Rabo Ya Rantse Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

He stared at the doctor with a rigid face, following him with his large eyes. Those eyes had changed from their natural white to a deep red, tears pooling inside them, and the veins on his forehead stood out. Even the doctor could barely hold his gaze; the change in his eyes alone showed clearly that he was in severe distress.

Slowly, the doctor took a bottle of water from the office fridge, opened it, and handed it to him. He didn’t refuse. He grabbed it and drank the entire bottle without stopping. Sweat began to pour from every part of his body as if there were no air conditioner in the office. Yet his eyes did not return to normal. Something heavy seemed lodged in his throat. His heart felt weak at that moment—he knew that even crying could be a form of relief if he were able. But the strength in his heart, the resilience of a strong, steadfast man who trusted in destiny, gave him the endurance to bear this calamity that had once again befallen him.

“Doctor… are you saying that this time too, I’ve lost my baby? For the fourth time?”

ALIYU spoke softly, almost as if the voice wasn’t his.

The doctor looked at him.

“I’m sorry, sir. This is how God’s will unfolds. Accept that this is how it was destined this time.”

He slowly ran his hand through the thick hair on his head—coiled, naturally black like that of a Fulani man, smooth as if it had been relaxed. He said nothing for about ten minutes before finally speaking:

“Let’s go, Doctor. Take some of my blood and give it to her. I hope she’s in good condition?”

The doctor stood and walked ahead.

“She’s still asleep. She hasn’t woken up yet.”

ALIYU followed him silently to the blood room. Three bags of blood were drawn from him. Afterward, the doctor told him to lie down on a small bed in the room and rest. But he slowly stood up, staggering slightly, and left the room without another word.

Outside in the large hospital courtyard, a crowd had gathered—mostly Aliyu’s blood relatives and his wife’s family. His assistant Musa hurried toward him.

“Sorry, sir. If you had called me, I would have come to help,” Musa said, supporting him.

Aliyu, whose eyes were beginning to close, looked at Musa and spoke quietly:

“Musa, take me home… please.”

Musa, trembling, called for Aliyu’s driver. A sleek black jeep pulled up. Musa helped Aliyu into the car, where he leaned back and closed his eyes. The driver drove off while relatives waved weakly, their bodies heavy with sadness.

The car drove straight to the residence of the chairman of MADAKI MOTORS, a major automobile company operating in Kano, Lagos, and Abuja. He was also an adviser to the current government on youth affairs. Posters bearing Aliyu’s image lined the road leading to the house in Kofar Na’isa district, all the way to the building itself, where a sign read:

“YOUTH EMPOWERMENT – SUPPORT FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN.”

The gates opened quickly. The car entered the massive compound filled with countless vehicles. Security guards and staff rushed toward the car, all wanting to see him and offer condolences. Musa helped him into his private wing without allowing anyone to speak to him.

He walked slowly into his lavish living room, filled with cool air and fragrance, servants moving about. He didn’t respond to their greetings. Dragging his heavy feet, he went straight upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed onto his large bed, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.

Everyone in the house felt uneasy seeing him like this. Though he was never very talkative, the quietness he carried today was deeper than usual.

Meanwhile, in another grand living room, his wife paced back and forth, hands clasped behind her back, trying repeatedly to call Aliyu’s phone. He didn’t answer. An elderly woman entered and watched her. She was clearly older but still looked youthful due to a life of comfort. One glance told you she was Aliyu’s mother—they looked almost identical. She was fair, slender, unmistakably Fulani.

“Your Highness, Alhaji has returned, but he looks very weak. We don’t know the condition of the younger Hajiya,” the older woman said.

Aliyu’s mother turned slowly.

“Thank you. Go to the kitchen and prepare dinner,” she said calmly.

She then left for her own room, picked up her veil, and went to Aliyu’s wing. The servants immediately straightened themselves as she passed, greeting her, but she didn’t respond. She went straight upstairs into his bedroom.

She stood over him, staring with deep sympathy.

“So you went to the hospital since morning and didn’t tell me that she was ill? What is my position as your mother if you don’t inform me?”

Startled, Aliyu sat up, staring at her with his still-red eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ammi. I was so confused that I didn’t tell you. Her family was informed by her. We met Khalil at the hospital, and he told Baba Madaki’s household. They’re all still at the hospital.”

His mother kept looking at him. What she disliked most in the world was the Baba Madaki family compound—the ancestral home of Aliyu’s father’s relatives. Most of his father’s siblings still lived there, though his own father had moved out. She had never gotten along with them.

“You did well,” she finally said and left the room.

Aliyu lay back down, then remembered his phones were with Musa. He had already switched them off, knowing people would bombard him with calls, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

He didn’t get up until just before sunset. He bathed, dressed in a white jalabiya, applied perfume, and went to the mosque in the compound, finding some calm there. Afterward, he went to his mother’s wing but didn’t find her; she had gone back to the hospital, his younger sisters Sajida and Safna told him. They had just returned from Bayero University in Kano, where they were in their second year.

He entered a small white Honda Civic and drove himself, wearing a cap to hide his face from the public. As he left the gate, he noticed a crowd of youths gathered outside his house. Surprised, he quickly drove away before they could recognize him.

Soon he arrived at the hospital. After parking, he hurried inside to the ward where his wife lay. He pushed open the door and entered. She was still lying there, the blood transfusions completed. His mother sat beside her along with his wife’s mother and siblings, all looking exhausted.

Aliyu greeted his mother-in-law respectfully. She responded warmly and then stepped outside with his mother, leaving him alone in the room with his wife lying on the bed.