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Chapter 1
Around 1:30 AM, a luxurious white Benz parked in front of a massive club. He barely found a spot because it was Friday—the weekend had started today, tomorrow was a non-working day, and the day after was too. Despite the club's parking lot being as vast as a small village, space was completely filled due to the heavy influx of cars. He was lucky that as another car was pulling out, he managed to slide into a space right along the street layout.
He switched off the engine and stepped out. He was a handsome, light-skinned young man with Fulani features, approximately 34 to 35 years old, dressed in high-end designer jeans and a shirt. He locked his car, started walking while checking his phone as a message came in, and headed toward the entrance guarded by four heavily built security operatives dressed in black tactical gear and carrying firearms, looking like elite commandos. The moment they saw him, they instantly parted ways and greeted him respectfully.
"Welcome, sir." He nodded slightly at them and walked inside.
There was a heavy-duty security doorway ahead, which immediately told anyone that this was no ordinary, everyday club; the door itself was a sight to behold. The automated security door spoke up, saying, "Welcome, your access card, please."
He let out a short hiss, thrusting his hand into his pocket, and muttered, "I hope I didn't leave my card in the car." As he finished searching his pockets, he luckily felt the card, pulled it out, and pressed it against the scanner. The door instantly acknowledged it and announced, "Welcome to Xperince." The door slid open, and he stepped inside.
It was an extraordinarily high-end club that completely lacked any typical Nigerian aesthetic; stepping inside made you feel like you were in a foreign country. Anyone who was anyone in society could be found in this club, and nothing of its caliber had ever been built in Abuja. Women stood on a stage as pole-dancing strippers while music blared. Men and women sat or stood about, dancing and spraying dollar bills, everyone simply having a good time. Some were drinking alcohol, others were inhaling cocaine, and custom hookahs were circulating everywhere to those who placed orders. There were specialized types of shisha unique to Xperince alone in Nigeria, alongside vapes being puffed on. The moment you stepped into this club, you knew firsthand that money was being spent recklessly. Security guys stood positioned in various corners and spots, holding communication devices to their ears; looking at them, you’d think they were statues devoid of breath, standing rigidly in different posts.
He walked past them, took the lift to the second floor, and walked straight up to an office guarded by two hefty security men. Looking directly at them, he asked, "Is Pablo inside?"
With deep reverence, they replied, "Yes sir, he is inside."
Without knocking, he reached out, pushed the door open, and walked in. It was a wildly extravagant office resembling that of a head of state, filled with the freezing, ice-like blast of an air conditioner. A handsome guy sat in the office chair, dressed in an Armani white shirt and shorts that stopped right at his knees. His feet wore long white Nike socks paired with black custom men's Dior sandals that complemented his outfit. He was working swiftly on a MacBook in front of him, his fingers typing at machine gun speed, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen without even looking up at the person who had just entered.
Because of this, the newcomer pulled up the chair facing him and sat down, staring at him as though seeing something he had never witnessed before. He gazed from the visible parts of his legs through the transparent glass office table all the way down to his typing fingers. Pablo had long, beautiful fingers; just as his frame was tall, his fingers possessed a striking length. He was very tall, with skin as dark as polished jet black. He had no trace of thinness; he was a fully gallant man with a physique straight out of every woman’s dream. He possessed a broad, sculpted chest and abs—one look told you he was a gym product because his heavy workouts were extremely obvious. He had striking, intensely pink lips that vividly contrasted against his black face, and a sharp, pen-like nose that gave his face a very definite look. He had large white eyes, thick jet-black eyebrows, and a well-trimmed beard that flowed neatly into a full, short goatee shining with meticulous grooming. His head was covered in thick, wavy black hair that glistened brightly, enhancing his handsome appearance. One of his ears was pierced with a small gold-circled earring.
The young man staring at him occasionally felt a sense of wonder; if Maheer were a woman, young men would practically line up from their houses straight to the neighborhood entrance, given the crazy natural charisma and magnetic aura God had blessed him with—which was paired with a notoriously fierce and stubborn personality.
Without pulling his gaze away from his work, speaking in a flat, no-nonsense voice devoid of playfulness or a smile, he asked, "How is my shipment, Nas?"
