Ribar Kafa Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Ordeal
 
Everything that was happening at that moment, his brain was aware of it, but his eyes refused to open properly. With difficulty, he managed to move his left eye, which felt unbearably heavy. He saw two men dragging him on the ground, while a torturous headache pressed on him, making him feel like screaming. Added to the dragging on the ground, it made him feel as if his head would fall off.
 
"Could it be that I have died? Or are these angels dragging me?"
That was the question he asked himself, though he had no answer to give. The only thing he remembered was the handkerchief he inhaled last before he found himself in this state.
 
Like in a dream, he heard voices:
 
"Yes, we have taken him. No, not until you give us the money you promised. By God, until we see the alert, we are not leaving here."
 
Another voice said: "Malan, don’t play with us, we are not insane! Do you know we risked our lives for this work? And you know this isn’t the kind of job we normally do, right?"
 
 
After that, he heard nothing again as a heavy sleep took him away.
 
Inside the Car
 
His mind returned to itself again, but this time it was inside a speeding car. The vehicle was moving as if to escape the town. Suddenly, loud horns blared behind them. The men in the car panicked; fear and terror gripped them. They pressed harder on the accelerator.
 
One of them, whose voice he recognized, said:
"We are finished! Could it be they already know we kidnapped him?"
 
Another, trembling with fear, said:
"Wallahi, I have a sick mother at home. I don’t even know why you accepted this reckless job. Surely, we won’t survive this! Pull over by the roadside. Let’s abandon the car and escape into the forest. At least we’ll save our lives. Then later, you can give us half of the money."
 
The driver replied:
"Okay, let’s do that."
 
They sped until they were some distance away from the pursuers. Then they swerved to the roadside, abandoned the car, and fled into the forest, running like hunted animals. In their panic, they stumbled, fell, but kept running. One of them even tried to steal the car, but failed.
 
Struggling for Survival
 
The young man inside the car, with difficulty, moved his limbs. He summoned what little strength remained. It was his car—he recognized it. He shook his heavy head as if a rock was tied to it, and, leaning on the seat, he managed to sit behind the steering wheel. His head throbbed violently, his sight was blurred.
 
But he thought: Better I drive myself away than let these men take me.
 
He started the car, managed to drive it back onto the road. But before he could properly align, the car spun out of control. He barely realized what was happening before everything went blank again.
 
The Crash
 
The vehicle crashed into a tree by the roadside. Branches from the tree cracked and fell onto the vehicle.
 
Inside the car, an elderly man who had been seated held his bruised neck, struggling to get out. From his mouth came only:
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un."
 
He trembled as he staggered toward the car wreck. When he saw the young man lying in blood, he screamed loudly, making salati, while desperately trying to open the door.
 
With shaky hands, he pulled out his old Nokia phone and dialed a number. The call went unanswered until it cut. He clicked his tongue, muttering:
"Of course, those useless boys will never pick up."
 
While he struggled with the door, another car arrived and stopped. Seeing their condition, people rushed to help. They forced the door open and pulled out the bleeding young man whose head was dripping blood.
 
In panic, they drove him to the hospital. The old man couldn’t even take the wheel himself; his hands trembled too much.
 
At the Hospital
 
As they reached the hospital, the old man kept dialing again. Finally, someone picked up. A sleepy voice said:
"Baba, good morning. I was sleeping."
 
The old man shouted furiously:
"Morning? It is night already, foolish boy! Rush to the hospital at once before I lose my temper."
 
The boy, startled, asked:
"Baba, are you sick? But since you’re the one calling me, I guess it’s not serious?"
 
Frustrated, the old man barked:
"Kabir, do what I said before I lose my patience!"
 
He hung up angrily. Kabir lazily stretched, yawned loudly, then shuffled outside, calling:
"Kursum! Kursum! Where are you?"
 
A tall, slim 16-year-old girl in a brown hijab stepped out. He yanked her hijab from behind, making her hold her neck in alarm.
 
"Ya Kabir, what is this?" she asked nervously.
 
He raised his hands and sneered:
"Kursum, so you think you can disrespect me? You think no one can discipline you in this house? Wallahi, if I finish with you, you will learn to respect me!"
 
She turned quickly and saw a woman behind Kabir gesturing at her secretly. Relieved, she sighed and slipped back inside quietly.
 
She went to the woman—her sick mother—who sat on the bed with vacant eyes. Clearly, she suffered from a mental illness. Kursum held her gently, sat by her side, and said:
"Umma, I’ll just fetch my books and return. They gave us schoolwork, and if I don’t submit, they’ll punish me tomorrow. I’ll be back before you count fifty. Or maybe a hundred, and I’ll be here. Okay?"
 
Her mother only nodded slowly. Kursum adjusted her hijab and left quickly, hoping Kabir wouldn’t bother her mother in her absence.
 
Back at the Hospital
 
The young man had been treated, but still unconscious. The old man, Alhaji Nuhu Danbatta, had emptied his bank account to cover the bills. He sat quietly by the boy’s bed, reflecting on life and death.
 
“Truly, when death comes, it comes without preparation,” he thought.
 
Just then, Kabir burst into the ward, calling loudly:
"Baba, where are you? Please don’t die!"
 
Relieved, the old man smiled weakly and said:
"Kai, Allah has saved me. My heart almost stopped from worry."
 
Then, sternly, he asked Kabir:
"Did you open the Islamic school tonight?"
 
Kabir answered, "Yes, I told Malam Munir. Baba, and this boy here—what happened to him?"
 
Before Alhaji could reply, a doctor entered, greeting respectfully:
"Alhaji Nuhu Danbatta, I hope everything has been handled properly?"
 
Alhaji smiled gratefully. "Doctor, may Allah reward you. Everything is fine."
 
But the doctor added:
"I was told you paid already. Yet we instructed they shouldn’t take your money."
 
Alhaji replied:
"Doctor, this is your work. If not for payment, how would you continue it?"
 
The doctor prayed for him, then insisted they also examine him, in case the accident had injured him too. Alhaji agreed and stepped outside with him.
 
Kabir and the Unconscious Boy
 
Left alone, Kabir began circling the unconscious boy, staring at him suspiciously.
 
"Hmm, who are you really? You don’t look like a boy from this town. Maybe from outside? And these clothes—these are not for poor people. Are you sure they’re even yours?"
 
He tugged at the boy’s shirt, checking the label. His eyes fell on the sneakers. Suddenly, he gasped, eyes wide.
 
"Subhanallah! These are New Balance! Wallahi, you must have stolen them. Look at how worn-out one foot is! You thief! When you wake up, you will tell me where you stole them so I can also go steal one pair for myself!"
 
He shook his head, sat down, crossed one leg over the other, still staring at the boy.
 
When Alhaji Nuhu returned, he found Kabir inspecting the boy’s shoes and muttering. Before Alhaji could speak, Kabir jumped up, pointing at Alhaji’s bandaged hand, and shouted:
 
"Baba! What happened to your hand?"