Sexxies House Book Compeleted

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Part 1: Jidderh's Captivity

Darkness completely engulfed her room from every corner, leaving her unable to see even the palms of her hands, let alone her sides or the distance between her and the wall where she hoped to press her back for a little comfort and relief from the gnawing pangs of hunger tearing at her stomach.

She could neither move forward nor backward, sitting motionless in the dark room. Ever since her feet entered it, she had known nothing but disaster and trauma. She clutched her stomach and winced, feeling as though a mortar and pestle were pounding inside her due to the intense hunger dominating her. Her last meal had been the stale tuwo they threw at her the previous night, which hadn't even amounted to five full bites before running out.

Crouched in one spot with her hands pressed against her stomach, she shivered from the cold as if she had been bathed in ice during winter.

She crawled and felt her way along the wall, leaning against it while breathing heavily with weakness and exhaustion. Unfortunately, it offered no relief from the hunger and torment plaguing her. Clutching her stomach as hunger ravaged her, she recalled that since they threw her into the room, they had brought her food only three times: the stale tuwo yesterday, four pieces of akara thrown at her the day before yesterday morning, and in the evening, a lump of plain rice without any stew or even pepper.

She knew they were intentionally starving and torturing her because she refused to give them her family's phone number. She had sworn that if they required ransom to release her, she would prefer death over paying the ransom they demanded.

The tragedy and annoyance of it was that kidnapping had become a common occurrence in this era. You hear of this person being abducted here and that person taken there—it is neither pleasant to hear nor see. People are bartered for ransom like tomatoes and peppers; it feels like a fairy tale.

The most frustrating part was knowing that someone close to them must have colluded to orchestrate this betrayal. Otherwise, how would these criminals know about her when she barely even went out? Though in her case, it wasn't the fault of an "informer"; she just happened to cross paths with kidnappers on the highway, which was why they didn't have her family's home address either. Yet, despite the daily torture of hunger and beatings, she stubbornly refused to give them the phone number.

She burst into tears from the agony she endured, though no sound came out. "Oh me, Jidderh... Yaa Imran, Ammi, Abbi, Islam... Where are you? Come and rescue me! Come and save me from this plight in the hands of these oppressors." She lay down on the cold floor, breathing heavily with difficulty, her stomach sunken and flattened as if fused to her spine.

Suddenly, without warning, the room flooded with light. A sharp pain stabbed her eyes as the sudden brightness pierced her vision, which had grown accustomed to absolute darkness. She quickly covered her eyes with a small gasp, turning her head and placing her hand over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding glare that caused a stinging sensation.

At the same time, she felt dizzy as the room became completely visible in the intense light. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the brightness, and she raised her head to look ahead. She gave a violent, startled jump upon seeing a man sitting on a chair. She hadn't seen him enter nor heard any sound of his approach, which made his presence a complete surprise, especially since his face was covered with a mask so that only his eyes were visible.

Clasping her hands together in a pleading gesture while shedding tears, she said, "Please return me to my family, fear God, what you are doing is injustice."

The man nodded and said, "Alright, no problem, give us their number so we can tell them where to drop you."

She was traumatized, but not so confused that she couldn't read between the lines. As soon as he finished speaking, she understood what he was driving at; she felt deeply that he wanted the number specifically to call and demand ransom.

"How much are you going to ask for my ransom?" she asked, studying the man, who was tall and heavily built.

Straight to the point, he replied, "Two hundred million, because even by looking at you, you don't look like the child of poor people."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips against her will. Two hundred million? Not even all their relatives combined could raise that kind of money. Therefore, she would not give the number; she would not add any more burdens to Abbi, who was already suffering. She knew that ever since he returned to Nigeria, his mind had been ill at ease, and she would not add the stress of trying to raise an impossible sum.

She burst into laughter, saying, "Don't bother yourself. This Jiddar standing before you is just a child of koko and akara. I only wear the clothes of the rich, but my father is an utterly poor man. Even affording daily prayers is a struggle for us."

He stared at her intently and said, "Oh really? What about those expensive clothes you were wearing, then?" She replied, "They were given to me as cast-offs from the house where my mother washes clothes."

