Budurwar Abbanmu Ce Book Compelet

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FATHER'S SPOILED DAUGHTER★ Drama & Love story

by PRETTY SK ✍️

 JAJIRTATTU WRITER'S ASSOCIATION  ✍️

PAGE 1

A smile rested on Abba's face, revealing his clean, perfectly aligned white teeth. He was an older man, roughly around 45 years old, but wealth and a comfortable life had preserved him so well that you wouldn't think he had even reached 40. Fair-skinned with a prominent nose, he was strikingly handsome, Masha Allah. At first glance, you might mistake him for an Arab because he didn't look like someone who had trouble speaking Hausa—he bore the striking resemblance of Arabs or Shuwa Arabs. He was very tall, broad-chested, and possessed an aura of dignity and grace. In short, he was a man of majestic stature in every sense.

He sat on the couch, watching an American action series (Prison Break) on MBC Max. Even though he had watched the complete series long ago, he always rewatched it whenever he had free time.

"Assalamu alaikum," he heard his youngest daughter's voice, causing him to turn his bright eyes toward her as he spoke softly and calmly, "Wassalamu alaikum, where are they?" he asked, noticing she hadn't come out with the others he had told her to call.

She was a young maiden who resembled him closely, though her complexion had a warm, reddish glow to it.

She sat on the carpet, saying, "Abba, they are on their way." He nodded in acknowledgment.

Within two minutes, two young women emerged, both dressed in matching P.J.-mask sets—each in her own color—consisting of slightly loose tops and pants that didn't reveal their body shapes.

Upon reaching him, they sat next to their younger sister and chorussed their greetings to Abba.

He looked at them attentively before replying.

He remained silent for a moment, studying them before opening his mouth to speak. "Marwa, I don't know what you want to become in life. At 21 years old, how could you dare to slap Baba Habu? What kind of madness is this?" he raised his voice slightly, though shouting was never his style.

Marwa, the eldest of the three, was a fiercely rebellious, arrogant, and stubborn girl. She pouted her lips, and with a coquettish whine, she responded, "Abba, I only asked him to wash the car, but he went and washed Basma's car instead. Right at that moment, I had an urgent trip to make, and I lost my temper, so I brushed his cheeks—I didn't slap him!" she finished, on the verge of crying as she stomped her feet like a little child.

"Don't you dare cry for me. You people never stand by the truth; the moment someone reprimands you, you resort to tears. And you, Basma, what did you do to Asabe?" he asked, feeling deeply frustrated by his children's behavior. He hated being harsh on them because they were orphans—he was both mother and father to them, and the last thing he wanted was to see them distressed. Yet, they were stubbornly defiant; only the youngest, Fauza, carried herself with dignity, maintaining a reserved demeanor and avoiding everyone else's business.

"Abba, she knows I hate the smell of fish when I'm at home, yet that wicked woman fried some anyway, even though she knew I was right here in the parlor watching TV," Basma replied, her face locked in a fierce frown. She was not one for playfulness and rarely smiled except on rare occasions.

He let out a long breath and exhaled. They were grown up now, yet they still behaved like children.

"But Fauza was the one who said she cooked it, so she is blameless, since she was just following your younger sister's orders," he said again in the soft tone that had become his trademark.

Basma immediately sprang to her feet, shaking her head as she protested, "Abba... Abba, is this really what you're scolding us for? Why, Abba? Is it because we don't have a mother?" She wiped away the tears streaming down her face and continued, "I won't do it again. Thank you." With that, she rushed toward the stairs, practically running.

He massaged his temples. Were they really viewing this as a scolding, even though he had spoken with absolute gentleness? He cherished them more than anything else in the world, and his only wish was to see them eternally happy.

"Go to bed," he said, pressing the remote to turn off the TV.

They stood up, neither of them giving him the usual affectionate send-off—no warm hugs or pecks on the cheek as they headed upstairs to sleep. Instead, they walked past him in silence, leaving him feeling cold and heavy-hearted.

He hated making them upset. He knew there was only one thing he could do to slightly ease Basma's anger: fire Asabe from her job.

Deep down, he felt terrible about what Basma had done to the elderly woman, but he had no choice; their happiness was his peace of mind.

He sat in distress for a long time before standing up to head upstairs to his private suite. He couldn't even bring himself to take a shower because of how heavy his mind felt. He felt as though if any of them cried, he would be betraying their late mother's trust, for they had been left in his care as a sacred trust.

He lay down, consumed by worry. His only prayer was that Basma managed to fall asleep without crying, knowing her temperament—she had a fierce temper, held onto grudges stubbornly, and possessed her late mother's exact personality, whom she strongly resembled.

Meanwhile, the three of them were sitting comfortably in their small private parlor, chatting and laughing cheerfully as if they hadn't just stormed into their quarters looking miserable.

"If we hadn't acted that way with Abba, he wouldn't have fired them. Sometimes we have to shed tears because that's the only thing that rattles him," Basma remarked.

