By Fatihu Ibrahim
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.
I don’t know where to start. I am literally in tears. I still cannot fathom the reality and fragility of life.
Huzaifa is no more. Ya Allah! 😭
I can’t remember the exact first day I met Huzaifa, but I remember seeing him from afar during our 100 Level days. He was just a normal classmate to me then. We weren’t particularly close.
We started getting closer in 200 Level through Abdul Aziz Ahmad Malam Boy, our mutual friend.
We were in the same room in 200 Level, Room 64, the last room in Area One Hostel. Our room was right beside the hostel mosque, and we always joked about being “Baƙin Allah” (Allah’s guests) because we lived right beside the mosque.
Huzaifa lived across the hall, about five or six rooms away from ours. If I remember correctly, he was Malam Umar Sale’s roommate in the Department of Animal Science. They used to visit our room frequently, and since almost all of us were classmates, there were four Agriculture students in the room. Our room eventually became a mini headquarters where we studied, played and spent time together.
Huzaifa was a very calm and reserved person.
Most times, we would get caught up in some banter, and I would use my naturally superior talkative nature to bash Huzee in an argument. Even when he clearly had the better point, he would simply nod, smile and say:
“Fatihu, kai ko…? Ba a cinka da zance.”
I would laugh in triumph and respond:
“Dama na faɗa maka.”
Those little moments are memories I never knew I would one day desperately wish I could have again.
Huzee loved his family more than anything.
I have never met most of his siblings, except his sister, but somehow I knew all their stories. You could hardly spend an hour talking with Huzee without hearing about his younger brother, Sauban.
“Sauban did this… Sauban did that…”
Ya Allah.
I cannot even begin to imagine what Sauban is feeling right now.
I remember one day when we left Wudil together in the company of friends. As we reached Kano Line, Yahaya Rabi’u Abdullahi (Kundaz), in his usual banter, was trying to piss Huzee off.
His immediate younger sister, Khadija, if I remember correctly, came to welcome him and greeted us. Kundaz, just to provoke him, told Huzee point-blank that he loved his sister.
Huzee simply smiled and said:
“Zan ba ka number ɗinta.”
Whenever Kundaz wanted to tease him afterwards, he would ask:
“Kai, ina budurwata?”
And Huzee would just smile and say:
“Tana nan lafiya.”
That was Huzee. Calm, reserved and patient. Even when we were joking with him, he rarely got angry.
When he decided to venture into student politics, Malam Boy and I were firmly against it. His Level 2 result, whether it was first or second semester, I can’t remember exactly, was above 4.0, and we didn’t want politics to distract him from his studies.
But Huzee had a way of making you eventually agree with his point. He would calmly explain himself until you found yourself thinking, “Maybe this guy actually has a point.”
And no matter how intense the political rivalry became, Huzee never treated you as an enemy. That was one of the things I admired about him.
I still remember him complaining to me:
“Fatihu, ba ka da mutunci. Kana Gwammaja amma ba ka faɗa min inda kake ba. Rannan na zo wajen Siya-Siya. When I come next, dole mu haɗu.”
I never imagined that one day, those words would become a memory.
Perhaps what makes this loss even more painful is that this is not the first time we have had to say goodbye to someone from our circle.
Years ago, we lost another friend and classmate, Anas Rano. I thought I had somehow learned to live with that pain, but Huzee’s death has brought it all back. It is as though an old wound has suddenly been opened again.
One moment, you are young students sharing classrooms, hostels, jokes, arguments and dreams for the future. You never imagine that some of the people making those memories with you will one day become memories themselves.
Anas. Now Huzee. Maybe tomorrow, me or you. 😭
Ya Allah.
The fragility of this life is frightening.
We make plans, argue, laugh and tease each other. We worry about tomorrow. And then, without warning, someone is gone.
Huzee, I still cannot believe this.
From being a classmate I once only saw from afar to becoming a friend, a brother and a fellow student leader, you became part of a chapter of my life that I will never forget.
You were here.
Now you’re gone.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.
May Allah forgive your shortcomings, have mercy upon you, illuminate and widen your grave, and grant you Jannatul Firdaus.
May Allah forgive Anas Rano too, have mercy upon him and grant him Jannatul Firdaus.
May Allah give Huzee’s parents, Sauban, Khadija, his siblings, his entire family, his friends, the UG15 family, classmates and everyone who loved him the strength to bear this painful loss.
May Allah preserve the rest of us, forgive us before our own time comes, and grant us a beautiful ending.
Adieu, Brother Huzaifa Sabo Usman.
Allah Ya jikanka, Huzee. 😭
Allah Ya jikanka, Anas.
We will never forget you.
Sai mun taho.