Zayn Malik Book Compeleted

Description

Original English Translation

He snapped his fingers and turned to leave. His eyes landed on a pretty young lady, and he gave her his usual smile—the kind that meant if he really wanted to, he would break the girl’s heart. He gave her a calculated look and raised one eyebrow. She looked away and tried to walk past, but he blocked her path.

"Are you that man’s daughter?" The way he asked made him look entirely innocent, and she stepped back, deeply hesitant. "I just want to take this opportunity to tell you: You are so cute." My goodness, she completely melted. Then he turned to look at Alhaji Musa Me Gari, warning him while gesturing toward his daughter. After that, she walked away. She slowly followed him with her eyes; no lie, he looked hot and sexy. She walked past like a hypocrite.

He got into the car, letting out a sigh of relief. "Hey, you worthless brat, turn on my Mandula [weed/joint]." "Not in my car!" Brrst Bashir Zayn Malami said with a scowl. "Hm! Just call me jobless." Brrst kept quiet and didn't answer him, knowing it wouldn't be hard for him to just toss him out. That was how they arrived, with him rolling his Mandula until they entered the house.

Right at the threshold of the main parlor, he ran into his father. His father turned on the TV in intense fury. "This is what we have to deal with! Because he is the son of the President’s Chief of Staff, Alhaji AbdulMalik Zain Malami, we can't do anything. If he commits a crime, he has government backing."

"That's just how it goes!" He said, shrugging his shoulders. "Zayn!!" "Yes, Dagus!" A fresh wave of distress engulfed Alhaji AbdulMalik. "But you know what you—" "Abba, it's not his fault; Senator Musa Me Gari is the one who messed everything up," Abul Khair interjected. "Did he bribe you with his mouth too?" He glared at his relative. "Bashir, do you see what this boy is doing to me? Thirty-something years old, no marriage, no job?"

One of Zayn’s habits was that whenever his father lost his temper, even if Zayn was in the right, he would humble himself and keep apologizing. The frequency of his apologies would make you think he wouldn't do it again tomorrow, yet he would still do it and apologize again. "May Allah soothe your heart, Abba." With that, he didn't say another word, right until Hajiya Umma walked in. "Hawa! AbdulMalik, are you eating him up with your politicians' mouths? Right from inside the house, I thought they were talking on the radio, only to find out you've singled out my favorite. Come here, let me give you some protective medicine for your mouth because I wouldn't want you to be consumed by your own talk. I've wandered the world and lost my place of rest!"

She pulled Zayn's hand while casting a dirty look at his father. "Come on, today I am leaving AbdulMalik’s house so I can rest from his nagging about you paying your Zakat [tithe] inside this house!" she said, pulling her nose. "Hajiya, please calm down!" "Am I a chameleon? Even in Islam, I am your mother too. If I lift my breast against you, it will follow you—let alone him, whom I actually gave birth to! Children are supposed to be followed with prayers, not bitter words. Who would say they don't know today's youth? Even if I am old, I know what I am doing. By the way, you darn fool, why didn't you use protection so you wouldn't get some stranger's daughter pregnant?"

"Hajiya Umma—" "Well, I have to ask you, or the master of the house? May Allah have mercy on Mallam [the late father], a good man. You inherited his traits because you have incredible energy! Praise be to Allah, but the pregnancy was aborted, right?" "Hajajju, I didn't even get her pregnant! It's a false accusation planted on me." "Oh, my dear son, or should I say—I know that in the whole town of Kaduna there is no one as godly as you. If parents understood the gift Allah gave you of loving religion and worship, they wouldn't blame you just for wearing shorts."

"Hajiya!" "Yes, Zainu!" "I'm hungry!" "Oh, my dear son, Tabawa!" She screamed for the housemaid. The woman hurried in, waving her hands which were wet from washing. "Hajiya Umma, I'm here." She grabbed her medical glasses, tried to put them on, looked into Tabawa's face, and said, "Mallam wants to eat. What did we have cooked today?" "Hajiya Umma, it's tuwo [swallow] with vegetable soup, but I haven't finished it yet." Softening her tone, she said, "Oh, Tabawa, how long has food been cooking in this house without being finished until now? If I speak up, you'll tell me to be patient." "Please forgive me, wallahi, Muhideen delayed me with chores, that's why I couldn't finish cooking for him."

"Well, may Allah make it right. Tell Talatu—" "Hajjos, leave it, let me go myself. You know I wronged her." "Oh dear son of mine, I've known for a long time that Allah placed a gift of mercy in your heart. That's how children should be; I won't regret the children of this house," she said with frustration. He stood up and walked out, doing a weird, high-jumping hop that had become his natural habit and custom, like someone being flung by an iron magnet.

She watched him with a strange kind of love and pity. There was something she knew that made it a must for her: to love Zayn Malik, to protect him at all costs, to treat him like the shadow of a cloud, and to let him be her happiness when she had lost her own. "Zaynu," she whispered softly.

