Aalimah Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel
On May 25, 2016, an American Airways flight touched down carrying Aalimah Mansour at Boston Logan International Airport in Massachusetts, USA. Slowly, she joined the queue of disembarking passengers, carrying a medium-sized designer handbag. She wore a long flowing gown paired with a matching Tehran maroon veil wrapped elegantly around her face, complemented by black low-heeled shoes. Stepping gracefully onto the tarmac, she boarded the airport shuttle van along with other passengers to reach the main terminal for immigration checks before retrieving her luggage.
As she stepped outside, the gentle morning sunlight dazzled her eyes. She raised her palm to shade her face just as taxi drivers began approaching her, asking where she needed to go. She fixed her tired, large captivating eyes on them as if calculating or deciding who to trust—a clear sign of a stranger visiting the country for the very first time. Finally, she singled out a slender white taxi driver and pulled out a small notepad from her purse to show him the address. He took her luggage, loaded it into the trunk, and opened the rear door for her. She stepped in, and he got into the driver’s seat and pulled away.
They traveled smoothly along the grand highways of Massachusetts as she quietly admired the clean, beautiful streets. Massachusetts is one of the most prominent states in the United States, home to a diverse population from all corners of the world (with Boston’s population estimated at around 685,094 in 2017). Situated in the Northeastern region of the US, it borders Cambridge to the east, Vermont and New Hampshire to the north, New York to the west, Connecticut and Rhode Island to the south, and the Atlantic Ocean along its coast.
The taxi brought her into an exclusive gated community—Martha’s Vineyard Estate—stopping outside a grand lodge in the heart of Boston. Aalimah took a deep breath, checked her fare, paid the driver, accepted her change, and watched him retrieve her bags. Slowly walking up to the entrance, she surveyed the quiet, affluent neighborhood. Right above the front door, a polished nameplate read: ISHAQ RAAZEE.
She pressed the doorbell. After ringing it three times, a female voice called out in English that she was on her way. Aalimah’s heart pounded so hard she felt it might burst from her chest. She had no idea what kind of reception awaited her from her uncle (Kawu), let alone his wife, Mummy Zulaiha, and her children. Everyone in their family knew Zulaiha was territorial—she hated relatives leeching off her husband’s wealth, especially since Aalimah’s father was the least financially fortunate among the brothers.
Had it not been for her mother’s strict insistence against her staying in a university hostel when her own uncle lived in the same city, Aalimah would never have set foot in this house. She knew a hostel would have offered her far more peace of mind, but how could she disobey her parents? Education was her passion, but her mother’s firm stance on discipline and family honor meant a clear ultimatum: either stay under her uncle’s watchful eye and face whatever attitude his family threw at her, or give up her studies and get married.
Her thoughts wandered to Mahmoud Kaita, the only young man in her life who had ever spoken to her of marriage. Mahmoud was a final-year university student, not yet established. They had fallen in love secretly, hidden from her parents’ knowledge. If her mother knew she had a serious suitor, she would have forced her to marry immediately regardless of her academic ambitions. Only her eldest brother, Aboubacar (Abubakar), knew about Mahmoud—and only because Mahmoud was his close friend who had introduced them in the first place.
Lost in thought on the doorstep, the heavy front door opened after five minutes. Easther, Mummy Zulaiha’s housemaid, stood before her. For a few seconds, the two stared at each other in silence before Easther stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in without asking who she was looking for. Easther didn’t hesitate because Aalimah bore an undeniable, striking resemblance to the children of the house—especially the daughters.
Aalimah stepped inside, pulling her suitcase behind her. At that exact moment, Mummy Zulaiha descended the staircase dressed impeccably for an outing. Her high heels clicked firmly on the steps, carrying a designer handbag and car keys. But as her eyes landed on the young girl entering her living room, she froze in total shock.
Standing before her was a tall, slender, strikingly fair-skinned girl with a sharp nose, large captivating eyes, deep red lips, and a thick mane of dark hair. Her features betrayed her mixed Tuareg (Abzinawa) lineage—one glance revealed she was not purely Hausa, but shared the distinct bloodline of Zulaiha’s husband, Ishaq Raazee. She was the last person Zulaiha ever expected to see in America, let alone inside her private home.
Aalimah offered a gentle, respectful smile, bowing slightly to greet her uncle’s wife. Stunned into silence, Zulaiha didn’t utter a word until her youngest daughter, Yasmin, tugged at her dress: “Mummy, she’s greeting you.”
Snapping out of her shock, Zulaiha glared at Aalimah, her mind racing with irritation. What was she doing here? Had Ishaq really grown bold enough to bring his poor Tuareg relatives into her house without consulting her? Keeping her tone cold and distant, she asked: “Who did you come with?”
