Gabar Cikin Gida Book Compelet

Description

Her breath was threatening to give out entirely, struggling for her life with one foot in this world and the other in the hereafter. She searched for her medication, but it wasn't in the place where she usually kept her drugs inside the drawer. She checked, and there was nothing inside. With extreme difficulty, she managed to stand up, made her way to the doorway, and opened the door. The moment she opened it, her breath slipped away, and she collapsed right there on the floor.

She dragged a heavy breath into her lungs as she lay on the floor and cast her eyes upon her father's older brother—whom they called Abba—along with her father's younger sister, whom they called Aunty Lailai, and their children, all standing there smiling down at her. In the distance, she spotted her medication lying on top of the center carpet. Crawling across the floor and dragging her body, she made her way toward the medicine. She reached out her hand to grab it, but her father's younger sister stepped on her hand and kicked the medicine underneath a sofa.

Tears streamed down her eyes as she looked up at her father's younger sister who had stepped on her hand, silently pleading with a gesture to let her take her medicine. Without an ounce of pity, the woman kicked the medicine even further under the sofa. Knowing she could still retrieve it, Fatima Zahrah pushed her hand underneath and pulled the medicine out, casting a look of intense hatred at the woman. She watched her intently as the woman walked upstairs, clutching the medicine, with her two children, Kausar and Nabeela, following closely behind her.

Hot tears welled up and spilled from her eyes as she shifted her gaze to her father's older brother. He gave her a single, cold glance, turned his head away, and walked off toward his own wing.

Her breathing was erratic, heaving up and down. It felt as though it was about to stop completely, only to rush back as if she were desperately fighting to drag air into her lungs, struggling against her own body while her chest rose and fell violently. She lay down right there on the parlor's tiled floor, despite her illness's severe intolerance to cold. Dragging her body along the floor, she made her way toward the entrance of her section's hallway. As she entered, she remembered she had left both her phone and her medication behind in the main parlor. Dragging herself back, she felt as though her breath was about to abandon her physical vessel entirely. Upon returning, she saw Yaa Mansur walking into the parlor. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, raising her hand to signal that she needed help. He averted his gaze entirely and said:

"You wicked girl, if only you would just die so everyone could finally have peace, or so we could experience true joy in this house."

Knowing full well that her illness could not tolerate the cold, he intentionally turned the air conditioning in the parlor up to its maximum setting, which drastically worsened her condition. He walked up the stairs, saying:

"I am waiting to hear the sweet news of your death. Whichever one of you manages to break that news to me first will receive a generous reward from me."

She caught sight of her phone on the floor near the center table, right next to her medication. Dragging herself across the floor, she reached the spot and picked up the phone. With great difficulty, she searched for her friend A'isha's number and pressed call. After it rang through three missed calls without an answer, she laid the phone down, lying flat on the floor and staring at it as her chest heaved violently and her breath threatened to cut off completely because the AC's cold air had become overwhelming.

Suddenly, the phone lit up, indicating an incoming call. Without even checking who it was, she pressed answer, but she was entirely unable to speak—only the harsh sound of her struggling breath came through. Across the line, she heard his voice saying:

"Assalamu alaikum, Fatima Zahrah! Did you forget that we have a lecture at nine o'clock and you haven't arrived yet? Look, the time is..."

He trailed off, cutting his sentence short upon hearing the sound of her heavy, labored breathing followed by a sharp gasp.

"Subhanallah! Did your crisis start again?"

She was completely unable to speak, let alone answer him.

"Ya Salam! And I know your Ummi hasn't returned yet, right? Look, I am coming right now."

He cut the phone call short just as her breath stopped dead, and she froze completely without a single movement.

A massive, remarkably grand estate, the size of an entire neighborhood. Even before reaching it, one could spot the sign bearing the name ASADULLAH MENTION, completely surrounded by security guards monitoring the perimeter.

