Prologue: Zarah's Plight

A heavy storm cloud gathered from the east, carried by a wind that signaled imminent rain. Zarah quickly stood up from the thatched pavilion where she sat, knowing full well that once the rain started, it would flood her position. Tears welled up in her eyes; she had no shelter, as everyone in the house alienated and mistreated her. With a trembling voice, she raised her hands to the heavens and prayed:
"O Allah, grant me a way out. Deliver me from this misery I am trapped in. O Allah, be my guardian and protector."
Looking up, the house was a massive, inherited family compound boasting fifteen separate quarters. Structurally, however, it was dilapidated and structurally compromised.
Life inside this house was completely individualistic; everyone looked out only for themselves, completely indifferent to the plight of their relatives. This chaos was the reality of Malam Yusif Mai Taba (the tobacco seller)'s household. The family lacked proper upbringing, breeding children who fell into substance abuse and thuggery. Everyone had to fend for themselves for food—if you found something to eat, you ate; if not, you stayed hungry.
Malam Yusif Mai Taba had four wives. His first wife, Hadiza, was an arrogant, overbearing woman; cross her, and your life in that house became a living hell. She had four daughters: Rabi, Salma, and Maryam, who were all married, and her last-born, Basmah, who was unmarried. His second wife, Larai, had two sons, Nura and Dauda, both of whom lived in the compound with their wives.
His third wife, Hindatu, had four sons: Hamza, Aminu, Aliyu, and Rufa'i, none of whom were married. Rufa'i was a notorious Dan Daudu (effeminate male/cross-dresser) who was currently living in Lagos (Ikko). Hamza was a street thug, while Aliyu was a local vigilante member who also struggled with drug addiction. Malam Yusif's fourth wife, Fa'izah, passed away due to complications while giving birth to Zarah. May Allah grant her eternal peace.
Malam Yusif's younger siblings also lived in the compound. In this chaotic house, days passed in endless, bitter conflicts...

Chapters 7–10: Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Dr. Afif stood in front of a magnificent, opulent mansion. A single glance at the estate told you an enormous fortune had been spent on it. Hurriedly, Emir’s knocked on the security gate.
The gateman peeked out and looked at him. Speaking in Amharic, the local language of Ethiopia, the gateman stated that the master of the house had explicitly ordered that no one should be allowed inside. Anxiously, Emir's pleaded, "Tell him it's me."
The gateman replied, "He said no matter who it is, they must not enter."
Emir's quickly pulled out his phone and dialed the homeowner's number. It rang without an answer. He dialed a third time, and finally, the call was picked up. The line remained completely silent, revealing a highly reserved, unapproachable personality. Knowing his temperament well, Emir's pleaded:
"For the sake of the Prophet, please order the gateman to let me in."
The reference to the Prophet completely softened the man's resolve. The gateman was instructed to hand over his phone. A beautiful, captivating voice resonated through the receiver: "Give him the phone."
I don't know what was said next, but the gateman immediately allowed Emir's to enter. I quickly followed right behind him, nearly gasping at the sight. It felt as though this mansion belonged to another world entirely, so flawlessly designed was it. I almost tripped over myself staring at the grandeur. Emir's was moving fast, leaving me behind, so I rushed to catch up. As he reached the front entrance, the door swung open automatically. I lunged forward to get inside just in time, nearly catching my finger as the door shut.
We stepped into a breathtaking, exquisitely furnished parlor. It featured beautiful white curtains adorned with blue floral patterns, luxurious royal sofas, pristine white secondary drapes, and a magnificent Turkish carpet in blue with matching white floral designs. Truly, this place could be described as an earthly paradise.
Looking up, my eyes caught a massive, striking portrait of a young man, roughly thirty-six years old. Masha Allah, a beautiful creation of the Almighty. Looking at his features, it was clear he was not of purely Hausa descent; he looked bi-racial (half-cast), with a brilliantly fair complexion.
In the portrait, he wore clear glasses through which his large, striking eyes were visible. He held a beautiful, chocolate-complexioned young girl who bore a striking resemblance to him. Her face wore a radiant smile, showcasing her deep dimples just like his. She wore a white t-shirt boldly printed with the words BETTER LIFE and black trousers. On his wrist was an expensive gold watch.
I quickly averted my eyes from the portrait because of the sheer, intimidating aura (kwarjini) he commanded. Suddenly, the sound of dignified, aristocratic footsteps echoed through the room. He was calmly descending the staircase on the right side of the parlor.
Seeing him in person made me realize the portrait didn't even do him justice; he was far more handsome in reality. His physique gave no hint of his true age. Clad in an ash-colored jellabiya, he looked like a pure Arab.
As he stepped onto the main floor, Emir's quickly greeted, "Good morning, Dr. Afif."
Without returning the greeting, full of pride and authority, Afif walked over to one of the sofas, sat down, and crossed his legs.
"Oh boy, the royal arrogance is on full display today," Emir’s thought to himself.
Emir's stepped closer and handed him some folders. Afif accepted them and began reviewing the documents one by one, questioning Emir's, who provided thorough explanations. Once the briefing concluded, Emir's stood up, walked to the door, and exited.
Suddenly, Afif’s phone began to ring. He didn't even glance in its direction, let alone check who was calling. His mind was consumed by an overwhelming weight. He absolutely despised remembering anything regarding his past life.
This was precisely why he refused to stay idle; he constantly kept himself occupied with tasks to distract his mind from his painful past. He wanted for nothing material in life, yet he had lost the most precious and valuable thing in his existence. His eyes began to change color, and the veins on his forehead visibly pulsed.
In a sudden outburst of sorrow and rage, he grabbed the coffee table in front of him and hurled it away, his voice trembling and breaking into a sob:
"Why would you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this from life? What kind of dark, miserable night was that—the worst night of my life! Who killed you?! What did you ever do to them?!"
He continued to weep bitterly. "What kind of cruelty is this? I swear to myself, I will never return to the Mai Zaki Kingdom unless I uncover who murdered you, Jiddah. Jiddah's blood will not be spilled in vain! I will never find anyone to replace you, Jiddah, never!"
Well, dear readers, we shall see if that remains true. The real drama has just begun.
In his boiling anger, he grabbed a flower vase and smashed it to pieces against the floor. Completely blinded by rage, he didn't even notice that he was stepping on the shattered glass. His feet and hands were dripping with blood.