Nas—the young man who had been addressed—startled out of his deep daydream and study of Maheer. He scratched his head slightly and said, "I spoke to the captain. Tomorrow around 1500 hours, they will arrive at the Lagos port, so by the day after tomorrow, our shipment will be here, I assure you, Escobar!"
Only then did Maheer slowly raise his head, fixing his eyes on Nas while folding his arms across his chest like someone analyzing a situation. Nas smiled and quickly averted his eyes from Maheer's gaze, looking instead at about 40 grams of cocaine packaged on the table next to a small white container holding a tiny amount of the drug. Reaching out, he picked up the small container, opened it, and said, "What about this coke, Pablo? Whose is it?"
He pinched his nose and snorted a line of the cocaine. His body shivered and trembled as he gasped, "Ya Allah!" He closed the container, put it back down, stretched slightly, and said, "Honestly, this coke that arrived from Mexico yesterday is insanely good. I felt it down to the marrow of my bones. I swear it cleared out the cockroaches in my brain; they all started running around as if someone sprayed them with insecticide!" He smiled as he picked up the container again, trying to open it for a second round. Maheer shot him such a fierce, dangerous look that Nas hurriedly closed it, put it down, and said quickly, "I know, I know—you don't get high on duty, Oga!"
"Good," Maheer said with effortless charisma, returning to his work.
Right at that moment, a customized gold iPhone 14 Pro Max lying on the table started ringing loudly. Maheer glanced at the screen, then turned his gaze away and continued working. This prompted Nas—still slightly dizzy from the tiny bit of coke he had snorted—to look at the screen with a faint smile. He looked at Maheer and asked, "So, Boss, when is she coming back?"
Without looking at him, Maheer retorted, "Don't you have her number?"
Nas replied quickly, "Well, the whole empire knows you're her favorite, so I figured she told you."
Still without looking up, Maheer said, "Get up and get out of my office."
Nas pressed on quickly, "Boss is obsessed with you, I swear. You yell at her, imagine you even boss Pablo around like you own the empire—even though I know you guys are business partners now. But she's the one who brought you up just like she brought the rest of us. What's so special about you that she only has eyes and ears for you, despite there being over two hundred men working under her, not to mention external ones trying to win her over?" He spoke while watching Maheer, who acted as though no one was even in the room. Nas averted his gaze again, noticing that the phone was now receiving what must have been its fifth call from the same number saved as Hajiya.
A knock sounded on the door. Maheer raised his head without speaking and pressed a button on his chair, causing the door to open. The club manager stepped inside, dressed in a sharp black suit. Respectfully approaching Maheer, he reported, "Sir, we need XTC (commonly known as Ecstasy or MDMA) and Liquid X (Gamma-hydroxybutyrate or GHB). The previous batches are completely gone; tonight's guest turnout is higher than any other Friday."
Nas chimed in quickly, "Wasn't the last dose of Liquid X brought out today?"
Slowly, Maheer stood up, pushing his chair back. He picked up the Glock 17 Gen 4 pistol lying on the chair, tucked it into the back of his trousers, and began to walk with the regal air and swagger of a king. They quickly followed behind him like royal attendants as he walked out of the office, climbed the stairs, and headed to the upper level housing the club's supply room and kitchen.
He handed two packs of XTC to the manager, saying, "Let me make the Liquid X; I'll be back in 30 minutes."
The manager asked eagerly, "You're going to brew it yourself today, sir?"
Nas smiled. "You're looking at a chemist."
The manager smiled and walked away. Maheer walked into a spacious kitchen—the kind where you instantly knew drugs were concocted. He picked up a black apron, tied it over his clothes, took a pot, and filled it with water. Nas took a seat on a chair, watching Maheer intently. Even if his life depended on it, despite being in the game for a long time, Nas couldn't mix even a basic concoction properly. Maheer... Maheer was a cunning kid, which was why he couldn't blame Boss for being completely obsessed with him. Though they hid it, Nas knew something definite was going on between them; he could swear they were sleeping together because Boss was overly possessive of him. That was why he had never seen Maheer with any other woman in the world, even though he had known Maheer for nearly 30 years. He didn't even talk to women apart from Boss. And the guy was an absolute monster at what he did—the day Maheer left this business, the empire would collapse because the business would die, or maybe that was why Boss cherished him so much. Maheer was the business, and the business was Maheer. It wasn't for nothing he was nicknamed PABLO ESCOBAR—the biggest drug lord in history. He could boldly say that anywhere he went right now, the biggest drug lord in the entire African continent was Maheer, the Escobar of Africa!
