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BACCIN SO COMPLETE BOOK
He crouched on his feet, his head facing downward while his handsome eyes were tightly shut. The area was packed with people, buzzing with noise. Everyone's face was filled with joy except for one man. Even then, his sadness and anxiety did not manifest outwardly on his face, but his heart was undoubtedly in a state of extreme distress.
Squeezing his long-lashed eyes tightly, he felt his head spinning. A fierce agitation churned in his chest. The loud chatter of the crowd thoroughly scrambled his brain. He was simply not someone who tolerated noise; whenever a place became too loud, it triggered a severe, agonizing headache. Right now, only he knew the depth of what he was experiencing. He felt like opening his mouth to let out a piercing scream, hoping it might offer some relief from the overwhelming pressure.
The persistent chanting of a traditional praise singer was what finally jolted SOORAJ back to reality from his overwhelmed, crouching state. Swallowing a bitter gulp of saliva, his eyes instantly transformed into a bloodshot red as he attempted to stand up. Immediately, a handsome young man standing beside him firmly held his hand, whispering in a low, hushed voice, "Please, SOORAJ, don't do this. We are out in public, and you know everyone's eyes have been fixed on us ever since we arrived."
The man addressed as Sooraj let out a sharp hiss, violently wrenching his hand free from the other's grip. He shifted his gaze toward his father (Abba). Their eyes locked instantly, causing Sooraj to quickly look down.
Gradually, the swarming crowd gathered outside Alhaji Kabeer’s house began to thin out as everyone started heading home. Seeing this, Sooraj stood up and headed straight for his car, keeping his head low so that the remaining onlookers wouldn't read the volatile emotional state he was in. Just as he placed his hand on the car door handle to open it, MAS'UD's voice pierced his ears.
"Where do you think you're going?" Mas'ud demanded.
Sooraj turned around and shot Mas'ud a venomous glare. His anger was boiling over; he felt a deep resentment toward Mas'ud, believing that everything happening now was orchestrated with Mas'ud's compliance. Overwhelmed by frustration, he simply let out another sharp hiss, opened his car door, and climbed inside. As Mas'ud tried to rush around to the passenger side to get in, Sooraj turned the key in the ignition. He accelerated furiously, speeding off and leaving Mas'ud and the surrounding bystanders choked in a massive cloud of dust. Everyone stared after him in shock, including his father, who was standing further away, conversing with the bride's father.
Meanwhile, soft, muffled sobbing echoed inside a cramped, modest room. A young girl sat curled up against the wall, shrinking her body into a corner. The heavy, rhythmic gasping of her chest made it clear that she had wept bitterly until she was completely exhausted. Opening her swollen, bloodshot eyes, she cast her gaze toward heaven.
"YA ALLAH!" she uttered in a fragile, broken voice that practically begged for desperate intervention.
She was now utterly convinced that when a female child loses her mother, she loses her greatest shield and privilege in this world. A mother is everything—the pillar of life. Just as water is vital to the world, so is a mother to her child. At her tender age, her mind and emotional maturity were completely unequipped to handle such severe trauma, yet life’s harsh realities had warped her existence. Her life felt like absolute darkness and confinement. She was constantly searching for a ray of light, wishing and praying for someone to rescue her.
"Hey! You bastard child, what the hell are you still doing inside that room? You dark-hearted hypocrite! May God curse you, ZIYADA. I utterly despise these wretched habits of yours! You wicked, evil-hearted girl. Are you going to come out right now, or do I need to come in there and beat you to a pulp?!"
These harsh words were screamed by a woman standing at the doorway of the room. The woman was bursting with rage, aggressively shaking her hips with her hands planted firmly on her waist.
Hearing Inna Ma'u’s voice piercing her ears struck a deep chord of terror within Ziyada. Her body trembling with fear, she scrambled toward the exit of the room.
The moment she stepped out, Inna Ma'u locked onto her with a vicious, spiteful glare.
"I swear to God I hate you, Ziyada! I can’t even stand the sound of your name. I am forced to live with you in this house, but you and your late mother have been nothing but a plague (jaraba) to me. Wretched, white-faced tramps!" Inna Ma'u spat, her voice dripping with venom.
