BAKIN RUHI BOOK COMPELET 

The Hidden Portrait of a Burdened Soul

“Every household harbors its own unique secrets, just as every lineage carries its own specific emotional scars, tragic destinies, or hidden affairs that they systematically shield from public view. It was purely an tragic turn of fate that drove me to violently tear away the heavy veil concealing the dark, monstrous secret of our family estate. By virtue of that discovery, I was forced to completely abandon my bloodline to preserve and rescue my deeply exhausted spirit, which had been systematically broken and wounded in multiple ways.”
I fell into absolute silence as uncontrollable tears rapidly welled up, completely blurring my vision. Lubna did absolutely nothing but fix an intense, unyielding gaze upon my face; by all outward indications, she was consumed by a burning, desperate anxiety to extract the raw, unadulterated history of my life.
A bitter, agonizing smile creased my lips, granting the heavy pool of tears accumulating within my eyelids a clear window to cascade directly down my cheeks.
I resumed my narration: “Our family compound functioned as a massive, communal family house where you would find an entire network of elder siblings, younger siblings, and extended relations living under a single roof. Our biological mother gave birth to five of us in total: two females and three males. Anty Aliya is the absolute eldest, followed sequentially by Aliyu, then Fahad, then myself, and finally our pampered youngest brother, Haidar. Furthermore, the estate housed the children of my paternal uncles, complete with their respective wives and offspring. Despite our massive population, every single meal was systematically prepared inside one massive communal pot; that was the exact communal lifestyle we inherited and witnessed our parents practicing.
Moreover, when the hour for meals arrived, our paternal fathers would gather to eat from a single massive platter, and the wives executed the exact same protocol. We, the younger generation, were structurally segregated by approximate age groups; a single, massive shared plate would be filled for each group. It was through this exact communal dining protocol that I forged an inseparable, profound bond with my cousin, Hassana. She was originally a twin, but her identical counterpart passed away mysteriously during the middle of the night, mere hours after we had finalized our evening meal.
Between Hassana and myself, there was a deeply unsettling phenomenon actively manifesting within our lineage—something that completely paralyzed our analytical minds and continuously troubled our peace of mind. I will never forget a specific afternoon when we marched down to fetch water from the massive deep-water well situated at the absolute rear of our residential rooms. Hassana stopped her movements, looked directly into my eyes, and whispered, ‘Haule, I swear to you, Husseina's sudden demise has completely refused to vacate my consciousness. Every single night, without fail, I am trapped in intense nightmares where she is weeping bitterly, screaming at me to execute a rescue protocol to save her life. Yet, last night, her manifestation completely shifted; she was explicitly advising me to launch an escape maneuver to run far away from this compound. I honestly cannot comprehend the underlying logic behind her warning.’
‘It is simply due to the fact that you have intentionally anchored the trauma of her death deep within your subconscious mind,’ I reasoned with her at that exact microsecond. ‘Furthermore, looking at the biological reality that you two were identical twins, it is highly probable that your internal system lacks the capacity to purge the memory. But you must remember, it has been almost a full calendar year since her burial.’ That was the precise logical argument I offered her then, but she slowly shook her head in absolute disagreement.
‘No, Haule. I am deeply convinced that a sinister force is actively driving her manifestation into my dreams. And you must not minimize the fact that she has never missed a single night without paying me a visit to repeat the exact same mandate: to save her life. But last night’s event was completely distinct; her sole directive was for me to flee this house.’
Before my lips could formulate a single response, Goggo Lami—who was Hassana's biological mother—abruptly materialized at the mouth of the well. We had zero indication of whether or not her ears had intercepted our confidential conversation because her features remained entirely neutral; she simply hoisted the heavy bucket we had filled with water and walked away. Following her exit, we completely discarded the conversation, resumed our manual labor, and eventually withdrew back into the central courtyard of the compound.”

                    [ TRADITIONAL COMMUNAL ESTATE ARCHITECTURE ]
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            +----------------------------+----------------------------+
            |                                                         |
     [ THE REAR UTILITY ZONE ]                                [ CENTRAL COURTYARD ]
- Location of the massive deep-water well.           - Multi-generational living spaces.
- Hassana reveals her identical twin's nightmares.   - Strict age-segregated dining platters.
- Goggo Lami interrupts the private dialogue.        - Heavy, suffocating gaze of Innarmu.

