Amani 3 Complete Hausa Novel

The wise have said that travel is the key to knowledge, while others say travel is a land of hardship. In truth, there was nothing that Alhaji, his family, and relatives did not experience on their journey to Diffa State in the Republic of Niger. Along with gaining more knowledge about towns—thanks to Baba Idi, who explained many places to them, having once traveled for trade to Nguigmi from Maiduguri in his youth—they also endured the harsh conditions of the Sahara’s daytime heat. The intense sun and burning sands were so severe that even the car’s air conditioner would stop blowing cool air from time to time. Even so, they chose the longer route through Maine-Soroa and Nguigmi instead of passing through Bama in Maiduguri.

Because they set out at dawn, traveled nonstop, and the vehicle was in good condition, by evening they found themselves in Maine-Soroa, neighbors to Diffa. There they stopped to perform the Zuhr and Asr prayers they had missed on the road. They bought roasted camel meat, warm fresh camel milk, newly harvested dates, and fresh cheese in Maine-Soroa, where they ate and drank. Mukhy even bought and drank their Tubawa tea. In any case, they had prepared sufficient provisions of food and drink—things that would not spoil—snacks and fried peppered chicken, which Rakiya had prepared for them the previous night. So hunger did not trouble them before they entered Diffa State.

No sooner had they entered the town than everything began to settle into place for Mukhtar—his inborn nature came alive within him. Even the hair on his body and head stood on end. Amani, who was beside him as he drove, noticed the change in Mukhtar’s demeanor and bearing. A kind of composure and completeness appeared in him, covering the fashionable young Mukhy she knew and transforming him into his full, true self—MOUKHTAR. Goosebumps rose on his skin as though he were feeling cold. The blood of Issouffou Massaoudou began to circulate and surge through his veins, changing him from the familiar Mukhtar everyone knew into a true son of Diffa.

Amani did not know what Mukhy was bringing out of the bag; she only saw Mukhtar reach in and pull out a beautiful white, old-style turban. He stopped the car by the roadside. With skill and mastery, he wrapped the turban neatly around his head, covering his handsome face completely so that only the sharp bridge of his nose and his large eyes were visible—just like the style she had seen on most of the local men. It was the traditional turban style of the indigenous Buzu, or the Tubawa, also known as the Arabs of Diffa. She was not surprised, for she knew that no matter how long Mukhtar had stayed with them, once he returned home, he was a true Buzu.

He drove on and they continued their journey. Baba Idi teased him, saying that everyone may leave their homeland, but each bird sings the song of its own home. Mukhtar gave a slight, knowing smile from beneath his turban and said nothing. But he agreed with Baba Idrisu’s words—today, the song of home he sang had turned into a loud cry of homecoming.

By then they had entered the heart of the city. Amani opened her eyes wide, taking in the people of this state within the Republic of Niger. She realized that their quiet nature, physical features, and entire culture were very different from where she came from. They went about their daily lives calmly, in unity and gratitude to God. Most of the people of Diffa were extremely poor, earning their living from livestock production, export trade, camel hide processing, and similar activities. They were also known for their loyalty and obedience to their leaders—the traditional rulers of the Diffa region.

As they moved from one place to another, Mukhtar did not forget a single road or location. It was as though everything was being unpacked from his memory and shown to him, as if he had only left Diffa yesterday. That was exactly how it felt to him now, returning after fifteen years—his past life rewound in his mind like a video cassette, reminding him of everything that had happened before.

They then took a long, wide road stretching far ahead. From there, Amani began to see a tall, majestic building in the distance, vast in both length and width, measuring about 2.988 kilometers. They were heading toward a massive structure, with Arabic writing at the top reading Al-Imārat al-Diffa—the Diffa Emirate—also written in English. They continued driving as Amani thought to herself that whenever one arrived in such a town, one must first pay homage to the Emir before being free to move about the city.

She then thought perhaps Mukhtar’s father was a servant of the Emir, which was why he had sent him to the city to seek wealth instead of keeping him close at home to serve together.