Kiran Rabo Part 1 Compelete complete New Hausa Novels hausa document - Nana Haleemah

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Translation of Kiran Rabo (Book 1, Page 1) by Nana Haleema

Opening Dedication and Author's Note

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. All praise is due to Allah, the Almighty and Sovereign over all things, who has blessed us with the loan of life and health to reach this moment safely and in good condition. I pray to Allah that just as He has granted me the grace to begin writing this book safely and peacefully, He will grant me the grace to finish it successfully. May He grant me the ability to write what will benefit humanity as a whole, and may He protect me from writing anything harmful or contrary to our religion. Amen.

This story, titled Kiran Rabo (The Call of Destiny), is purely fictional. I did not write it targeting anyone in particular; if it happens to resemble your life or story, please forgive me as it is done out of ignorance.

I do not consent to anyone altering this story into a different format, nor do I approve of twisting or distorting its narrative without explicit permission!

Introduction (Shimfiɗa)

Hausawa say that death, marriage, and wealth are siblings. As for me, I say we should add RABO (destiny/fate) to them, because it is also one of those three. When Rabo calls you, even while you are still in your mother's womb, you will answer it and emerge into this world. KIRAN RABO can change destiny from black to white; KIRAN RABO can turn a joke into reality; KIRAN RABO can make the impossible possible. Someone enters another person's life just to become the instrument for answering that call of destiny, while someone else exits another's life so that it becomes the catalyst for answering their own RABO.

How do you know when destiny is calling? You don't recognize it until after Allah has worked His will, and only then do you realize that you were answering your call all along. You answer KIRAN RABO at a time when you do not even know you are answering it; you do not hear the call with your ears, nor do you strain your ears to listen attentively for the moment destiny calls you. Just as a human being does not know the exact time of their death, the time of their marriage, or the time when fate summons them, so too is the time of RABO's call unknown—you only find yourself immersed in it after you have already answered. KIRAN RABO has its appointed time, just as death has its appointed time!

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Book 1 — Page 01

"Wretched, good-for-nothing scoundrel, that is how your life will end. All children have become delinquents today simply because of poor parental upbringing." "Please stop uttering such words. When you disparage other people's children, it is as if you are doing the same to your own. We gave birth to children too; please stop, it is not a good trait."

She let out a breath as she recalled what had happened years ago. Only now did she truly understand the harm inherent in such words that parents direct at children who are not their own. Only now did she understand why her mother constantly rebuked their father whenever he criticized other people's children. Indeed, she understood it now, for what goes around has come around.

She sat on a large prayer mat in the small courtyard of the house. She was seated alongside a man, but her mind was entirely detached from him, lost in thoughts of the past because the situation had reached a critical turning point that forced her to reflect. At first glance, you would take them for a young couple chatting, much like courting youths or divorced individuals.

Judging by how she looked at him while he spoke, you could tell his words brought her zero joy. Her normally cheerful face had completely clenched into a tight knot because his remarks grated heavily on her nerves. He, too, watched her with the bold confidence of someone determined to convey the message in his heart—what was on his mind had to be said, and she simply had to know.

She was a mature, youthful woman who looked around thirty-five years old. She was remarkably fair-complexioned with a slightly reddish undertone, boasting striking, luminous eyes that instantly captured attention. She had a high, straight nose that enhanced the beauty of her face. At first glance, you would never guess her true age because she possessed a petite physique and a modest, captivating beauty that masked the passing of years.

When Muktar finished speaking, she managed a bitter, strained smile—the kind they call "laughing through tears"—and looked at the man sitting beside her, saying in a gentle voice, "Is that what you think of me as well?" He smiled and replied, "It is quite obvious, Aysha. You know I genuinely want to marry you, but with all the rumors circulating about you, I don't think my parents will ever consent to this marriage. That is why I came so we could put an end to this once and for all."

"So you came today just to tell me you are calling off our marriage?" she asked, staring at him. Although this wasn't the first time they faced friction, the casual way he spoke filled her with astonishment. "Pretty much." She shook her head and said, "Then get up and go back the way you came. You’ve delivered the message you wanted to convey, so you can leave now, right?"

He searched her face with his eyes and said, "Please understand, it's not my fault. When gossip about someone becomes too overwhelming, even if you want a relationship with them, you have to pause. I wanted to marry you, but this talk has spread everywhere. People are even saying the reason you haven't married is because your younger brother, Omar, treats you like a husband would treat his wife."