The Blood Omen & The Secret Chamber

“Suddenly, I detected a bizarre, deeply unsettling gaze tracking my movements from Innarmu, our biological mother. Initially, I attempted to ignore the pressure, but the intensity eventually triggered a profound internal paranoia within my system; I rapidly vacated her immediate vicinity simply to escape the suffocating weight of her stare.
When night descended, following the completion of the mandatory Isha prayer, the entire household converged for dinner. Looking exactly like a chaotic wedding celebration, we systematically segregated ourselves into distinct age brackets, every group encircling their massive shared platter, loudly praising the culinary skills of our mothers. We consumed the meal completely, transitioning straight into traditional storytelling sessions until the night grew exceptionally deep, forcing us to separate to our respective bedrooms.
The absolute moment I stepped into our private room and laid my frame across the mattress, the sharp, heavy voice of our mother sliced through the darkness, calling my name in a bizarre, chilling tone: ‘Haule?’
An intense wave of terror violently dropped into my stomach, but I forced a display of internal fortitude, answering, ‘I am present, Innarmu.’
‘March over here this instant,’ she commanded. I rose from my bedding, closing the distance to her traditional iron canopy bed. I stood rigid by her side, bowing my chin deeply against my chest because her eyes were still unleashing that exact same calculated, heavy stare onto my face.
‘Never let it occur again! I am strictly forbidding you from ever engaging in that specific conversation with Hassana ever again. Have my words penetrated your consciousness clearly, or do you require a repetition?’
‘Which specific conversation are you referencing, Innarmu?’ I inquired, because before Almighty God, my mind had completely dropped the memory of the well.
‘Regarding the sudden demise of Husseina! Retire to your bedding this instant.’ That was the absolute finality of her words. I walked back to my mattress and lay down, but a deep, peaceful sleep was completely denied to my system, entirely derailing my original intentions.
I simply slid my eyelids shut, clearly hearing the movement of Anty Aliya as she walked in to lay her frame right beside me after Innarmu explicitly ordered her to extinguish the electric bulb. An absolute, heavy darkness enveloped the entire room.
I snapped my eyes wide open, my mind plunging into a chaotic spiral of dark realizations regarding how frequently sudden deaths systematically plagued our family compound—and remarkably, almost every single demise manifested on nearly identical calendar dates. I remained trapped within this intense mental calculation for an extended duration while the entire town descended into a dead, absolute silence.
Suddenly, the distinct sound of movement echoed from the grand central family parlor. Moving with the absolute stealth of a hypocrite, I slipped out of bed and crept out. I bypassed the smaller living room entirely, hiding my frame behind a heavy partition. Peering through the shadows, I witnessed every single one of our paternal fathers gathered in a tight circle, fiercely debating an agenda whose true trajectory was completely unknown to my mind.
‘Ibrahim, looking at the current astrological and family alignments, the responsibility now falls squarely on your specific branch to fulfill the ancient covenant,’ Kawu Hamza stated firmly, his voice thick with seniority as the absolute eldest of the brothers.
Kawu Laminu immediately intercepted the dialogue, adding, ‘That is the absolute, correct trajectory. Furthermore, it is a mandatory sacrifice from a male lineage this time around—mindful of the fact that during the previous cycle, I willingly surrendered my own female child.’ He was explicitly referencing his own daughter, Hassana's deceased twin.
Ibrahim—who was my biological father—manifested a sharp, agonizing transformation across his features before whispering heavily, ‘I require an administrative window to deliberate on the matter.’
The moment the words left his lips, the men rose in unison, marching directly toward a solitary, tightly sealed chamber at the end of the corridor—a room that, from the absolute dawn of my childhood consciousness, I had never once witnessed being opened. Until this exact microsecond.
Without acquiring a single shred of concrete data regarding what their dark meeting comprised, I rapidly retreated back to my bedding. Just as I was preparing to slide my eyes shut, the electric bulb was suddenly activated, flooding the room with a harsh light, and my eyes locked in a direct collision with Innarmu.
‘From what exact location are you just returning?’ she hurled the interrogation directly at my face.
Before my vocal cords could formulate a single defensive response, Haidar suddenly erupted into a violent, terrifying scream of pure torment, forcing Innarmu to violently pivot and sprint toward his small bed.
Haidar was a fragile infant who had barely cleared a two-month window since being formally weaned from breast milk. Innarmu rapidly grabbed a vessel of water, attempting to pour it down his throat, but her delivery was so hyper-aggressive that his biological system instantly rejected the liquid, violently spraying it out through both his mouth and nasal passages.
Before our eyes, a thick torrent of dark blood violently erupted from his nostrils, and his tiny frame went entirely rigid. He ceased movement entirely.”

                    [ THE CRISIS AT THE KITCHEN SINK ]
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       +----------------------------+----------------------------+
       |                                                         |
 [ THE MANUAL LABOR ]                                    [ THE COMPULSIVE QUERY ]
- Haule flees the room to wash commercial plates.      - Lubna assists with rinsing out plates.
- Head pounding violently from trauma.                - Inquires compulsively about Haidar's fate.
- Desperately seeks a distraction from the memory.    - Forces Haule to resume her dark family story.

Reaching this exact peak of the memory, I bolted upright, abandoning my seat and leaving Lubna sitting with her mouth hanging wide open in absolute horror.
“Haule! For heaven's sake, where exactly do you think you are going now?!” she screamed after my retreating frame. Without turning my head back, I tossed an answer over my shoulder: “I must execute a thorough washing of the commercial plates before Hajiya returns to the premises.”
I marched straight toward the designated dishwashing bay, aggressively scrubbing the heavy platters left behind by our restaurant customers. Midway through my manual labor, Lubna materialized by my side, silently rinsing the plates. We worked in absolute, heavy silence for approximately five minutes before she cracked the tension: “Tell me the absolute truth, Haule... I am desperately hoping that infant Haidar did not actually lose his life in that room?”
I was acutely aware of Lubna's psychological profile; she possessed a compulsive, near-manic obsession with unearthing dramatic narratives. If I denied her the absolute completion of the account, she was entirely capable of tracking my footsteps straight to my private residence simply to extract the remaining data. Consequently, I anchored my mind and resumed the story exactly where it had fractured.

