Banana Island Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

She kept following him until they came down into a large, somewhat dilapidated sitting room, bigger and more organized than the one upstairs. It was spacious enough to contain ten full sets of chairs, though only one set was there: white leather seats, large book cupboards, and a table cluttered with desktop computers and laptops.
“Sit.”
He ordered her, and she sat down gently and respectfully. He then went into another room. Two minutes later, he came out holding a long bottle that looked like an alcohol bottle, along with two cups. He set them down in front of her and poured half a cup for each of them.
“In the name of Allah.”
She almost screamed, but managed to restrain herself.
“What is this? It is not alcohol, is it?”
He burst into laughter, laughing so hard from deep inside himself. She just stared at him. So he actually knew how to laugh like this, despite always keeping such a stern face? She felt herself becoming even more attracted to him.
“I do not drink alcohol. It is a normal drink. Come on, If-babe 😘, do you mean you do not know this drink, despite all your sophistication? You are a Lagos babe and a university babe too. Over there, this is hot cake 🍰.”
“Honestly, I am not sophisticated at all. It is all just packaging. I have never even seen this drink before. I do not want to go and drink alcohol just so people will not call me a village girl.”
“Alright... alright. Your man does not drink alcohol or anything else that is not proper. But we can browse and check the drink right here in front of you if you are doubting.”
“No, I trust you,” she replied quickly, picking up the glass cup.
He fixed his eyes on her. Just as she raised the glass to her lips, she lifted her eyes and their gazes locked. He grinned widely.
“Oh really?”
She nodded.
“Hmm,” was all he said. He too picked up his own glass, took a small sip, and set it down.
“Where is this place? And why did you take me away from Nigeria without my consent and bring me here?”
“So that I can build trust between us... yeah, this place you see is my house. It is my final refuge for privacy. Whenever I get tired of people, this is where I run to. No one knows this house except me, my mother... and now you.”
“Why me?”
“You ask too many questions, Ifty. That question of yours was the first thing that drew my heart to you... do not worry, I love it. But you asked what brought us here? It is so that we can get used to removing the veils we have wrapped around ourselves. In other words, you tell me who you are, and I will tell you about myself. From there, I will explain the direction of our journey.”
“There is nothing pleasant you would hope to hear from me. In short, I am just a poor girl, extremely poor. Let us leave it at that.”
“Hmm 🤨 Have you forgotten that I went all the way to your village and brought your mother? Do you still not believe that if I want, I can know everything about you in one day? But I want you to tell me with your own mouth.”
She cleared her throat.
“First of all, my name is Iftihal-Khair Mohammed. I am a poor girl. My mother is a sickly woman. I come from a butcher’s family in Rugan Bunzun, Gombe State. I am the only child my parents had. My father was a herdsman; his work was taking care of other people’s animals, and when he herded livestock for wealthy people, they paid him wages. That was how life continued until I turned eight years old. Then my father met one of his patrons in Gombe city. He was called Alhaji Dan Nasi. He was a kind man. He took my father and involved him in business, entrusting him with his wealth, sending him on trade journeys and making him buy rams and cattle for him. Within a short time, my father started prospering. He no longer had time to stay in our settlement, so he came and took us, and we moved into the city and lived in a boys’ quarters in Alhaji Dan Nasi’s house.
Prosperity kept coming to us. My mother also worked for Alhaji’s wife, doing house chores and getting paid. As for me, Alhaji enrolled me in the same school his children attended because he said he liked me. In a short time, I became known at school because of my brilliance. I was not fair-skinned, but everyone loved me.
When I turned ten years old, my father built us a house in Unguwar Alkali, though we had not yet moved in, because he had gotten involved in a trading trip to Niger Republic. During that period, some white foreigners visited our school and took photographs of us children. Then after two days, we heard the news that my picture was trending. The foreigners were posting my picture all over social media, saying that among all black African girls, I was the most beautiful. Because of that, we suddenly rose to an astonishing level of fame.”