The girl named ZIYADA remained dead silent, burying her head low. Her heart hammered so violently against her ribs that she felt it might burst from her chest. She knew exactly what Inna Ma'u was capable of; she knew she was about to receive a beating far worse than the one inflicted on her earlier that morning.
"Take this twenty Naira note and get to the grinding mill immediately to grind my grain! And I swear to God, if you dare delay or take your time returning, I will personally burn that wretched, witch-like face of yours today!" Inna Ma'u barked. As she spoke, she delivered a brutal, open-handed shove to Ziyada’s head, forcing it to crack hard against the concrete wall.
Ziyada felt an agonizing flash of pain from the impact, but she dared not cry. She meekly accepted the twenty Naira note and, in her usual timid, quiet manner, hurried out of the house.
As she fled, Inna Ma'u sneered after her. "I swear to God, you won’t spend another full two weeks in this house. I would rather kill you and be done with it! You inherited every single trait of your witch of a mother anyway..."
Sooraj was flying down the highway at a terrifying speed. After driving a considerable distance, he finally pulled over and parked on the shoulder of the road. Slamming his hands hard against the steering wheel, he let out a long, frustrated sigh. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a bottle of water, snapped the cap open, and pressed it to his lips. He downed more than half the bottle in one continuous gulp before pulling it away.
He exhaled slowly, feeling an immense, suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. Raising his eyes to look at the rearview mirror, he immediately averted his gaze. A profound wave of self-pity washed over him, and his heart felt completely broken. He slumped his head over the steering wheel, utterly lost on what to do with his life, and despondent over how to make his parents understand his unique condition and suffering.
They only ever cared about themselves. Not once had they given him the space or opportunity to explain his underlying problem. Their conversations were eternally locked onto one topic: marriage. Their sole ambition was to see him married off, entirely indifferent to his internal state or who he truly was as a person.
Lifting his head from the steering wheel, his eyes grew fiercely red, looking as though someone had thrown chili powder into them. He felt with absolute certainty that he could never live with any woman in this world. Deep in his soul, he felt he simply wasn't built for marriage. His entire life was cloaked in DARKNESS, completely devoid of LIGHT.
"When will they ever understand this?" he asked himself in the silence.
He sat motionless for a few minutes before restarting the engine. This time, he drove slowly, quite unlike his frantic driving earlier. However, his mind was racing with a barrage of thoughts. He realized he would be forced to resort to his usual coping mechanism—even though he knew it was wrong and displeasing to ALLAH. He felt he had no other alternative.
(Author's Note: The name of this story, SOORAJ, is entirely fictional, just like my previous works. As you know, I build my stories around two central characters. This novel follows that exact structure, as it is built around the lives of SOORAJ and ZIYADA—just as I built 'Shu'umin Namiji' around Zaid and Zahrah. I always strive to ensure high-quality delivery to keep you entertained. I faced significant criticism regarding my recently concluded novel 'Shu'umin Namiji'. While I know that success comes with challenges, some people crossed the line with their comments. So please, be mindful of your words. Not every thought should be spoken aloud; remember, a kind word is an act of charity.)
Sooraj pulled up and parked his car in front of a massive compound gate. Stepping out, he approached the small pedestrian door built into the gate, pushed it open quietly, and walked in. Manu, the security guard, caught sight of him and came running over in a display of deep respect.
"Welcome home, Your Excellency! The groom! Our groom is radiating elegance..."
The icy, piercing glare Sooraj shot him instantly froze the words in Manu's throat, forcing him to cut his greeting short.
Sooraj walked past him, heading straight toward the towering main building situated in the center of the vast compound.
Inside the magnificent, sprawling living room, an aristocratic middle-aged woman (Ummu) sat surrounded by piles of expensive, luxurious wedding gift boxes (akwatuna) and clothing materials displayed before her.
Entering with a formal Islamic greeting (Salam), Sooraj stepped into the room. The woman responded to his greeting, her face tight, cold, and entirely expressionless. Sooraj didn't care about her icy demeanor; he knew exactly why her face was hardened. She deliberately wanted to deny him any audience, but he was determined to speak his mind regardless.