The Vision of the Crimson Tears

“I was standing right there, watching the scene unfold with my own two eyes, when Innarmu let out a slow stream of tears, uttering a single, haunting phrase: ‘Why on earth must the target be Haidar?’ That specific sentence remained permanently burned into my cognitive faculties for years, my brain desperately searching for its true meaning, but for an extended duration, zero answers materialized.
I dropped directly onto my knees, grabbing her clothes, my voice screaming, ‘Innarmu! What biological crisis has seized Haidar?!’
‘He has crossed over, Haule! Haidar is dead!’ she shrieked back, her arms aggressively wrapping around the infant's corpse. I lost absolute control of my senses, unleashing a blood-curdling scream that violently awakened every living soul inside the compound, including Anty Aliya.
Within the blinking of an eye, our bedroom was completely overrun by a chaotic mass of family relations, the air thick with mourning. Goggo Lami lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Innarmu to offer traditional consolations.
Meanwhile, Hassana marched silently across the floor, positioning her frame right next to me. She whispered, ‘Cast your eyes onto his features and witness the absolute, identical manifestation that took Husseina during her final moments.’
Instantly, the heavy downpour of tears cascading down my cheeks ceased entirely. My visual memory rapidly unlocked, bringing forth the vivid image of Husseina's corpse. Even after her body had been subjected to the mandatory ritual purification wash, the dark blood that had erupted from her nostrils remained permanently stained against her flesh, refusing to be cleansed; worse still, before the dawn hours arrived, her eyelids had begun leaking continuous, thick trails of crimson blood.
I lacked the structural capacity to offer Hassana a single response at that specific moment; we simply merged our voices into the collective mourning for Haidar. Throughout the entire agonizing stretch until the dawn call to prayer, not a single paternal father or adult male of the household set foot inside our room to inspect the crisis; it was only after the sun had fully illuminated the sky that they marched in, strictly to collect the corpse for immediate burial.
Following the final ritual wash of Haidar’s body, Innarmu was granted a solitary window to execute her final viewing of her son. Driven by a morbid, unyielding curiosity, I tracked her footsteps closely. The moment she pulled back the white linen burial shroud (Likafani), my eyes made direct contact with his tiny face—his eyelids were actively leaking thick, continuous trails of crimson blood.
An uncontrollable scream of emotional agony tore out of Innarmu’s throat; the shroud was rapidly closed, the body was carried out, and our family compound completely plunged into a terrifying vortex of endless wailing as his casket cleared the main gates.
During the formal days of the mourning period, Hassana quietly guided my frame into a secluded corner of the compound. I looked at her, my voice sharp: ‘Is everything stable with your mind?’
She executed a rapid, paranoid scan of the immediate environment before whispering, ‘Last night, after my system finally shut down, I was pulled into a vivid manifestation where Husseina explicitly commanded me to transfer her original clothes—the exact garments she was wearing when death took her life—directly into your hands, with a strict directive that you must wear them against your flesh.’
‘For what explicit purpose?!’ I demanded, my brow furrowing in deep suspicion.
She shot back, ‘I beg of you, for the love of Almighty God, simply wear the garments as she has requested!’ I entered a fierce negotiation with her, finally conceding that I would execute the protocol precisely as she desired.”
I brought my voice to a sudden halt, locking an intense look onto Lubna, who had gone completely rigid, her hands freezing mid-rinse over the commercial basin. A soft smile creased my lips. “Tell me, Lubna... has terror completely seized your nervous system? I swear to you, you have not yet intercepted a single shred of the core horror; everything I have detailed thus far is merely the basic introductory layer. Simply maintain your internal fortitude, and you shall systematically receive the absolute entirety of my history.”
Lubna let out a long, shuddering breath. “I swear to you, Haule, my entire physical body has gone completely numb with cold terror—mindful of the fact that my own private history contains an exceptionally terrifying reality of its own.”
Suddenly, the harsh, thunderous screaming of Hajiya violently shattered our private dialogue. I bolted out of the washing bay with extreme velocity, unleashing a rapid stream of humble apologies, but my submissive demeanor seemed to act as a direct fuel, driving her rage into a hyper-aggressive pitch.
“If you two do not execute a radical transformation in your professional behavior, I swear by the Living God I will unleash an absolute summary dismissal upon your heads and populate this restaurant with an entirely new staff! Cast your eyes onto those tables—they are completely layered in filth because you have failed to wipe them down!”
“Please exercise maternal patience, Hajiya!” I pleaded, my vocal cords trembling with a slight panic. “For the love of God, do not enforce a dismissal upon my life; I possess absolutely zero family or external safety nets in this town.”
Yet, because Hajiya occupied the absolute peak of human malice and sociopathic behavior, she instantly manufactured a twisted financial penalty: “As a direct consequence of your insubordination, you are strictly banned from consuming a single grain of my food today! If you desire sustenance, you will extract currency from your own pockets to purchase it! It is precisely because I have routinely showered you with unearned empathy that you possess the absolute audacity to unleash this disrespect against my face!”
Finishing her toxic tirade, she spun around with a violent gust of energy and cleared the room. My knees buckled slightly, and I dropped onto a nearby chair, clutching my head as a sharp, agonizing migraine began violently pounding against my temples.