"Wallahi, Mama, I cannot sit by and watch him destroy this house's dignity! Haba, for goodness' sake, is he the reason happiness left?" "Kulu! I don't want that." He walked into the parlor with a greeting. She looked at him with love and joy at seeing him. He stopped, shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and she stood up and headed toward the kitchen while he slowly paced the parlor. Reaching his daughter, he said to her, "Tell your husband to change his mentor. If he continues stalking Musa Me Gari, wallahi I will break his position." He shrugged and walked into the kitchen. "Good-for-nothing thug!" "I agree. That's why he hid the truth from you and kept a mistress in Kinkinau," he said loud enough for only her to hear. "Zaynnnnn!" He slipped away into the kitchen.

He found her slowly dishing food onto a tray, putting everything in its place. He walked up and rested his head on her shoulder. "Mama!" "Zayn Malik!" she called him. "I'm sorry!" "You didn't right [do right]." "But—" She turned and handed him the tray right as Kulu walked in. "Mama!! Tell him to repeat what he said!" She looked at Zayn and then said to Kulu, "Whatever he says is the truth. My son, say it again." Spoiledly, he told her, "Mama, her husband kept a mistress in Kinkinau, and there's no use in her constantly hanging around this house." She set the tray down and said to Kulu, "Mama, what does she lack? She has two degrees, yet she sits around childless, serving some grown man who hoards young women to do whatever they want with them. Ah, I'm so curious; if uncle Bashir hadn't stopped me, I would have broken that bastard's hip a long time ago."

"Speak in loyalty, man, you're lower than her." He set the food down, picked it up again, and walked out. Mama smiled and said, "Whether he stays inside the house or outside, how can I not love him?" As he went out, he headed to his side of the house. On the veranda leading to his quarters, he heard the voice of Ghali, Basmah’s husband, raising his voice angrily. Mami and everyone else were begging him, but he acted like someone being egged on. "Foolish man, I said she should go do family planning, but she went and got pregnant again! Wallahi, I won't take responsibility for this pregnancy; she can go abort it!" Poor Basmah was crying pathetically. "If she aborts it, call me so we can go back." He stood quietly, knowing his younger sister and Mami weren't fools, but seeing Abba bow his head in submission angered him. He walked over and grabbed Ghali by the collar as if he was going to slam him to the ground. "You bastard, who stopped you from going to get your tubes tied? Like a billy goat, you'd come and stain our father's honor? Who got her pregnant?" "Alhaji Zayn, wallahi it was me! Alhaji Zayn, I swear from today I will obey Allah and follow you." He lowered him, adjusting his shirt collar. He pinched Ghali's nose, turned around, and put his hands on his hips. "Do you see her?" He angrily clenched his fists as if to beat him up. "Because of them, I don't even look at other people's children for fear of doing to them what is done to others! If you know you cannot marry and take care of a family, why start in the first place? My younger sisters feel like my own children on my back, yet you come here and yell at her over this. Mami is begging you and you act like an unruly, giant fool! Let this be the first and last time I see you at our doorstep, or wallahi I will break your legs, you good-for-nothing." "May Allah soothe your heart, wallahi it is finished." Basmah ran to Zayn and hugged him. "Thank you, Yaya." His eyes filled with tears. He pointed a finger at Ghali: "Leave. Tomorrow I will bring her." He pulled her hand to the veranda, sat her down in a resting chair, and placed the food before her. "Yaya!" "Keep quiet and eat." She sniffled into the food, looking at him. Struggling to suppress his emotions, he went into his room, grabbed his Mandula, turned it on, smoked it, and played a song by his idol, Bob Marley. He nodded his head, wishing he had lived in Bob Marley's era so he could have gone all the way to Jamaica. Smoking and swaying to his song titled Stand Up, he nodded continuously as if he had found his true calling.

Over on her veranda, Hajiya Umaima (whom they called Mami) watched him. Even though she hated Zayn, today he had cleared her mind. "That's how he is. He doesn't just protect his friends; he protects his extended family and parents too. Earlier, you were angry because he beat up Alhaji Musa Me Gari, thinking he only opposed you because you want to run for Governor. Now I realize he was guarding something else entirely for her. Look at him now, soaking his head in water over there." Alhaji Uwaisu said, "Yaya, why don't you find him a job? Stopping him from staying in the house all day—nobody likes what he does." Lawyer Bashir looked at him and said, "Yaya Uwaisu, what is his fault? He has a degree in computer science and technology from Boston University in America. It's just that he refuses to work!" "But Khalid is right here, and his wife is having her second child, right Bashir? I personally sent him to the military three years ago, and he was dismissed. Or should I talk to AAM [the President's Chief of Staff] about him? He said his file is still there and suspended; if he wants his job back, he can return. I found him a marriage proposal and he threw it away. What do you want me to do with him? Hajiya, you and Talatu ruined my boy, wallahi!"

"Silence itself is a sign of speech. May Allah grant you patience. If I go to Denmark, should I take him with me? Would that suit you?" said Lawyer Bashir. "The world is lawless, Alhaji. Tell him to return my daughter; I don't trust him anymore, wallahi, he scares me." "Then go pick her up," Alhaji AbdulMalik Zain Malami replied. They were used to this; she always claimed he favored Zayn over her own children, which made her hate Zayn more every day, wishing she could kill him. Hajiya Umma often told her, "When you end your hatred and envy, that is when Allah will show you that He is the One who gives and takes."

