Kasaita Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Stylish Arrival in Front of Almansir Tailoring
A South Korean car stopped right in front of a tailoring shop known as Almansir Tailoring and Fashion Design Company. The sign at the entrance made it clear that both men and women could bring their clothes there for sewing. The car was ash-colored, a KIA saloon.
A fair young lady—perhaps in her early youth—was the driver. She stepped out dressed in a women’s suit styled like those worn abroad: a fitted top with broad shoulder designs and a long coat layered over it, reaching below her knees. Only the middle button of the long coat was fastened. Her outfit was ash in color, matching the car. She wore black shoes and white glasses resting on her long nose, the type commonly worn by doctors.
She carried nothing except a modern iPad. Her hair flowed freely down to the middle of her back, with no scarf or veil covering her head. A single glance at her would make you look twice—or even ten times—without realizing it.
The way she locked her car alone showed that she was a woman confident in the beauty God had given her. It was obvious she knew that wherever she passed, people paused their activities to look at her. She was tall but not lanky, with a figure comparable to Pretty Zeeta from India. One might even mistake her for a foreigner, as her appearance resembled that of a Miss World beauty queen.
Her fingers were slender and painted with ash-colored nail polish. Her nails were long and well-shaped. After about five seconds, she locked her car, brushed the hair that had fallen over her face, looked left and right, and crossed the road into MONAK STORE.
The Accident on a Cold Day in Jos
I had spent thirty-seven minutes inside the supermarket buying chocolates, chewing gum, biscuits—which had practically become my daily meals—and different shades of lip gloss. I carried a nylon bag printed with the store’s name when my phone rang, slightly distracting me as I walked.
“You know I don’t talk while on the road. Please call me back in forty minutes. I’ll be at Aunty’s house by then. Okay, thanks, bye.”
I was speaking to the man I had agreed to marry soon. The thought of leaving home made me emotional, which was why I was acting distant toward him.
The weather was cold, as usual in Jos—a city blessed with cool temperatures that attract foreigners accustomed to such climates. But that day was different: the cold was mild, and a gentle breeze blew through the air pleasantly. I lifted my head to watch the calm clouds drifting across the sky while the wind played with my hair.
I saw cars approaching from afar and assumed they were still at a safe distance. I crossed the road. Suddenly, a car brushed against me, and I fell sitting in the middle of the road. The loud screech of brakes made me cover my head with my hands, expecting the worst.
Someone shouted harshly at me. I quickly raised my head in anger, only to realize the shouting came from a car behind me. In front of me was a long, three-door Cadillac limousine that had just hit me.
The Prince in the Limousine
The limousine’s tinted glass slowly rolled down. From inside, I saw a handsome man dressed in luxurious clothing, reclining in the owner’s corner of the car. He wore white glasses, and within seconds I noticed his well-groomed beard.
He adjusted himself lazily, removed his glasses, and instead of speaking, simply signaled with his head. His hand gestured for his guards to return to their vehicles. The window rolled up again. Just before it closed completely, a single bundle of five-hundred-naira notes was thrown out, and the convoy drove off.
In anger, I struck the back of the departing car, but it did not stop. People quickly gathered around me, offering sympathy. A woman speaking English told me I was lucky. She claimed the man in the car was a prince—an heir to a throne. She kept repeating, “You are a very lucky woman,” warning me to leave quickly before someone was sent to seize me.
The crowd urged me to accept the money, saying God loved me. Looking at their worn clothes—none worth more than a thousand naira—I took the bundle from a man who kept offering it and handed it to the woman.
“Madam, go and share it,” I said.
I carried my bag and walked to my car. They continued blessing me as I left.
Filled with anger, I drove straight home instead of going to my aunt’s house. The gate of our maroon-and-white painted house opened as I honked. The security guard, a strong man of about forty-five, hurried toward my car trembling slightly. But unlike usual, I didn’t wait for him, nor did I even bother to close my car door or gather my belongings.