Shagala Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Government House Meeting
“GOVERNMENT HOUSE…”—that was what I saw, written boldly in big black letters.
I found myself walking inside and heading toward a large hall where I could hear low voices rising from within. Without thinking, I went in.
I saw exactly ten people seated in a meeting.
“Even if hell freezes over, I—Alhaji Bashir Sale—must become President, whether people like it or not.”
In surprise, one of them looked up. I stared at him and realized he wasn’t Muslim. He said, “But how can you think that, Your Excellency, after what we did to them when we were Governors? They won’t give us another chance to take power—especially since even now, we haven’t done anything for them,” he finished in his broken Hausa.
“Hahhhh… You still don’t know what politics is, Samual. The masses are like animals—they don’t think sharply. Just give them money, that’s all. I have the support of the big men of the country. Power won’t be difficult for me: I have emirs, top leaders, clerics, wealthy men—money has already bought them. In this world, money can do anything. As for you, if you’re ready to be firm, you’ll only become Deputy President.”
“Hahhhhhh!”
The others burst into laughter, cheering loudly.
One of them said, “Your Excellency, money is a dangerous thing, wallahi. Because of money, there’s nothing a person can’t do. But still—there’s ‘hurry, but don’t run.’ You know that wicked guy wants to outshine us—did you see how many people he gathered during his campaign? When I remember, my body turns cold. You know he has truth on his side,” said Sulaiman Sani, the party chairman.
“Mtssss… His ‘truth’ is useless. Who told you truth still has influence these days? There’s only one thing: spend money and it’s done. And I have it. I have the backing of the powerful. I even have our sorcerers. Wallahi, by whatever means, I—Alhaji Bashir Sale—will become President. So they told you politicians pretend they don’t deal with sorcerers? Keep pushing money out, keep buying the people; leave the rest to me—just watch and be amazed.”
(Oh, so the poor man is truly despised. Yet it’s also our fault—we’ve despised ourselves because we love money more than our freedom. We must change. Honestly, this is exactly what Ammyn Khausar has been advising…)
And so their discussion continued until they were done…
Author’s Note and Promo
That’s where I’ll stop for now—but I’ll continue this page in the next comments and sharing, please.
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SHAGALA!!!🫥 — FREE BOOK
Written ✍️ Story & Editing
🥰 Mujahiedah 🥰 — Wife of 💖 Malam Ammyn Khausar🤱🏻
A short story full of life lessons. If you find the book matching your life, please forgive me—it wasn’t written because of you, but I hope it becomes a means for your change or transformation… May Allah protect us.
I once said I quit writing completely, but my dear friends and fellow writers encouraged me to continue… I still can’t say I’m fully back, but I’ll keep trying little by little… Mmn Amatullah to Mmn Nusaiba—your support won’t let me fail to mention your goodness toward me. Your encouragement brought me back to typing. Mmn Amatullah, you’ve played a big role for me in my writing—I truly appreciate it. May Allah keep the love soooo😘😘 I greet you all, and I greet your brave group—JARUMAI🥳…
🅿️10 & 20
Who Is Alhaji Bashir Sale?
A complete “man of the world,” extremely wealthy. He has two wives: Hajara and Lami. His path and Lami’s path are the same, because she too is SHAGALA!!!—they treat the world as everything; even death doesn’t change their ambition. Their children are four: Hajara has three—Haisam, Hisan, and Ishan—while Lami has one—Namir.
He was sitting before his sorcerer, head bowed, listening as the man explained the presidential ambition he was pursuing:
“Since you’ve come to us, the matter is settled—because once you know us, problems leave you. Now we want you to bring the eyes of eight newborn babies, and the hair of a dead man who has been dead for ten years. You will bathe with human blood—someone will bring it to you tonight in your bathroom. You will stop praying for forty days…”
“…But, mallam sorcerer, this is too much. To stop praying? After killing people, now I should stop praying? Come on—change it to something else.”
“Heyyy! Bashir, will you argue with us? You came here because you want to pray? Go and look for your needs elsewhere—I’m canceling it, I won’t help you. You’ll bring nonsense to me?”
“No, forgive me, mallam. I’ll do it. Wallahi I’ll stop—if I will get what I want, then no problem. Here…”
He poured out a large amount of money and left.
As he went out, he called one of his boys, Manta Sabo, and instructed him clearly to go and fetch the hair of the corpse and the eyes of the newborn babies.
Just as the sorcerer said, Alhaji stopped praying and bathed with human blood.
As election time got closer, Alhaji Bashir and the powerful people took their children abroad, while they left ours—the children of poor people—behind. Those children began committing violence: fighting, killing, burning, and injuring one another.
In front of the public, they acted as if they were “their people,” but behind the scenes, those same people were nothing but objects of insult…