He burst into laughter and said, "You are lying. Even your father isn't as poor as we assume, and you definitely didn't come from a poor home." He barked a command at her, "Give us your parents' number so we can state your ransom!"

She shook her head like a lizard, repeating, "No, I will not give you anyone's number. You might as well just kill me."

He shook his head and said, "It seems you haven't learned your lesson yet, but I am certain that what will happen to you in the future will force you to give us the number, to the point where you will be crying and begging us to take the number and call them so your ransom is paid and you escape this misery."

He stood up and walked toward her. The way his eyes roamed over her chest made her heart flutter with dread. She curled into a ball, shivering from the cold. He grabbed her hands, shoved them behind her, and buried his face in the crook of her neck, letting out a vile growl.

She tried her utmost best, but could not free herself from his grip. Weeping, she recited every prayer that came to mind at that moment of supreme violation and extreme injustice.

Right at that exact second, a miracle occurred. He tried his absolute best, but his manhood failed to rise. Even when he pulled it out and shook it, it refused to rise. Furious, he stood up from beside her, shoved her roughly to the side, and stormed out in a rage.

She let out a sigh of relief, whispering, "Alhamdulillah, Allah, You are worthy of praise. Thank God for this rescue You brought me."

Part 2: Rumana's World

Slowly, they emerged from the massive shopping mall, he holding her hand, telling stories and smiling. However, her attention was completely elsewhere—fixed on the Samsung Fold phone in her hand. Noticing this, he took the phone from her, asking, "Rumana, what are you looking at while I am talking to you and your attention is not on me?"

She reached out to take the phone back, but he pulled it behind his back and stared at her, saying, "Tell me what you're looking at inside it first."

She smiled and replied, "I'm reading a book by my favorite writer, Aysher Angel."

He tapped his head and said, "Gosh! I forgot something. Wait for me at the car, I'll be right back." She nodded and said, "Alright."

She reached out for her phone again, but he pinched her nose, stuck his tongue out in a mock tease, and turned back toward the shopping mall without returning the phone.

She walked gracefully toward the parking lot. She was very fair—her yellow-toned skin practically glowing due to her light complexion. She wore an umbrella-cut lace gown, her head neatly wrapped in a matching scarf styled to perfection, with a shawl draped over her shoulder and gold jewelry adorning her neck and wrists.

She turned and looked back at him with a smile on her face. Ever since their father passed away, Yaya Junaid had never let her feel the pain of loss; he had stepped into their father's shoes, providing luxuries she never even enjoyed during Abba's lifetime. If only all older brothers treated their younger sisters this way after losing a father, it would surely ease a great fraction of the pain.

Part 3: The Reunion Gone Wrong

"Imran, stop stressing yourself. In sha Allah, Jidderh will be found in good health," Ahmad said as he drove through the bustling, traffic-filled street.

The man called Imran turned to look at his friend, his face etched with profound distress. "Ahmad, you have to understand why I am worried. It has been three days without a single trace of Jidderh. The disappearance of a young, unmarried girl in this era is sheer trauma, especially for her parents and siblings. All we pray for is that Allah protects her dignity, shields her, and brings her back to us safe and sound."

Ahmad replied, "Amin."

Imran continued, "You must understand my anxiety. Ever since this happened, Ammi has been crying constantly. Abbi tries to put up a brave face, but one glance at him lets you know he is in deep agony and confusion. To cut a long story short, no one's mind is at peace in our house." As he spoke, his eyes scanned the street outside, peering intently at passing pedestrians in hopes of spotting Jidderh.

Just as they rounded a corner, his eyes landed on a figure, and his heartbeat practically stopped for a moment. He looked, looked again, and even pinched himself to verify if his eyes were deceiving him. Without a doubt, it was her—it was Jidderh! He stopped speaking abruptly upon catching sight of Rumana.

"Jidderh!!!!" he shouted urgently.

Ahmad looked at where he was staring and said, "By Allah, it is her." He pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked. Before the car was even properly parked, Imran burst out of the door, hurried over to her at a fast pace, pulled her into an embrace, and let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Jidderh! Alhamdulillah, we have found you. Allah is worthy of all praise!"

