Bakin Haure Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Waiting and Disappointment
 
She gazed at the wide doorway of her office, just as she did every day, expecting her children to come before sunset. But today they were late, beyond their usual time. The landline beside her rang. She picked it up gently, placing it to her ear.
 
“Assalamu alaikum!” she said softly, her voice carrying dignity.
 
“Am I speaking with the Chairwoman of BA’ARE GOLDEN EMPIRES?”
 
“Yes,” she replied, though her heart raced. The caller spoke Hausa with a Nigerian accent, not English.
 
“Ma’am, Captain MJ Mamman Ba’are said to tell you he cannot make it…”
 
“Ok, no problem,” she cut in quickly, her voice trembling with suppressed sorrow. Her eyes filled with tears. To say she didn’t miss MJ would be a lie. It had been six years since she last saw him. MJ was no child—he knew his responsibilities—but distance and illness weighed on him. She whispered a prayer in her heart: Ya Allah, protect him wherever he is.
 
Just then, her secretary announced, “Madame, Amaan Mamman Ba’are wishes to see you.”
 
“Let him in,” she said, dabbing at her tears with tissue.
 
Amaan entered, phone in hand, greeting cheerfully. “Good afternoon, Hajiya!”
 
“Good afternoon, Amaan Mamman Ba’are.”
 
She watched him closely, then raised her gold staff and struck his hand when he waved it playfully.
 
“Ouch, Hajiya! I was only making an important call,” he protested, sulking.
 
“Fisabilillahi, Amaan! Which mother would tolerate this behavior?”
 
“What did I do wrong?” he argued.
 
Before she could answer, her secretary announced another visitor. “Madame, Aryan Mamman Ba’are wishes to see you.”
 
“Let him in.”
 
Aryan entered, tall and striking, much like his brother. He greeted her respectfully and sat down.
 
“How are you, Hajiya?”
 
“Alhamdulillah. How are your wife and Nabeeha?”
 
“They’re fine. But Hajiya, why don’t you ask about me too? Don’t you care for us equally?”
 
“Did you give me a chance to ask?” she replied sharply.
 
He bowed his head in silence. Aryan always felt Hajiya favored MJ over them, though deep down she loved all her children equally.
 
“Hajiya, did you speak to Hamma MJ?” he asked quietly.
 
She smiled bitterly. “MJ will not come.”
 
“But Hajiya, without him our strength won’t be enough. I may have to go to Port Harcourt to fetch him.”
 
“You know if we pressure him, he will only run farther. From Port Harcourt, he might even leave the country. Let him be.”
 
“But if he refuses, then give them what they want. His job is always more important than us.”
 
She shook her head in disappointment. “Sometimes when you speak, Aryan, I wonder if you ever learned patience. Have you forgotten our origins? I worked and suffered so you could live. And now you forget so quickly.”
 
Tears welled in Aryan’s eyes. Hajiya remembered her struggles—how she raised them from poverty, fighting for survival with sweat and pain. All she wanted was unity among her sons, but instead, rivalry brewed.
 
Divisions Among the Ba’are Sons
 
Each child bore a different temperament. Amaan was impulsive and reckless. Aryan was patient but complained too much. MJ was strong yet withdrawn, weighed down by illness. And Majeed, the most feared, was a force even their grandmother Hajiya Turai hesitated to confront.
 
Hajiya loved them all, but MJ’s frailty troubled her most. She fought for their empire so they would never taste the hunger and humiliation she endured. Yet now, her sons seemed on the verge of tearing each other apart.
 
“Aryan, I will not surrender even a fragment of this company,” she said firmly. “Whatever happens is written by destiny. Never forget where you came from.”
 
Aryan nodded reluctantly. “Hajiya, let’s call MJ again in five days. If needed, I’ll travel to him myself.”
 
She lowered her gaze. “I fear losing him a second time.”
 
“Don’t worry, Hajiya. I promise he will return safely.”
 
Her heart softened, but anger quickly returned when Amaan muttered carelessly about MJ’s absence. She struck him with her staff again.
 
“Kana hauka ne? Are you mad?” she snapped.
 
Aryan intervened calmly. “Enough, Hajiya. Don’t worry—he will come.”
 
She gathered her belongings, ready to leave the office. At the doorway, she found a small metal object on the floor. She picked it up curiously, smiling faintly.
 
“Aryan, keep this for me.”
 
“Should I discard it?”
 
“No, hold onto it,” she replied.
 
Together, they walked out. Employees greeted them respectfully as they passed, and she returned their greetings with a nod. Outside, she paused, admiring the grandeur of the BA’ARE GOLDEN EMPIRES building. Her dream was for her sons to inherit and protect it together. But MJ resisted unity, and the others resented it.
 
She sighed and entered Aryan’s car, while Amaan drove off angrily in his own.
 
“Recline my seat, I’m tired,” she told Aryan, closing her eyes.
 
Traffic halted them midway. As she opened her eyes, she spotted Sajjid Mamman Ba’are with foreign associates.
 
“What is Sajjid doing here?” she asked sharply.
 
Aryan frowned. “Only Allah knows the schemes hiding in the shadows of BA’ARE GOLDEN EMPIRES.”
 
She adjusted her glasses, whispering to herself, Everything is written, yet people act as if blind.
 
Secrets in Port Harcourt
 
Meanwhile, in Port Harcourt’s naval barracks, rain poured relentlessly.
 
A frightened girl moved through the darkness, her heart racing. She wondered why fate had dragged her into such a place. Better to run away and never return to Addah, she thought bitterly.
 
But suddenly, she heard the voices of soldiers nearby.
 
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un,” she whispered, removing her shoes and running barefoot through the flooded ground.
 
Torchlights beamed around her. Before she could scream, someone seized her, stuffing something into her mouth. She lost her vision to darkness, realizing she had been carried into a house.
 
A male voice whispered in rough Port Harcourt English: “If you make a sound, they will shoot you dead.”
 
Tears streamed down her face as she heard soldiers banging on the doors outside, searching. “Oga said there’s a Hausa boy who escaped into this area. Search everywhere!”
 
But the man hid her in a dark chamber, warning her to stay still. When the soldiers finally left, he returned, studying her face.
 
“Come out,” he ordered.
 
She shielded her face with trembling hands.
 
“Come out!” he repeated, his voice deep and strangely soothing.
 
Terrified, she obeyed.
 
“I can’t leave… I’m too weak,” she whispered.
 
He lifted her effortlessly, tossing her aside onto the floor. She groaned, clutching her body.
 
Why are soldiers always so cruel? she asked herself.
 
The man left briefly, then returned with a blanket, throwing it over her. Later, he brought fresh clothes. Grateful yet suspicious, she changed into them, curled beneath the blanket, and eventually drifted into uneasy sleep.
 
Commodore Chindo’s Obsession
 
Elsewhere in the barracks, Commodore Magaji Abba Chindo stood on the balcony of his residence, smoking as his children huddled quietly inside. His eyes burned with desire for young girls. It was his secret sickness.
 
The girl who had escaped earlier was supposed to be his. He had planned to break her innocence himself. But she fled, slipping from his grasp. Now, his mind raged with obsession, plotting how to recapture her.
 
For Chindo, children were not sacred lives to be nurtured—they were prey for his corrupt hunger.
 
And so, beneath the rain-soaked skies of Port Harcourt, two worlds collided: the empire of the Ba’are family in turmoil, and the sinister shadows of military power hiding unspeakable sins.