Dakika Biyar Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Question That Shook the Room
He pushed the document forward to the man sitting opposite him in the grand chair, then looked at the one who was older by birth, the two of them sharing a striking resemblance—so strong that at first glance you could easily call him his brother. On his wrist was a watch from CHOPARD CARATS, estimated to be worth twenty-five million euros. The watch was so majestic, so elegant, so classy, so luxurious. It rested on his hairy wrist, the hair tinged with a subtle maroon shade—one of those rare natural features seen among some ethnic groups, not common among Arabs, Fulani, Buzaye, and others.
He looked as though he was about to speak in that polished, sophisticated English you only hear in Western countries or on television. Then he opened his mouth, his voice carrying the authority of his physical presence—an elegant voice, a rock-solid voice.
“Surprising,” he said. “This document even bears your signature?”
Slowly, the man being addressed composed himself, clearly weighed down by the moment. He parted his lips, glanced at the other officials, and with a certain facial expression said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t say that to insult you. I was only surprised that someone of the bloodline of AHMAD SULAIMANE would sign a document that endorses support for the further collapse of our children’s moral upbringing in a town that has already lost the firm foundation of discipline among some youths—by clinging to the habits of people who pull others astray, practices that go against nature…”
He let the matter rest calmly, then reopened the computer he had shut earlier due to their sudden entrance. With the deliberate composure of someone who despised what he was dealing with, he worked briefly, then shut it down again. He reached for his suit jacket and draped it over his arm. With the other hand, he adjusted the position of his small silver-colored pistol, securing it properly. Calmly, with the intention of leaving, he turned away from the office—leaving them behind. Whether they closed up after themselves or not was, in itself, a heavy statement he had left hanging.
Orders, Rank, and Burdened Conscience
With deep respect, the General looked at him and said gently, “MARÉCHAL, forgive us if we have offended you. You know where this order came from. It has been almost two weeks now that we’ve been waiting for your signature. Believe me, this situation does not sit well with us either. The moral decay of our children in the city troubles us deeply. But when they are given justification to ‘relax’ and ‘carry on freely’ under the excuse that they are protected, what else do you expect? Still, an order is an order. Just as when you give us instructions, we carry them out without hesitation.”
He stopped as he was about to leave and stood directly in front of the General, once again making the difference in their stature obvious. Despite the age gap that favored the General, it did not prevent him from asserting dominance—on this matter, he had already outpaced him.
Fixing him with a powerful voice that echoed from deep within his chest, he said,
“So what?”
Startled, the General stepped back slightly and raised his hand in salute, hurriedly responding, “I’m sorry, sir!”
A Decision Deferred
He clenched his teeth slightly, casting a downward glance at them all. At that moment, no one wanted conflict—everyone preferred to retreat from trouble. After all, trials come and go; in the end, death is inevitable. He, however, did not see death itself as something to fear.
Looking at them firmly, he said, “I never said I wouldn’t sign it. But I need time—to re-examine every angle, to re-study the madness of some of the youths in this town and the weight of this decision. If I conclude that I cannot sign it, then I will personally ensure it is enforced exactly as it is. Because no human being will ever push me into opening the gates of hell for myself.”
With that, he turned and left them standing there. His secretary, seeing him exit, stood up quickly, saluted him, and wished him a safe journey—not ‘good night,’ because at any moment he might return. Sometimes he would decide, even at night, to go out on patrol, or suddenly appear alone on the main TILABERY road—the route where criminals occasionally come out to stretch themselves and indulge in their activities.