At that exact moment, anger, disgust, and annoyance filled Rumana's heart. Who did this wretched person think he was to just walk up and hug her like that?

Furious, she pushed him away, gave him a contemptuous look, and snapped, "Hey Mister, what kind of madness and disrespect is this? Are you shameless, or has sheer foolishness clouded your senses so much that you can't recognize people?"

Imran didn't care about her harsh words; the sheer joy of finding her filled his heart. He grabbed her hand, saying, "Jidderh!"

Rumana shot him a scathing glare of utter annoyance, yanked her hand away, and declared, "I am not Jidderh. This is Rumana!"

He shook his head, saying, "Jidderh, I am not playing games with you. Let's go home," finishing with a stern voice.

He added, "Our parents are worried. Ammi and Abbi are in profound distress over your disappearance."

In her mind, she thought, "God forbid." Outwardly, she scowled and said, "I told you my name is not Jidderh, and I don't know you. So move along and give me some space before I gather a crowd and make a scene!"

She was already regretting her decision to let their security detail ghost them and go out alone. If they had come with their security detail, this low-class commoner wouldn't even have dared to approach her car, let alone touch her body.

For the first time, he barked a stern warning: "Jidderh!!!" he shouted her name forcefully.

She stepped back quickly; she hated being yelled at. She hadn't grown up in a home where people shouted at her. By now, the situation was beginning to scare her. She looked around hoping to spot Junaid, but alas, there was no sign of him.

With a trembling voice, she said, "Mister, I don't know you. I have never seen you before. The name you are calling me is not my name. My name is Rumana, I'm not Jidderh."

He didn't listen to her, fully convinced that perhaps her captors had done something to her psychological state—how else could Jidderh fail to recognize him? He grabbed her hand, pleading, "Jidderh, did something happen to you that made you forget your older brother Imran? Come, let's go home. Our parents are in distress and worry. Ever since you went missing, our family has been in turmoil. Ammi has been crying, and Abbi cannot find peace."

Infuriated by his grip on her hand, she yanked it away, delivered a sharp slap across his cheek, and looked at him with utter contempt and mockery. "Are you insane?! Is this some sort of prank?! I told you and I repeat, my name is not Jidderh, my name is Rumana, and I don't know you!"

Imran clutched his cheek, staring at her in shock. Ahmad's eyes went wide—this was a serious matter! Jidderh, who wouldn't even look anyone in the eye when speaking, had just slapped her older brother Imran!

Rumana turned to Ahmad and said, "Hey Mister, grab your friend and get out of here before I make people give him a severe beating for this nonsense he's pulling on me!"

However, Ahmad's response only added to her frustration, as he casually stated, "Jidderh, don't do that."

At a loss for words, she clapped her hands together, letting out a mocking laugh. It all felt like a stage play or a fairy tale, experiencing such bizarre absurdity in this place. "The wonders of God," she muttered. "Me, Rumana, experiencing this nonsense here. It seems both of you have lost your minds!"

Imran barked a second warning: "Jidderh!!!!" Without another word, he grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the car parked by the roadside.

She tried her utmost, but could not free her hand from his firm grip. Her eyes widened, her heart dropping into her stomach: What was happening to her? She had heard stories of kidnappings—could it be that it had finally happened to her? Could she have been tracked all the way from Kaduna to Katsina and snatched?

She screamed at the top of her lungs, "Let me go!" struggling to pull her hand from his grip. But it wasn't a playful hold, and the strength disparity was clear.

Imran looked at her with concern. "Jidderh, I am not going to harm you. I am taking you home to our parents."

Furious, she screamed at him, "Let me go, or I will draw a crowd and scream 'thief! kidnappers!'" He kept walking as if he hadn't heard a word.

Realizing he was serious, she braced herself and shrieked at the top of her voice, drawing the attention of passersby. A crowd gathered around them. Seeing this, she burst into tears and explained to the onlookers: "I don't know him! He came up calling me Jidderh and saying all sorts of things..."