"Welcome home, Ummu," Sooraj said as he took a seat directly on the plush, thick carpet that spanned the living room floor.
"Welcome," Ummu replied curtly, shifting her attention back to gathering the clothes spread before her.
A heavy silence descended between them. Sooraj was a man of few words; whenever he spoke, he naturally paused for several minutes before saying anything else—not because he lacked words, but because it was his deeply ingrained habit. Ummu stole a calculated glance at him. The rigid expression on his face told her everything she needed to know: he had something to say, and she absolutely refused to hear it. She abruptly stood up, grabbed her phone, and turned toward the corridor leading to her private bedroom.
Realizing that if he let her leave now, he would lose his only window of opportunity, Sooraj adjusted his posture and blurted out, "Ummu, actually I wanted to..."
"I don't want to hear a single word from you! Enough is enough! We are thoroughly exhausted by your behavior, SOORAJ! I swear to God, I am warning you: if you dare divorce this woman we have just arranged for you to marry this time around, you will face an unprecedented wrath from us, the likes of which you have never experienced before!" Ummu cut him off, her voice booming with intense rage.
Sooraj raised his bloodshot eyes and fixed them on his mother, but she didn't even bother to look back at him as she swept out of the room and disappeared into her quarters.
A suffocating layer of bitterness and despair settled over Sooraj. The most agonizing part of it all was how systematically he was denied a voice or a hearing. His head throbbed so violently it felt as though his skull was splitting in two. Rising to his feet, he stormed out of the mansion. Unable to even focus on the path ahead, he stumbled back to his car, collapsed his head against the steering wheel, and exhaled hot, ragged breaths.
"What kind of life is this? When will I ever find relief from this perpetual agony?" he questioned his soul. He sat there for nearly ten minutes before gathering enough strength to start the car, exiting the neighborhood entirely to head toward his own private residence.
The moment he stepped into his bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and locked himself in the bathroom. He took a long shower, performed his ritual ablutions (alwala), and emerged. He dressed cleanly in a pair of high-quality denim jeans and a crisp white T-shirt. Checking the wall clock, he noted there was still some time left before the afternoon (Zuhr) prayer. He threw himself onto his massive bed and shut his exhausted eyes...
Meanwhile, Ziyada’s mind was in a state of absolute panic. Upon reaching the grinding mill, she discovered to her horror that Inna Ma'u’s grain for the next morning's millet gruel (kunu) had not been processed yet. Tears welled in her eyes as she frantically begged the mill operator in the name of God to speed up and help her. After much pleading, the man reluctantly agreed to grind the grain for her.
As she rounded the corner leading back to their house, she spotted a battered, heavily dilapidated car from a distance—a vehicle so old it looked fit for the scrap heap. Maintaining her typical quiet, reserved pace, she approached the entrance of their home.
A frail old man, easily around 60 years old, stood leaning against the decrepit vehicle. He was a dark-skinned, weathered elder whose body hair had turned entirely silver-white. One could immediately recognize him as a seasoned, sinister rogue of the underworld; the dark, predatory look in his eyes revealed a thoroughly corrupt character. The way he leered at Ziyada, looking like an old, lustful sorcerer, made her skin crawl. She immediately lowered her head and slipped past him into the house. The old man let out a sinister chuckle, shaking his head as a wave of twisted satisfaction washed over him at the sight of her.
"You cursed brat! Is this the time you choose to return? You simply cannot live a day without causing financial loss or delay, can you?!" Inna Ma'u demanded aggressively.
"Please forgive me, Inna Ma'u. I swear it wasn't my fault; they didn't process your grain on time, and that's why..."
"Shut your wretched mouth! 'That's why' what?! Who doesn't know your insolent, stubborn nature? You absolute fool! Now that you've dragged your feet back into this house, did you not see Tsoho Ɗan Dashe standing outside waiting for you?!"
Ziyada's heart skipped a violent beat. Horrified, she stammered, "Tsoho Ɗan Dashe?!"
"Yes, exactly! Now get out there and meet him right now, or I swear I will break your bones into pieces right where you stand!" Inna Ma'u shouted in a blind fury.
