Me & My Lion Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Family Gathering and Morning Warmth
 
They sat together in a grand, beautifully decorated parlor, all surrounding the dining table. There were about six of them — an elegant elderly woman, probably around 57 years old, her husband, and their four sons, all handsome and radiant like Arabian princes. The family ate quietly, each lost in thought. The mother, smiling fondly at her sons, broke the silence and asked, “Why is everyone so quiet as if we’re mourning someone? Or is it because you all love me too much?”
 
Before the eldest could reply, the second son, Sena, quickly said, “Well, Mommy, sometimes one must compose themselves; otherwise, we’ll face military discipline.” Their father chuckled and added playfully, “Maheer, stop teasing. You know Shattima doesn’t punish anyone unless they’ve done something wrong.” The youngest, Fa’iz, piped up with sincerity, “But Daddy, it’s true! Even if he hasn’t said anything, when he gives you that sharp look, you can’t help but get scared.”
 
The eldest son, Noor, raised his head and said with a gentle smile, “Mom asked a question, but everyone is waiting for someone else to answer. Fawan, it’s your turn.” Everyone laughed again, but before anyone could continue, a familiar masculine fragrance filled the room, followed by a deep voice greeting them warmly. Immediately, all eyes turned toward the entrance.
 
There he was — tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome. His presence was commanding yet charming. His military uniform fit perfectly over his sculpted body, the badge reading LIEUTENANT MUSAYYEER MAHABUB SHATTIMA. His bright, piercing eyes and firm demeanor reflected strength and confidence.
 
He walked toward his family, kissed his mother’s forehead, and greeted his father with a calm, husky tone that made everyone’s heart warm. “Good morning, son,” his father said. “How are you today?”
“All good, Daddy,” he replied, smiling faintly as his mother caressed his hair. His younger brothers greeted him one by one — “Good morning, Yaa Shattima,” “Good morning, big bro.” He responded warmly to each, affection visible in his eyes.
 
After finishing his coffee, he excused himself, holding Fa’iz’s hand as they walked outside. His soldiers quickly stood at attention when they saw him. They saluted sharply before one opened the door of his white GLK Prado. Musayyeer got in, still holding Fa’iz’s hand affectionately, before signaling his men. The convoy sped off in perfect formation, wheels screeching across the highway.
 
The Shattima Family and Their Lives
 
The Shattima family was a close-knit and respectable household. Musayyeer, the eldest, was often called “Shattima,” named after their grandfather — a title of honor in their lineage. Noor (short for Nuraddeen) followed him, then Fawan, Maheer, and finally the youngest, Fa’iz.
 
All except Musayyeer and Fa’iz were married. Noor was a doctor with two children — a boy and a girl — and was married to Marwanatu, fondly called Anty Marwa, a kind-hearted and respectful woman from a noble home.
 
Fawan worked in their father’s company and was married to Anty Sofi, a proud and bold woman who loved her husband deeply, though he never truly loved her back — his marriage was one of obedience rather than affection. Her background was far from noble; her family was rough and undisciplined.
 
Maheer, the third brother, was married to Jidda, a shy and gentle woman who adored her husband wholeheartedly. Despite her timidity, Maheer loved her intensely.
 
Each son had found his path — Noor in medicine, Fawan and Maheer in business, Fa’iz still in school but dreaming of joining his elder brother in the army.
 
A Sudden Encounter by the Roadside
 
Later that day, Lieutenant Musayyeer left his office, walking briskly with the authority and confidence of a man used to command. His soldiers saluted as he approached his convoy. He entered his central vehicle, nodded at Captain Usman, and said coolly, “We’re heading to Suleja.”
“Yes, Sir,” came the prompt reply as the engines roared to life and the convoy sped off.
 
On the roadside, a young girl was crouched, gathering scattered gourds. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen — dark-skinned, stunning, with thick curly hair peeking from beneath her light cream hijab. She was lost in her task when a sudden splash of muddy rainwater from the speeding convoy drenched her completely.
 
Startled and furious, she stood up, shouting, “May your fathers pay for this!” She grabbed the remaining gourds and ran after the vehicles, throwing them one by one, cursing and yelling with all her strength.
 
She didn’t know that the man in one of those cars — the calm, intimidating Lieutenant Musayyeer — would soon change her life forever.