Imran cut her off: "She is lying. She is my younger sister. Today makes it three days since she went missing from home."

She was speechless at how brazenly lies and a web of conspiracies were being spun right in front of her. When had she ever shared bloodlines with this person? And why on earth would she share a bloodline with a wretched poor person? The most painful and aggravating part was that he spoke these absolute lies with complete conviction.

Before she could finish her thoughts, an elderly man's voice pierced her ears: "You don't even need to swear; anyone who looks at you and looks at her will confirm she is your blood." A young man nearby echoed, "That's true, absolutely."

She screamed, "I told you I am not her! I don't know him! What kind of madness has possessed you all to link me to this poor, destitute person? Why are you doing this to me? Or have you all conspired to plot a scheme to harm me? Well, whatever your game is, let me tell you that you will fail because your plot won't work!" Pointing at Imran, she shouted, "Neither I nor this person have any relationship, near or far! How could I ever be related to this lowly pauper? Just look at him and look at me—even our clothes show the difference!"

A man in the crowd advised, "Young lady, take life easy. Go with your brother. Young man, take her home."

She felt like screaming her lungs out. "I told you he is not my brother, I don't know him!" The man replied, "Such is life. May God reform our youth."

Realizing the reality of the situation, she crossed her arms over her chest and arrogantly declared, "I am not going anywhere." Ahmad urged, "Please help us, by Allah she is his younger sister."

She clutched her head in frustration and annoyance, realizing no one in the crowd understood her. Furthermore, seeing Imran showing people her photos left her completely lost for words.

Feeling Imran attempt to hoist her over his shoulder, she protested and fought back, hitting him with all her might, but it was useless—he didn't even budge.

Realizing they were about to bodily toss her into the car, she stopped struggling and said, "Fine, stop! Hold on. Lies may sprout, but they bear no fruit. I know you're lying, but let's go to your house. When your family looks at me and sees I am not her, they will be forced to make you bring me back. If your own head isn't screwed on right, I hope their heads are at least securely attached so they can tell the difference between a bean and a seed, and make you return me. Because I am 100% sure my name is not Jidderh; my name is Rumana, and I don't know you!"

He grabbed her hand; she yanked it away, giving him a look of utter disdain. "Don't you ever dare put that filthy hand on my body again, not even in your dreams! Aside from sheer madness and foolishness, how could you look at me—a child of luxury who grew up in wealth and comfort—and call me your sister? What do a bicycle and an airplane have in common? We don't even share a ten-kobo connection! But let's go to your family so they can force you to return me."

He walked ahead, and she followed behind, with Ahmad trailing them. Imran opened the back door of the car, and she climbed in while he and Ahmad sat in the front. Hearing Imran make a phone call announcing happily that he had found Jidderh, she hissed in disgust and muttered, "Save your breath and swallow that joy, because this isn't Jidderh, this is Rumana."

Neither Imran nor Ahmad uttered a word in response, despite hearing her clearly. They excused her behavior, assuming something traumatic must have happened to her that caused memory loss.

They stopped in front of a modest house. Imran drove into the compound after honking for the security guard to swing the gate open. Despite the house being of a decent size, she looked at it like a chicken coop compared to where she came from. The gulf between their family mansion and this house was massive—they were in entirely different leagues.

Imran turned back with a smile and said, "Welcome home." She scowled, giving him a disdainful look, and said, "I told you my name is not Jidderh." Frustration choking her, she snapped at him, "Don't you dare call me by that name again. Damn it, what kind of absurdity is this? I am telling you the truth, but you close your eyes and follow lies and selfishness just to torture me. Why do some people have such deep issues? The plain truth is right in front of them, yet because of ego and clout-chasing, they back up lies for fame!" She finished her rant with a loud yell, but he acted as though he hadn't heard a thing.

Ahmad, finishing up his phone call, said, "Our Hajjiyah called." Imran popped open the car door, stepping out while saying, "Greet her for me." Ahmad replied, "She'll hear it. Jidderh, shall I step inside?"

Rumana snapped at him before she could stop herself: "Don't you dare call me by a name that isn't mine, damn it!"