Chapters 11–14: Broken Pieces & False Rumors

Walking briskly, Afif ignored the blood pouring from his foot. His phone continued to ring continuously, but he intentionally tuned it out, knowing the call was connected to the Mai Zaki Kingdom. At this point, he viewed everyone from that kingdom as hypocrites and traitors.
He headed straight to his bedroom, his foot still leaving a trail of blood.
Masha Allah, I uttered as I beheld the bedroom. The parlor was nothing compared to this room. It was stark white, proving that Afif was deeply obsessed with the color white. Pristine white curtains hung gracefully. He walked quickly toward another massive portrait. The woman in the portrait looked so lifelike she could almost speak back. She was exceptionally beautiful, wearing a black lace gown accented with golden and pink floral embroidery. She held a young girl around four or five years old, who wore a pink baby gown with blue floral patterns and a matching blue headband.
In the picture, Afif held Jiddah’s hand, offering her a rare, gentle smile that revealed his central teeth gap (hushirya). Trying to fully describe the beauty of that picture would be a waste of words. Jiddah wore a beautifully tailored modern dress. She wasn't overly beautiful, but rather average, yet the makeup and photography suited her perfectly.
Afif gently caressed the portrait as tears streamed down his face. He knew a time would come when everyone’s true colors would be exposed in the Mai Zaki Kingdom, and the hypocrites would be unmasked. Sensing a shadow fall over him, he knew without looking that it was Kabir—no one else would dare walk straight into his room unannounced.
"Ya Allah!" Kabir exclaimed in a raised voice. "Afif, you need to forget about Jiddah and start a new life. Doing this only gives your enemies and those who want to see your downfall a reason to celebrate. Yesterday, at the palace, I saw that the NCB newspaper published your picture, claiming you traveled to America for psychiatric evaluation! They claim that since your wife died, you’ve lost your sanity, and they are calling for your hospitals to be shut down to prevent you from harming the public. They even claim you've been suspended from the hospital where you practice! However, I investigated, and Emir's confirmed you haven't gone anywhere and are right here in Ethiopia. It seems your enemies paid to publish this; even the NBC TV station hosted a public opinion segment on it. Thankfully, out of a hundred percent, 85% of the people refused to believe it. Some argued that you don't even consult ordinary patients unless their conditions are extremely critical, and since you are out of the country, it doesn't affect them. Alhamdulillah, that is a victory for us."
Afif slowly opened his mouth, speaking in his characteristically sweet, melodious voice:
"Kabir, even if the entire world believes I am mentally ill, I know you know better. Kabir, I have suffered from a lack of maternal care since I was a child. I never knew a mother's warmth; our relationship was limited to looking at each other from a distance. Kabir, everything has become too much for me. I swear by Allah, once I discover who murdered Jiddah—even if it turns out to be Mamy—I will punish her. Kabir, I will never return to Zaki City until I find the culprit..."