A commercial tricycle driver approached the estate from afar. The female passenger kept telling him to stop, but he ignored her, trying to push right up to the front gate. He was forced to halt when a security guard raised his hand from a distance, signaling him to stop.

"Hey Mallam! Didn't I tell you to stop? Where are you heading to like this? Don't you know people aren't allowed to drive right up to the gate?"

"Young girl, what is your connection to the mansion?"

"I work here as a maid," she replied briefly.

The guard asked her again: "I want to go inside this place, maybe God will let me catch a glimpse of the blessed young man, even though I heard he is out of the country."

"Who are you looking for?"

"I want to see Sir Asadullah face-to-face, or..."

They were cut off by a harsh shout from an approaching security guard demanding: "Who is there!?"

Quickly handing the fare to the driver, she said: "Baba, please go."

She stepped out of the tricycle while the driver turned back. Seeing who she was, the security guard stepped back.

She greeted them, but none of them answered, as was customary. They opened the gate, and she stepped inside.

The houses within the mansion were numerous, and each one was exquisitely built. One glance at the place made it obvious that a fortune had been poured into its construction.

She made her way toward the grandest building of all. Before entering, she looked up toward the upper floor of the house and spotted Alhaji Ahmad wearing medical glasses and reading a newspaper.

Lowering her gaze, she stepped into the main parlor. Since it was morning, the residents of the house did not wake up early, so she wasn't surprised to find the parlor empty, save for the cool breeze of the AC and the pleasant fragrance wafting through the room.

She headed straight for the section where she worked. As if prompted by an intuition, she turned around and spotted the Doctor—the same one she frequently saw visiting Sir Asadullah’s wing.

However, today she noticed him heading toward a completely different section, one she had never seen anyone visit since she arrived at the house, as residents rarely went near that wing. Seeing the furtive, suspicious way the Doctor was looking around, she decided to follow him.

Quietly and stealthily, she trailed behind him until he slipped out of sight. When she reached the area, she couldn't tell which exact door he had entered, but then she noticed one door left slightly ajar. She crept up silently to the doorway and peered inside.

Her heart dropped with a sickening thud at the sight of Sir Asadullah inside the room, his hands and feet bound tightly with a long, heavy metal chain.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, staring at him in utter shock. Had it not been for his distinct ash-colored cat-like eyes, she would never have recognized him so quickly, given how drastically he had changed from the man of pure beauty, majesty, and overwhelming aura he once was.

The Doctor’s phone suddenly rang. He pulled it out of his suit jacket pocket and pressed it to his ear.

Prison / Gari

He was seated on his bed. Because he was in the V.I.P section of the prison, everything was arranged exclusively for him—a small parlor with a few chairs and an attached bedroom, unlike ordinary prisoners who were crammed together in shared cells. Even his meals were ordered and brought in from outside; he never touched the prison food.

Sitting at the edge of his bed with a phone pressed to his ear, he initiated a call. The moment it was answered, he began speaking in a furious rage:

"Doctor, what is the point of your job? Every single day I have newspapers brought to me, waiting to catch a headline announcing that the young businessman Asadullah is dead, but it's always silence! What is the meaning of this?!"

The Doctor, casting a glance at Sir Asadullah, replied: "Why are you in such a desperate hurry?"

Jidderh, lurking near the doorway, watched the Doctor, though she couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying.

"Calm down. You aren't the only one who wants Asadullah out of the way; even inside his own house, he is surrounded by enemies. They offered me massive sums of money to kill him, so handle everything with patience. Right now, the injections and medications I am giving him are slowly wearing down his mind and sight, inflicting damage that will make his life so miserable that even a death sentence by a governor would be preferable to living such a useless existence. Just wait for the right time."

Furious, the man yelled back: "I cannot wait! Do you realize that Asadullah is the very man who had me arrested, landing me in this prison because of him? He shattered the relationship between us! I used to call him 'Elder Brother,' while he called me his younger brother—he didn't even address me properly by name! Yet, because of a single mistake I made—one he could have easily forgiven—he handed me over to the law and forgot all about family ties. Can a true brother really send his own blood to prison? By God, I will have my vengeance, and his life is the price!"