Ziyada’s body began to shake uncontrollably, but she was completely devoid of options. She was forced to step back outside to face the notorious old rogue who was waiting for her.
The moment she stepped out, Tsoho Ɗan Dashe let out a raspy, wicked laugh characteristic of old debauchers. He fixed his eyes crudely onto her chest, swallowing hard.
"Come closer now, my bride," he rasped, flashing a wide, grotesque grin.
Ziyada looked at him with absolute disgust, quickly assessing his repulsive appearance. Her eyes fell on his blood red, stained teeth, which he displayed proudly. His entire mouth was deeply stained with kola nut residue, and everything about him looked uniquely filthy and unappealing. Though Ziyada herself lived in deep poverty, dirt, and wore tattered clothes, the sheer level of Tsoho Ɗan Dashe’s filth was in a league of its own.
There was not a soul in the entire town who didn't know the vile reputation of Tsoho Ɗan Dashe. He was an elder entirely devoid of self-respect, whose sole preoccupation was the exploitation and corruption of young girls. He currently had four wives and was considered wealthy in their local community because he owned vast herds of cattle and livestock. To fuel his arrogance, he even owned this ancient, barely-functioning car, though he didn't even know how to drive it. He employed a young thug named Ɗan Liti to chauffeur him wherever he pleased, and the boy was present with him now.
After staring at him in utter revulsion, Ziyada snapped her gaze away. A profound wave of hatred for him solidified in her heart. Seeing that the girl was stubborn and refused to step closer to him, the old man began to stride toward her. Terrified, she quickly jumped backward.
"What's the matter, my bride? Surely you aren't afraid of me? You had better get comfortable with me, because I assure you that by next week, our marriage will be officially solemnized," Tsoho Ɗan Dashe announced, displaying his massive, grotesque mouth once more.
Hearing the word "marriage" sent a jolt of pure terror through her. Realizing the man looked erratic and unhinged, she spun around and bolted back into the house, ignoring his raspy shouts calling her back.
Unbeknownst to her, Inna Ma'u had been lurking behind the door, eavesdropping on the entire exchange. The moment Ziyada crossed the threshold, Inna Ma'u delivered a blinding, ringing slap across her face.
Spitting words of intense frustration, she barked, "You worthless, useless brat! Of all the madness in the world, how dare you attempt to humiliate an influential elder like Tsoho Ɗan Dashe when he approaches you with marriage?! Listen to me very carefully: I have personally given your hand in marriage to Ɗan Dashe, whether you like it or not, you wretched, deceptive hypocrite!"
Ziyada shook her head frantically as tears burst from her eyes. She collapsed to the floor, grabbing Inna Ma'u’s feet, crying out in a broken, pleading voice:
"For the love of God, Inna Ma'u, have mercy on me! Please do not marry me off to Tsoho Ɗan Dashe! Everyone in this town knows his vile character—he is a corrupt, evil man! For God's sake, please have mercy!"
Inna Ma'u brutally kicked her hand away, her face contorted with pure hatred. "If you think you won't marry Ɗan Dashe, then you had better die. Because even if you die, we will carry your corpse straight to his house!" Leaving her with those chilling words, she grabbed her wrap from the clothesline and stormed out of the house.
Bursting into heavy, agonizing tears, Ziyada scrambled back into her tiny room. Sitting on a tattered straw mat, she buried her face deeply between her knees and wept a heartbreaking, soulful cry. She knew with absolute certainty that once Inna Ma'u made such a declaration, she would stop at nothing to fulfill it.
Outside, Inna Ma'u met with Tsoho Ɗan Dashe to finalize the arrangements regarding Ziyada. The old man was frantic, expressing his deep desire not to delay the wedding. He admitted that if it were up to him, he would take her that very day and worry about the formalities later; the girl had thoroughly consumed his desires. Recognizing that she was young and untouched, he anticipated a highly rewarding prize. He handed a massive wad of cash over to Inna Ma'u, whose face split into a greedy, wide grin as they concluded their meeting.
Inside, Ziyada wept until she could cry no more. She finally stepped out of her room to face the grueling household chores that were enforced upon her daily.