The Parasitic Cure & The Medical Tyrant

If there was an absolute reality that routinely sent a violent wave of panic through my psychological system, it was the continuous threat of summary dismissal that Hajiya routinely held over my head. What brought a deep, burning rage to my soul was the systematic humiliation she unleashed upon my character daily, simply because my survival was completely dependent on her commercial enterprise.
Lubna stepped out of the kitchen block, having finalized her professional obligations hours ago; by virtue of her contract, her duties were strictly confined to advanced culinary production. Conversely, my operational mandate comprised the physical reception of customers, navigating their specific menu requests, executing the entire dishwashing protocol, and performing a comprehensive sweep of the entire restaurant floor.
“Retire to the washing bay and finalize the remaining plates,” Lubna whispered, her voice laced with deep empathy. “I shall assume the responsibility of wiping down the dining hall tables on your behalf.” I offered zero verbal commentary; I simply forced my exhausted skeletal system to stand up, marching over to liquidate the remaining dishes.
We eventually converged back in the main hall to execute the final structural polish of the space. Once the entire venue was securely locked down, we initiated our evening march toward Hajiya's private luxury villa. The geographical distance between the restaurant and her estate was considerable, forcing us to maintain a hyper-rapid pace to breach her compound.
Entering her grand living room, we found her splayed across a leather sofa; despite having the luxury air conditioning units dialed to their maximum cooling threshold, her flesh was actively secreting thick, continuous streams of sweat.
I delivered a single, completely detached glance toward her frame before turning my head away in disgust. This stood in sharp contrast to Lubna, who rushed to her side, her voice thick with sycophantic concern: “Hajiya! Has the chronic internal medical crisis flared up again within your system?”
With a heavily strained, agonizing voice that clearly signaled severe biological distress, she wheezed, “The severe peptic ulcer system has executed a sudden, violent ambush against my stomach lining, accompanied by a sharp chest constriction. Hurry this instant and prepare that specialized compound—the exact liquid medicine you routinely administer to stabilize my system.”
Lubna cut a rapid, highly calculated glance toward my position before whispering, “But Hajiya... Haule is the absolute custodian of that specific medicine; I possess zero access to the compound.”
“Then command her to yield it to my system immediately!”
Hearing the directive, I turned on my heel and marched straight toward the isolated, cramped rear quarters designated for domestic servants. Mid-way through stripping out of my heavy commercial uniform, Lubna burst through the door, a clean glass cup cradled in her palm. “Pour the medicine inside immediately so I can transport it to her parlor.”
With a soul completely burning with internal rage, I snapped, “I absolutely refuse to execute the transfer! Let her suffer! If she truly understood the biological nature of the liquid she is consuming, she would realize it is nothing more than my own biological saliva!”
Lubna instantly exploded into a fit of dark, muffled laughter, closing the distance between our frames. “My dear friend, should you not count it as an absolute badge of pride that a high-society tyrant like Hajiya is actively dependent on consuming the saliva of a lowly maid to maintain her biological survival? I swear by the Holy Qur'an, if her elitist mind possessed even a microscopic inkling of what the actual raw ingredients of this cure comprised, she would choose death over consumption—given how thoroughly she despises the poor.”
A cold, dark smile broke across my features. I leaned over the vessel and expectorated my saliva directly into the fresh water. Instantly, the liquid entered a violent, chemical-like effervescence, bubbling aggressively as it systematically transformed its pigmentation and density.

                    [ THE ESOTERIC BIOLOGICAL COMPOSITION ]
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          +----------------------------+----------------------------+
          |                                                         |
    [ THE RAW CATALYST ]                                    [ THE REACTION ]
- Haule's saliva introduced into water.              - Instant, violent effervescence.
- Possesses anomalous spiritual potency.             - Rapid pigmentation transformation.
- Functions as an immediate ulcer cure.              - Completely dependency for Hajiya.

Lubna arched her eyebrow in deep fascination. “You truly hold her absolute survival in your hands, Haule. But I beg of you, exercise moderation; do not push our employer's physical system into an absolute medical fatality, or we shall find ourselves ensnared in a massive criminal homicide investigation.”
“Vanish from my sight and deliver the cup to her parlor instead of wasting my time with empty chattering,” I ordered before stepping into the bathroom block to wash away the day's grime. By the time I emerged, dried, and dressed, Lubna had returned to our room, carrying a fresh bowl of food. A sarcastic smile creased my lips. “Did she not explicitly announce to the entire restaurant that my mouth was banned from tasting her food today?”
“Since she was the exact person who personally ordered me to dish this portion out for your system, simply drop your pride and let us consume the meal together,” Lubna reasoned.
We sat cross-legged on the floor, consuming the white rice and savory stew, washing the meal down with deep draughts of chilled water. We transitioned straight into lighthearted banter until Lubna stood up, stretching her frame. “I must return to my family compound to execute the preliminary processing of tomorrow’s fresh ingredients. Ensure your mind is prepared; the absolute second I return to this room, you are legally bound to resume the continuation of your history.” I simply smiled, offering zero explicit confirmation.