Fauza chimed in, "But now that she's being fired, who do you want them to bring as a replacement? You know that woman is as clean as I like, and she tries her best. We've been with her for nearly 10 years, taking care of us. It really isn't right to fire her." She looked troubled.

"By God, she has to leave our house. My patience with her has reached its absolute limit; she violates every single rule I set. Just yesterday, I told her not to dare give Iro the laundryman any food because he offended me, but that hypocritical woman went ahead and gave it to him anyway!" Basma said, feeling her anger flare up again.

"Basma, calm down. Baby Fauza, don't worry—as long as you want someone clean, we'll make Abba find one for you," their eldest sister Marwa said. With that, they changed the subject, each returning to whatever activity she had been doing previously.

Marwa was the eldest at 21 years old, followed closely by Basma at 20 (there was barely any gap between them), and finally their youngest, Fauza, who was 17. These three were the only children God had blessed Alhaji Mubarak with. He had desired nothing more than for God to bless him with three daughters, whom he would raise until their marriages, earning a place among those promised Paradise for raising daughters right. Because God had blessed him with these girls, he loved them beyond measure.

His late wife, Hajiya Karima, was a woman characterized by fierce jealousy and profound arrogance. She had been that way even before meeting Alhaji, but by the will of God, they met and married.

Hajiya Karima had successfully alienated Alhaji from all his relatives, despite their wealth. Her world consisted solely of herself and her children.

Alhaji, being a gentle man who deeply loved Hajiya Karima, complied with everything she demanded, never showing his disapproval even when he disagreed. Even after God blessed them with children, nothing changed regarding his family; no relatives visited them, nor did he visit anyone.

Alhaji's mother had personally found another young lady from their extended family for Alhaji to marry, but upon hearing the news, Hajiya Karima marched straight to Alhaji's family house and publicly insulted his relatives, including his mother. Not stopping there, they relocated permanently from Kaduna that very day, and Alhaji Mubarak blindly followed her lead.

That incident caused Alhaji's mother to break down emotionally toward her son and his family, and she carried that bitter grief to her grave.

Hajiya Karima remained entirely unbothered, continuing to rule her household with an iron fist while raising her three daughters with lofty, demanding expectations. However, a sudden, tragic death shattered their lives. Without falling ill, Hajiya Karima simply collapsed; by the time she reached the hospital, she was already gone.

The depth of grief that engulfed Alhaji and his daughters was indescribable—it nearly drove him out of his mind, and only by the grace of God did he eventually stabilize.

From that moment on, his love for his orphaned daughters intensified beyond anything else. Though certain aspects of their behavior displeased him, he could never bring himself to discipline them sternly.

It had been eight years since Hajiya Karima's death. Househelps were hired to look after the girls. Alhaji had once desired to relocate them back to Kaduna, but the girls, having inherited Hajiya Karima's stubborn traits, flatly refused.

He didn't argue with them and dropped the subject, though he occasionally took them back home to see their extended family—even though no one ever visited them, and Alhaji Mubarak didn't mind.

Efforts to persuade Alhaji to remarry were met with fierce resistance; Marwa had jumped up and declared, "No motherfucker is going to take our mother's place as a co-wife." That remained the final word, and he yielded to it because he dreaded upsetting his children.

Thus, they lived happily, getting whatever they desired, no matter how difficult the cost.

Marwa was currently attending high school, studying mass communication; Basma had begun attending a free midwifery training program; and their youngest, Fauza, was in SS3 at school.

The next day was Sunday. No one left the house; everyone stayed in, which meant they didn't wake up until 11 AM.

Abba emerged into the parlor wearing a shining, bright white jallabiya. Walking slowly down the stairs, he took a seat on the nearest sofa.

His body felt heavy and subdued because of what he was about to do. He knew that if he didn't do it, his daughters would be furious with him. That morning, right after finishing the Fajr prayer, he had settled Baba Habu's generous severance pay. However, the sight of Baba Habu's tears as he begged not to be fired had utterly broken Abba's heart. He was a deeply soft-hearted man, but he had masked his emotions, saying, "You did nothing wrong; I just felt it was time to let you rest from work." That was all he had said as he walked away, feeling miserable inside.

Now, the greater challenge was how to dismiss Asabe from the house. She was a remarkably patient woman, the longest-serving member of the staff precisely because she minded her own business and quietly endured the girls' difficult attitudes.

He exhaled a breath and, mustering his courage, called out, "Asabe! Asabe!! Asabe!!!"

"Yes, Alhaji," he heard her reply from the kitchen.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze toward the kitchen entrance.

She hurried out, holding a wooden stirring spoon in her hand.

She was an older woman who was roughly around Abba's age, though hardship had weathered her appearance significantly. She knelt down at a distance from him and asked, "Alhaji, I'm here. Is there something you want me to cook for you?" she asked with utmost politeness.

He let out another slow breath and looked at her calmly. "Go pack your things. I'm going to have you taken back to your hometown."

