SAKON SO BY M SHAKUR COMPELET BOOK.doc

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SAKON SO COMPLETE BOOK BY MAMAN SHAKUR 

The Wedding and Uncle Imran

~~Masjid Ibn Taymiyah~~
Written on the wall of the large mosque, which was packed to capacity with people. Everyone was dressed in grand, expensive shadda attire; one look and you knew a wedding was about to take place. A young groom, dressed in a heavily embroidered shadda outfit, stood outside the mosque, checking his wristwatch as if monitoring the time. He raised his head to peer down the street on which the mosque was located.
He felt a tap from behind and quickly turned around. It was another young man, also dressed elegantly in grand attire and a traditional kube cap. With a worried expression, the friend said, "He’s 20 minutes late, Arif. Come on, let's go inside so even the deputy Imam can officiate the marriage for you. Everyone has gathered, and we are waiting for just one person. Come on, it's not cool."
Arif shook his head and replied, "I know he will come. Let's just give him some time. Uncle Hamma is just..."
His friend quickly interrupted, "A sociopath."
Arif gave him a harsh glare and was about to speak when a large Jeep parked in a vacant space near the mosque. A look of pure relief and joy appeared on Arif’s face. He unconsciously left his friend behind and rushed out of the mosque premises, completely ignoring the people calling out to him, "Groom! Groom!" He headed straight for the car. The windows were heavily tinted and rolled up, making it impossible to see inside.
Without waiting, he gently and respectfully opened the front passenger door, squatting down completely out of deep respect. Without even looking at the man's face, he said, "Welcome, Uncle Imran."
A mature man, around 48 or 49 years old, was seated in the car. He wore a soft, milk-colored fabric that beautifully complemented his extremely glowing, wealthy black complexion. He had a full, thick, jet-black beard and a neatly groomed mustache. He also had thick eyebrows and a full head of hair, though his perfectly styled minister-style cap concealed just how thick his hair was. He had small yet sharp eyes; if you didn't look closely, you might think they were half-closed, but they were wide awake, with piercing, bright white eyeballs. His nose was long and slender, and his lips were naturally reddish.
He glanced once at Arif, who was squatting with his head bowed. There was no smile or friendliness on his face, but neither was there anger; his expression was stern yet enveloped in a warm, dignified grace.
As if reluctant to speak, he muttered, "Arif."
Arif let out a deeply respectful smile and said, "Yes, Uncle Imran," briefly lifting his head to look at him before quickly lowering it again. He had never seen anyone with such an overwhelming aura of prestige and charisma as Uncle Imran. No matter how bold you were, you simply couldn't look Uncle Imran directly in the eyes.
Slowly, and with measured calmness, Uncle Imran said, "Get up, your clothes will get dirty." Arif stood up immediately without argument, keeping his head down. Uncle Imran calmly stepped out of the car and stood next to Arif. Despite Arif's height, he only reached Uncle Imran's shoulder, as Uncle Imran was an absolute giant. Although he was an older, mature man, his physique and posture were impeccably fit—the kind of body maintained through healthy eating and regular exercise. He wore a shimmering babban riga (grand robe) and trousers that stopped perfectly at his ankles. His feet were clad in ankle socks inside gleaming Givenchy loafers.
Turning around, he picked up a pair of black sunglasses—since his eyes were sensitive to bright light—put them on, looked at Arif, and said, "Shall we go?"
Arif nodded, "Yes, let's go, Uncle."
As they walked side by side, Arif noted that he had never smelled a perfume as exquisite as Uncle Imran's. It was incredibly pleasant and soothing to the soul. Before they could even enter the mosque, praise singers and beggars began serenading Uncle Imran. He despised this, so he neither spoke to them nor gave them money, walking right past them.
Inside the mosque, Arif’s friend whispered, "Arif's guardian has arrived." They sat down, and the marriage between Arif and Salma was immediately solemnized with a dowry of 500,000 Naira, which Uncle Imran paid on his behalf. As soon as the prayers concluded, Uncle Imran stood up to leave without wasting a single second. Arif quickly followed him out.
Arif’s friend tapped another companion as they watched Arif and Uncle Imran leave. "My goodness, look at Arif, it’s like he just saw God."
The other friend, Muhammad, replied, "Well, it's practically true. This uncle of his has done everything for him since primary school. By Allah, Aliyu, if it were me, I’d do even more for him, considering his own father ran away, abandoned them, and never cared for them."
Aliyu sneered and said, "You don't know who that man is. If you knew the dark pride he possesses, you'd be shocked. Didn't you see how he didn't greet a single soul in this mosque? Just a man with high-water trousers, acting like a devout scholar because he keeps a beard."
Muhammad stared at Aliyu and asked, "Seriously, Ali, what did this man ever do to you? Wallahi, I see absolutely nothing wrong with him."
Aliyu shot Muhammad an angry look and countered, "You just don't get it. This man denied me a job at his company just because I smoke cigarettes! Who knows what kind of things he did during his youth when he was in the military before he retired?"
Seeing Muhammad's disapproving stare, Aliyu justified himself, "What? I'm just telling the truth! To tell you the truth, I'm glad he didn't hire me because people say he is completely crazy—unless his military trauma hasn't flared up yet. Wallahi, haven't you noticed that to this day, no woman has agreed to marry him? He's just growing old in his mother's house."
Muhammad gave him a harsh glare. "You're the only one who thinks he looks old. Wallahi, even Arif's father, who is his contemporary, looks way older than him. You're just bitter because he refused to give you a job. And as for him not being married, it’s simply because he chooses not to, ever since attackers came to his house years ago and murdered his wife and two children."
As if waiting for this exact point, Aliyu quickly interjected, "Do you know how many years it’s been since they died? This is the 13th year, yet he still hasn't remarried! Wallahi, it's not because of his wife's death; it's his madness that ensures no woman will ever agree to marry him." Aliyu went silent and stood up, dusting off his clothes, as he noticed Arif walking back toward them.
(Author's Note promotional break for M Shakur's social media and marriage class)

