Fuska Biyu Complete Hausa Novels & Stories

"Now, I see where the problem is coming from." "What problem?" I asked the old man. "Are you not an Igbo man?" "Yes I am an Igbo man so is my uncle." "Wonderful!" The old man said and grabbed another piece of kola nut. He chewed slowly. "Bisi is a Yoruba name. It means the girl you want your uncle to marry is a Yoruba woman." "Yes! She is a Yoruba woman. Is there something wrong with that?"

hushed out " Good day ma, welcome" Kaima great "hmm... thank you" glare at her joined Alisha. in the living room Fatima walks, her eyes so dime and scary, burning with anger" Alisha! Alisha!!, where is this girl" she yell furiously, Alisha rush in trembling in fear " what, where you doing there?" she roars in Hausa language " Mommy, we were just chatting" she whispered in Hausa language, Fatima eye mounted fear in her, she taught she would hit her

Haya, after their leave, held her mother's hand and cried badly. "Please Biya.... for God's sake come back wherever you are....mama papa and we all don't have the courage to listen and bear the taunts of people... Where have you gone Biya..... please come back wherever you are....." Haya was crying in hiccuping and conversing with her sister, Biya.

I looked down at my table to see my book slightly squeezed and a bit of drool there. I cleaned the side of my mouth with the back of my hand and yawned. I feel cramped up and I still need more sleep. Not minding the dream I had just now, I closed my book and stood up, yawning again before going to lay down on my bed and stretching some more. I shouldn't be worried about this anymore. Everything will be fine. *** Egusi - melon soup Fufu - it is made from cassava

After the church service on Sunday afternoon. The Olayiwolas were back to their house. Ben and Ademide were busy in the kitchen - about to prepare a meal of fried rice and chicken, they were back to how they used to be - all grudges buried, lost love found. Ademide laughed as Ben told her about the Hausa people and how it was difficult for them to pronounce some words. - words like People, the, and how they used the letter 'F' in place of 'P'.

Lagos to Abuja Night Bus – February 22, 2026, 8:15 p.m. The God is Good Motors terminal in Jibowu stank of diesel, fried plantain, and that heavy kind of desperation you only smell in places where people are running from something. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, throwing long shadows across rows of plastic chairs. Passengers clutched their polythene bags garri, groundnut oil, Bibles like lifelines. Chino and Wale sat way at the far end, hoods pulled low, burner phones face-down on their laps. They blended in like any two young guys heading north for better hustle: one in a faded Chelsea jersey, the other in a plain black hoodie. No eye contact. No loud talk. Just quiet.

Lagos traffic can make you remember the events of the thirtieth day of the second month of the previous year. I was almost hopping as though I was "drunk with new wine". Well, I was, with the "wine of excitement". I wasn't the only one drunk, something was drunk with bad fate!--MY MORNING!!(lol, I think I overreacted there). 🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅🔅 Fufu: a locally prepared food made from cassava. It is regarded as "garri" in its fine state. When prepared, it is eaten with soup.

“That is what the building produces.” James the younger watched his sister from his chair. “More,” he said. “Fatima’s grandmother. Four hundred and thirty people in Ghana. Adaeze. Hauwa Musa. All of them.” Helena looked at her brother. “The argument still finding every person it was built for.” She went to the door. Stopped. Turned. “When Fatima completes the Burkina Faso documentation and it goes into the permanent record,” she said, “I want to be at the institute that morning.”

BISI I arrived at Abuja early Saturday morning since the engagement was slated for 5:00 pm the same day. Preparation was already underway as my aunts and mother had started off with the cooking and the men had to slaughter the cow and set up canopies to shade the guests from the sun or rain whichever be the case. I dropped my bag and joined the men to store drinks in huge empty drums and added ice blocks to make them cold. I was exhausted and famished by the time we finished. Mother brought me a plate of Amala, ewedu, and bean soup with lots of meat just the way I liked. The delicacy was a special food loved by the Yoruba's, a southern tribe in Nigeria.

SIYAN BAKI. The Hausa tradition continue to take place as the older women took her to her new home. The house is large but not extra large, even though she is not seeing it very much from her veil, she could tell that it is large. They walk her to her room and sat her down on a bed, her face still closed. They said a few words of advice about how to be a good wife before leaving her with her friends, waiting for the groom and his men to do the siyanbaki (something her friends will do -asking the groom and his friends to pay before seeing the bride). Nana shook her head at how they're talking about selling her for a million. More guests came in to see the house and walk out with her face stil