Looking slightly bewildered, she asked, "Alhaji, is everything alright? What's going on?"

"No, don't worry, everything is fine."

"No, Alhaji, did Buhari pass away? His health hasn't been good, and I've been so anxious for the end of the month so I could take my salary and send it to take him to the hospital... Alhaji, did he pass away?" she asked with such raw vulnerability that Abba instinctively closed his eyes. A lump formed in his throat, and clearing his voice, he said, "Stop crying, no one has passed away. I just feel like you're growing older and need a rest. That's why I said I'm giving you a break to return home permanently. I will give you capital to start a business and anything else you need, and from time to time, if you wish, you can come visit us." He finished, hoping she would be placated.

She smiled, wiping away her tears as she said, "Alhaji, I swear, from now until the end of my life, I am willing to stay and work for you. You have shown me kindness I can never forget, so please let me stay—I can manage! But if I'm making any mistakes, just tell me and I will correct them," she said, adjusting her sitting position on the carpet.

"There are none. Just go pack," he said as he stood up and began walking away.

"Alhaji, thank you, thank you so much. May God reward you with goodness," she said, a heavy ache in her heart.

Without answering, he went upstairs. She stood up, returned to the kitchen, smiled faintly, turned off the gas, and stepped out. She entered a small room beside the kitchen where she lived.

She had always known that one day, the young ladies of the house would have her fired; the girls simply lacked manners. She always tried to distance her emotions from them, keeping them in her constant prayers.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she finished packing her bags. She knew she depended on this job, and although he promised to provide for her, she truly loved her work.

She stood up, threw on a dark brown hijab, grabbed her Ghana-must-go bag, and walked out into the parlor.

Placing the bag beside a single-seater sofa, she climbed the stairs.

She stopped at the door of the girls' suite and knocked softly, treating the door as gently as one would stroke an infant's skin—just as they always demanded.

Fortunately, she heard Marwa's voice. As the door opened, she quickly dropped to a crouch, respectfully greeting Marwa.

Marwa, standing by the doorway, looked Asabe over carefully and asked, "I hope you're just here to say goodbye to us?" Asabe nodded quickly.

"Come in then." Marwa stepped aside, and Asabe slowly rose and entered.

Taking four steps, she knelt down on the side and greeted Fauza.

Fauza was busy tapping away on her phone. She glanced at Asabe and replied with a welcoming smile.

Marwa sat on the sofa and raised her voice, calling out, "Baseey, Baseey, come out! You have a visitor." With that, she turned her full attention back to the TV.

Basma emerged wearing a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, looking drowsy as if she had just woken up.

Upon entering their parlor and finding Asabe kneeling like an orphan, a smile broke across her face. She sat on the arm of the sofa and asked, "What's going on?"

"She came to bid us farewell," Fauza answered.

"Aunty Basma, I am leaving. Please forgive me if I've wronged you in any way. Alhaji said..."

Basma quickly raised a hand to cut her off. "Okay, I understand. Get up and leave. May God protect you." Saying that, she stood up and retreated back inside.

With a heavy heart, Asabe stood up and walked out, reflecting on how their attitudes would never change.

Stepping outside, she grabbed her luggage and headed toward the compound. Ignoring the greetings of fellow house staff, she walked straight to the waiting car, climbed in, and the driver started the engine, driving off while asking if everything was alright. But Asabe couldn't utter a single word in response; she was simply too choked up to speak...

END.

Summary

The opening chapters introduce the wealthy, doting widower Alhaji Mubarak and his three fiercely entitled, stubborn daughters—Marwa, Basma, and Fauza—who rule their household with impunity and hold absolute sway over their father. After Marwa physically assaults an elderly worker (Baba Habu) and Basma drives the long-serving housekeeper Asabe to tears, a guilt-ridden Alhaji is forced to fire Asabe to appease his daughters, despite his own internal remorse. Meanwhile, in Kaduna, a parallel narrative introduces Najlah, a spirited young lady preparing for her Islamic studies under the watchful eye of strict instructors, setting up a vibrant contrast between the domestic drama of Alhaji's household and Najlah's bustling student life.

Comments

The narrative establishes a compelling dynamic of unchecked parental indulgence versus youthful entitlement. Alhaji Mubarak’s deep trauma from losing his late wife—who had isolated him from his family—drives his overprotective and overly permissive parenting style, creating a household where his daughters treat staff and outsiders with impunity. The introduction of Najlah in Kaduna injects a refreshing, lively counterpoint to the tense domestic atmosphere of the main house.

Conclusions

These initial chapters successfully establish the core character conflicts, highlighting the toxic codependency between Alhaji and his daughters, the harsh realities faced by domestic workers under their roof, and the introduction of secondary characters like Najlah who will undoubtedly intersect with the main plot as the story unfolds.

Keywords

• Hausa Literature
• Family Drama
• Spoiled Children
• Domestic Dynamics
• Romance & Drama
• Parenting and Grief

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