Makwabciya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Evening Thoughts on the Doorstep
 
I was sitting by the front door, freshly bathed, wearing my glasses and earpiece, listening to music. I had my notebook in hand, scribbling thoughts like one writing a letter to a friend in prison — full of dreams and frustrations.
 
Daydreaming of Better Days
 
“This useless sitting around,” I thought. “No hustle, no movement, not even a Keke ride into town. If I could just stumble on some real cash... I swear I’d leave this area behind, go start something fresh somewhere else, clean business, clean clothes, clean life.”
 
I started fantasizing — not just about money, but the kind of life that came with it. Beautiful clothes, respect from the neighborhood, even girls. Especially Malam Ya’u’s daughter. She’d grown into a woman, and her walk alone could distract a saint. “If I had money,” I said to myself, “I’d impress her, buy her things, win her over slowly.” These thoughts had me deep into my scribbles.
 
A Distraction Appears
 
Suddenly, I heard a car pull up. I looked up — a sleek Peugeot 206 parked right in front of me. The driver? Safiyya, the beautiful wife of Honourable, our local politician. Her beauty was like something out of a fashion magazine — fair skin, sparkling eyes, perfect face, and dressed as if elegance came natural to her.
 
She honked, snapping me out of my gaze. I stood and approached her car.
 
“Faisal, what are you thinking about like that?” she asked with a smile.
 
“Just… thoughts of life, Hajiya,” I replied.
 
She laughed, revealing pure white teeth, and handed me a small bag.
 
“Give this to your Goggo. Tell her I need the flour sifted well. I’ll be using it tomorrow,” she said, rolling up her window and driving off in a breeze of perfume and class.
 
The Honourable’s Wife
 
Safiyya wasn't just beautiful — she was powerful. Being the wife of a politician came with that kind of aura. She lived in the biggest house on our street, always carried herself with pride. She rarely spoke unless she had a reason, and many people mistook that for arrogance. But I didn’t blame her. With the kind of money her husband had, she had every right to act that way.
 
Rumors said Honourable had taken a new, younger wife abroad, leaving Safiyya behind without children. That made me wonder about her, about her life behind closed doors, and why she often looked deep in thought. Safiyya always left a strong impression on me, even in my dreams.
 
The Dream
 
Just last night, I had dreamt of her — a dream so vivid I woke up sweating. It felt real, the closeness, the emotions, the way we looked at each other like something was finally understood. I was still lost in that thought when I reached home and delivered the message to Goggo.
 
Interrupted Thoughts
 
Not long after, I heard someone call out, “Assalamu alaikum!” It pulled me sharply out of my daydream. I wiped my brow and stepped outside angrily — I didn’t like being dragged out of good thoughts.
 
But then, there she was — Safiyya herself, standing in the middle of our compound, dressed casually but still glowing. The difference between the dream and the reality hit me hard. In the dream she was vulnerable; here, she was composed and elegant.
 
“I was calling Goggo,” she said with a warm smile.
 
“She’s not in,” I replied. “She went to see a neighbor, might not be back till evening.”
 
“Okay then. Please tell her I need the flour as soon as she returns,” she said, turning to leave. I couldn’t help but follow her walk with my eyes. Graceful. Confident.
 
A Suggestive Comment?
 
As she reached the gate, she paused and turned. “Are you home alone?” she asked.
 
I nodded quickly. “Yes, just me.”
 
Her eyes flicked down briefly, and I realized — too late — that I was wearing just my boxers. I had woken up from the dream in that state, and my body hadn’t quite… calmed down.
 
Her eyes caught it. I panicked and covered myself instinctively. She laughed lightly and said, “That one doesn’t like stress, hmm? Don’t deny it what it wants — if it can find it.”
 
Then she turned and left.
 
What Did She Mean?
 
Her words rang in my head over and over again. “Don’t deny it what it wants…” Did she mean herself? Was she just teasing? Or was it just a harmless joke?
 
I shook the thoughts away. A woman like Safiyya doesn’t throw herself at just anyone — especially not someone like me, who couldn’t even afford data let alone romance. But then again… could it be?
 
Delivery Time
 
Goggo returned, and I told her about the flour. She told me to deliver it myself. I picked up the sifter and walked to Honourable’s house. On my way, I stopped — went back, combed my hair, sprayed a little of my perfume sparingly, and straightened my clothes. I didn’t want to show up looking anyhow.
 
I got to their gate and greeted Baba Idi, their gateman. “She dey house?” I asked.
 
“She dey,” he nodded. “You fit go in.”
 
Inside the Honourable’s House
 
I entered. The compound was luxurious — cars neatly parked, tiled ground, trimmed flowers. I got to the front door and rang the bell. I adjusted my collar, stood upright, and waited like a gentleman.
 
Safiyya opened the door. She wore a tight-fitting top and a wrapper that showed her figure clearly — like something from a fashion catalog. She didn’t say a word, just turned and walked inside. I stood frozen for a second.
 
She stopped and looked back.
 
“Haba Faisal, you’re standing like a visitor at the door. Or are you scared of me?” she asked.
 
I quickly entered, sat on one of the couches. The softness swallowed me. The scent of the house, the cool air from the A.C — it was like paradise.
 
Tea and Tension
 
She brought a pack of juice and a glass, placed it on the table beside me. Then she sat across the room, not saying anything for a while.
 
I took a sip, trying not to overthink.
 
In my head, the same question returned: What exactly does she want from me?