Episode 2: Family and Confrontation

As Uncle Imran drove into their residential estate, he spotted a mature man standing in front of a magnificent mansion, flanked by three soldiers. One could tell the man was roughly his age mate, though he looked much older due to the abundance of grey hair across his face. Uncle Imran sighed softly, drove up to the house, and rolled down his window without turning off the engine. The soldiers immediately saluted, "Sir!" He nodded calmly without verbally responding and turned his gaze to the man who had rushed to the car.
With an aggressive, ungraceful demeanor and without any greeting, the man burst out angrily, "Alhaji Imrana, I told you to stay away from my son, but you refused! I admit I ran away and abandoned them back then, and you put him through school and everything. But now I am back! My boy wants nothing to do with me. Imagine, I, Arif's father, was right there in the mosque, but he didn't even glance at me because of you. He was busy hovering around you like he saw a king! Stay away from my son and allow me to be his father!"
Throughout the tirade, Uncle Imran just watched him. Without his expression changing or showing any emotion, he waited for him to finish completely, and then simply said, "Go in peace, Father of Arif."
He rolled his window back up, the gates were opened, and he drove into his massive compound, leaving the man outside. The father muttered to himself in frustration, "Is he trying to show me his arrogance?" The soldiers watched the father, secretly wanting to beat him up, but a single warning glance from their Boss ("Oga") had already signaled them not to interfere with a guest, letting him do whatever he wanted until he left.
Uncle Imran slowly parked his car among a fleet of about 12 luxury vehicles. He sat in the car for about five minutes, seemingly reluctant to step out, before opening the door and walking toward the main house. The domestic staff greeted him with subtle bows, which he acknowledged with just a nod of his head. He walked up to a massive, standalone luxury flat within the compound, opened the door, and entered.
Five young children, all between the ages of 2 and 5, were jumping around. The moment they saw him, they instantly calmed down, sat on the floor, and chorused in sweet, childish voices, "Abee, Assalamu Alaykum."
Closing the door, he turned to them. A tiny smile appeared on his face as he replied calmly, "Wa’alaykumus salam, children." He stepped into the sprawling living room, where a large family portrait hung on the wall. It featured an elderly woman of about 70, with him standing rigidly by her side (his stiff posture revealing how much he disliked taking photos). The portrait also included three mature women who looked like him (his sisters), two younger men (his brothers), and numerous children.
He sat on a sofa and looked at the children, who were all staring back at him. Only then did he realize he hadn't brought them any treats—something very unlike him, but he had forgotten due to his haste. This time, he smiled slightly, extended his hands, and said, "Come here."
As if waiting for this invitation, they rushed to him. He smiled gently and said, "I will pick you up one after the other, okay?" They all nodded. He picked up the oldest, a 5-year-old, saying, "Muhammad." The boy burst into laughter. He picked up the second, "Faisal," then the first girl, "Nana." Setting her down, he picked up the next girl, "Miemie," and finally the youngest, a 2-year-old, "Anees..."
He paused. He noticed how hot the little girl's body felt. He touched her forehead quickly, and confirming she had a fever, he looked at Muhammad and said, "Call Aneesarh's Mom." The boy quickly ran into the kitchen.
