Kiran Rabo Book1 Complete Hausa Novel

Words That Come Back Like an Echo
“Cursed delinquent, this is how you will end your life. Children have all become wayward because of parents’ negligence.”
“Please stop saying such things. When you disgrace other people’s children, it is as if you are disgracing your own. We have children too. Please stop — it is not a good character.”
She let out a deep breath as memories from years ago resurfaced. Only now did she truly understand the harm hidden in such words that parents say about children who are not theirs. Only now did she understand why her mother would always quarrel with her father whenever he insulted other people’s children. Indeed, she understood it now — because what goes around eventually comes around.
She was seated in the small courtyard of the house on a large prayer mat. A man sat with her, yet her mind was far away, lost in thoughts of the past, because the situation before her had forced those memories back to life. At first glance, anyone would assume they were having a casual conversation, like young lovers do, or like divorced adults trying to reconnect.
But from the way she looked at him as he spoke, it was clear his words did not please her at all. Her cheerful face had completely changed, tightened to one side as his statements irritated her deeply. He, however, looked at her confidently, determined to deliver the message in his heart. What he felt was what he said, and he believed she had to know.
She was a mature young woman, about thirty-five years old. Fair-skinned with a slight reddish glow, she had bright, captivating eyes and a long nose that enhanced her beauty. Anyone who looked at her would never guess her real age because of her petite frame and balanced beauty, which made her appear younger than she truly was.
When Muktar finished speaking, she forced a painful smile — the kind that hurts more than crying — and looked at the man beside her. In a soft voice she asked, “Is that what you think about me too?”
He smiled and replied, “It’s obvious, Aysha. You know I truly want to marry you, but with all the rumors circulating about you, I don’t think my parents will agree to our marriage. That’s why I came to end it once and for all.”
“So you came here to tell me you’ve called off the marriage?” she asked, staring at him. Though this was not the first time, the way he spoke still surprised her.
“More or less.”
She shook her head and said, “Then get up and go back the way you came. You’ve delivered your message, haven’t you?”
He studied her face and said, “Please forgive me, it’s not really from me. When people talk too much about someone, even if you want a relationship with them, you are forced to step back. I wanted to marry you, but this issue has spread everywhere. Some even say the reason you’re not married is because whatever a husband does for his wife, your younger brother OMAR does for you.”
Her eyes narrowed with bitterness. “Don’t you dare speak about my brother again. Since you’ve ended it, then that’s it.”
She spoke without much emotion — she was used to engagements being broken off.
He laughed mockingly and said, “They said you never admit his faults. They warned me that no matter what is said, you’ll never see him as wrong. Truly, you are loyal to your brother. That boy who has offended the entire city of Kano — yet you get angry when people speak about him. Humans simply don’t like the truth.”
“Are you finished?”
The Brother They Feared
Both of them turned at once toward the direction the voice came from. Their hearts pounded immediately. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was — she had desperately hoped he would not hear any of this. Now even the smallest issue could become something dangerous in his hands.
He sat on a small mound by the gate, legs crossed. A large knife rested in his hand as he slowly rubbed it while staring at the ground, as though he had not spoken. Then he lifted his eyes and shot Muktar a look that instantly drained the blood from his face.
It was a look filled with contempt and quiet rage. He chewed his lips in anger while calmly scraping the knife against a small stone beside him — in a disturbingly deliberate manner.
He was a young man, not more than thirty years old. One glance at him and you would know he and Aisha were related. In fact, his beauty was even more striking than hers, though the difference between male and female features was clear. He was tall, well-built, and imposing. His presence alone could command fear, filling the eyes and overwhelming the heart until one was forced to lower their gaze.
He was the type of man people called “a real man” — strong, muscular, solid. You would swear Aisha was the younger one, because he carried himself like the elder sibling. His complexion was very fair, almost glowing. The shirt he wore was slightly tight, revealing flashes of his bright skin, even lighter than his face.
He had very large, round, intimidating eyes — the kind that bulged slightly when he widened them in anger. Once you looked into them, you would not wish to do so again, especially when he was upset. His nose was neither too long nor too short. A thick, full black beard framed his face, hiding traces of youth and replacing them with dominance.
His hair was thick and laid flat, resembling the texture often associated with Fulani heritage — straight, dark, and distinct, unlike typical Hausa hair. His eyebrows were full and dense, dark and heavy. His face too carried abundant hair, untrimmed and rugged, clearly not the type that cared much for neat grooming.