"Calm down, sir."

"Calm down? Do you have any idea what prison life is like? A life of humiliation and total deprivation—is that an easy thing to endure? If you don't administer the poison injection to kill him within the next two days, you will see what I will do to you, even from behind these bars!"

"I understand. Insha Allah, you will hear good news. You know we have to move carefully because he is a prominent, well-known figure. If not for you people commissioning this job, nobody would even know he is in the country; everyone thinks he is abroad handling business. Even his bodyguards were overheard saying Sir Asadullah never travels alone—he always takes his trusted right-hand man, and if any other guards go, they are handpicked. But this time, he supposedly traveled alone, and they aren't buying it. So we must proceed slowly. I already informed Hajiya, and she is equally anxious for him to be killed."

"Well, I am just waiting to hear sweet news."

With that, he disconnected the call, stroked his beard, and laughed.

After putting his phone back into his pocket, the Doctor looked down at Sir Asadullah and said: "You showed me much kindness in the past; you are a good man, a young leader society desperately needs. But your life is demanded, and I have no choice but to carry out this assignment to save my own life and my family's."

Sir Asadullah stared back at the Doctor, and then his eyes shifted to Jidderh lurking in the doorway. Because the Doctor had his back turned to the door, he couldn't see her. Sir Asadullah seemed detached, barely conscious, keeping his eyes half-closed like a man in a stupor.

The Doctor pulled out a syringe filled with liquid. As he jabbed it into a vein on Sir Asadullah’s arm, the young man violently jerked awake, his entire body trembling like a leaf before he let out a stifled cry and squeezed his eyes shut again.

Seeing the Doctor packing up his equipment to leave, Jidderh quickly bolted from the spot and fled back to the wing where she worked.

Tears streamed down her face out of sheer pity for this servant of God.

Mansur, ever since his call with Fatima Zahrah was cut off, was convinced that her medical crisis had struck again. Deeply empathetic toward the young woman, he was extremely distressed.

He headed straight to Fatima Zahrah’s university department, arriving just as her friend A'isha was pulling up in her car.

Stepping out of his vehicle as A'isha emerged from hers, her expression prompted him to ask: "Is everything alright? Why do you look so panicked?"

"Something is wrong. I called Fatima Zahrah, and she answered, but she couldn't speak—it sounded like her crisis hit because..."

"This isn't the time for long explanations. Let's go to their house right now."

They climbed into A'isha's car, and she sped away from the university.

"I wanted to see you anyway because I know you have unrestricted access to the house; if it were me, they wouldn't let me past the gate. Especially if that soldier brother of hers is in town—you'll find the house surrounded by his guards."

"Oh, you mean Yaa Hilal?"

"Yes, him. Isn't he her older brother?"

"No, he's her cousin brother. His father is her father's older brother."

A'isha sped down the street until they arrived at the massive mansion. Because the security guards knew her well—and Alhaji Babba had given standing orders that whenever she visited, she was to be let in directly without restrictions—they immediately opened the gate for her to drive inside.

Instead of stopping at the designated parking space, knowing the critical state her best friend was in, A'isha parked right by the main door. She and Mansur stepped out together.

She knocked, but there was no response. By that time, Fatima Zahrah had already passed out completely, lying sprawled alone on the parlor floor like a corpse.

A'isha opened the door and peeked inside. Seeing no one except Zahrah lying motionless on the floor, she turned back in panic, called out to Mansur, and motioned for him to hurry over.

He rushed inside, and together they lifted Fatima Zahrah and placed her gently in the back seat of the car.

A'isha started the ignition and sped away from the house.

Filled with concern, Mansur asked: "Wait, where is her mother?"

"Did you forget? She told us that she and her father traveled to Saudi Arabia for Umrah."

