Harijin Miji Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

It was the phone that prompted him, so he picked it up and heard Madam Surayya say, “Farida said she wants to go, and Zainab too!” He pulled the phone from his ear, hung it up, and walked into the servant’s quarters to perform ablution. After finishing, he came out dressed in a casual outfit: a simple short pant that looked expensive, a short tight boxer underneath, then another boxer, and over that a shadda pant. He put on a jumper before donning a large robe, as he always layered his clothes due to his condition. He added a nice hat, shoes, a watch, a ring, and applied perfume before stepping out.

Osama quickly followed him, and they left together. Madam Surayya, standing in front of the flat, saw him and lowered her head. He said, “Give them the divorce papers; I left them in the room. Give the ladies 10 million each. They should take everything I gave them.” She nodded and went toward his car. A Rolls Royce door was opened for him; he got in, and the door was closed. Osama slid in behind him as the driver drove off. Osman tapped on the iPad in his hand while he closed his eyes.

Osman said, “They are at the restaurant waiting for you, Sir, and they’ve also brought a sample of the gemstone for the new diamond collection we’ll be making.” He listened quietly without replying. After about 20 minutes, they arrived at an extravagant restaurant filled with high-profile people. They parked in the basement. Osman got out and quickly opened the door for him, saying, “After you, Oga.”

A foreign woman with three children came out of the elevator carrying takeaways in paper bags. He glanced at his watch, paused, and walked toward the elevator while Osama followed behind. He stopped, waiting for the elevator to arrive at the ground floor. As the elevator opened, a young woman rushed out, brushing past Binyamin and accidentally touching his hand. He shivered at the sudden contact, feeling a strange sensation through his layered clothing. The girl ran off screaming.

“Madam!” Binyamin turned slightly to look at her. He couldn’t see her face clearly but noticed she was wearing a restaurant uniform. Osman, stepping into the elevator, said, “Sir,” and took a seat inside. Osman closed the elevator doors while keeping his eyes on the waitress, who handed the foreign woman her takeaway with a smile, saying “Thank you, thank you.” As the elevator doors closed, Binyamin slowly placed his hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat abnormal, and cleared his throat as they stopped on the 5th floor and entered the restaurant.

The manager quickly approached, bowing, and said, “Welcome, Mr. Binyamin Suhaidan Areef. Your guests are fully settled in your reserved room. Please follow me.” He led them to a private suite-like room with glass doors overlooking the main dining hall. The VIPs could see the people in the restaurant, but the others couldn’t see them. Some Chinese guests in the room stood up and waved; Binyamin returned the greeting. The manager excused himself and left. Osman adjusted his seat beside Binyamin while working on his iPad, and conversation began.

The manager returned and asked, “Where is the new lady?” One of his staff quickly replied, “She stepped out.” In a stern voice, he said, “Is this break time or what? Some important guests are here. I want her to serve them with you, to see how we attend to our VIPs, but she’s nowhere to be found. I dislike workers who don’t know what they’re doing.” At that moment, the young lady opened the door and entered. The manager was visibly upset, but she appeared calm, around 30 years old, wearing the restaurant uniform: a red short-sleeve top, black tie, black skirt, and a long black apron that didn’t hide her perfectly even chocolate-toned skin. She had a long nose, cat-like eyes of a special light shade, pink lips, a flat tummy, tiny waist, and well-shaped hips. Her outfit hugged her body, with black sneakers on her feet and a small earring in her ear.

She walked in, slightly bending her head, clearly nervous as it was only her second day at work. She didn’t know the manager well, but he disliked her for no reason. Passing a few customers, before she could speak, the manager snapped, “Are you stupid, lady? Out of pity for your sick son, my boss allowed you this work, yet look at the way you’re behaving, jumping up and down like a dog!” She looked up at him silently, her heart racing. He continued, “Go to the kitchen and join your colleagues. You’ll serve the VIP guests; I’ll deal with you later.”

She quietly walked into the kitchen where the chefs had arranged everything on food carts. The chef handed her a cart with appetizers and main courses, saying, “Appetizers and main course are ready; desserts are coming right up.” She was the third of three waiters. They slowly moved the cart toward the first room. Binyamin looked up but didn’t recognize her at first; with one glance, he immediately recognized her. The head waiter said, “Here’s tea, coffee, soup, samosas, and the menu.” She was distracted, still thinking about how the manager had called her a dog.

Osman asked, “Sir, what would you like?”

“Tea is fine,” he replied, returning to the file in front of him. Osman instructed the head waiter, “Tea, please.” Noticing she was distracted, the head waiter called out, “Hibba, Hibba!” Startled, she looked up and replied, “Umm?” The head waiter continued, whispering to Osman, “Tea, serve, fast.” She quickly approached Osman and professionally said, “Sir, tea…”