Bakon Lamari Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Call for Help
He slowly closed his large eyes and stroked his beard, listening to her crying through the phone pressed against his ear.
She tried to speak to him, but the intensity of her sobbing choked her voice.
“Brother, please come to Kano. I’m in trouble. There’s no one who can face this for me except you. No matter how big you think my problem is, brother, please help me.”
He stayed silent as though she wasn’t speaking to him at all. Only when he felt like it did he finally respond.
“Amatu! Be patient with life. Everyone faces problems before reaching where they want to be. Please don’t call me again—you’re a married woman now.”
Click! He ended the call and released a hot sigh through his mouth.
He stood up, tossed the phone aside, and walked into his bedroom. He was very tall and strongly built, with the physique of a soldier hardened by rigorous training. His skin was very fair, with large eyes and a long nose. A well-kept beard framed his handsome face, and on his forehead was a large prayer mark that stood out prominently. His head was completely shaved. He rarely smiled, and no one expected to see him laugh. Judging by his age, he was about thirty-eight years old.
He bathed and dressed in his army-green uniform, stepped outside, locked his door, and headed toward the field inside the barracks where they trained young soldiers in combat tactics.
He refused to let thoughts of her or her crying enter his heart and focused instead on the duty before him.
Kano
She dropped the phone and covered her mouth as her crying intensified.
Out loud, she said:
“Ameerah, you wronged me when you found my brother’s number and told me to call him. I knew—even if he had a solution—he wouldn’t do anything for me. I knew my brother would never help me in this life. I’ll keep praying that Allah brings a way out of my situation.”
She collapsed onto the soft carpet in the living room.
A sharp shout startled her. She lifted her head quickly, her body trembling as her eyes met her husband, IMRAN.
“Give me that phone. Whose father did you call, you deceitful devil?”
Her hands shaking, she handed him the phone. She was so afraid of him that even hearing his voice made her flinch.
Imran’s hands trembled with anger as he checked the call log. His eyes fell on the number saved under the name Our Brother.
He hurled the phone at the TV stand and burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.
“Don’t tell me your heart still hasn’t given up on loving Ahmad Ali? Know this well—Ahmad is far beyond your reach now. Yes, he’s your blood, your brother, but he’s so far from you now that you’ll never reach him again.”
In shock, Amatullah looked up, her face wet with tears, her lips trembling as she spoke.
“Shame on your wicked words, Imran. May Allah protect me from loving my own brother. If your filthy heart makes you think that, then get rid of it. By Allah the Almighty, I, Amatullah Shu’aib Makama, have never had feelings for Brother Ahmad in my heart…”
He didn’t let her finish. He dragged her to the wall and grabbed her throat, his eyes bulging like a madman.
“If it’s not love, why did you call him, you wretched woman?” he spat in her face.
She clutched her throat, gagging, struggling to breathe, paying no attention to the saliva on her face—only trying to get air back into her lungs.
Violence and Despair
She collapsed onto a chair, tears streaming, her hand still on her neck.
He stepped back and sat across from her, then pulled out a joint from his pocket, lit it, and began smoking. Soon the smoke and smell filled the room. She tried not to vomit, but he leaned close, blowing smoke into her face, his eyes red and bloodshot.
Her mouth filled with saliva she couldn’t swallow because of the choking smell.
“Imran, move away before I vomit on you. What kind of tyrant are you? If Allah wills, He will repay you with something worse than what you’ve done to me. He is the Just King. He does not oppress, and He forbids oppression.”
She stood up, but he kicked her violently. She fell, hitting her forehead. He laughed, grabbed her, and continued his abuse, dragging her across the floor into the bathroom and turning on hot water over her head.
She jumped up quickly, crying out in pain. She heard him laughing and clapping.
“Were you told the east is Borno? You brought this to the barracks thinking you’d collapse and fool me. Now you feel the hot water and you stand up, hypocrite.”
She fell again, crying. Before she could recover, he began tearing off her clothes, stripping her naked. Then he started removing his own clothes. Terrified, Amatullah quickly shut her eyes.