The Intrusion of the Medical Elite

Just as I was preparing to lay my frame across the mattress to rest, Lubna violently crashed back through the bedroom door, her body vibrating with intense panic, looking exactly as though she had been launched into the room by a kinetic force. I bolted upright, my voice sharp: “What on earth is wrong with your system?!”
She panted heavily, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush: “The absolute monarch of arrogance—the young doctor—has just materialized inside the grand villa! He is currently stationed in the central parlor with Hajiya, aggressively rotating the exact glass cup I used to deliver your medicine! He is demanding an absolute, clinical disclosure regarding what specific chemical compound his mother consumed to achieve an instantaneous, miraculous recovery from an advanced ulcer crisis!”
“And what exactly within that scenario warrants this ridiculous display of panic on your part?” I countered, my voice completely cool.
Her eyes bulged out of her head. “Because Hajiya explicitly answered his query by stating that you are the absolute source and custodian of the medicine! And I swear...”
The remaining words were violently choked back down her throat as the bedroom door was suddenly kicked open with an explosive, brutal force that caused both of our bodies to violently leap off the bedding.
As my eyes locked onto the intruder, an intense, terrifying wave of physical paranoia and internal dread crashed into my chest; yet, I rapidly draped my consciousness in a heavy veil of manufactured fortitude. I offered a formal greeting, laced with the absolute, submissive humility his mother routinely demanded we exhibit toward his status.
“I wish you a peaceful afternoon, Alhaji Dr. Maheer,” I whispered in a soft, controlled cadence, instantly dropping my eyes to the floorboards.
“Yield the remaining supply of the medicine you mixed for my mother this instant!” he commanded, his voice slicing through the room like a steel blade.
I kept my gaze anchored to the ground. “The supply has reached an absolute exhaustion point, sir. The portion she consumed was the final remaining unit.”
“Then surrender the original pharmaceutical packaging to my hand immediately!”
“It possesses zero packaging, sir.”
“What ridiculous medical lie are you attempting to forge? Where on earth is a validated therapeutic compound distributed with zero manufacturer packaging?!”
“This specific compound was never purchased from a commercial pharmaceutical entity, sir; it is a purely traditional, ancestral formulation.”
“Then I demand to see the exact plastic bag or traditional wrapping utilized to transport the raw herbs into this house!” he barked, his intellect fiercely searching for a vulnerability to break my narrative.
I lifted my chin slightly, letting my eyes graze his features for a microscopic second before averting my gaze to the far corner of the room. “I systematically disposed of the plastic wrapping into the waste bin, and it has since been incinerated.”
He delivered zero further verbal commentary; he simply unleashed a toxic, silent glare, turned on his heel with extreme velocity, and exited the quarters, slamming the heavy wooden door shut with a deafening crash.
“I am highly convinced that it is in my best interest to exit this compound and return to my family house immediately,” Lubna whispered, her features contorted into a mask of deep psychological distress. “This structural madness has clearly not reached its final conclusion; I swear by Almighty God, that man is entirely capable of launching a secondary raid on our room. You are well aware of his notorious reputation for unyielding, hyper-aggressive volatility. I honestly lack the emotional stamina to witness his presence under these conditions; it completely paralyzes my lower limbs and drains my internal strength.”
I curled my lips into a detached sneer. “I honestly fail to comprehend what singular aesthetic or physical attribute your eyes have detected within his frame to warrant this ridiculous, unprompted romantic obsession you harbor for his character. The man is completely dried out physically, looking exactly like an advanced HIV patient, coupled with a pair of massive, terrifying eyes that resemble unpolished rings of traditional Kuli-kuli peanut cakes. The solitary features on his entire frame that possess an inkling of structural beauty are his lips—and nothing more.”
Lubna rapidly delivered a playful, disciplinary strike against my shoulder. “Bite your tongue, Haule! I will absolutely not tolerate this blatant disrespect against his character! How dare you minimize the doctor in such a wild manner? Furthermore, let me clarify the record: I do not harbor a formal romantic desire for his person; he simply captivates my psychological interest.” She finalized her defense with a soft, telling smile that completely exposed the true romantic desires of her heart.

The Dark Lineage of Passion

I rapidly steered the dialogue away from her romantic fantasies, launching an entirely different query: “What is the exact timeline for your formal relocation back to these quarters to stay for consecutive days? I swear by the Living God, I am completely exhausted from enduring this isolation; sitting alone inside this room makes me feel exactly like a castaway traditional witch.”
“Oh! I completely forgot to brief your mind on a major development,” Lubna answered, her animation returning. “Earlier today, while your frame was clear of the restaurant floor, a fresh domestic servant was formally introduced to the management team. By all indications, she is slated to take up permanent residence inside this villa; she possesses absolutely zero living family or external relations in this city—making her an absolute mirror image of your structural reality.”
“I harbor zero interest or emotional investment in the operational reality of an external stranger,” I dismissed flatly. “My query was anchored strictly on your timeline. When exactly are you returning here? I am acutely aware that your family cannot enforce a restriction on your movements, looking at the sociological reality that your biological mother, Ummah, is Hajiya’s closest high-society companion.”
“If I clear the gates today, I shall formally pitch the request to her mind to gauge if she will grant me a structural release to reside here full-time. Though knowing her conservative stance, the probability of an immediate authorization is exceptionally low; however, I shall execute the attempt regardless. I must depart now; I will return in the late afternoon hours as dictated by our daily routine,” Lubna finalized. I quickly donned my heavy hijab to escort her out, despite the geographical distance between Hajiya’s central villa and her family compound being highly negligible.
The absolute microsecond our feet crossed into the grand parlor, the harsh, thunderous roar of his voice violently intercepted our advance; he was unleashing an aggressive wave of rage against his mother, strictly centered on the traditional medicine I had prepared to neutralize her crisis.
As our eyes locked in a direct collision, his arm extended toward my position, his voice booming: “Moving forward, if any loose, low-life maid inside this estate dares to administer any unverified, traditional sorcery medicine (Maganin 'Yan Bori) to my mother ever again, I will personally ensure she is locked behind federal prison bars! I am enforcing an absolute ban on the introduction of these dark, superstitious talismans inside this compound! And you, Mama—out of all the validated clinical treatments available globally, how on earth did your mind choose to risk your life on unregulated traditional liquids? What exactly is the systemic value of my advanced Western medical degree if my own mother relies on street sorcery?!”