Within a second, a mature woman who bore a striking resemblance to Imran emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron. She said anxiously, "Yaya Imran, you're back." Before he could reply, a fair-skinned young woman around 21 years old rushed out of the kitchen in absolute excitement. Despite Aneesarh being in his arms, she hugged him from the side and cried, "Abee, Assalamu Alaykum!"
He gave her a small smile, looked at her, and asked, "Wa’alaikumus salam, Kausar. Where is your headscarf?" He was looking at her unbraided hair, which was only half-done. Her eyes widened in realization, and she turned around, running upstairs. He watched her go, then turned his attention back to his sister. "Why is Aneesarh’s body so hot?"
Aneesarh's mother looked close to tears. "Wallahi, Yaya Imran, I've tried everything, but she refuses to take her medicine." Imran looked down at little Aneesarh, who was staring back at him, smiled gently, and whispered, "Haaaaammmm," opening his mouth slightly. The little girl mirrored him, opening her mouth wide, "Haaaa." He administered the medicine slowly, with immense care and love, as if handling a fragile egg. The girl swallowed it easily. He smiled and said, "Good job, Aneesarh," pulling her close to his chest to comfort her as she rested against him.
He looked up at her mother, who was smiling warmly. "Has Hajiya not returned from the wedding house yet?"
She nodded. "No, but we just spoke on the phone; they are on their way. Even Anty Binta arrived earlier with her husband."
He nodded without a word. She asked, "Should I bring you tea or coffee, Yaya?"
He shook his head. "No, later." She nodded and returned to the kitchen to finish cooking.
Meanwhile, Kausar came back downstairs wearing a cap and looking at her father. "Abee, I've put it on." He looked at her, nodded, and she happily joined the kitchen. Inside, Aneesarh's mother scolded Kausar playfully about nagging her busy father to help untangle her hair, but Kausar whined affectionately, "But he's my Abee!"

Episode 3: Evening Routine

Imran held Aneesarh until she fell asleep in his arms. He walked over to the kitchen entrance and called out, "Kausar." Kausar dropped her spoon and ran out. "Yes, Abee?"
He said quietly, "Go get a wrapper to tie her to your back." Kausar ran upstairs to get it. When Imran reminded her calmly about his rule against running in the house, she froze and walked carefully. She strapped the sleeping child to her back, and Imran walked upstairs to his private quarters.
His wing of the house was secluded and minimalist. It contained a neatly made bed with white sheets, a study corner filled with books, a desktop computer, a bathroom, and a walk-in closet. He showered, changed into a pristine, white, perfectly ironed jallabiya and a white cap, groomed his beard, and headed back downstairs as the household noise grew.
Downstairs, his 70-year-old mother, Hajiya, sat on a long couch. His sister, Anty Binta, was distributing traditional wedding sweets (alkaki, nakia, cincin) to the family. Imran’s brothers, Hamza and Ibro, were also present. As Imran walked into the room, his signature calming perfume preceded him, causing the loud room to suddenly fall completely silent out of profound respect.
Family greetings were exchanged. Anty Binta mentioned that Arif's family sent a large bag of wedding treats specifically for him. Imran frowned slightly and said, "I don't eat those things." Hajiya agreed, telling the daughters to give the treats to the younger brothers instead.
After the evening Maghrib and Isha prayers at the mosque, Imran sat with his young adult son, Abdallah (around 22 years old), who affectionately called him "Abee" and complained about being tired and hungry from university lectures. Imran returned home with his family, refused heavy food in favor of coffee to be sent to his room, and bid his mother Hajiya and the family goodnight.

