in the neighborhood? Everything I do, people are already watching! You are staying right here."
"But Mama, you are the one who refused to give me food, and now you won't let me go buy some?" Zarah protested with a rare spark of courage.
"Oh, really? You won't stay? Or are you telling me you'll disobey me?"
Zarah simply shook her head, marveling at the utter cruelty of Mama Rabi. She retreated to her room, sat down, and buried her head in her hands. The tears of self-pity flowed freely. Indeed, she should have been used to her reality by now... ✍🏿

Summary

In this segment, we are introduced to Zarah, a gentle, deeply patient, and naturally striking young woman living in a harsh domestic environment.

• The Walk Home & Admirer: Zarah walks home from Islamiya with her friend Asmy, successfully avoiding a persistent suitor waiting near her house. Asmy vents her frustration over Zarah's excessive passivity and the mistreatment she faces at home.
• Domestic Life & Cruelty: Zarah lives with her doting father, Malam Yusuf, but suffers under the tyrannical abuse of her stepmother, Mama Rabi, and Rabi's children. Despite cooking and doing all the grueling chores, Zarah is routinely insulted, denied food, and insulted about her late mother.
• A Father's Love: In stark contrast to Rabi's cruelty, Malam Yusuf deeply loves and understands Zarah, comforting her, apologizing for her hardships, and secretly giving her a small monetary gift to help her out.

• The Kitchen Incident: The following morning, when young Khairat tries to help Zarah in the kitchen, Mama Rabi flies into a rage, physically assaulting Zarah and banishing Khairat. Later, when Zarah tries to get food or go out to buy some with her father's money, Rabi cruelly blocks her, leaving her hungry and isolated.

  Description

• Protagonist: Zarah (A breathtakingly beautiful, patient, and soft-spoken orphan with a striking Coca-Cola figure, enduring stepmother abuse).
• Setting: A modest traditional northern Nigerian household and an Islamiya school environment.
• Core Conflict: The grueling clash between Zarah’s extraordinary patience and virtue, and the relentless, malicious cruelty of her stepmother (Mama Rabi), set against the backdrop of poverty and domestic oppression.
• Key Themes: The trials of orphanhood, stepmother hostility, the power of parental love and spiritual devotion (Qur'anic recitation), and the virtue of quiet perseverance.