Idan Kaya Ya Gaji Gammo Ma Ya Gaji Book 3 Complete Hausa Novel

Until dawn broke, Sabuwa had no idea what state she was in. Her handbag was inside Dr. Kamilu’s car, and after throwing it into the vehicle, he never thought of any other bag again. That was how her phone battery died.

Dr. Kamilu did not come to the hospital until evening, at a time when Dr. Mu’awiya was preparing to leave and go rest. He went straight into Dr. Mu’awiya’s office and met him still seated, with his bag placed on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, Doctor, you’re here? I was just about to shut down these machines and go get some rest.”

Dr. Kamilu settled himself into a chair and said,

“I’m only just getting in now. I came to ask what exactly is wrong with the patient I brought to you, and how she is doing.”

Dr. Mu’awiya adjusted his sitting position before replying,

“She’s in a very critical condition, honestly. Depression is weighing heavily on her. Her blood pressure is extremely high, and she has taken a very strong intoxicating substance. You know hypertension, drugs, and emotional distress are dangerous companions. The signs show she’s carrying a heavy burden in her heart. Before the nurses injected her, she was muttering and calling out a name they couldn’t understand. It could have been pain, hallucination, or confusion.

She was given a sedative injection and is lying down now. Since you’re here, continue monitoring her.”

Dr. Kamilu kept shaking his head, wondering what could have driven Sabuwa to put her life in such danger. Thank God she collapsed in a hotel where he was present to catch her—otherwise, if she had fallen to the ground, she might have suffered fatal injury. Surely, the story being told now would have been very different. Allah sent him to be her shield.

“May Allah make it easy, Dr. Mu’awiya. Women nowadays have fallen deep into substance abuse. Whatever pushes them into such lives—only God knows.”

“Hmmm, Doctor. You know most drug users turn to substances as an escape from deep emotional pain. They don’t realize they’re throwing themselves into destruction. A beautiful woman like the one you brought shouldn’t be destroying her life this way.”

Dr. Kamilu stood up, exhaling deeply.

“Which room is she in?”

“Room 4, second bed. All the patients in that room have similar conditions—that’s why I grouped them together. They don’t like noise; they need proper rest.”

He nodded and walked out toward Room 4.

The room was quiet. There was no one inside except four patients, each lying asleep on her bed. Beside every bed were hospital trays cluttered with items—banana drinks, food flasks, tea containers, and tins of milk.

Sabuwa’s bed was clean and empty of clutter. He stared at her closely. Though he didn’t know her personally, one look showed how much weight she had lost; her condition suggested she had been ill for a long time.

He didn’t stay long. He left the room and went into his office to sit. It was then he remembered that Sabuwa’s bag was still in his car. He jumped up, about to step out, when Nurse Samira rushed in.

“Doctor, the patient you brought yesterday has woken up. She hasn’t spoken, but tears keep rolling down her eyes.”

SABUWA

Slowly, I felt my eyes opening, accompanied by a terrible heaviness all over my body. With great difficulty, I opened them, but all I could see was blurred images—I couldn’t tell where I was. I heard a man’s voice above me saying,

“The injection shouldn’t have worn off yet. How did she wake up? We saw the dosage you gave her.”

After that, I lost awareness again. A deep, overpowering sleep swallowed me, and memories of my first encounter with Babangida flooded my mind. My thoughts and consciousness were disconnected from my body. I was in a state where I believed even an enemy would pity me and shed tears.

FLASHBACK

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

Because of how Babangida’s hands were roaming over my body, I couldn’t answer him at first. I struggled hard before finally managing to say my name.

“Sabuwa—well, the name suits you. Let’s go dance a little. I don’t even know if you smoke; otherwise, I would’ve ordered some for you.”

You already know how much I had been craving those things—I even felt saliva gathering in my mouth.

“Come, let’s go.”

He held my hand and led me into the dance floor, a chaotic place full of indecency and shamelessness.

Things between Babangida and me escalated rapidly on that dance floor. There was smoking—I can’t even remember how many cigarettes I took.

Babangida pulled my hand and led me out of the club into a long hallway that led to the guest rooms. He pushed open a room, and inside were his friends: Mustapha, Gaddafi, Hannafi, and Sani—may Allah have mercy on him.

Each of them had a girl beside him, chatting, eating meat, and smoking.

“Guys, how hot is this one?”

Mustapha said, sticking out his tongue and licking his lips.

Babangida smacked his shoulder.

“You fool. She’s not like Karina. Look at her properly—you can tell she’ll set things on fire. Baby, let’s go inside.”

He dragged me into the inner bedroom while his friends and their girls stayed in the living room.

The bed was badly rumpled, clearly used many times.

Babangida climbed onto it and stretched out his hands to me.

That night was the worst night of my life—a night etched into my memory forever. Yet strangely, it felt different from the many nights I had spent with barracks men.

Babangida went all out. Still, he didn’t surpass Khalid—they were equals. What set him apart was his ability to sweet-talk a woman until she felt more beautiful than anyone else (as Khadija Maidoki once said).

After everything settled, we bathed together and came out. Babangida sat me on his lap, lowered his voice, softened his eyes, and said,

“Sabuwa, I love you. You captured my heart instantly. But I’m very jealous—how will you manage my jealousy? I go crazy when I see my girl with another man. I’m also stubborn—I want you to fully match my nature. How will we handle that?”

Playfully, I replied,

“So you want me to abandon all my boyfriends and hold on to only you—exclusively?”

I finished with a closed-lip smile, one that doesn’t show teeth but leaves its mark on the cheeks.