Chapters 15–16: Parallels in Garkun

Kabir let out a deep sigh and asked, "What did the palace do to you? Is it not the Mai Zaki Kingdom? What connects Zaki City to Garkun village?"
Afif looked at him and smirked. "Hmm, Kabir. Do you really think these legs of mine would just wander into Zaki City for no reason?"
"Then how will you uncover the culprit if you aren't living among them?"
Afif flashed a dark, plotting smile. "Kabir, have you forgotten who I am? I am Aliyu Mansur Aliyu Zaki. Every single move they make is right in the palm of my hand."
Seeing the amount of blood Afif was losing, Kabir walked toward a hidden door. To an ordinary observer, you wouldn't even notice a door existed there, as it was seamlessly camouflaged behind clocks, shoes, and mirrors. Kabir moved a specific shoe, revealing a secret switch. He pressed it, and the wall parted to reveal a hidden apartment. One look inside and you would call it a state-of-the-art emergency room, fully equipped with every piece of medical gear imaginable. Kabir quickly gathered what he needed and left the room.
POV: Zaki City / Garkun Village
Zarah was walking down the street carrying a tray of roasted peanuts. She had only two measures left to sell, but evening was fast approaching with no buyers in sight. In her heart, she desperately prayed to finish selling them so that Inna Hadiza wouldn't beat her. Everyone in the household, including the tough guys like Manu, terrified her.
"Zarah! Zarah! Zarah!"
Zarah turned around excitedly, recognizing the voice. In her usual gentle, soft tone, she opened her small mouth and said, "Saudai!"
Saudai approached and said, "Zarah, it's so hard to catch a glimpse of you these days. Inno banned me from coming to visit you."
Zarah sighed deeply. "Wallahi, it's alright. For me, it's the street hawking that keeps me from seeking you out."
"Did you hear about that doctor we were planning to see at the city hospital?" Saudai whispered. "They say he lost his mind! But people don't believe it because right now he is living in Ethiopia."
Zarah replied, "As for me, I will just keep praying that Allah allows him to treat me, and that he doesn't look down on me with disgust. Inna Hadiza is pressuring me to work harder; she claims she needs the money to marry off her last-born daughter and host a wedding festival the likes of which Garkun has never seen before."
"Insha Allah, Zarah, one day you will find happiness and become a point of reference for success," Saudai comforted her. "Look, let me rush home before Maghrib prayer catches me."
"Alright," Zarah said.
Saudai stopped. "Zarah, don't you have shoes?"
Zarah smiled, a look that highlighted her natural beauty. "No, while I was walking earlier, the strap snapped. Look at it."
Saudai widened her eyes. "Zarah, this is completely ruined! It's trash at this point. Look at how worn out it is; it can't even be stitched back together."
Zarah sighed. "Alright, I'll tell Malam to buy me another pair when he gets some money. See you tomorrow, Saudai."
"Alright, Zarah. Aren't you going to the village square tonight?"
"No, I have to finish selling these leftover peanuts."
They parted ways, missing each other's company. Zarah walked briskly. Her wrapper was completely faded, its original patterns unrecognizable, and her veil looked like it had been dragged out of a hyena's den. She walked with a slight wobble from sheer hunger, knowing deep down she might not even find a scrap of food to put in her stomach at home.
She approached their dilapidated house—a structure so rotten that a heavy downpour or strong wind could easily collapse it on its inhabitants.
Even from the entrance, she could hear loud chaos and the distinct clapping and shouting of Yan Daudu (effeminate men/cross-dressers). It was clear that her brother, Yaya Rufa'i, had made a surprise raid back into the village from Lagos. As she stepped in with a greeting, she was stunned. There were at least fifteen cross-dressers gathered. One had tied a traditional women's wrapper over his jellabiya in an exaggerated fashion. Oh humanity, may Allah guide our descendants. Another wore an expensive, heavily embroidered Shadda gown adorned with decorative stones, rolling his eyes dramatically like a courtesan.
(Dear readers, if I were to list all their ridiculous outfits, we would be sitting here all day!)
Zarah stood frozen, mouth agape, watching them. The way they spoke was enough to turn anyone's stomach.
Suddenly, Aliyu entered the compound, clad in his local vigilante uniform and wielding a heavy club, looking fierce and intimidating. Whenever Aliyu wore his vigilante gear, he carried himself with more authority than a military general.
He roared a thunderous warning that sounded like it was coming through a loudspeaker: "Get out of our house right now before I beat the living daylights out of you all!"
Bashir—who had changed his name to "Bishira"—instantly placed a hand on his chest, adjusted his wrapper, and shouted, "Ahayyai! Rass chass!" The entire crew echoed in unison: "Rassssssssss!"
"Oh, look at you!" Bishira sneered. "Is it really true what they say, that you men don't value women? Look at you, waddling around like a duck! God forgive me, I wouldn't even waste a glance on you!"
Aliyu snapped back, "If you don't leave this instant, I am going to call my entire vigilante squad to tear your flesh to pieces, you bastards, enemies of Allah!"
Zuly, another member of the crew whose lips were painted bright red, chimed in, "You little street thug! If Almighty Allah hadn't forbidden striking a man, I would have ground you into dust today!"
Sadika added, "Zuly, this is self-defense! What are you waiting for? Let's take him down and show him that we are 'women' who won't be pushed around!"
They collectively lunged at Aliyu. Fortunately for him, he turned tail and fled, losing his oversized vigilante boots and sliding out of his loose trousers as he ran. He didn't stop until he reached the back alley, where his thug brother, Hamza Jagwa, was gathering his gang of boys and attack dogs.
Thinking Aliyu was being chased by actual police officers, the cross-dressers scattered and fled the house in a panic...

