Zazzafan Rabo Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Man of Authority and Fear
He was speeding recklessly in his car, driving at a terrifying pace while constantly checking his wristwatch. He came to a sharp stop inside the school compound. Students greeted him happily as he passed; some even called out respectfully, “Good morning, sir, may God prolong your life.” He merely waved his hand and continued toward where he was to teach. As soon as he entered the hall, they greeted him again, and he began teaching them with great skill and confidence.
In a rush, a young lady burst into the hall, almost falling because of her haste. He glanced at her once, then turned his head away and gestured for her to turn back. In a pleading, gentle voice she began to apologize, but he motioned again for her to leave—everyone knew his character; he never entertained long explanations. Watching helplessly, she missed the lecture, went to sit under a tree, resting her chin on her hand. As if her sorrow wasn’t enough, he added more pain to it. She hadn’t even broken any rule. When he came out, he looked at her and said, “So you’re still here? Go back to where you came from, you shameless and undisciplined girl.” He went straight to his office, leaving her standing there with tears streaming down her face.
Public Humiliation and Silent Pain
When school closed, she stood by the school gate and suddenly saw him lower his car window and say, “You’re going home.” She turned her face away, but he insisted, calling her by name, “Salwa.” She even opened the car door to enter when suddenly he sped off. Shame overwhelmed her as students burst into laughter; some even came closer, laughing at her. One said, “This is just a small part of Malam Abdul’s behavior.”
On my way home, I saw him with Sultan at their gate. I passed them, hearing Abdul say, “A shameless girl with no manners.” Sultan kept calling me, but I ignored him.
“Aunty, please forgive me, I didn’t even look at him,” I said to myself.
That day I left early because I had a lecture with that wicked man. I knew he could stop me from entering if I was late, so I hurried without breaking any rule. Everyone who saw me was surprised to see me early; my friends teased me, saying, “So today you’re going to receive Malam Abdul’s gift.” I kept quiet.
From afar, we heard boys shouting. In my heart I said, “Here he comes.” He walked in with pride, filled the hall with the scent of his perfume. He wore a milk-colored shadda with coffee embroidery, a matching cap—he looked very handsome. I heard a girl whisper, “If only he were my husband.” I said to myself, “Enough of this nonsense.” He lectured thoroughly and left. After that, everyone relaxed.
Later, my friends told me Malam Abdul had come consider me with Sultan. My heart skipped in fear. I prayed it wasn’t Sultan who came for me. My mind was completely unsettled. I went back into the hall and sat down quietly until a boy came to me and said, “Aunty, where did you go? I’ve been looking for you. Didn’t you know uncle doesn’t allow roaming around? That’s why he said you roam too much.” Out of anger, I slapped him and shouted, “Are you mad? Get out!” He left crying.
Suddenly, I felt a slap on my own face. He was wiping the boy’s face, saying, “Sorry, my Sultan. Didn’t you see how small he is?” Then he turned to me and warned, “Never touch my child again. If you do, whatever action I take against you, you brought it upon yourself. My measures with you will be harsh, without mercy.”
He carried Sultan on his shoulders and left. I could do nothing but cry. My friends questioned me, but I had no answers for them. At home, I saw him again with his son. The boy called me, but I ignored him. Abdul said, “Fine, stop greeting her. If she touches my child again, everyone will regret it.” I walked away, crying bitterly over all the pain Abdul caused me.
Growing Hatred and Unending Torment
At home, my mother noticed my sadness and asked what was wrong. I told her everything Abdul did to me at school. She said, “Be patient, my dear. I’ll talk to him. But you too have a fault—never touch his child again. You know how he feels about him.” I replied, “Mom, you hear us, but you don’t understand what I’m facing. If it were just once, it would be easier, but he constantly humiliates me. I can’t even sit among my friends without him coming to insult me.”
As usual, I prepared early the next day, but he didn’t show up, not even at morning assembly. Another teacher came to announce he was sick with severe stomach pain. In my heart, I rejoiced, praying it would be serious enough for him to stay away for two days so I could have peace. People began collecting his number; some even planned to visit him at home and at the hospital. Students trooped in large numbers. Even my family heard and told me to go visit him. I said I went with other students.
He stayed away for three weeks before returning to school. I saw deep hatred in his eyes. I didn’t greet him or even look his way. He, however, humiliated me in front of my friends, telling them they should stop associating with me because they were well-bred and I would spoil their upbringing, calling me uncivilized. I burst into tears as he walked away laughing.
Soon, the hatred intensified. One day he came and threatened that if I didn’t behave, he would deal with me spiritually, accusing me of arrogance. My friends kept asking what I had done to deserve such treatment, because everyone knew he never interfered in others’ matters. I told them I barely knew him, that I had never met him outside school, and that he simply hated me for no reason. They believed me and even said, “A human being is never complete; no matter how perfect you seem, there’s always a flaw.” And with that, we dropped the matter and moved on to another topic.