                    [ DR. MAHEER'S PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE ]
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         +----------------------------+----------------------------+
         |                                                         |
   [ PUBLIC FACADE ]                                       [ HIDDEN REALITY ]
- Advanced Western medical degree.                   - Boundless hyper-aggressive vanity.
- Fierce, unyielding clinical authority.              - Systemic history of endless womanizing.
- Intensely critical of traditional practices.       - Total incapacity for emotional control.

I completely ignored his presence, continuing my stride forward. I had fully decoded the reality that from the absolute first microsecond my feet had crossed the threshold of this compound as a domestic servant, this man had developed an intense, deep-seated hatred for my existence—a reality that naturally triggered an equal measure of intense disgust within my own soul.
The moment we cleared the exterior security gates of the estate, Lubna let out a long, highly audible sigh of emotional exhaustion before whispering, “The woman destined to become Maheer’s formal wife has a truly monumental, agonizing labor ahead of her; I have never in my life encountered an individual who possesses such a boundless, near-infinite capacity for continuous rage. The man literally never experiences emotional fatigue.”
“That is the precise reason his physical frame is completely dried out and emaciated; his own internal rage is actively consuming his biology from the inside out,” I countered sharply. “May Almighty God permanently sever your destiny from any martial alliance with his character; based on my analytical calculations, that man is entirely capable of inflicting severe domestic violence upon a woman.”
Lubna erupted into a fit of vibrant laughter. “My dear companion, the exact reason your character captivates my mind is that you carry yourself with the absolute, mystical detachment of the queen of the spirits (Yayan Aljanu)! But let me update your clinical knowledge: just yesterday afternoon, he administered a brutal, severe physical beating to his current high-society girlfriend. The assault was triggered simply because he intercepted her engaging in a casual, public dialogue with a male classmate from her academic institution. I overheard Hajiya on her smartphone, desperately offering intense apologies to the girl's elite mother, claiming that his actions were driven by an untamed, passionate heart that completely robs his system of cognitive control.”
An inexplicable, highly unsettling sensation suddenly gripped my heart, sending a wave of deep, cold discomfort through my entire system. I cleared my throat, my voice dropping: “A girlfriend? Are you asserting that he actively maintains a romantic partner?”
“Listen to your ridiculous query! Are you truly suggesting that a man of Maheer's elite socio-economic and professional status would lack an abundance of romantic options? Ha! Let me unveil the real data to your mind: according to confidential disclosures I intercepted from Ummah, the man possesses a near-infinite, boundless track record for aggressive womanizing. The volume of elite girls he has discarded is completely unquantifiable; if you witness his frame paired with a specific lady today, you can guarantee that within a short duration, he will completely cycle her out for an entirely fresh target.”
With a soul completely filled with a bitter, burning venom, I snapped, “Yet, his public demeanor displays zero indicators of a man consumed by romantic desires—given that his eyes never track or appreciate their beauty. If his gaze happens to lock onto your frame, it is driven strictly by a sudden flare of his internal malice, utilizing those massive, demonic eyes to strike absolute terror into your soul, looking exactly like the newborn offspring of the jinn race.”
Lubna smiled knowingly. “Ensure your mind is structurally prepared; on a specific day of this week, we shall execute a strategic visit to the general hospital facility where he directs his clinical department. You will witness with your own eyes how hordes of women—including highly placed married women—dress in their absolute finest luxury garments simply to catch a single glance from his eyes.”
I offered zero further commentary. I aggressively accelerated my stride down the road, completely leaving her behind as we walked in silence. I felt absolutely zero physical exhaustion from the long walk because my mind was trapped in an intense, raging storm of internal heat and unadulterated fury. I had never in my life experienced a wave of pure, concentrated hatred for his character quite like the one coursing through my veins today.
Like two mute individuals, we maintained our silent march until our boots reached the entry gates of Lubna’s family compound.