Even she herself couldn't point to the exact thing Zayn did to her, but she hated him—with an intense hatred. "Basmah, get up and leave. Don't think that because of what happened to you, you can't be crushed." He closed his eyes, feeling she appealed to him, but nothing she did would ever impress him. Calmly, he continued puffing his Mandula, picked up the tray she finished eating from, and headed into the house after putting out the weed. He set it down by the outside kitchen door and turned to leave when someone called out to him. "Huuuu!" He looked at her before stepping past her. "Ya Zayn, I came because of you." "Did I call you?" he shot a harsh remark at her. "Hmm, Ya Zayn, you know how much I care about you." He paused for a moment before walking away. "Don't you know how much I care about you?" "I'm not an illness for you to worry yourself over!"

"But did you smoke?" He remained silent, already growing tired of her questioning. "No, they're burning fire in my chest, that's why I'm smoking smoke." She looked at him and said, "May Allah give you patience, see you later." He ignored her as she walked away, entered his side of the house, and locked the door. He went into the bathroom, stripped off his clothes, filled the tub with water, and sat in it. After bathing, he got dressed in a stunning new set of clothes, applied perfume, took his car keys, and came out to leave. At the front door, he ran into Abba. He looked away, got into the car, stepped on the gas, and softly listened to the recitation of Sheikh Abdulrahman Gwangola.

A thirty-minute drive brought him to the club. Parking the car, he headed to the entrance, and as he walked in, cheers erupted: "Zayn Malik!!!!!" He waved his hand, walked over, found a seat, and crossed one leg over the other. "Hi Baby!" A short young lady waved at him, wearing a short black gown. The way she walked and swished made it clear she wasn't wearing panties under the dress. He looked away, watching Abul romancing a Christian girl, and focused on his phone.

The girl sat down, wanting to press against his body, but the deadpan look on his face made her lose her nerve. She stood up and left. Slowly, they finished licking each other's faces, and Abul returned to Zayn Malik, high-fiving him. "Are you enjoying the chill?" "Man, chilling is great. She brought herself to me; so is it a crime if I do what she wants...?"

(Excerpt continues into paid book chapters)

Summary

The story revolves around Zayn Malik, the rebellious, charismatic, and controversial son of the President’s Chief of Staff, Alhaji AbdulMalik Zain Malami. Zayn is an unemployed university graduate from Boston who spends his days smoking weed (Mandula), hanging out at clubs, riding around in cars, and wearing shorts, yet he fiercely protects his family, defends his female relatives from abusive or toxic men, and commands a strange mix of household affection and intense rivalry.

While his father constantly laments his joblessness and rebellious lifestyle, his grandmother (Hajiya Umma) and the housemaid (Tabawa) fiercely adore and defend him. The narrative highlights familial tension, political influence, local scandals, street protection, and Zayn's complex psychological depth—balancing a tough, unapologetic thug-like persona with a deeply protective, loyal heart toward those he loves.

Description

• Setting: Kaduna State (Millionaires' Quarters), Nigeria.
• Core Themes: Family dynamics, generational clashes, societal hypocrisy, political corruption, youth rebellion, loyalty, and protection of loved ones.
• Tone: Gritty, dramatic, chaotic, slice-of-life contemporary fiction blended with urban Nigerian slang and domestic politics.

Analytics

• Character Archetype (Zayn Malik): A classic anti-hero archetype—the misunderstood "bad boy" with a golden heart for family and an utter disdain for hypocritical authority. He embodies the classic trope of the educated, disillusioned youth caught between Western influences and traditional northern Nigerian expectations.
• Narrative Structure: Episodic and cinematic. It moves rapidly through scenes: street encounters, tense family arguments in the parlor, physical confrontations with toxic in-laws, and late-night club scenes.
• Thematic Contrast: The juxtaposition between the high-class political status of the father (Chief of Staff) and the chaotic, counter-culture lifestyle of the son creates constant friction, driving the narrative's central conflict.

Comments

• The text captures a very distinct blend of modern northern Nigerian urban subculture (mixing local Hausa dialogue with street slang, references to weed/mandula, family politics, and Islamic background).
• Zayn’s character is polarizing: on one hand, he is rude, dismissive, and engages in vices like smoking; on the other hand, his fierce defense of his sister Basmah against her abusive husband shows a strong code of honor.
• The dialogue flows naturally in a screenplay-like manner, though the shifts in perspective (from domestic disputes to dark occult openings or club scenes) give it a raw, fast-paced serialized fiction feel.

Conclusions

This excerpt serves as an introduction to a serialized romance/drama novel (Zayn Malik by Mai_Dambu). It successfully establishes the protagonist's larger-than-life persona, the deep-seated domestic friction within the Malami household, and the underlying mysteries and scandals that will likely drive the plot forward. Zayn is framed not just as a delinquent son, but as a central pillar of loyalty and chaos around whom the entire family's stability revolves.