Ahmad smiled and said, "Jidderh, today I'm the target of your sass, but no matter—when I come back, I'll cross-examine you and you'll get what's coming to you."

That remark deeply offended her, especially the part about her getting put in her place. She scowled and said, "Careful, poor boy, you are playing a dangerous game. You and you alone know that calling me Jidderh is a flat-out lie. Who is Jidderh? My name is Rumana, and very soon—not later—you are going to take me back to where you abducted me from. And let me warn you clearly: don't you dare move this junk of a car from this spot until you return me to where you kidnapped me!"

Ahmad stared at her like an owl, filled with shock and amazement. Since when had Jidderh transformed into someone who could fling such direct insults at him? The girl who couldn't even raise her eyes to look a man in the face due to pure modesty and upbringing was now shouting at him, calling him poor, and referring to his prized car as junk! And speaking of calling him poor—if he was poor, then she was the child of paupers too, since her father wasn't richer than his!

Imran opened her door, and she stepped out, sizing up the courtyard with a sneering lip curl. In her mind, she thought: "A house you'd call a boys' quarters, and yet they act like they have money..."

2. Summary

The narrative juxtaposes two contrasting realities. In the first plotline, a young woman named Jidderh is trapped in a dark, harrowing captivity by brutal kidnappers who are starving and physically abusing her to extort a 200 million naira ransom from her impoverished family. Despite her suffering, she fiercely refuses to give them her family's contact information to protect her loved ones from further distress, ultimately experiencing a strange miraculous escape when her tormentor's assault mysteriously fails.

In the second plotline, a wealthy, pampered young woman named Rumana—who lives a life of extreme luxury following her father's death, cared for by her doting brother Junaid—is out shopping. Meanwhile, an anxious young man named Imran and his friend Ahmad are frantically searching for Jidderh, who has been missing for three days. By sheer coincidence, Imran spots Rumana on the street and mistakes her for the missing Jidderh due to their striking resemblance. Despite Rumana's furious denials, slaps, insults, and insistence that she is Rumana and comes from a wealthy background, Imran drags her back to his family home, convinced she is simply suffering from trauma-induced memory loss, while Rumana remains trapped in utter disbelief and indignation over being mistaken for a poor man's missing sister.

3. Description

• Setting: The story shifts dynamically between two starkly contrasting environments: a pitch-black, squalid, and terrifying kidnappers' den in northern Nigeria, and a bustling, modern urban streetscape containing a luxury shopping mall, transitioning into a modest suburban family home.
• Tone: Intense, dramatic, tense, and frustratingly ironic, characterized by themes of abduction, class disparity, psychological confusion, and mistaken identity.
• Atmosphere: Heavy with physical suffering and emotional trauma in the captivity scenes, shifting to chaotic, high-stakes confusion and sharp verbal sparring during the street encounter.

4. Analytics

5. Comments

• Pacing and Tension: The author does an exceptional job building visceral tension—first through sensory descriptions of hunger and captivity, and later through comedic yet high-stakes dramatic friction when Rumana aggressively resists being "rescued."
• Character Voice: Rumana’s sharp, indignant dialogue provides a striking counterpoint to Imran’s desperate, tunnel-visioned determination. Her refusal to back down, coupled with her class-conscious insults ("poor boy," "junk car"), injects sharp personality into the narrative.
• Social Commentary: The text weaves poignant commentary regarding the alarming normalization of kidnapping and ransom economies in modern Nigerian society, grounding the fiction in harsh contemporary realities.

6. Conclusions

This excerpt acts as a compelling setup for a classic mistaken-identity or psychological swap/doppelgänger trope within Hausa popular fiction. By intertwining the tragic plight of the real captive (Jidderh) with the arrogant denial of the wealthy lookalike (Rumana), the author sets up an intricate puzzle. The resolution of how Imran and his family will reconcile Rumana's fierce rejection with her uncanny physical resemblance to their missing sister promises high emotional drama and narrative twists in subsequent chapters.

Follow-up Question: Would you like me to translate subsequent chapters of this story or provide a character breakdown for Imran and Rumana?