Suddenly, she heard her father's voice entering the compound, causing her heart to thud violently against her chest. In a shaking, timid voice, she answered his arrival.
"Welcome home, Baba," she said softly, keeping her distance.
"If I hadn't returned, you wouldn't be seeing me here, would you?!" the fair-skinned, elderly man she called Baba snapped back in a harsh, aggressive tone.
Ziyada quietly lowered her head. This was the perpetual hostility her father displayed toward her; from her earliest childhood memories up to this present moment, she had never known what a father's love felt like. He couldn't stand her presence. The deep-seated hatred he directed at her easily eclipsed even that of Inna Ma'u. She silently returned to her chores, while her father hurried directly into Inna Ma'u’s quarters, trembling with anxiety to avoid triggering his wife's notorious wrath—for Inna Ma'u treated him less like a husband and more like a subservient child.
After returning from the mosque following the afternoon Zuhr prayer, Sooraj fell into a deep, heavy slumber. He slept continuously for nearly three hours, taking full advantage of the work-free weekend.
Slowly, he opened his remarkably beautiful eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes, and cast his gaze toward the wall clock hanging in his room. It read exactly 3:00 PM. Maintaining his characteristically calm and controlled demeanor, he swung his legs off the bed, walked into the bathroom, took a refreshing shower, and performed fresh ablutions.
He dressed impeccably in a pair of high-quality designer denim jeans and a stunning shirt. He generously sprayed his body with an array of premium, captivating fragrances. Slipping into a pair of sleek combat shoes and buckling an Apple Watch onto his right wrist, his appearance was exceptionally sharp.
Lifting his striking eyes to view his reflection in the mirror, he was fully aware that he was a highly attractive, high-class, and commanding alpha male—yet he was a man anchored by an immense, hidden affliction.
SOORAJ was undeniably handsome; his entire physique was built to command admiration. He possessed a beautifully athletic, chiseled body maintained through rigorous gym training. He was exceptionally fair-skinned, with the only dark contrast on his face being a soft, perfectly groomed beard tracing his jawline. His eyes were perfectly proportioned and captivating; just like his thick eyelashes, his eyebrows were perfectly defined. He possessed a sharp, straight nose and a small, compact mouth characterized by naturally pink lips.
He stood frozen for over three minutes, carefully studying his handsome face and flawless physique in the mirror. Gradually, he lowered his head as a profound wave of emotional vulnerability washed over his heart.
He knew with absolute certainty that to the outside world, anyone looking at him would see a perfect, healthy, and highly privileged man. But he alone knew his dark reality: he possessed a massive, crippling WEAKNESS.
Suddenly, his Galaxy S20 phone began to ring, signaling an incoming call. Without even glancing at the screen, he turned his back on it and walked out of the room. He aligned his actions with a firm resolution his heart had just made: he would not allow himself to spiral back into the terrifying emotional abyss he had suffered through in the past. Accepting his fate (Qaddara) had become an absolute necessity. Consequently, he passed a strict sentence upon himself—to entirely isolate himself from any female presence in this world. His mother was the sole exception he could not abandon; as for all other women, complete avoidance was mandatory. If for nothing else, it was the only way to safeguard his dark secret.
"I have made my final decision: we are marrying Ziyada off," Inna Ma'u announced to Malam Garba right after shoving a large swallow of Tuwo into her mouth.
Malam Garba, who was seated humbly on a small straw mat, raised his head to look at her. In a soft, submissive voice, he stammered, "Marriage, Ma'u?"
"Yes, marriage! Or would you prefer we leave her eyes wide open so she can run around chasing men? If that is what you want, I swear to God I will completely wash my hands off your family affairs!" Inna Ma'u threatened, her anger flaring.
"No, no... it's not that I am opposing her marriage, Ma'u. Any decision you make regarding Ziyada is fine by me, I will never say no. But you know very well that I don't possess a single cent to fund a wedding right now!" he pleaded, completely intimidated by her power over him.
