Tubali Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

It was a terrifying disaster of immense force and darkness that laid siege to the entire Gembu–Mambilla region, advancing relentlessly from east to west, south to north.

It merged with the pitch-black darkness of the night, mixed with the gloom of the rainy season.

As a result, nothing could be heard across the area except continuous thunderclaps and deafening rumbles that showed no sign of stopping, accompanied by a peculiar wind—slightly fierce, bitterly cold—blowing relentlessly.

At exactly such a time, all human beings were deep asleep in their homes, unaware that it was already past one o’clock in the morning.

A very beautiful and extremely expensive car suddenly burst forward, clearly indicating that its owner was no ordinary person.

It sped recklessly, as though it were about to take off into the air—

a speed driven by the desperation to survive. So frantic was the driving that even the driver himself no longer knew how he was controlling the car.

His entire body trembled violently. Despite the freezing cold of the environment and the chilling air-conditioning inside the car, it did not stop the beads of sweat pouring down his body—sweat born from fear, from seeing clear signs of an imminent separation from life itself.

As he drove, he kept turning back to look at a massive trailer closely trailing him from behind, relentlessly.

Its intention was clear: to ram into him and crush him. He realized this when, no matter how he maneuvered, the trailer mirrored his every move.

In extreme panic, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with one hand and clutched the child sitting on his lap with the other. He was shaking violently at the terrifying speed they were moving.

At that moment, they arrived at the top of a massive mountain overlooking the deep, terrifying ravine of the Gembu River, which connects with other rivers—Numan, Adamawa, Dadin Kowa in Gombe, and beyond.

The road there twisted like a snake, zigzagging dangerously.

He pulled his phone from the console and began speaking to whoever was calling. His voice trembled—

the kind of voice used to bid farewell to the world, to leave last words, a will, and final instructions.

They were approaching Rugar Rumo, located at the bottom of the road near the edge of the ravine.

At that very moment, the trailer caught up with him.

With brutal force, the trailer rammed his car, pushing it toward the pit connected to the massive rivers—so deep that its depth defied imagination.

You could hear a long, horrifying screech—

kuuuhhhhh!

The car let out a violent, piercing sound.

It momentarily halted during the fall after crashing into a tree, which prevented it from plunging straight down.

But the trailer advanced again with force, realizing the tree had stopped the smaller car.

It shoved the car once more, sending it straight into the abyss.

You could hear—

fuuuuuhhh… zindim!

It plunged into the water.

The sound of the fall woke most of the people of Rugar Rumo.

They were filled with sorrow and pity, knowing that whoever had fallen in had fallen into their grave…

As for the trailer driver, he let out a dreadful, wicked laugh with an unpleasant echo, then drove on through the town, knowing there was no chance of stopping or staying there.

As he drove, his phone was pressed to his ear as he spoke:

“Sir, I’m done with him. He no longer exists in this world.

He has said goodbye to life. Now I’m heading into Gembu, and we’ll kill his wife and children too.”

He paused briefly, listening to the sound of Sir’s victorious laughter, then heard him say:

“Kill them.

The remaining 2 million will be transferred to you.”

Delighted, the trailer driver replied,

“Right away.”

He ended the call and drove into Gembu, swallowed by the darkness of that rainy night.

After some years—about twenty-two (22) years later.

Kano State.

Silence filled the conference hall of Arewa 24 TV staff in the city of Kano Dabo. The employees sat on elegant chairs arranged around a large table with more than fifty seats.

In front of everyone were chilled bottles of Faro water, Nutrimilk, Maltina, and Chi Exotic drinks. There were also glass cheer cups placed around, and in front of each person stood a slightly tall microphone.

On the right side sat the senior staff.

On the left were their aides.

At the back were the junior staff.

The Director-General was addressing them, explaining the changes in the work structure they planned to implement for the coming year.

He adjusted his posture and glanced to his right.

Clearing his voice slightly, he asked,

“Where is the host of Guest of the Week?”

Calmly, Jannart Idris Saleh Dakata lifted her head and replied in a soft, composed voice,

“I’m here, sir.”

The soothing tone of her voice made most of the people in the hall turn to look at her.

Indeed, her calmness was one of the main reasons she had been entrusted with the program. Since influential and highly respected figures were invited, they needed someone with grace and composure to properly honor such distinguished guests.

With care, the Director continued,

“Guest of the Week is a program with a great mission—to bring prominent individuals, engage them in discussion, and allow them to share their successes and the challenges they faced.

This is so that our growing youth can use these stories as blueprints to build the foundations of their lives—improving themselves, protecting their morals from corruption, pursuing education and skills, and one day becoming role models and inspirations for those who come after them.”

He paused briefly and took a sip of the Chi Exotic drink in front of him.

Meanwhile, Jannart gently placed her fair fingers—adorned with red henna—on the microphone before her, moving them calmly up and down, as everyone else remained silent.

He then continued speaking, calmly.