She squeezed her eyes shut in bitter agony and blurted out, "Do not ever mention my brother again! Now leave, since you’ve called it off anyway, let it be!" She spoke with an air of nonchalance, having grown accustomed to her suitors backing out.

He laughed with absolute mockery and retorted, "As expected, you can never bear to hear any criticism of him! Everyone says that no matter what is said, you will never see his faults. Ah, what a loyal sibling! That menace of a boy who has terrorized the entire populace of Kano—you actually get angry just because the truth is spoken about him, simply because mortals despise the truth."

"Are you finished?!"

Both of them whipped their heads toward the sound of that voice, their hearts skipping a beat in unison. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw who stood before them; of all times, she desperately wished he hadn't arrived to witness this conversation. Now, a minor issue was bound to escalate into a monumental crisis in his presence.

He was sitting on a low mound by the front entrance of the house, his legs crossed. A large dagger rested in his hand as he slowly stroked the blade, staring down at the ground as if he hadn't just spoken. Then he slowly raised his eyes and cast a look at Muktar that made Muktar's heart drop straight into his stomach, instantly stripping him of his bravado. It was a look of utter contempt and condescension, his teeth chewing on his lower lip in suppressed rage. Calmly and methodically, he began sharpening the dagger against a small stone nearby with an air of calculated menace.

He was a young man of perhaps thirty years at most. A single glance told you he shared a resemblance with Aysha, though his masculine handsomeness was far more striking, differing only in the distinct features of man and woman. He was tall, powerfully built, and possessed a commanding presence that instantly drew the eye, filling a beholder with immediate fear and compelling them to cast their gaze downward. He was a man's man—rugged, heavily muscled, and robust. You would swear on oath that Aysha was his younger sister, for he looked every bit the protective older brother. He was extremely fair, and the tight shirt he wore revealed skin that was even fairer and smoother than his face.

He had large, terrifying, round eyes—the kind called kwala-kwala. When he widened them while speaking, they bulged slightly due to their sheer size. A single look into those eyes made you never want to meet them again, especially when he was furious. He had a well-defined, medium-length nose, and his face was framed by a thick, full beard that masked his youth and lent him an imposing aura.

He wore his hair matted and grown out in a dense mass; looking at it, you would immediately think of Fulani or nomadic hair styles—dark, flat, and distinctly un-Hausa. His eyebrows were bushy and pitch black. His face was heavy with unkempt facial hair that clearly never saw proper trimming.

This was OMAR, bearing the dreaded monikers DAMISA (The Leopard), MADUGU (The Caravan Leader), or JAN WUYA (The Stubborn Neck).

He was a top-tier dan daba (thug)—a licensed thug who enjoyed the full backing of the ruling class, namely politicians. Although his thuggery was organized, he was one of the most feared enforcers across Kano. Within the entire neighborhood of Qofar Nasarawa, he was the undisputed boss; no local thug dared commit any misdeed in that area without Damisa knowing. Fights were rarely ever picked in his territory because once he sought revenge, he showed no mercy. Even petty thefts were non-existent in the neighborhood, as he guarded the area like a lion protecting its territory. In past years, he had engaged in numerous violent clashes—though he had never committed outright murder, he had certainly sailed close to it. Nowadays, he had altered his operational style, leading casual observers to doubt whether he was a genuine thug at all.

Seeing Muktar trembling with terror at the sight of her brother, Aysha commanded urgently, "Omar, get up and go inside. This doesn't concern you!"

Hearing his beloved elder sister's words, he stood up, glaring at her. He strode forward as if he meant to walk past her, but instead lunged forward, grabbed Muktar by the collar, and jerked him straight to his feet.

Muktar's entire body began to shake violently. He stared at Omar, shivering uncontrollably, well aware of the neighborhood rumors that Omar would stop at nothing when it came to his sister.

Omar looked straight into his eyes and said in a deep, formidable, warrior-like voice, "Repeat what you just said to her so I can hear it." Muktar's body trembled so intensely he felt like he might wet himself from fear; he was utterly paralyzed and unable to utter a single word of defense.

Aysha rushed forward, grabbing Omar's arm, and cried, "Omar, what is the meaning of this? Let him go!" Furious, Omar glared at her and snapped, "Didi, step back! Nothing is going to stop me from ripping open this man's mouth. Let's see what tongue he uses to utter such trash in the future!" He snapped his gaze back to Muktar. "Since you had the audacity to step foot inside our courtyard, nothing will stop me from dealing with you. Either I slice off your tongue, or I rip open your belly."