Aalimah lowered her head, her soft voice replying, “I came alone, Aunty.”
“Alone all the way from Nigeria?”
Aalimah nodded silently.
Zulaiha opened her mouth as if to say more, but refrained. Walking down the rest of the stairs, she turned to Easther with a sour expression: “Give her food and show her to a guest room. I’m going out to drop Yasmin at school and head to the office.”
“Yes, Ma!” Easther replied.
Zulaiha turned to Aalimah, barely hiding her annoyance. “Go along with her. We’ll talk when I return.” With that, Zulaiha and Yasmin swept out the front door.
Ishaq Raazee’s home was a modern two-story American lodge. The upper floor housed the master suite, Zulaiha’s private bedroom, and rooms for their three daughters. The ground floor contained a spacious modern kitchen, an elegant English-style living room, and a bedroom for their older sons. Since Easther was a day-maid who returned to her own home every evening after dinner, she wasn’t sure where to lodge Aalimah. The house was not designed to accommodate distant guests; she knew she couldn’t take her to the master floor, nor could she leave her alone downstairs in the locked guest quarters. Apprehensively, Easther decided to take Aalimah upstairs to the room shared by the daughters, located right next to Mummy’s suite.
Easther brought a tray of food to the room, placing it beside the bed before returning downstairs to her chores. Before touching the food, Aalimah decided to take a bath. Her skin felt sticky from the long journey, and being naturally obsessed with personal hygiene, she couldn’t stand remaining unwashed—especially in warm weather. Her long hair felt itchy despite having washed it three days prior.
Unpacking her toiletries, she stepped into the ensuite bathroom. It featured a luxurious light-blue jacuzzi bathtub matching the rest of the decor. Undoing the ribbon holding her hair, a thick, silky waterfall of dark Tuareg hair spilled across her shoulders. Spotting a wall-mounted hairdryer and expensive shampoos lined up for the daughters, Aalimah filled the tub with warm water and indulged in a relaxing soak. She scrubbed her skin, washed her hair with Head & Shoulders, dried it thoroughly, performed ablution, dressed in a fitted Ankara gown, wrapped herself in her prayer hijab, and fulfilled her missed prayers.
Feeling refreshed, she sat down to eat the potato and mushroom porridge cooked with tender chicken breast, paired with grilled liver. She finished it with a cold glass of apple juice before relaxing on the sofa.
Thoughts of her mother, father, siblings, and her beloved Mahmoud flooded her mind. She knew they were anxiously waiting for her call. Pulling out her phone, she remembered she had no international roaming or internet access, unaware that the house was equipped with high-speed Wi-Fi. Placing her phone aside, she picked up her empty dishes and headed downstairs.
Following the sound of running water, she found the kitchen where Easther was washing dishes. Aalimah offered to help, but Easther frantically declined, begging her not to get her into trouble with Zulaiha. Smiling, Aalimah pulled up a chair at the kitchen dining counter and chatted with her instead.
Easther was a Black American of Ghanaian descent whose family hailed from Kumasi. She explained that her ancestors had lived in America for generations. Curious, Easther asked Aalimah if she was the boss’s biological relative due to their remarkable family resemblance. Aalimah confirmed that Ishaq Raazee was indeed her father’s elder brother.
Suddenly, the sound of two cars pulling into the driveway signaled the family’s return—one belonging to the master of the house, and the other to Mummy Zulaiha. Soon, the daughters rushed indoors chatting noisily: Basma (the eldest girl), followed by Khalisat, and young Yasmin. It had been six years since Aalimah last saw them during their last trip to Nigeria. They had grown remarkably—Basma, at sixteen, had matured fast with a tall frame, while fourteen-year-old Khalisat was two years younger than Aalimah. Yasmin, the youngest at eight, had been born much later.
Mummy Zulaiha, despite being nearly fifty, looked barely thirty-five due to her luxurious lifestyle and meticulous self-care. She and Ishaq had married young out of intense teenage love—a romance so passionate that Zulaiha’s parents pulled her out of secondary school in her fifth year to marry Ishaq while he was still a third-year university student at Ahmadu Bello University (ABU Zaria).
With no financial stability at the time, Ishaq had taken his young bride to his ancestral home in Niamey (Yamai), Niger Republic, under the roof of his father, Malam Ibrahim Raazi. There, Zulaiha was enrolled in a local French-speaking secondary school, adapting slowly over time. Ishaq, who had loved Nigeria since childhood, had insisted on attending university in Zaria, taking along his brilliant younger brother Mansour (Aalimah’s father), who had skipped grades to finish secondary school alongside him.