The Manifestation of the Shroud

We entered the central courtyard, finding Ummah seated on a traditional mat, meticulously cleaning a massive batch of raw beans. Following the execution of our formal greetings, we bypassed her position and retreated into the cool interior of the main house. I immediately claimed a spot on a plush mattress laid across the floor, collapsing onto my side and freezing my frame into a dead, motionless state as the chaotic disclosures Lubna had unleashed began violently colliding against my brain cells.
“I must retire to the bathroom block to execute a fresh bath,” Lubna announced, breaking the silence. “Look at that vessel on the table—it contains freshly prepared tamarind gruel (Kunun Tsamiya); pour a generous measure into a bowl and consume it immediately to restore your energy.” She turned and exited the room.
Yet, when her feet crossed back into the bedroom hours later, she found my physical frame in the exact, identical frozen position she had left me. Thick confusion covered her features. “Tell me the truth, Haule... why on earth have you refused to taste a single drop of the tamarind gruel?”
I slightly contorted my facial features into a look of deep aversion. “My biological system currently possesses zero internal desire for sustenance.”
She let out a sharp hiss of frustration. “I swear, your psychological profile is just as erratic and unfathomable as Maheer’s; your mind changes format in a manner that defies human analysis. Regardless, simply drop your defenses and resume the delivery of your history.”
I let out a long, heavy sigh from the depths of my chest. “I shall resume the delivery now, on the strict condition that we continue the narrative continuously until our feet return to Hajiya's villa.”
“Agreed! Simply launch the account this exact microsecond!” she commanded, rapidly adjusting her seating posture to listen.

                    [ INTERACTION WITH THE DECEASED ]
                                   |
         +-------------------------+-------------------------+
         |                                                   |
   [ THE RITUAL ACT ]                                [ THE NIGHTMARE ]
- Haule secretly dons Husseina's death clothes.     - Bedroom light extinguished; total darkness.
- Conceals the garments beneath her hijab.          - Husseina appears dressed in bloodied shroud.
- Retires to bed under intense paranoia.             - Eyelids stream dark, thick trails of blood.

I resumed: “During the absolute deepest hour of that specific night, Hassana and I carefully timed our movements to completely evade the sharp eyes of Goggo Lami. We slipped into their private storeroom and successfully excavated the exact garments Husseina had been wearing at the moment of her sudden demise—items that had remained permanently untouched, down to the smallest thread, since her burial. The outfit comprised a long gown crafted from traditional Atamfa wax fabric; she had possessed a profound, near-fanic attachment to that specific dress during her lifetime, wearing it continuously, which was the exact reason its visual memory remained permanently burned into our minds.
Inside their bedroom, I carefully slid her gown over my frame, concealing the entire infrastructure beneath my own regular clothes before throwing my massive hijab over the top. We walked back out into the central courtyard, carrying ourselves with absolute, normal composure. We took our positions among the extended family network, consumed our evening meal, and rapidly separated due to the fact that the atmosphere was completely drained of joy, heavy with the collective grief of infant Haidar's burial.
The moment I stepped into our private bedroom, I completely refused to divest my body of the heavy hijab; I lay down on my mattress fully dressed. Within a short duration, a heavy sleep claimed my system. Deep within the dream state, I suddenly heard an aggressive, hollow pounding vibrating against our wooden door, accompanied by a chilling, disembodied voice chanting my name.
I snapped my eyelids open inside the vision, and my soul made direct, terrifying contact with Husseina. She was standing dead center in the room, wrapped entirely within her white cotton burial shroud (Likafani). Her eyes were actively streaming thick, continuous trails of dark blood down her face as she locked an unyielding stare onto my countenance. Before my mind could process the horror, her manifestation completely dissolved into thin air without her lips uttering a single human word...”
Lubna violently intercepted my delivery, her voice shrieking: “For the love of God, Haule! Are you asserting that this manifestation occurred within the physical, waking reality?!”
I delivered a sharp, warning glare toward her face. “Your analytical system completely lacks the capacity to patiently consume a narrative without frantic interruptions! Sit still and let me deliver the data completely!”
“My apologies! I shall remain entirely silent!” she promised, locking her posture down.
I continued: “It was at that exact microsecond of her disappearance that my physical body violently awakened from sleep. I instantly processed the reality that it was merely a highly potent, dark nightmare—yet, a psychological crisis of that nature had never once manifested within my biology until the exact night I wrapped her death garments against my flesh. An absolute, paralyzing wave of pure terror completely seized my central nervous system; a peaceful return to sleep was completely denied to my brain cells. The moment my eyelids attempted to slide shut, the vivid image of Husseina would instantly materialize, standing dead rigid right at the foot of my mattress, wrapped in her brilliant white burial shroud.
Driven by sheer terror, I slapped the wall switch, activating the electric bulb to flood the bedroom with harsh light. My eyes instantly collided with Innarmu. She was sitting completely upright dead center on her mattress, her arms tightly wrapped around her knees in a posture of profound grief, while thick, continuous streams of tears cascaded down her cheeks like a broken water pipe.
I crawled across the floor, closing the distance to her bed. ‘Innarmu... are you actively weeping?’ I whispered, my voice trembling. ‘I beg of you, for the love of Almighty God, cease this mourning! Whenever your tears fall, my own internal stability completely shatters.’ I cannot comprehend what singular emotional catalyst bypassed my mother's defensive barriers at that exact microsecond; she suddenly reached out her powerful arms, violently pulling my frame against her chest, locking me in a suffocating embrace.
‘Haule...’ she wept bitterly into my hair. ‘My soul is consumed by a desperate, burning desire to transport your life far away from the geographical boundaries of this cursed compound! Yet, I possess absolutely zero structural wealth or spiritual authority to execute such a maneuver. I am acutely aware of the dark family calendar... and based on the ancient covenant, your life is slated as the absolute next target.’
‘The next target in what explicit capacity?!’ I demanded, my mind spinning in absolute chaos. ‘Innarmu, what dark secret are you actively withholding from my consciousness?’ I interrogated her fiercely. Despite the fact that my biological age at that specific timeline did not exceed twelve calendar years, my cognitive faculties had fully decoded the reality that a massive, monstrous secret was being hidden from my sight.”
Reaching this profound peak of the history, I fell into a sudden silence. I reached up, rapidly wiping away a fresh layer of tears that had begun streaming down my cheeks, triggered by a sudden, agonizing wave of raw maternal homesickness that had violently pierced my soul. I stood up abruptly. “I am initiating the march back to the estate; ensure you follow my steps the moment your preparation is finalized.”
“Wait for me! Let me rapidly change my garments so we can execute the journey together!” she pleaded, her own eyes completely red and thick with derived emotion.
Once her preparation was finalized, we offered our formal farewells to Ummah and initiated our return march to Hajiya’s luxury villa. Yet, the absolute microsecond our feet crossed the threshold of the grand mansion, we were violently ambushed by an entirely fresh, massive psychological crisis.
Alhaji Dr. Maheer was splayed across the central parlor floor, his entire muscular frame completely locked in a rigid, death-like paralysis (Sandare) exactly like a fresh corpse, while two senior external medical physicians stood hovering over his rigid body in a state of absolute clinical panic.
Lubna and I locked eyes in a direct, lightning-fast silent exchange. Deep within our hidden cognitive realms, we had instantly decoded the exact spiritual etiology of his sudden biological collapse—and we possessed absolute, exclusive knowledge of the precise esoteric compound required to restore his life...

