Malamin Bogi Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Arrival of the Stranger
 
A motorcycle moved slowly into the village of Ƙundu. Two men rode on it: the driver and a fair-skinned man in a spotless white jallabiya, with an Arab cap on his head and prayer beads hanging from his neck.
 
From the moment they entered the village, all eyes fixed not on the driver, but on the passenger — the stranger. When the motorcycle stopped near a gathering place, the fair-skinned man dismounted, carrying a bag. He spoke in Hausa, though broken with an Arabic accent:
 
“Nawa ne kuÉ—in?” (How much is the fare?)
 
Instead of bargaining, he pulled out a wad of notes, handed them over, and waved off the change. Then, with calm authority, he greeted the villagers:
 
“Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh, ya ahlu hazihil Æ™arya.”
 
His flawless greeting, mixed with the rhythmic motion of his prayer beads, captured their hearts.
 
Meeting the Village Head
 
He asked to be taken to the Mai Gari (village head). A man led him through winding paths until they reached the crowded courtyard where the Mai Gari sat in majlis. Conversations hushed as the stranger entered, his smile exposing white teeth marked by two shining golden implants.
 
The Mai Gari gaped. In all his life, he had seen Arabs only in pictures of the Ka’aba. Yet here one stood before him.
 
“Audu, daga ina ka samo wannan balaraben?” he demanded.
 
Audu explained how the man had arrived on a motorcycle, requesting an audience with the chief. Curious murmurs filled the air. The Mai Gari gestured for silence.
 
“Barka da zuwa, Malam. Daga ina ka fito, kuma wace hanya ta kawo ka nan?”
 
The Sheikh Introduces Himself
 
The stranger adjusted his bag, lowered his head in humility, and spoke:
 
“Ni sunana Sheikh Abu Abdurrahman Al-Yamanini, É—an Yemen daga birnin Al-Mukalla. Na zo nan Najeriya don taimakawa al’umma wajen maganin shaiÉ—anun aljannu, cututtukan zuciya da na jiki. Na yi karatu tun ina É—an shekara tara, kuma na yi aiki a masallacin Umar bin Khattab.”
 
He paused, scanning their faces, then continued:
 
“Na shirya ruÆ™iyya ta musamman — ruwan da aka karanta masa Ayatul Kursiyyu da Suratul Jinn sau saba’in. Wannan Æ™auye zai sami kwanciyar hankali, da yardar Allah. Kuma duk wannan hidima kyauta ce. Idan an warke, sai wanda ya ga dama ya bayar da sadaka — kamar yadda ake yi a Yemen.”
 
The crowd erupted: “Allahu Akbar!”
 
The Mai Gari’s Delight
 
The Mai Gari, adjusting his turban proudly, announced:
 
“Wallahi wannan ba Æ™aramin bako bane! Jama’a, ku kalli farin jikin sa kamar ruwan zamzam ya wanke shi! Ƙauyen Ƙundu bai taÉ“a samun bako daga Æ™asar Larabawa ba — sai yau! Tabbas alheri ya shigo garinmu.”
 
He explained how the village had long suffered:
 
Husbands too weak to satisfy their wives.
 
Women talking to themselves in lonely corners.
 
Children crying endlessly without reason.
 
 
“All these,” he declared, “are works of shaiÉ—anun aljannu. Amma yanzu Allah ya kawo mana magani!”
 
He promised to host the Sheikh personally:
 
“Za a bashi É—akin baÆ™i, a kai masa tuwo da dare, fura da safe, dambu da rana. A matsayina na Mai Gari, wannan nauyi ne nawa.”
 
The crowd cheered, grateful for their chief’s generosity.
 
The Sheikh’s Hidden Discomfort
 
But in the Sheikh’s heart, irritation brewed. Tuwo? Dambu? Fura? He had fled tuwo from his own land, only to be welcomed with more tuwo here. Forcing a smile, he raised his beads and said:
 
“Ma sha Allah, sakallahu bil khair.”
 
The Mai Gari, misunderstanding, exclaimed joyfully:
 
“Kun ji? Larabci kawai yake yi min addu’a! WataÆ™ila har addu’ar zuwa Makkah ya yi min!”
 
The villagers, sunk in ignorance, nodded eagerly.
 
Inside, the Sheikh thought: ‘If I allow their foolishness, I will drown in tuwo and dambu. I must find a way to secure better food and comfort.’
 
A Question About Food
 
Raising a finger theatrically, he asked:
 
“Liy su’alun.”
 
The Mai Gari froze — he had no clue what it meant. Nervously, he stammered:
 
“Ya Sheikh, mene ne sussu… aliy?”
 
The Sheikh translated smoothly:
 
“Ina da tambaya.”
 
He leaned forward. “Na ji ka ce za a bani… tiwi da dimbo.” His fake Arabic twist confused everyone.
 
Audu, who understood, explained: “Yana nufin tuwo da dambu.”
 
The Mai Gari chuckled awkwardly. “Ikon Allah! Abincinmu ne na gargajiya. Mu nan, duk wanda bai san tuwo ba sai mu ga kamar bai san rayuwa ba.”
 
The Sheikh frowned in mock innocence. “La a’lamu hazihil ism. Ban san wannan ba. Mu a Yemen, safe da rana da dare — kaza muke ci, tare da shayi mai madara. Baya ga haka, shimkafa ce kawai.”
 
The Mai Gari paled. His household could hardly afford chicken except on Eid. Yet he could not disgrace himself before the villagers. Wiping sweat, he assured the Sheikh:
 
“Za mu yi bakin Æ™oÆ™ari mu ciyar da kai yadda kake so.”
 
Growing Crowd of Admirers
 
By now, word had spread. Men, women, and children thronged the palace yard, desperate to glimpse the white-skinned holy man. Their eyes shone with awe, some whispering that angels must have guided him here.
 
As maghrib approached, the Mai Gari dismissed the crowd. Then, in a gesture of honor, he himself held the Sheikh’s soft, perfumed hand. What softness! he thought. This is the touch of a man unburdened by labor, a true Arab noble!
 
He did not know that the Sheikh’s smooth skin came from bleaching creams and oils carefully applied to complete his disguise as a holy man.
 
A New Home
 
Carried with reverence, his bags were taken to the Mai Gari’s guesthouse: a neat building of red clay, plastered with cement, with three empty rooms. As the evening breeze carried the Sheikh’s perfume through the air, the villagers whispered among themselves, convinced more than ever that Allah had sent them a saintly savior from Arabia.
 
But in the Sheikh’s heart, a different thought burned: ‘Here begins my stage. If I play my part well, these villagers will feed me like a king — and never question my truth.’