"Just keep your mouth shut and leave everything to me, because I have already finalized the deal. Tomorrow, Tsoho Ɗan Dashe is bringing her traditional bride price (kuɗin aure). And you know exactly how Ɗan Dashe operates—whenever he chooses to marry a girl, he demands absolutely nothing in terms of bridal furniture or contributions from her parents. We will simply dump her into his house exactly as she is."
Malam Garba quickly looked up at Inna Ma'u again, his lips trembling with shock. "Tsoho Ɗan Dashe?! You are marrying Ziyada off to his son?"
Inna Ma'u shot him a thoroughly disgusted glare. "Do you honestly think there is any young, vibrant bachelor out there who would willingly burden himself with this witch of a daughter of yours? It is Ɗan Dashe himself who wants her, and I have already given her away to him. Do you have a problem with that?!"
He quickly shook his head "No," completely yielding to her authority. Yet deep within his soul, a heavy blanket of misery settled. Everyone in the region knew that Tsoho Ɗan Dashe was a vile, unprincipled rogue who possessed zero respect for the sacred institution of marriage. He had married and discarded over 15 women; the moment a wife became pregnant, he would ruthlessly evict her along with her divorce papers. But what could Malam Garba possibly say? In his broken world, whatever Inna Ma'u decreed was absolute law...
2. Summary
The narrative introduces a dramatic, high-stakes Hausa melodrama focusing on two central characters—Sooraj and Ziyada—who are both trapped in states of emotional "darkness" (Duhu) while desperately seeking "light" (Haske).
- Sooraj's Conflict: Sooraj is a wealthy, exceptionally handsome, fair-skinned, and physically fit elite male who suffers from an unstated, severe psychological or physiological "weakness" (Rauni) and an intolerance for loud environments. He is under intense family pressure to marry. After attending a wedding event that triggers his condition, he attempts to voice his concerns to his domineering mother (Ummu). She completely silences him, threatening severe family exile if he divorces his newly arranged bride. In response, Sooraj vows to completely cut off all women from his life to protect his dark secret.
Ziyada's Conflict: Ziyada is a young, deeply impoverished, and traumatized orphan girl living under the tyrannical rule of her stepmother, Inna Ma'u, and a detached, abusive father, Malam Garba. Ziyada is constantly subjected to physical and verbal abuse. Inna Ma'u arranges a forced marriage between Ziyada and Tsoho Ɗan Dashe, a wealthy, deeply repulsive, 60-year-old local predator known for marrying and discarding young girls. Despite Ziyada’s frantic, desperate pleas for mercy, her father submissively complies with his wife's cruel arrangement for cash.
3. Description and Analysis
- Genre and Literary Context: Written by a popular contemporary Hausa web-fiction author, this text represents modern Hausa Lit-Fiction (Hausa Novels). It heavily utilizes themes of forced marriage (Auren Dole), stepmother tyranny, hidden male vulnerability/medical conditions, and extreme class disparities.
- Juxtaposition of Space and Character: The author uses a split narrative structure to create a powerful contrast between the two leads:
- Sooraj is defined by hyper-masculinity, excessive luxury, high-end cars, tech (Galaxy S20, Apple Watch), and physical grooming, yet he is emotionally castrated by his family and paralyzed by a secret vulnerability.
- Ziyada is defined by severe deprivation, vulnerability, tattered clothes, and concrete enclosures, facing immediate physical and systemic danger from a local predator.
- The Motif of "Darkness" (Duhu) and "Light" (Haske): Both characters explicitly describe their lives as being consumed by Duhu (darkness/confusion) and express a desperate longing for Haske (light/salvation). This stylistic choice signals to the reader that their seemingly parallel but separate trajectories are destined to cross, where each will likely become the "light" that saves the other.
- Cultural and Social Commentary: The text offers a raw critique of specific societal issues in Northern Nigeria:
- The psychological abuse of orphans by stepmothers (Kishiyar Uwa).
- The phenomenon of submissive husbands (Mijin Tace) through Malam Garba, who abdicates his paternal duty to protect his daughter out of fear of his wife.
- The exploitation of poverty by corrupt, wealthy elders (Tsoho Ɗan Dashe) who use cash to purchase child brides without providing them with structural or marital dignity.
