Zaki Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

It is a small village under Kaduna State… a very small settlement indeed, so small that, due to the low population, one could easily think everyone there is related. God has blessed them with farming, which is the main occupation of the men in the village. Because of this, you will see some men going to the farm with their children, and others even with their wives—though those who do this the most are often unjust men, the truly wicked ones.

In the middle of a farm overgrown with grasses, I noticed a woman who could not be more than forty-seven years old. She had only one child, a daughter who was no more than sixteen. They were bent over harvesting tomatoes 🥹 under a scorching sun. Just by looking at their clothes, you could tell that poverty had hit them harder than anyone else in the village. Their bodies and the clothes they wore showed it clearly—everything was worn out, patched, torn here and there. Their blouse and wrapper did not even match properly.

I was deeply surprised to see women lifting hoes and harvesting crops with the strength of men.

In a sharp, fearless voice—the kind you know belongs to children who speak whatever comes to their mouths without fear—the girl looked at her mother and said: “Mama! Mama!! Mama, honestly I’m tired. Let’s go home like this. Baba can continue when he returns from the market.”

In a weak voice, the mother looked at her beautiful daughter, whose beauty hardship had darkened—beauty only someone who knew her from childhood would still recognize.

“No… A’iee!

Let’s continue. You know if Ilu comes here now and finds us resting, neither you nor I will escape his punishment.”

Before A’iee could reply, they heard his voice from a distance as he approached. Quickly, Mama Zainabu grabbed her hoe, and so did her daughter Aisha, whom they called A’iee.

I followed Malam Ilu with my eyes as he walked in his worn-out sandals, chewing kola nut. Juice from the kola nut had stained his face because of his filth. His clothes were so dirty you would not want to go near him. His eyes were red, glaring with anger.

He sat on a sack they usually spread out to rest on halfway through their work. He lit a cigarette and began smoking right there on the farm. Anyone could tell he was one of those notorious village bullies no one could control.

He behaved indecently in front of them, which made Mama Abu quickly tell A’iee: “A’iee, continue harvesting the tomatoes. Don’t stop, and don’t turn around.”

(Oh Allah 😢, do not unite believers with a husband like Malam Ilu.)

In a trembling voice filled with anger, A’iee obeyed. At that moment, she felt deep hatred toward her father. Because of his behavior, no child in the village associated with her. The way he abused her mother also made her avoid even looking at him.

Mama Abu moved closer to him. Her body trembled as he handed her the cigarette. He stood up clumsily, still behaving shamelessly. Holding back tears, Mama Abu bent down and tried to appease him, moving around him. In the process, she did not notice the cigarette falling to the ground.

Suddenly, Ilu slapped her hard across the face and pushed her away angrily. At once, A’iee dropped her hoe and ran toward her mother…

…Let us pause here and shift scenes. We will return to A’iee, her father Ilu, and her mother Mama Abu 🥹.

“York City.”

I saw an extremely handsome young man reclining on a resting chair. At first glance, you would mistake him for a foreigner. Everything about him reflected luxury. The entire place was surrounded not by walls but by shining glass that sparkled like diamonds.

He was fair-skinned, tall, strong, and perfectly built. His looks were striking. Slightly plump—but not too much—the kind people call “wealthy plump.” His neck carried multiple chains layered one over another. He wore an earring and dark sunglasses, dressed casually in a T-shirt and shorts.

In front of him stood a young white woman, unclothed, while he casually touched her as he relaxed.

Nearby was a large man from Nigeria, trembling nervously before this foreigner—Alexander. He looked at him with contempt and said in broken Hausa: “Have you found the women I want—Black Nigerian women?”

The man nodded quickly.

Alex smirked and said mockingly, “Alright. Very good. Now you know I am a king—a lion 🦁. I don’t pay for women because of need. I dominate. I choose. I dispose.”

Honorable Tanimu’s body shook as he looked around and saw more than fifteen naked women, each positioned and waiting. At any time, King Alex could choose any of them.

“Sir Alexander, there is one issue,” Tanimu said nervously. “None of the three are virgins.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Alex replied briefly as he stood and moved toward Cruzita, the one he desired that day.

Without waiting for further words, he approached her by the glass door. As she reacted to his presence, Tanimu felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the scene.

King Alex showed no respect or restraint. For him, power was everything. Any woman who disobeyed him faced severe punishment. He believed himself a king, and women, in his eyes, were possessions bought with money.

Many even accused King Alex of crimes, as his wealth and influence were widely known…