While lost in thought, his phone rang. Quickly reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled it out. Seeing Boss on the screen, he hurried to look at Maheer, whose focus was entirely on what he was brewing on the stove. Nas brought the phone to his ear with utmost respect and said, "Long life to you, Boss—our Hajia, our mother, and our shield."
He paused for a moment, listening to the person on the other end, then looked up and said, "Yes, I'm right here with him; he's mixing Liquid X in the kitchen." He paused, listening further, then stood up and walked into the kitchen, holding the phone out to Maheer. "Here, she wants to talk to you."
Maheer looked at the phone with utter disdain, as if speaking to her was a painful chore. "Who is it?" he asked flatly.
With a mocking, incredulous smile, Nas replied, "It's Boss, Oga. She called. It's Hajiya."
Displaying his characteristic arrogance, Maheer turned his face away and continued stirring the substance over the fire. Nas's jaw dropped as he stared at Maheer. After letting nearly a minute pass in sheer disrespect, Maheer muttered, "Tell her I'm busy."
Nas brought the phone back to his ear. "Boss, you heard him, right?" He paused again, then said, "Okay." He pulled the phone away, hit the speakerphone button, and said, "Boss, the phone is on speaker."
The voice of a young-sounding woman—probably around 45 to 46 years old, mature yet commanding—spoke authoritatively, "Naseer, put the phone down and get out. I want to talk to him alone."
Nas hurriedly rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, Boss," with forced respect. He placed the phone on a nearby table, turned, and walked out of the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind him.
About a minute after he left, the woman let out a slow, heavy sigh. In a deeply pleading, soothing tone, she said, "Pablo, do you want to drive me crazy? Why are you so wicked? Ever since I left the city, you've been ignoring me. You won't answer my WhatsApp messages, text messages, or calls. Why are you making things so hard for me, huh? You brush me off and embarrass me in front of Nas—do you want him to disrespect me the way you do just because you know all my secrets?"
She paused, drawing a shaky breath as she realized he still hadn't said anything, though she knew he was listening. As if driven to the brink of madness—her tone revealing deep, agonizing pain—she cried out, "What on earth did I do to you that you keep icing me out? Because of my worry for you, I couldn't find peace even when I went to Las Vegas; I couldn't focus on finalizing the deal with El Chapo. Maheer!"
She called his name with such intensity that he finally stopped stirring the pot. For the first time, he looked at the phone without saying a word.
Pleading as if on the verge of tears, she said, "I am your Mami! Have I ever offended you since the day I took you in? Have I ever denied you anything you asked for? Everything I own and my entire life are in your hands; there is nothing about me you don't know. I love you so much, my baby. Please, forgive me, stop being angry with me—I swear my heart is going to burst, Mahee—"
She broke down into loud, heavy sobs. Maheer hated seeing anyone cry; it drained the life out of him. Slowly, he reached out, turned off the gas, walked over to the tap to wash his hands thoroughly, and returned to stand in front of the phone. Staring at it and listening to her raw weeping, he snapped impatiently, "I hate crying!"
Through her tears, the woman quickly responded, "Well, you refuse to talk to me, that's why I'm crying!"
As if reluctant to speak at all, he said with supreme authority, "What am I doing right now?"
A faint, audible sound of a smile broke through her tears. "You stubborn young boy, may God guide you. Because I told you I'm coming back so we can get married, that's why you're throwing this tantrum."
He remained silent, as if words were too much effort, continuing to pour the liquid into some fancy bottles. Having completely finished the task, he turned to face the phone and said calmly, "I hate marriage because it's nonsense, and you know that."
Hajiya immediately protested, "Of course, I know that better than anyone! But I want you to understand something: don't let what your parents did make you hate marriage altogether. I love you, Maheer. I've loved you since you were a tiny boy, you know that. I raised you with love. Your love is what made me refuse to marry, even though many prominent men sought my hand—I chose to nurture you until you grew up to become who you are today. I know you'll never want anyone else; that thought doesn't cross my mind because I know who you are, Maheer. I groomed you to become what you are today. I know you inside and out, and I just want you to be my husband. My name should be linked to yours forever. I want to bear your child—even though I'm past menopause now, we can go see a doctor in Dubai, he knows what to do. Please, Maheer, help me. I don't want to die without leaving a prayer warrior behind in this world. I want to give birth to a son or daughter with your blood running through their veins. This is my only wish."