"Ah, right. I forgot and just remembered now. But given Zahrah’s fragile health, it is completely inappropriate for her to keep living in that house. A house where they treat each other like sworn enemies, locked in perpetual warfare. When someone needs help, they are left to die without a single glance. And there isn't even an outsider living there—they are all blood relatives, sharing the same lineage. This family's dynamics baffle me completely."

They continued lamenting the situation until they arrived at a nearby private hospital.

Emergency care was immediately administered. Once they successfully revived her, oxygen was hooked up. Both Mansur and A'isha completely forgot about school, their entire focus locked on their friend's well-being.

They stayed by her side until evening without returning to campus. A'isha spent the night at the hospital after calling her parents to inform them. The following day, after receiving injections and a fresh batch of medications, Fatima Zahrah was discharged.

A'isha drove her back to her house and honked at the gate. The sight of numerous military guards confirmed one thing: Ysa Hilal had returned.

A'isha parked in the parking lot, turned to Fatima Zahrah, and said: "Besty, I'll drop you here because I really don't want to lock eyes with those arrogant soldiers. I bet their boss is inside right now."

After thanking her friend, Fatima Zahrah stepped out of the car, and A'isha drove off.

Walking with her characteristic frail, sluggish steps, she headed toward the main door. As she reached for the door handle, she heard commotion spilling from the parlor. Peering inside, she saw them all gathered around the large dining area. Yaa Hilal was seated while the young women hovered around him, each claiming that she had personally cooked the meal he was about to eat. They were practically fighting over who would serve him the plate containing the food they had prepared. Aunty Nabeela, whose deep affection for him was an open secret to everyone in the house—though he never openly reciprocated, her feelings were impossible to hide—was particularly eager, while Kausar, though equally infatuated, managed to conceal her emotions slightly better.

Offering the Islamic greeting, she stepped into the parlor. All of them turned to stare at her. Not a single person answered her greeting except Yaa Hilal. The rest met her with looks of pure disdain, mixed with shock that she had managed to recover and walk back in, given how rarely she ever left her room.

Hearing Yaa Hilal’s voice respond to her greeting prompted her to look at him and say: "Yaa Hilal, good afternoon. Welcome back safely."

He neither answered nor even spared her a glance. She wasn't surprised; it was typical of him, and this was simply his nature.

Walking slowly, she made her way toward her mother's wing, clutching the bag of medications prescribed for her.

Jidderh

Today, Jidderh barely managed to push through her chores after learning about the plot to assassinate Sir Asadullah. The moment she finished her duties, she didn't waste a second before leaving the estate.

She walked home step by step, lost in dark thoughts with tears welling in her eyes. This time, she didn't bother waiting for a commercial tricycle; she walked the entire long distance back to her neighborhood on foot.

The neighborhood was distinctly middle-class, lined with modest houses belonging to ordinary working-class families.

She stepped into a small house, her lips greeting the occupants. A middle-aged woman of about forty-five was seated on a low stool, sieving flour, and she looked up to reply: "Hauwa Kuluwa, you're back already?"

Jidderh managed a weak smile and said: "Yes, Umma."

A single look at her daughter told Umma that something was deeply troubling her. "Jidderh, did someone mistreat you over there?"

Bursting into tears, Jidderh cried out: "Umma, they want to kill him!" "Who wants to kill who? What did he do to them?" "Umma, they want to destroy a man who is a pillar of support for society. He has done no wrong; he is kind, loves helping the weak, and God alone knows how many people have found prosperity through him. Just look at the countless people he helps—even the very people living inside his own house under his roof, eating, drinking, and enjoying life off his wealth, are plotting to destroy him! By God, I will help him. They will never succeed; I will investigate them and expose their evil deeds."

A young man around twenty-five years old walked into the courtyard just then. "Listen to this foolish, clueless girl! Do you think crossing paths with wealthy and powerful people is a game? Go straight to your room and drop this nonsense before they notice you and put you into a permanent sleep!"

