By Hafsat Lalo
“I might have just seen my father for the last time,” was the message I sent to my husband on WhatsApp as I sat in the car that was to take my niece, Fatima and me to Kano a day before I travelled to Japan. My husband responded, “Why, nobody knows; life is not in our hands.” I told him that Baba was very old, though he was very strong, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he lived another year. We both prayed for him, leaving the conversation there.
Earlier that morning, I went into Baba’s room to say goodbye. As I entered, I was met with the familiar scent of the room, his unmistakable charisma and the aura that has always surrounded him. I could have sensed his presence even if he were not in that room.
Baba was sitting on the couch wearing a brown jallabiya, having just performed his Fajr prayer. I greeted him; his calm demeanour contrasted with the wave of emotions inside me. He asked, “Kin fito?” (Are you ready to leave?). I nodded. After a brief silence, I said, “Baba, ka yafe min” (Father, please forgive me). Another silence followed, and both of us were lost in our thoughts. I thought about how this might be the last time I saw him. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I am sure he understood what I was implying.
He asked, “A yafe miki?” (Should I forgive you?). I replied affirmatively, almost crying at this point. He said, “Toh Na yafe miki, ki je ki rike karatun Qur’ani da sallah a kan lokaci”. Those were his exact words.
It was no coincidence that he had given me a prayer mat (darduma) as a gift two days earlier. He mentioned he was planning to give me a prayer mat and a Qur’an. He handed me the prayer mat and gave me N2500 to buy the Qur’an, explaining that he had asked for the price and intended to buy it himself but hadn’t had the chance to stop on his way home. It took him a while to locate the money from his pocket. So I told him to leave it since I had money, but he insisted.
At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the significance of the prayer mat and the promise of a Qur’an. They seemed like Baba being Baba – I had received similar gifts from him before. In 2019, my younger sister brought me a prayer mat and Riyadussalihin, which Baba had asked her to give me. I gave out the prayer mat when I was getting married, but I still have the Riyadussalihin. It wasn’t until the day he died, as I was about to pray Asr that I noticed the prayer mat I was about to use was the very one he had given me. The realisation hit me very hard, and I again broke down in tears, sitting there and thinking about that one last encounter. I began to reflect deeply on their meaning. I realised they were no ordinary gifts—they were symbols of his life, the values he held dear, and a message to keep faith at the centre of my life, no matter how far I am from home.
Baba’s love for the Qur’an was unwavering throughout his life. Even as recently as five years ago, he remained a student of the Qur’an despite his age. He would stop at the market with my elder brother to learn the Qur’an. He also had teachers who came to the house in the evenings to teach him. His relentless pursuit of knowledge, even in his later years, was a testament to his humility and passion for learning.
Baba ensured that we all had access to (Western) education, something he was not privileged to have. I remember how he would often call and ask me to translate the news on TV for him. While I was doing it, I would see him looking at me with the pride of a father who was able to give his daughter what he couldn’t have.
As I was overwhelmed by these thoughts, I couldn’t help but think back to the day Baba passed away—a day that started like any other but carried an inexplicable heaviness. I had woken up unusually sad after seeing a picture of Baba at the hospital at around 2:30 am. I couldn’t go back to sleep after. The morning came, but I had no appetite and was in a foul mood. I couldn’t eat.
The hours dragged on, clouded by unease, until that message from Ahmad came: ‘Baba ya rasu.’ When I read it, time seemed to stop, and my body went numb. It wasn’t just the news of Baba’s death; It was the fact that the message brought back the pain of losing my mom. It felt as though I had lost both of my parents all over again, and I cried for the two people who brought me into this world and shaped who I am.
Baba, your death has torn me apart, and the fact that I wasn’t there with you in your final moments will haunt me forever. But I promise to hold on to your final gifts; no matter where life takes me, I will hold on to them. Being your daughter is the second most incredible honour of my life. Thank you for leaving us a good name and a legacy of integrity, Baban Umma. May Allah grant you eternal rest, forgive your shortcomings and grant you the highest rank in Jannah.
He left behind a remarkable family: six wives, three of whom are deceased, 50 children (nine of whom are deceased), 116 grandchildren, and 55 great-grandchildren.
Hafsat Lalo wrote from Japan via hafsahlalo@gmail.com.
Allah ya gafarta mai ya jiqanshi
Ya kuma hada kan yaynshi bisa addinin musulinci 😭🤲🏻
Salam Alaikum…as a muslim we all believe death is inevitable as stated in the qur’an,but a muslim who lived as a muslim according to the guidance of Quran and teachings the prophet Muhammad had indeed lived a good live with full hope of attaining Allah’s mercy inshaa Allah.we would only miss baaba but we are certain of Allah mercy upon his soul inshaa Allah.may the prophet Muhammad intercession reach him.Yanda baba ya riqu ku annabin Rahma ya riqe sa haka.
Allah Ya Jikan Baba Da Rahama Allah Ta Sadashi Da Annabin Rahama.
Allah Ya Albarkaci Zuri’anshi.
Innalillahi wa inna Ilaihi rajiuun!
Ya Allah, forgive his shortcomings and reward baba with the epitome of Jannah.
Accept my heartfelt condolences Hajiya Hafsat.