Kyautar Zuciya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The neighborhood’s layout was just like in Europe—a neighborhood where a person with modest wealth could never afford a home. Renowned billionaires who had risen to the very top, such as prominent politicians, government officials, ministers, lawmakers, and senators, were the ones who had set up camp in this area. Inside and around the neighborhood, you would never see raw dirt; even the fragrance of the place alone was distinct. Large mansions with massive gates dominated the area. Just approaching the neighborhood, you would know you were entering an area for the ultra-wealthy, as from a distance, you could see soldiers marching back and forth carrying their guns like they were preparing to go to war. There was not a single needy person in this neighborhood; you could tell by how you would see whole chickens that had gone moldy tossed into the trash bins. The quietness of the area was what pleased its residents most. If you were alone in your house, you could die and rot away without anyone knowing.
For the most part, the residents only kept to themselves; no one cared to meddle in another’s affairs. Not every neighbor had ever seen their next-door neighbor, because every house was locked tight with a gate, and from the gate to the house itself was quite a distance—so much so that even if your throat were being cut and your vocal cords tore from screaming, no one would hear you. Most of them did not know what poverty meant, nor did they know what cold or heat felt like. They were constantly in air conditioning, and power was never cut in this neighborhood, as they also utilized solar power. The silence of the neighborhood felt as though it weren’t part of this world; if you heard any noise, it was only from cars.
That was that.
He was sitting in the large living room, his eyes fixed on the television screen. Seeing the poor crying tears of joy and showering him with blessings made his skin tingle with goosebumps. His daily desire was to see the poor happy; that was the only thing that brought him delight. From behind him was Hajiya Khadija, whom he called Ummi. Hearing her movement, he quickly stood up and approached her. Before he could speak, she preempted him.
“Look at how happy the poor are, their hearts so pure and light! My Deedat, may Allah grant you happiness as well.”
He took her hand.
“My Ummi, it is all because of you. Everything I have become is thanks to you; you are the one who set me on this path. Thank you so very much, my Ummi.”
He rested his head on her shoulder, and she gently stroked his hair.