"Yaya, wallahi, you haven't seen how badly broken he is right now!" "Jidderh, whatever took you there, stay out of things that don't concern you." "Yaya, it concerns me deeply, and I will fight this with everything I have!"

Analytical Summary

This dual-narrative sequence contrasts two parallel worlds of extreme vulnerability and systemic cruelty: the physical collapse of Fatima Zahrah within a toxic domestic battleground, and the clinical, calculated assassination plot targeting Sir Asadullah within an elite, heavily guarded sanctuary.

Key Events

• Fatima Zahrah’s Medical Crisis: Left without medication due to family malice, Fatima Zahrah collapses in her home. Her relatives mock her suffering, and Yaa Mansur expresses callous indifference, wishing for her death.
• The Rescue: A'isha and Mansur rescue an unconscious Fatima Zahrah, rushing her to the hospital where she receives emergency treatment and oxygen.
• Asadullah’s Captivity: In a high-security estate, a maid named Jidderh discovers that Sir Asadullah is being slowly poisoned and chained up by a corrupt doctor working in collusion with vengeful enemies.
• The Resistance: Jidderh vows to risk everything to save Asadullah, setting up an impending clash between ordinary working-class loyalty and elite conspiracy.

Analytics, Comments, and Conclusions

1. Narrative Analytics & Pacing

• Parallel Vulnerability: Nanameera cuts between Fatima Zahrah’s biological suffocation (triggered by AC cold and denied medicine) and Sir Asadullah’s forced pharmacological suffocation (induced by the corrupt doctor's poison injections). Both characters are trapped by family members who weaponize proximity to destroy them.
• The Motif of Medical Cruelty: Medicine in this segment ceases to be a tool of healing and becomes an instrument of power. For Zahrah, medication is hidden, kicked away, and denied; for Asadullah, it is inverted into a slow-acting poison administered under the guise of care.

2. Character Dynamics and Psychological Commentary

• The Pathology of Household Cruelty: The domestic scenes involving Fatima Zahrah showcase a chilling depiction of institutionalized bullying. Her relatives do not merely ignore her; they actively sabotage her survival (turning up the AC, withholding food, kicking away her life-saving drugs).
• Jidderh as the Moral Compass: Jidderh represents the archetype of the righteous underdog. Coming from a impoverished background, her fierce moral clarity contrasts sharply with the corrupt elites and complicit professionals (like the Doctor) who trade human life for financial gain.

3. Conclusion

This sequence broadens the thematic scope of Nanameera’s narrative, linking private domestic abuse with high-stakes corporate and political betrayal. Whether through Fatima Zahrah’s silent endurance or Jidderh’s defiant vow of resistance, the text emphasizes that empathy and justice are preserved not by those in power, but by the marginalized who refuse to look away in the face of cruelty.

Comprehensive Critical Synthesis and Literary Deconstruction

1. Extended Critical Description: The Architecture of Double Enclosure

This narrative segment presents a striking structural duality: two characters, Fatima Zahrah and Sir Asadullah, are simultaneously subjected to systems of profound entrapment and targeted elimination, separated by social class yet united by biological vulnerability.

• The Domestic Panopticon (Fatima Zahrah): Zahrah’s space is a bourgeois family home turned psychological torture chamber. The physical symptoms of her illness—respiratory failure induced by low temperatures and systemic neglect—are weaponized by her kin. Nanameera uses sharp sensory details to map her suffocation: the scraped tiles of the parlor, the malicious kick of Aunty Lailai sending the medication beneath the sofa, and Yaa Mansur deliberately turning up the air conditioning to accelerate her physical collapse. The home ceases to be a sanctuary and becomes a domestic killing floor where passive-aggressive hostility manifests as attempted murder through omission.
• The Elite Dungeon (Sir Asadullah): In stark contrast to Zahrah's domestic siege, Asadullah’s captivity takes place within a hyper-luxurious, heavily guarded estate (Asadullah Mention). Yet, beneath the veneer of wealth and security, his imprisonment is absolute. Bound by heavy iron chains inside a hidden wing, he is subjected to slow-poisoning by a corrupt medical professional. The betrayal here is systemic and institutional: the white coat, meant to symbolize healing, is weaponized as an instrument of corporate execution, ordered by vindictive enemies from his past.