"Woe is me, I'm finished! Aysha, for God's sake help me, tell him to let me go, please help me so that..." His voice choked off as Omar brought the sharp blade uncomfortably close to his throat. "If you keep talking, I swear by God your mother will have to give birth to a replacement."

Muktar clamped his mouth shut instantly, his entire body shivering violently as hot tears streamed down his face from pure terror.

Didi hurried closer, grasping Omar's arm. "Omar, please let him go, I'm begging you." "I will not let him go! Who does he think he is, coming all the way to our house just to announce he's calling off the wedding? If he had left it at that simple statement, fine, but he had to utter malicious insults against you. Didi, even if the whole world gathers here today, nothing will prevent me from ripping this man's stomach open!"

"Well, he didn't say it to you, what business is it of yours?! Mister, let him go, I won't have this behavior!" she shouted, trying desperately to pry Omar's hand off Muktar's collar, but her strength failed against his iron grip.

Glaring at Muktar—who was weeping like a small child, shaking from head to toe—Omar growled, "Consider yourself fortunate today because of her, but don't you ever let my eyes see your face around here again. If you dare pull such a stunt, you will live to regret the day you were born." Muktar nodded his head frantically up and down like a lizard out of fear. Omar barked, "Are you mute?!" Startled by the thunderous roar, Muktar stammered, "I... I... please... forgive... me."

Omar shoved him slightly, ordering, "Kneel down and apologize to her." Without a second's hesitation, Muktar dropped to his knees, pleading, "Please forgive me, Aysha, I repent, please pardon me." Furious, Omar snapped, "You’re calling her by her bare name without any sign of respect? Is she your mate?" Shaking like a leaf, Muktar corrected himself, "Please forgive me, Mama, may God let your heart find peace." "She gave birth to you so you're calling her Mama?!" Omar roared, grabbing his shirt collar again. Sobbing aloud, Muktar wailed, "Please forgive me, Anty, please for God's sake forgive me!"

Finally releasing him, Omar pointed toward the exit. "Get out of here." Without waiting for a second bidding, Muktar bolted out of the house at full speed, leaving even his shoes behind in his blind panic.

Omar watched him go, then turned to his young associates lingering outside the gate. "The day that man sets foot in this neighborhood again, make sure he doesn't leave in one piece." Chorus of voices replied, "Done, Damisa! Go in peace, Madugu, terror of the wretched!" Flashing his terrifying eyes at them, he said, "You can clear out now, come back later in the evening." With that, he stepped inside the house as they acknowledged his command.

As soon as he entered the courtyard, Didi intercepted him. "Omar, why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you constantly want to cause me pain?" When he opened his mouth to speak, she raised a hand to stop him. "Don't say a word until I give you permission. What exactly do you want me to do? What do you want to become, Omar? It's barely been two weeks since you got out of prison after spending ten days in there—do you want to go right back?"

"Didi..." She cut him off sharply, "No Didi, don't you dare finish that sentence. What on earth do you want to become, for God's sake? Do you want to be a terrorist or what? Right before my eyes, you were talking about ripping open someone's stomach?"

"I heard everything he said to you. If he was going to call off the wedding, couldn't he have said it nicely instead of with insults and contempt? I swear by the majesty of God, if it weren't for you, I would have permanently ruined that man's mouth."

"Well, who asked you to meddle? Why do you always have to resort to violence? Malam, let him go, I despise this habit of yours!" she yelled.

Fixing his gaze on Muktar's retreating figure—still weeping and shaking in the distance—Omar muttered, "He bought his life with your grace today, but let my eyes never witness his face again. If he tries that foolishness, he'll regret it. As for Alhaji Yusuf's wife, we'll deal with her too." He turned and walked toward the primary door leading into the interior of the house.

Her eyes wide with alarm at his threat, Didi shouted after him, "Omar, don't you dare do anything to that woman! She is someone's legally married wife, don't you dare commit such madness!" She received no reply; she knew better than to expect one.

She found a spot and sat down, resting her chin in her hands as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She loved her younger brother Omar dearly, and she cherished him deeply; she never wanted to see any harm befall him. But Omar defied all logic—his capacity for recalcitrance and stubbornness exceeded anything imaginable. He had been rebellious since childhood, utterly intolerant of being wronged or insulted even back then. He possessed a fiery, volatile temper. Just the sight of Omar's intimidating gaze was enough to freeze someone in their tracks, let alone when he opened his mouth to issue threats.