He let out a loud, sharp hiss. Conversations like this deeply sickened his soul. In a flat, cold tone, he declared, "This will be the last time I will say this to you, Maryam!"
He called her directly by her first name, making her heart skip a beat.
Slowly, he added, "I will never get married! And I don't want children! In fact, I hate babies, I hate children. If you bring up another topic like this, you can call, but for now, go take some fresh air."
Without hanging up, leaving her on the line as she called out "Hello, hello," he ripped off his apron, dropped it on the floor, and walked out the door.
As he stepped out, Nas—who was sitting outside—asked, "Hey, where is my phone?"
Maheer walked past him without even looking his way. Knowing his temperament, Nas simply went back into the kitchen, retrieved his phone from his pocket, picked up the prepared Liquid X, and stepped out to deliver it to the manager, knowing clients were waiting.
✨ KYALKYALIN KAUNA ✨ ✍🏻 M SHAKUR
Chapter 2
Around 4:22, a modest Toyota Camry parked in front of a large house. One look at the architecture told you it was an old-fashioned building that had stood for many years, yet the front gate area was impeccably clean, free of any flaws or dirt.
The car door opened, and a mature, dignified man stepped out calmly. He was dressed in police attire that reflected his composure and seniority; he was likely around 45 years old, looking youthful, fit, serious, and completely devoid of playfulness. From mere appearance, he was clearly one of those strict men.
He shut the car door, locked it, and stood still for a moment, scanning his surroundings—east, west, north, and south—as if analyzing something. Then he calmly pushed open the gate and walked into the compound.
It was a very large compound, and the interior further confirmed its age. It featured a vast courtyard with traditional row-housing rather than modern flats, centered around a massive cashew tree. Sitting alone on a woven mat in the courtyard was a little girl of about 4 to 5 years old. In front of her was a plate of tuwo (swallow food) without any soup. She was staring at the food while crying silently, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her head was uncovered, her natural hair swaying gently in the breeze. She was a dark-beauty, the true picture of a young Fulani girl.
Calmly, the man walked over and stopped right above her mat.
Sniffling, the little girl looked up at the shiny, polished toe-caps of his shoes. Slowly raising her gaze to his face, she cried out happily, "Baba!"
She scrambled up instantly, pushed the plate of food aside, and threw her arms around him in a spoiled, affectionate hug.
For the first time, a smile broke across the man's face. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up, and asked, "How is my little girl feeling? How is your health?"
In her childish yet articulate voice, she replied, "I'm healed, Baba!"
He reached out, cupped her chin, and stared into her tear-filled eyes. "Why were you crying?"
She burst into fresh tears, whining, "Baba, I didn't want to eat tuwo. I want to drink yogurt!"
With a soft smile, he bent down, set her down gently, and said, "Go get your cap and let's go buy you some."
With a joyful leap, she dashed into one of the rooms. He watched her with a faint smile. Barely a second later, she emerged holding a small hijab, holding it out for him to take. He knelt, helped her put it on, and said, "You're the only one who skipped Islamic school today. God willing, tomorrow you'll go since you're feeling better."
As he finished dressing her, he picked her up and turned to leave. At that exact moment, a woman—whom anyone could tell at a glance was the child's mother due to their striking resemblance—peeped out from the kitchen. Seeing them leaving, she smiled and turned back to an elderly woman busy stirring tuwo in a massive, family-sized number-five pot meant for grand celebrations.
The mother laughed and said, "I bet her father is taking that troublesome little girl out again."
The elderly woman chuckled. "You said it, Yaya! Ever since Nana had that mild fever, none of us have known peace in this house. May God spare our lives till tomorrow—if you guys don't force her to school, I'm going to take her there myself because she gives us no breathing space. Such a troublesome child, carrying her father's exact stubborn personality!"
They both laughed. The elderly woman, addressed as Yaya, asked, "Did you call Yasmeen again? You know very well that if her father finds out she hasn't returned home yet—let alone gone to Islamic school today—you'll be the one facing his wrath, Ammi."