Story Summary

The excerpt weaves two contrasting storylines that are destined to collide:

1. The Rural Tragedy (Garkun Village)

• Zarah’s Misery: Zarah is an impoverished, mistreated young girl living in a massive but collapsing 15-room family compound in Garkun village. Her mother died giving birth to her, leaving her at the mercy of a toxic polygamous family headed by Malam Yusif Mai Taba.
• The Family Dynamics: The household is completely dysfunctional and chaotic. The first wife, Inna Hadiza, is abusive and exploits Zarah to fund her own daughter's upcoming wedding. The sons of the family are broken by society—consisting of street thugs (Hamza), corrupt/aggressive local vigilantes (Aliyu), and a flamboyant crew of Lagos-based cross-dressers (Yan Daudu) led by the son Rufa'i.

• The Climax: Zarah returns from a long day of hunger and shoe-less peanut hawking to find her house turned into a warzone between Aliyu (the vigilante brother) and Rufa'i's fifteen-man cross-dressing squad, ending in a comical street chase.

  2. The Royal Melodrama (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

• Dr. Afif’s Grief: Located in an elite mansion in Ethiopia, Dr. Aliyu Mansur Aliyu Zaki (Dr. Afif) is a brilliant, wealthy, bi-racial doctor of royal heritage from the Mai Zaki Kingdom. He is deeply traumatized by the brutal, unsolved murder of his wife, Jiddah.
• The Conspiracy: Afif lives in self-imposed exile, using heavy workloads to cope with trauma. His friend Kabir reveals that his political/royal enemies back home have weaponized his grief, publishing media propaganda (via NBC/NCB) claiming he has gone insane in order to shut down his highly successful hospitals.

• Vow of Vengeance: Afif reveals that despite his distance, he monitors every move inside the Mai Zaki Kingdom. He vows never to return until he uncovers his wife's killer—even if the mastermind turns out to be his own mother (Mamy).

  Narrative & Literary Analysis

  1. The Juxtaposition of Class and Wealth

  The author uses sharp socio-economic contrast as a structural tool. On one hand, we see Dr. Afif’s world: white-gilded mansions, automated doors, luxury Turkish carpets, secret medical apartments, and international travel. On the other hand, we see Zarah’s reality: a house that might collapse in the rain, faded clothing compared to a "hyena’s den," raw hunger, and broken shoes that cannot be repaired. This structural divide sets up an archetype where the billionaire prince/doctor will likely become the savior or counterpart to the ultimate village victim.

  2. Cultural Representation and Social Commentary

  The Hausa text provides an unvarnished look at northern Nigerian subcultures and social issues:

• Yan Shaye-shaye & Yan Daba (Drug Abuse & Thuggery): Symbolized by Hamza and Aliyu, highlighting the breakdown of youth discipline and parental failure in large, unmanaged polygamous households.

• Yan Daudu Culture: The inclusion of Rufa'i and his crew portrays the underground, deeply dramatic, and linguistically unique culture of Hausa cross-dressers. The author captures their authentic slang ("Ahayyai! Rass chass!") to provide dark comedic relief against the heavy themes of Zarah's abuse and Afif's intense grief.

  3. Mental Health and Political Weaponization

  A key plot driver is how mental health is treated as a political tool. Afif is genuinely suffering from severe post-traumatic stress and grief (manifested in violent outbursts and stepping on glass). However, rather than receiving medical empathy, his royal enemies weaponize his psychological state through the media to destroy his medical empire. This reflects a broader societal commentary on how vulnerability is exploited by adversaries in arenas of power (the Masarauta or Kingdom).