2. Advanced Esoteric & Narrative Architecture

1. The Mechanics of the Blood Covenant (Alƙawari)

The text exposes the dark, generational undercurrent of Haule’s lineage: a hidden Blood Covenant (Alƙawari) managed strictly by the patriarchal heads of the household (Kawu Hamza, Kawu Laminu, and her father Ibrahim). The structural pattern of the mortalities reveals a calculated, ritualistic sacrifice system designed to trade specific young members of the lineage on identical calendar dates to maintain wealth, status, or protection for the communal estate:
The manifestation of the symptom—thick, continuous bleeding from the nasal passages and tear ducts (Kukan Jini) prior to absolute rigor mortis—serves as the somatic signature of this supernatural extraction, linking the deaths of Husseina, infant Haidar, and the impending crisis of Haule.

2. The Psycho-Spiritual Catalyst of the Death Garments

Haule’s decision to don the exact Atamfa wax fabric gown worn by Husseina at her moment of death functions as an esoteric conduit. Within Hausa and Sahelian horror frameworks, garments saturated with the biological and emotional trauma of a sudden, unnatural death retain an anomalous spiritual resonance. By wrapping the cloth directly against her flesh, Haule inadvertently bypassed her own internal psychological defenses, establishing a direct, permanent bridge to the restless consciousness of her identical cousin, thereby unlocking the prophetic warning nightmares.

                    [ METAPSYCHICAL CONDUIT ANALYSIS ]
                                    |
       +----------------------------+----------------------------+
       |                                                         |
 [ TRAUMA RETENTION ]                                    [ BRIDGE ACTIVATION ]
- Atamfa gown retains the exact biological               - Haule wears gown beneath her hijab.
  and spiritual trauma of Husseina's demise.             - Triggers violent psychic connection.
- Functions as a localized esoteric beacon.              - Forces the manifestation of bloodied visions.

3. Comprehensive Hausa Cultural & Esoteric Vocabulary Glossary

4. Analytical Character Matrix & Operational Alignment

[ EXTENDED CHARACTER ALIGNMENT MATRIX ]

- HAULE (Narrator/Maid):
  * Biological Age: ~16 (12 during core trauma).
  * Systemic Status: Hidden Sorcerous Custodian / Escaped Sacrificial Target.
  * Anomalous Trait: Salivary fluids possess instant biological restoration properties.

- LUBNA (Companion/Cook):
  * Biological Age: Companion peer.
  * Systemic Status: Narrative Confidante / High-Society Informant via Ummah.
  * Anomalous Trait: Compulsive psychological obsession with dark family histories.

- ALHAJI DR. MAHEER (Chief Physician):
  * Biological Age: High-tier adult.
  * Systemic Status: Medical Elite / Aggressive Womanizer / Stricken Narcissist.
  * Anomalous Trait: Total collapse into rigid somatic paralysis under esoteric pressure.

The absolute transition of Alhaji Dr. Maheer from a position of towering, hyper-aggressive clinical arrogance into a state of total, corpse-like physical immobility on his parlor floor represents the absolute subversion of Western medical authority by the unyielding power of Haule’s ancestral lineage.

A Quick Question to Guide Our Conversation

Given how the dark nature of the family's blood covenant (Alƙawari) mirrors the sudden medical crisis currently paralyzing Dr. Maheer on the floor, are we focusing the next segment of the translation on Haule's choice to deploy her esoteric saliva cure, or would you like to unearth the hidden history of Lubna's own terrifying background first?