The entire neighborhood lived in terror of him; even wandering Quranic beggar-boys (almajirai) dared not approach their gate to beg because of him. None of the female neighbors ever stepped foot into their compound because of him. He brooked no disrespect, and he despised hypocrisy and gossip. He had no secrets, and no one's seniority shielded them from his outspoken tongue. Consequently, their house remained dead quiet, inhabited solely by Didi because everyone avoided them out of fear. Whenever visitors were present, they were strictly rare guests—and even then, Omar would sit glowering at them with narrowed eyes because he hated having outsiders around.

She felt a hand gently wiping away her tears. Looking up, she saw Omar standing before her after changing into casual clothes. He squatted down in front of her and said, "Whoever becomes the cause of your tears will become the cause of bloodshed on their own body. Didi, you know I am not a killer; I have never taken a life. But for your tears, I would tear open the throat of any living soul." He widened his terrifying eyes as he stared at her.

She managed a faint smile, stood up, and asked, "Aren't you going to eat?" He stood up as well, looking at her. "I'll go meet Goje later and we'll grab something outside. I need to run an errand right now." "Where are you going?" "I have a little piece of business to attend to." "What kind of business?" He looked into her eyes, then looked away; he never lied to her, nor did he ever keep secrets from her. "Some guys from Yakasai snatched a phone from one of our boys and then beat him to death. You know I have to go have a word with them."

She shook her head pleadingly. "Please, Omar..." He cut her off by saying, "Didi, I have to go. But I promise you I won't start a fight unless they ask for it. We're just going to talk so I can warn them to keep their dogs on a leash."

She watched him silently without speaking, and he did the same before stepping back, averting his gaze, and saying, "I'll be right back, Didi." With his characteristic swagger, he walked out, leaving her standing alone.

She wiped her tears, looked up toward the sky, raised her hands, and whispered, "O Allah, protect my orphan. Guard him from harm. O Allah, soften this fierce heart of his, and remove the love for this lifestyle from his spirit." She wiped her eyes, drew a deep sigh, and walked into the parlor.

ABUJA

SENATOR SAGIR SANI SHATIMA’S RESIDENCE

Senator Sagir was the incumbent Senator representing Kano Central. He was a sophisticated, highly educated man who deeply valued Western education. Almost every member of his household staff held either a degree or a master's degree; it was nearly impossible for him to hire someone with only a diploma. In his view, anyone without a high level of academic education was an ignorant person who knew nothing, and he believed that employing uneducated people yielded nothing but regret. Every female domestic worker in his home was fluent in English—when you heard them speak English, you wouldn't even guess they were maids, as that was the standard set by the master of the house. He looked down upon anyone lacking Western education, convinced that such people were destined for a life of begging.

He did not socialize with anyone uneducated; if he ever had to, it was strictly out of political necessity. He cared nothing for religious scholarship either—as long as you had Western credentials, even if you were an infidel, you ranked higher to him than a Muslim.

He had only one wife whom he loved dearly, and three children: Nabil, Narma, and Najwa.

The living room was expansive, elegantly designed, and immaculately arranged. A single glance told you it belonged to elite people, free of clutter yet radiating refined taste. Seated in the luxurious parlor was a stunningly fair young woman, dressed in a knee-length gown with her hair unbound and flowing freely down, revealing a thick, gorgeous mane. Her beauty was arresting at first glance, a testament to nature's finest handiwork.

This was Barrister Narma Sagir Sani Shatima, affectionately nicknamed Barr Nass. She was the second-born child of Senator Sagir, approximately twenty-six years of age. Though slender-framed on top, God had blessed her with a magnificent lower physique—a stunning hourglass figure that demanded a second look whenever she walked by. Barr Nass served as the Managing Director at one of her father's corporate firms and was a prominent social media personality, particularly active on Instagram and X (Twitter).

"Daddy, I want to travel to Kano next week," she announced in the polished, breezy accent typical of wealthy politicians' children.

Sagir looked up at her as she popped a piece of food into her mouth. "What is in Kano?" She fluttered her eyelashes—a habitual gesture—and replied, "Arewa24 invited me, and... there's a friend of mine, Samra, having a wedding. You probably know her dad—Bashir na Gwaggo's father."

Her dad shook his head slightly with a smile. "Yes, I know him. But how many days are you planning to spend in Kano?" She set her spoon down and said, "Uhm, two to three weeks. At least two weeks."

Daddy narrowed his gaze, scowling slightly as he looked at her intently. "Narma!" Noticing the serious tone in which her name was called, she looked up. "Dad?" "You know I don't want you to go to Kano, right?" "Yes, Dad, but it's necessary. And Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore; I know what I'm doing. I'm going to..."