Ammi, the mother, made a slight face of annoyance. "I called and called, but she didn't pick up. I'm sure she's on her way; maybe something delayed her. Why would he flare up at me? He himself was the one who dropped her off at his friend's wife's place to learn cooking, yet he'll turn around and yell at me just because she's running late!"
Yaya dropped her jaw, staring at Ammi in disbelief. "Oh, without a doubt! Just listen to yourself, Ammi, as if you don't know your own husband when it comes to these children of his. A man who stands so firmly over his kids—even you, their mother, have no right to pretend you know better than him about them. Call her again! I swear, if he starts his police-style fury today, I am staying completely out of it. I won't even peek outside or open my mouth to beg for you. And as for Hajjo, she won't be back from the naming ceremony anytime soon; she knows very well that Malam and her husband will be returning from the market right about now, right?"
Ammi, who had pulled out her phone to dial the number saved as Yasmeen, replied, "You'll see Hajjo any minute now. When we checked on her place earlier today, didn't she say she'd be back by Asr?" She put the phone to her ear; it rang repeatedly, but still, there was no answer. Looking distressed, she said, "I swear she's still not picking up."
Yaya clicked her tongue. "Just send those bowls over here so we can pack up this tuwo and I can head inside."
Ammi passed the bowls, packed the food, and carried them out to place them on the mat just as the gate opened. She raised her head to see her husband entering, carrying little Nana in one arm while she clutched a bottle of Habib yogurt.
✨ KYALKYALIN KAUNA — COMPLETE ✨
Summary
This excerpt from M Shakur's Hausa novel Kyalkyalin Kauna introduces a stark contrast between two distinct worlds. Chapter 1 drops the reader into the dark, luxurious, and illicit underworld of Abuja's elite nightlife, centered around Maheer (dubbed "Pablo Escobar of Africa"), a ruthless, charismatic drug lord who runs a high-end club and international drug ring. Despite his immense power, he faces relentless pressure from his older lover/partner ("Boss" or Hajiya), who desperately wants to marry him and have his child, a proposal Maheer coldly and flatly rejects because of his deep-seated hatred for marriage and children. Chapter 2 shifts to a contrasting domestic scene, introducing a strict police officer father who shows a tender, softer side toward his young, playful daughter Nana, while highlighting family tensions regarding his other daughter, Yasmeen, and traditional home life.
Description
The narrative style is rich, immersive, and character-driven, blending modern urban grit with traditional Nigerian household dynamics. It paints vivid psychological portraits of its subjects: Maheer is depicted as an ice-cold, hyper-attractive anti-hero trapped by his own criminal empire and the suffocating demands of an older woman, while the secondary scenes ground the story in familiar familial warmth, strict parenting, and household chatter.
Analytics
- Character Dynamics: Maheer exhibits classic sociopathic or hyper-guarded traits—detachment, high competence, physical allure, and total emotional unavailability—while Hajiya displays obsessive codependency. On the flip side, the domestic scenes introduce structured authority balanced with parental affection.
- Pacing & Tone: The transition from a chaotic, drug-fueled underground club scene to a tranquil, routine-bound family home creates dramatic irony and highlights the multi-layered scope of the novel.
- Thematic Contrast: High-stakes crime, wealth, and moral decay versus traditional family structures, discipline, and modest living.
Comments
- The author, M Shakur, is well-known for writing intense, emotionally layered romances intertwined with gritty underworld elements (mafia/drug lord tropes).
- The character of Maheer "Pablo" stands out as a quintessential dark romance archetype—uncompromising, feared, yet irresistibly magnetic to those around him.
- The dialogue flows naturally in a mixture of conversational Hausa-English style common in modern Nigerian contemporary fiction, making the interactions feel authentic to urban youth and elite culture.
Conclusions
The excerpt successfully establishes the high-stakes atmosphere and core psychological conflicts of Kyalkyalin Kauna. It hooks the reader through tension—both the dangerous criminal-romantic entanglement surrounding Maheer and the impending domestic clash waiting at home regarding Yasmeen's late arrival. It lays a solid foundation for a dramatic romance dealing with power, emotional trauma, control, and clashing lifestyles.
