Tubali Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

He was a handsome young man with a kind of clean, striking beauty that powerfully drew attention—a young man hardened by experience.

He walked with a composed, well-measured stride filled with dignity, calmness, completeness, and authority as he emerged from the frontage of a beautiful hospital

(Tikur Anbessa Teaching Hospital, Addis Ababa).

Behind him followed some of Ethiopia’s most renowned senior doctors, along with nurses.

He walked with poise and presence. His lips moved slightly and slowly—clearly fatigue was the reason.

He was fair-skinned with remarkable beauty typical of Ethiopians, though his complexion was lighter than those following behind him—meaning he was slightly fairer than them. He had a finely shaped, pointed nose; well-set eyes of striking beauty and clarity—eyes that, when filled with tears, could make whatever lay before them seem blurred. A beautifully trimmed beard rested neatly on his face, adorning it. His lips were slim, reddish, and attractive, with well-shaped eyebrows. His haircut was stylish and refined.

His resemblance to Dheeraj Dhoopar was striking—even his height and build mirrored Dheeraj Dhoopar almost exactly; everything matched.

His outfit alone revealed who he was.

He wore an exquisitely tailored, expensive suit—deep red, with a shirt and trousers patterned with tiny white dots, and a white necktie speckled with red. His shoes were slip-on Italian Tom’s—white, youth-styled, bearing the red initials R.M. They exuded class and value. On his wrist was a Gucci watch, also engraved with R.M on both sides. The outfit suited him perfectly, adding to his elegance.

He continued walking, with the others following behind, until they reached where their cars were parked.

This was Dr. Rayyern Bashir Muhammad—the successful one.

Calmly, he turned and extended his hand to Dr. Adeym. They exchanged a few words, then he shook hands with the others as well. He entered his car, and the driver pulled off. They exited the hospital directly and headed for Hera Addis Hotel, Ethiopia.

On the way, they passed close to a large mosque. With a deep breath, he said briefly to his driver,

“Stop.”

The driver quickly complied. When they saw he was heading into the mosque, they understood his intention. They followed him inside to perform the Isha’i prayer, as it was time. Afterward, they continued their journey.

Gently, he leaned back into the seat, closed his eyes, and moved his lips softly, releasing tired breaths. His phone rang, but he didn’t open his eyes due to extreme exhaustion—his clothes felt heavy on him; he felt sleepy and hungry. That was why he didn’t answer the call.

Yet, in his heart, he said,

“Sulaiman!!!”

He slightly turned his head to the side when they arrived.

Quickly, the people in the car behind them stepped out. One approached, opened the car door for him, and stepped aside.

Softly, he said,

“Bismillah,”

exhaling tiredly as he stepped out. He glanced at Usman, his PA, who was gathering his system and phones, then said quietly,

“Bring the small bag over there.”

“Yes, sir,” Usman replied promptly, picking up a small shopping bag bearing the Edna Mall, Addis Ababa logo. They headed into the hotel and went straight to their suite.

Once inside, he turned to Usman, who had placed his belongings on a chair.

“Until morning, I won’t see anyone. If Sulaiman bothers you, tell him you’ll come and wake me,” he said wearily.

“Okay, sir,” Usman replied.

As he removed his necktie, he added,

“You may go.”

“Yes, sir,” Usman said, turning to leave, then paused and looked back.

“Ramadan called earlier.”

He only nodded. Seeing that, Usman turned and left.

Once Usman was gone, he closed the door, turned around, removed his suit, and tossed it onto a chair, then removed the inner layer. He bent slightly to undo his belt, stood up, and slipped off his trousers.

He loved freedom—that’s why he enjoyed living alone. He was extremely modest and private about his body. Despite his naturally muscular build, he didn’t like anyone—even Ramadan—seeing his arms, let alone his shoulders or thighs with their smooth firmness.

But when he was alone, he relaxed. Sometimes he removed his clothes right in the living room before entering the bedroom, going in wearing only boxers. He gathered his clothes, took them into the bedroom, placed them on the bed, and headed to the bathroom.

Afterward, he came out dressed in a soft white shirt and knee-length trousers. He lightly sprayed perfume, turned up the air conditioner, then went back to the parlor to pick up the small bag Usman had brought—filled with assorted chilled chocolates.

He enjoyed a Galaxy chocolate, as he loved sweets, then drank plain tea—coffee. When finished, he returned to the bedroom holding his system.

He turned off the lights and lay down with the device in front of him. He sighed deeply. Allah knows he felt a special calm and joy whenever he listened to the sermons of that elder, Malam Mai-Nasara—he loved his tafsir and never tired of looking at the old man’s face.

That was why he followed his YouTube channel where the tafsir was posted.

He tapped the device. Moments later, the image appeared. He fixed his eyes on the elder’s face, not even hearing what was being said at first. When his eyes began to sting slightly, he closed them briefly, breathed out, then opened them again. He read the name written beneath the image:

“Malam Mai-Nasara.”

Quietly, from deep within his heart, he thought:

“Our last names are the same. I know the origin of my own name—but what is the origin of his? What is the meaning behind the name Mai-Nasara?”

Who would answer these questions that his heart refused to stop asking?

He sighed, pushed the thoughts aside, and continued listening to the tafsir.

Feeling sleep approaching, he turned off the device, lay down, opened his fair palms in supplication, finished, wiped his face, and slept.

Kano, Nigeria

Sulaiman was seated on a chair, with his wife Sumayya beside him. Suddenly he said,

“Subhanallah!”

Sumayya turned to him.

“What is it?”

He moved closer and said excitedly,

“Can you imagine—this Riyyam-nsra, that Ethiopian guy I told you about—he looks exactly like Rayyern, and he’s coming to Nigeria!”

She leaned in to look at his phone, where TikTok was open on Riyyam-nsra’s page.

“Honestly, even I’m amazed by how similar Rayyern and this guy look—it’s uncanny.”

“Exactly! I can’t stop wondering about it. And you heard—he’s coming to Nigeria.”

She adjusted the child she was holding and said,

“Abban Nihal, that’s not surprising—celebrities move around like airplanes.”

Sulaiman nodded.

“Sumayya, it’s not his coming to Nigeria that’s surprising.”

“Then what is?” she asked attentively.

He turned the phone screen toward her. She widened her eyes in shock and said,

“So it’s true…!”