Uwa Ko Ukuba Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Looking at him, you could swear, truly swear—he had never put on cologne in his life, yet Mamie had given birth to him with eyes like that. Mustapha, watching him, asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

He remained silent, as if no one had spoken to him. Dr. also paused, studying him carefully, then turned to Mamie and asked, “Has he eaten?”

Mamie shook her head. “He hasn’t eaten dinner either. Hameed must have eaten it all, I’m sure.”

Dr. said gently, “Prepare his breakfast, Mamie. He needs to eat.”

Mamie stood up. “Alright, we’ll be right back. I’ll go get it.” She spoke and left through the door to fetch the food.

Dr. turned to Mustapha, sitting at the bedside with a stern expression. “What’s hurting you?” he asked strictly.

He only glanced at his friend, then gently guided him to lie on his stomach, placing his hand on his back and letting him exhale slightly. Slowly, Dr. lifted his singlet, revealing his six-pack abs, then eased down his pants just a little to show his white CK boxer briefs.

Dr. carefully pulled the boxer down slightly more and asked, “When did the injury start? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Just then, the door opened and someone came in quickly. Mustapha grabbed his lab coat and wrapped it around his back, hurriedly covering himself. Mamie stopped in shock when she saw what was happening. Dr. looked at him, noticing how he had covered himself with the coat, then quietly said to Mamie, “Mamie…”

Quickly, Mamie replied, “I don’t know what you’re doing. Let me go get out of your way, call me when you’re done.” She turned and left with the tray of food, closing the door behind her.

Dr. Mustapha turned to him. “You have an infection in the area. I’ll dress it now. I’ll also give you antibiotics—it’s probably what caused your fever.” He took the lab coat from him. “Let me get the dressing kit.”

He stood up to leave. His fever made him feel weak, but he held onto the lab coat, which made Dr. glance at him. Slowly, in a quiet voice full of a strange, sweet, commanding tone, he whispered: “Don’t tell Mamie, Yaya.”

Mustapha stopped, looking at him, then shook his head, took the coat, and left the room. He went downstairs, where Mamie was sitting in the living room. Seeing him, she stood quickly. “What happened, Doctor? My heart is sinking—I swear. And he wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong. I knew only you could help. It’s just Hamadi’s nature, only he can tell.”

Mustapha smiled faintly. “You know Hamadi is shy. But nothing to worry about—it’s just the area where he was injured. The infection is minor. He’s probably too shy to tell you, maybe doesn’t want you to examine it. I’ll go get the dressing supplies from the car, Mamie.”

He left, and Mamie watched him go, shaking her head. So now this young man had an injury but wouldn’t tell her? Truly, Hamadi’s situation required prayer.

Not long after, he returned with a hospital bag. He entered the room where Hamadi was lying, as he had left him. Carefully, he removed the singlet again and adjusted everything properly. He put on gloves, prepared cotton, then this time lowered the boxer briefs further to properly expose the injury—a smooth, fine area with some sparse black hair.

Using cotton, he began cleaning gently, letting out a sigh. Hamadi winced, twisting his face and moving his legs.

Dr. said, “Sorry, it’s painful. I have to clean it.”

Hamadi exhaled sharply as Dr. cleaned, and tears of pain streamed from his closed eyes. Dr. looked at him and paused. “Does it hurt badly?”

Without opening his eyes, in a quiet voice that came with difficulty, he said, “No.”

Dr. smiled slightly and continued, carefully wiping. His hands shook slightly from the tension, but somehow the procedure continued without Hamadi noticing exactly how.