A Wani Company Book One Complete Hausa Novel
The next morning, he woke up early and dressed in an amazingly sleek, lustrous black designer outfit. Holding a compact leather bag in hand, he walked with an innate sense of authority and grandeur—so striking that one would assume such majestic posture was second nature to him. Escorted by three security vehicles driving in tight formation, his convoy arrived at a sprawling, breathtaking corporate tower. Stepping out of the vehicle, he headed straight for the elevator to the fifth floor where his executive suite was located. He gently turned the door handle and stepped inside. The office itself was an absolute masterpiece of luxury. Sitting down at his desk, he removed his outer jacket.
Inside the main office suite, the elder Chairman pulled the intercom telephone beside him and dialed a short five-digit extension. “Send Suhail to my office,” he instructed before hanging up. He raised his head—Masha Allah, an imposing, distinguished man around 60 years of age, fair-skinned, with his hair neatly tied back with a small ribbon.
A knock sounded at the door. Looking up, the elder man hastily stood to embrace the young man who stepped inside, personally guiding him to a seat before taking a chair beside him. He looked at Suhail, whose eyes were lazily half-closed—a signature trait of his, giving him a perpetually relaxed, sleepy appearance. Suhail was undeniably handsome, a classic definition of high-class refinement and privilege—a true “ajebutter”. He possessed soft pink lips, striking brown eyes, and smooth hair cascading down past his shoulders.
The father handed him a official document, though he knew it might be futile—well aware that once Suhail set his mind against something, he rarely backed down. The father smiled gently as Suhail received the paper and read through every line. Suhail raised his eyes to look at his father, the man who raised him.
“Dad, are you really sending me to that distant town?” Suhail asked softly. “You know I don’t know anyone there and I’ve never visited. Why, Dad? Why me?”
His father remained silent for a moment, contemplating his words. He stood up, walked over to his son, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Be patient, my son. This trip is necessary. You need to go and personally manage our company operations in Nigeria. I cannot afford a repeat of what happened in the past.”
“Alright, Dad. I agree to go, as long as it brings you peace and happiness,” Suhail conceded.
A radiant smile spread across his father’s face as he embraced him once more. “Thank you, my son! Thank you!”
“Never mind, Dad,” Suhail replied, stepping out of the office. Truthfully, he had no desire to go anywhere, but he accepted purely for the happiness of his father, who was his absolute world.
“Ayrah!” “Ayrah!” Mama called out, standing at the bedroom door. Ayrah emerged with a slight pout, feeling gently fussed over. She was dressed in a maroon Ankara outfit patterned with green leaf motifs.
“I am stepping out, but I won’t be long, alright?” Mama said.
“Alright, Mama. May Allah protect you,” Ayrah replied, stepping back into the room. Mama smiled and departed, walking a considerable distance until she reached the grand estate of Alhaji Hadi, located far beyond their neighborhood.
Upon entering Hajiya Sarai’s quarters, she was received with immense warmth. Hajiya Sarai was an exceptionally kind-hearted and generous woman whose wealth had never blinded her. She deeply pitied Ayrah’s family, often assisting them with meals during hardship.
“Maman Ayrah, the reason I asked you here is some wonderful news,” Hajiya Sarai smiled warmly. “Earlier today, Alhaji mentioned that his company is recruiting new staff. I was so delighted that I promised to reach out to you so we could secure a position for Ayrah. What do you think?”
An overwhelming wave of joy washed over Mama, leaving her temporarily speechless. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes. “Thank you so much! You are truly one of a kind, always looking out for us.”
“Oh, Aminatu, why the tears?” Hajiya reassured her. “If I do something for Ayrah, why thank me? Remember, Ayrah is just like my own daughter.”
“That is true, Hajiya. Ayrah is indeed your daughter.”
At the airport, Suhail gently waved to the family and friends seeing him off. Before stepping through the boarding gate, he ran back to embrace his father tightly, knowing how much he would miss him. “I’m really going to miss you, Dad.”
“I’ll miss you too, son. Take good care of yourself,” his father replied, wiping away a stray tear.
From Australia to Nigeria… May Allah grant you a safe journey, Suhail…
Today was Sunday—a day when most workers rest at home.
Heavy storm clouds gathered ominously overhead. The sky turned jet black as violent gusts of wind swept up dust and debris, blinding pedestrians. Dark clouds churned alongside deafening thunder and sharp flashes of lightning—a atmospheric sign that rain could pour at any second.
A young girl crouched near a tree, her head resting on her knees. Despite the terrifying storm looming above, she showed no fear. A passerby hurried toward her, asking frantically, “Are you alright?”
She lifted her head, looking at him with bloodshot, tear-stained eyes—a clear sign of intense weeping. Yet, Masha Allah, her beauty was breathtaking. Fair-skinned, with soft hair cascading down her back, delicate wisps framing her face, a small mouth, a sharp nose, and a tall, elegant posture. Without a word, she stood up and walked away. The man shook his head in concern, wondering why a young girl would be weeping alone in an alley right in the middle of a massive storm.
She walked slowly, unhurried. A sudden thunderclap made her wince, closing her eyes tightly and covering her ears as she whispered prayers under her breath. After five minutes, she cautiously opened her eyes.
Torrential rain began pouring down heavily, accompanied by roaring thunder. Despite stepping on something sharp with her bare feet, she pushed forward until she reached their humble little home in the Lokogoma neighborhood.
Gasping for breath, she rushed inside and collapsed onto a thin woven mat in the center of the room. Her body began trembling violently as her breath grew ragged. She was completely drained, whimpering softly, “Mama… Mama… Oh Allah, I feel like I am dying…”
Mama stepped out of the bathroom, pulling back the thin curtain door. Her heart sank, and cold sweat broke out despite the chilly rain. Rushing over, Mama pulled her into a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. Quickly standing up, Mama retrieved a small satchel and fetched water from a clay pot, freezing in thought: How can I give her medicine when we haven’t eaten anything since morning except water?
Tears overflowed again as Mama raised her hands to the heavens in silent prayer. Gently lifting Ayrah, she administered the medicine and laid her daughter’s head on her lap, stroking her hair softly until both drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Ayrah slowly opened her heavy eyes to find herself resting on Mama’s lap. Her mother had remained seated against the wall all night. Overcome with deep empathy, Ayrah wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. Mama smiled, having been awake for a while, careful not to move and disturb her daughter.
“Mama, did you stay like this all night? Why didn’t you wake me?” Ayrah asked softly, tears welling up in her eyes.
“If I didn’t wake you then, at least you are awake now. Hurry, get up and perform ablution so we can pray,” Mama replied gently. Ayrah rose slowly, her body still aching.
Australia…