2. Summary of the  Story

The story introduces Alhaji Imran (Uncle Imran/Abee), a wealthy, highly respected, and deeply charismatic retired military man in his late 40s. The narrative unfolds across three distinct settings:

1. The Wedding: Imran acts as the guardian for his surrogate son, Arif, whose biological father abandoned him years ago. Imran arrives late but in style, pays a massive 500k Naira dowry, and commands absolute, silent respect from everyone at the mosque. Gossip among Arif's friends reveals a darker backstory: Imran's wife and two children were brutally murdered 13 years prior, leading to rumors about his mental stability and explaining why he remains unmarried.
2. The Confrontation: Arif's biological father confronts Imran outside his estate, bitterly demanding his son back and accusing Imran of stealing his parental rights. Imran dismisses him with cold, calculated calmness.

3. The Household: Imran returns to his massive family compound, where he lives with his elderly mother (Hajiya), his siblings, his children, and nieces/nephews. Despite his stern, quiet, and hyper-disciplined military demeanor, he is a deeply loving maternal/paternal figure, uniquely capable of soothing sick children and commanding total, voluntary respect and discipline from his large family.

   3.  Description

• Genre: Northern Nigerian (Hausa) Contemporary Drama / Romance.
• Tone: Melodramatic, respectful, disciplined, and family-oriented, contrasting deep trauma with familial warmth.
• Setting: A highly affluent estate/mansion setting in Northern Nigeria, centered around cultural milestones (a lavish wedding) and Islamic household dynamics (respect for elders, modesty, and prayer routines).

• Language Style: Modern Hausa literature (Littattafan Soyayya style) interspersed with common English loanwords ("sociopath," "premises," "tinted glass," "exercise," "medicine," "lectures") reflecting a modern, upper-class urban lifestyle.

  4. Analytics & Character Breakdown

  Character Profiles

  CharacterRole / TypeTraits & ObservationsAlhaji Imran (Abee)Protagonist / PatriarchA 48/49-year-old retired soldier. Giant physique, perfectly groomed, wealthy, and uses high-end brands (Givenchy). He possesses an intense kwarjini (overwhelming charisma) that commands absolute silence and respect. While outsiders view him as a cold "sociopath" or mentally unstable due to a tragic past (the murder of his family 13 years ago), at home he is incredibly gentle, loving, patient with children, and deeply pious.ArifProtagonist's WardThe groom. He views Imran not just as an uncle, but with god-like reverence because Imran financed his life and education after his biological father abandoned him.AliyuAntagonist / GossipA bitter peer of Arif. He represents the toxic societal gaze. He projects his own failures (being rejected for a job by Imran because he smokes) onto Imran, labeling his discipline as "madness" and his religious appearance as fake.Baban ArifFoilArif's biological father. Absentee parent turned envious. He uses aggression and shouting to demand respect, contrasting sharply with Imran’s silent, effortless authority.Hajiya, Kausar, AbdallahSupporting FamilyRepresent the tight-knit support system. Kausar and Abdallah call Imran "Abee" (Arabic for my father), showing his role as both an uncle and a direct paternal figure.

  Themes & Key Elements

• The Paradox of Alpha Male Imagery: The author intentionally subverts expectations. Imran is introduced with classic "alpha/mafia" tropes—tinted SUVs, military background, unapproachable eyes, cold expressions, and soldiers guarding his perimeter. However, the moment he steps into his home, he is a nurturing figure who tenderly administers medicine to a toddler, cares for his sisters, and respects his mother.
• The Weight of Trauma: Imran’s aversion to sweet foods, his refusal to remarry after 13 years, his sensitivity to bright lights (wearing sunglasses), and his rigid adherence to routine point heavily toward managed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) stemming from the murder of his first family.
• Cultural Realism: The text accurately mirrors elite Northern Nigerian cultural nuances—the high-value dowry (500k NGN is considered quite high), the distinct respect structures (squatting to greet elders, keeping eyes lowered), and the linguistic habit of mixing Hausa with English corporate/medical terms.