Insaaf Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

High-Speed Convoy
 
Five luxury cars sped along the highway leading to Mubi Local Government in Adamawa State, as if the road belonged to them. Four of the vehicles were white, each bearing plates inscribed with the name INSAAF. Between them, in the middle of the formation, was a black Range Rover with Lagos Surulere registration — the only one different in color and origin. Two white cars led, two trailed, and the black one sat shielded between.
 
Inside the black SUV sat two young men. Both wore crisp suits that fit them impeccably. The elder brother had his laptop open on his lap, fingers flying across the keyboard. The computer was a brown-hued model, but instead of its manufacturer’s mark, it bore the bold name INSAAF. On his wrist gleamed a Gucci watch. He sighed, clicked his tongue, and returned to typing.
 
His younger brother, strikingly handsome and bearing a close resemblance to him, stared out the window at a nearby village. He turned and said, “Yaya, do you know we came here with Mamy last year to share zakat? That village gave me peace. Quiet, no noise — we did what we came for and left.”
 
He waited for an answer, but the elder remained immersed in his work. With a pout he pressed, “Yaya, I’m talking to you!”
 
Without looking up, his brother muttered, “I heard.”
 
Silence fell. The younger boy folded his arms, leaned on the window, and let his thoughts drift back to his mother, wishing she were with them now.
 
Amina’s Burden
 
“Amina!”
 
She rushed out of her room, tying her headscarf over a worn-atamfa wrapper. Though covered, strands of her long, shiny hair slipped free — Allah had blessed her with beauty and thick, flowing locks. Sliding on simple slippers, she answered, “I’m here.”
 
Her mother handed her a clay pot. “Go fetch us water so we can cook. Your brother is away, and the well is far. Please don’t loiter.”
 
Softly she replied, “Toh, Inna,” and set off.
 
As she walked, humming a local song, she spotted a group of men gathered, chatting and laughing. Another group drank palm wine nearby. One man noticed her approaching and whispered; instantly, the crowd scattered, leaving the spot eerily empty. Puzzled, Amina shook her head and continued.
 
She stopped by her friend Lubabatu’s house, calling out greetings. Lubabatu and her elderly guardian sat in the courtyard. “Amina, welcome,” Lubabatu said. “I was just about to fetch water with you.”
 
Amina smiled sweetly. “Then rest. Let’s go together.”
 
But the old woman interjected harshly. “No, Amina, go alone. Lubabatu is busy with chores.”
 
Shocked, Amina looked at her friend sitting idle, doing nothing. Resigned, she nodded, “Toh, Goggo,” and turned to leave.
 
Lubabatu stood to follow, but the old woman barked, “Sit down!”
 
“Goggo, I only wanted to walk her to the gate—”
 
“Enough! Didn’t you both arrive together? That’s escort enough.”
 
The venom in her tone made Amina’s eyes sting. Twice now she had shaken her head in disbelief at people’s strange treatment of her. This time, tears welled and fell freely as she left.
 
Outside, she passed Lubabatu’s brother, Isyaku, lounging with friends. Known for his endless chatter, today he and his companions deliberately turned their backs as she walked past. No one dared look at her.
 
The rejection pierced her deeply. Hot tears streamed down as she quickened her pace, her sobs growing into loud cries. Still, she carried the clay pot firmly, forcing herself toward the stream.
 
Corporate Ceremony
 
The convoy finally pulled up at Mubi, where a grand event awaited: the unveiling of a major branch of INSAAF LTD (OIL & GAS SERVICES). The grounds were decorated magnificently, and crowds had gathered.
 
As the two brothers alighted, the elder’s PA, Auwal, rushed forward with documents. “Sir, these need your signature after the program. There are also guests awaiting your audience for contract talks. As for the event itself, everything is arranged as instructed.”
 
The elder only murmured, “Okey,” as they proceeded inside.
 
After prayers and speeches, the owner gave brief remarks, entrusting the company’s leadership in Mubi into the hands of his younger brother. The hall erupted in applause, marveling at his love and trust for his sibling. Overcome with emotion, the younger whispered, “Yaya…” but the elder silenced him with a raised hand, moving swiftly to greet other dignitaries. Soon after, they left the venue.
 
In the car, his phone rang. He ignored it until it stopped, then returned the call. “Ishraqa,” he said.
 
On the other end, a woman laughed softly. “I only called to ask about the ceremony. I hope all went well?”
 
“Koh?” he replied vaguely.
 
She teased him for still being upset with her for not attending. Irritated, she snapped, “Why do I keep apologizing like you’re a king? I’ll talk to you later,” and hung up.
 
Unexpectedly, he smiled — a rare expression that deepened his dimples. His brother, astonished, whispered, “So Anty Ishraqa can even make you laugh. You two must love each other. I wish I had a friend like that.”
 
The elder shot him a sharp look. To assume romance with a married woman was childish. Without a word, he focused back on his laptop.
 
 
Deadly Ambush
 
After transferring sensitive company documents — property deeds, financials, and assets — onto his laptop, the elder, Asim, closed it. Amjad, his brother, looked uneasy. “Yaya, are you sure this is safe?”
 
Before Asim could reply, a violent bang rocked their SUV. The driver slammed the brakes, but too late — armed men swarmed, smashing the windows.
 
Amjad’s heart pounded; terror gripped him. He clutched his brother’s arm, shaking. “Yaya, don’t go out! They’ll kill you!” Tears streamed down his face.
 
But Asim pulled free, slung his laptop bag across his shoulder, and stepped into the fray. Instantly, blows rained on him. He fought back fiercely, even wresting a gun from one attacker. The driver leapt to help, but a gunshot struck him down, lifeless.
 
Amjad froze inside, trembling, wetting himself in fear. Through shattered glass he watched his brother battling like a wrestler. But then — a sudden gunshot to Asim’s chest silenced the chaos.
 
“Yaya!!!” Amjad screamed.
 
Asim staggered, blood soaking his suit. With fading strength he whispered, “Amjad…” and gestured for him to run. Then his body collapsed, eyes dimming forever.
 
Amjad’s wails tore the air. On instinct he bolted from the SUV, running blindly. The killers let him go, mocking laughter trailing behind as they loaded Asim’s body into a vehicle. Their leader phoned in coldly, “Oga, it’s done. He’s gone.” Then they dumped Asim’s car, corpse and all, into a river, leaving blood and shattered glass behind.
 
Meanwhile, Amjad sprinted in desperation, not watching the road ahead. Suddenly, headlights engulfed him — a car struck him violently. He fell, unconscious.