2. Comprehensive Narrative Summary

• The Siege in the Parlor: Fatima Zahrah suffers a severe medical crisis while searching for her medication. Her relatives mock her distress, deny her access to her drugs, and deliberately exacerbate her condition using the AC, while Yaa Mansur openly wishes for her death.
• Emergency Rescue: Left unconscious and abandoned on the floor, Zahrah is miraculously reached when a phone call alerts Mansur and her friend A'isha. They break through the family estate's social barriers, rescue her, and rush her to a private hospital for emergency oxygen and stabilization.
• The Discovery at the Mansion: Meanwhile, Jidderh, a young maid working at the Asadullah estate, stumbles into a forbidden wing. She witnesses a shocking scene: the powerful Sir Asadullah is chained to a bed and being injected with slow-acting poison by a corrupt doctor conspiring with vengeful convicts.
• The Vow of Resistance: Disturbed by the cruelty inflicted upon a man who is society's pillar, Jidderh returns to her impoverished home and vows to expose the conspiracy, clashing with her cautious brother Yaa'u, who warns her against fighting the wealthy.
• The Cycle Resumes: After being discharged from the hospital, Zahrah returns home to an environment completely unchanged. She navigates the hostile glances of her cousins and Yaa Hilal, stepping right back into the cycle of emotional and physical isolation that nearly claimed her life.

3. Deep-Dive Analytical Commentary

A. The Weaponization of the Medical Profession

A recurring thematic motif in this section is the corruption of care. In traditional narratives, doctors and medicines represent salvation. Here, they are instruments of destruction:

• For Fatima Zahrah, medical neglect is passive; her life-saving drugs are deliberately kicked away or locked out of reach, forcing her body to fight itself.
• For Sir Asadullah, the medical betrayal is active and clinical. The Doctor justifies his actions through moral cowardice ("...to save my own life and my family's"), turning pharmacology into an assassination tool. This subverts the trope of the trusted family physician, highlighting a world where institutional corruption penetrates even the most private sanctuaries.

B. Class, Geography, and Moral Clarity

Nanameera establishes a sharp dichotomy between the moral bankruptcy of the elite and the raw, principled integrity of the working class:

• Inside the opulent walls of Asadullah Mention and Zahrah's family mansion, wealth breeds cruelty, apathy, and fratricidal greed. Relatives trade human lives for social standing or revenge.
• Conversely, in Jidderh’s modest neighborhood, poverty is matched by a fierce sense of justice. Jidderh’s refusal to turn a blind eye to Asadullah's suffering ("...Zan taimaka masa ba za su taba nasara ba") introduces the classic trope of the righteous subaltern—the marginalized maid who becomes the ultimate agent of truth against systemic power.

C. The Psychology of Resigned Endurance (Hƙuri)

Fatima Zahrah’s character embodies a complex critique of cultural endurance. While haƙuri (patience/perseverance) is traditionally lauded as a virtue in Hausa society, the text exposes how it can be weaponized by abusers to enforce silence. Zahrah does not fight back against her cousins or Yaa Hilal; she shrinks against walls, swallows her tears, and retreats into silence. Her survival relies entirely on external intervention (A'isha and Mansur), suggesting that systemic domestic abuse cannot always be overcome by individual endurance alone—it requires external solidarity.

Conclusion

This paired narrative sequence expands the canvas of Hasken Cikin Dubu into a sweeping critique of modern power structures, family corruption, and class warfare. By intertwining the slow-motion murder of an elite businessman with the quiet, systemic abuse of a vulnerable young woman, Nanameera constructs a unified universe where cruelty wears a civilized mask, and true redemption rests solely on the shoulders of those willing to break the silence.