Beelal Buk Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

Book 2

Page 1 ➡️ 2

*LAGOS*

Ever since they stepped down at the motor park in Lagos, Idrisu had been berating Beelal because he claimed the boy was not walking fast at all, completely ignoring the boy's physical disability. He simply dragged him along roughly as they pushed past the crowds of people inside the bus terminal. No one paid them any attention; everyone was minding their own business. As for Beelal, tears were constantly streaming down his face, and he was feeling a sharp, agonizing hunger. Eventually, they managed to flag down a motorcycle. Beelal climbed on first, and then Idrisu mounted behind him, and that was how they arrived at the neighborhood where Idrisu lived. They were dropped off in front of a shop located there, and Idrisu took out the money to pay the motorcycle rider.

"You crippled cat, look at where I sleep, so you should know I don't live here for free. I pay rent, because everything you see in Lagos costs money—unlike back home where we left. Over there, someone might even give away a shop for free just so people can stay out of charity, and some people even let others live in their houses for free," Idrisu said, giving Beelal a sharp look.

"Well, Baba, I will..."

"Even as a joke, don't you ever dare call me by that title again, because I severed ties with your mother Fatima a long time ago. So, we are going to live here as people helping one another. If you help yourself and look for money properly, you will get food; but if you don't look for it, then go to sleep knowing you will spend the night hungry."

Tears had already flooded Beelal's face, as he looked at the kind of torturous life he was going to lead in the city of Lagos. He had been separated from his mother, who loved and cherished him dearly—the one who, no matter how hard or difficult things got, would always find him something to eat, even if she had to go without food herself. She would rather go find it for him, and when he ate, it brought her joy. He had been brought to a place where he knew no one except the person who brought him—someone who detested him and didn't even want him to be called his father, all because of the disability with which God had created him.

"Are you going to go out and look for it or not? Even though some people say that the desperation to find things doesn't bring success, I completely disprove that notion, unless a person refuses to push themselves. Because if someone pushes themselves, they are bound to find something. And stop shedding those hypocritical tears of yours! I am only helping you so that people don't suspect I kidnapped you. Besides, if you don't go begging, what else is suited for someone like you, with your appearance and carrying a disability like yours?" he said, glaring at Beelal.

Beelal raised a hand and wiped away his tears, though his crying didn't stop. He simply lowered his head, feeling a bitter pain deep within his heart and soul. He hated being called a disabled person; even though he bore a disability, whenever it was pointed out to him maliciously, it deeply humiliated him. It hurt him profoundly inside because he felt as though people looked at him as if he had chosen to be that way himself, forgetting that God creates human beings however He wishes and at whatever time He chooses.

"Move, let's go! You've heard what I said, and if you refuse, you will learn the hard way. Because in case you haven't noticed, I couldn't care less if someone touches a raw nerve," Idrisu said, walking ahead toward the shop. With a heavy heart, Beelal followed behind him, his mind filled with thoughts of his mother. He remembered the pure care she showed him, because everything a mother does for her child remains firmly embedded in the brain, whether good or otherwise. May God grant us the ability to raise our children just as He has placed the responsibility upon us, amin. As they reached the shop, Idrisu pushed the door, which was jammed shut.

"Which brat is pushing the door without asking for permission?" a voice shouted from inside the shop, accompanied by a low, grumbling curse.

"Hey, drop it! It's me. Don't go provoking me right now, or we'll take this upstairs and brawl," Idrisu shouted back, unleashing his own profanity as he shoved the curtain aside and stepped straight inside without even offering a greeting.

"Oh, oh! You thieving rascal, it's actually you," Imran said, lounging lazily on a mattress while puffing on a cigarette.

"Forget all that! Am I the one you were trying to act big with?" Idrisu said, holding out his hand to Imran. Imran handed over the cigarette he was smoking, and Idrisu took two puffs, blew out the smoke, and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Well, I thought you were someone else, otherwise I wouldn't have tolerated any disrespect."

"You already know how things are. So, what's the latest?"

"Oh, just forget it, Baba. I swear, things are completely locked down—there's no way to make any money right now. I even returned the motorcycle I was riding to its owner because I would spend the whole day driving around and not get a single passenger, as people kept claiming I was drunk," Imran said, looking at Idrisu.

"Well, they were telling the truth, weren't they?"

"Oh, is that what you're going to say?"

"Well, it's your own fault! How do you expect to get drunk out of your mind and still think you'll get passengers? Honestly, who would agree to ride behind a drunkard who probably reeks of alcohol?"

"Shut your mouth for us! We're cut from the same cloth anyway. Between you and me, who is better? Even your body reeks of stale booze constantly," Imran said, landing a heavy blow on Idrisu's back.

"Put your weapon away, my friend. I've brought us a way to make money right now with ease, despite..."