Abdalla Uba Adamu

By Muhammad Sulaiman

A New Year’s Day community gathering in Daneji took an unexpected philosophical turn when a sponsor’s closing remarks sparked deep reflection on knowledge stewardship and mortality, Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu has revealed.

The January 1st townhall meeting, organized to honor ten outstanding youth from the Kano neighborhood, became memorable not just for the celebrations but for a pointed challenge issued to the honorees, Professor Adamu recounted in a Facebook post that has drawn significant attention.

The young achievers, recognized for accomplishments spanning Artificial Intelligence, Mathematics, Nursing Sciences, and Qur’anic studies, were urged by event sponsor Alhaji Ahmed Idris to “die empty”—a statement that initially puzzled attendees before its meaning was revealed.

Idris, a prominent community pillar, was invoking Todd Henry’s motivational concept that individuals should pour out their knowledge and talents during their lifetime rather than take untapped potential to the grave. “You enter your grave empty—all the knowledge has been left outside for other people to use,” Professor Adamu explained.

The academic noted that at least three of the honorees hold doctorates or specialized training in Artificial Intelligence, achieved before AI became a consumer phenomenon, while others excelled in diverse fields—showcasing what the community hopes will inspire younger residents.

Writing on his experience, Professor Adamu drew connections between Henry’s secular philosophy and Islamic teachings on amanah—the sacred trust of knowledge. “Discharging your knowledge—sharing it and imparting it on others—is therefore one of the highest acts of Islamic piety,” he wrote, adding that both the Qur’an and Hadith contain warnings against hoarding knowledge.

The professor described the event as a community response to concerns about youth engagement with “consumer communication technology” at the expense of career focus and future planning.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu

I rarely discuss politics, policy, or religion at any level on social media. These three are totally beyond my modest capabilities. However, the Educationist in me stirred when it became news in November 2025 that a bill was being proposed in the Kano State House of Assembly, titled the Kano State Mother Tongue (Hausa Language) Education Enforcement Bill. It was introduced by Musa Kachako, a member representing Takai under the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP). 

The Bill seeks to ensure that all instruction in primary and secondary schools in Kano (presumably those under Local Education Authorities) is conducted in the Hausa language. According to online reports, when presenting the bill during plenary, Kachako stated that the initiative followed global best practices in education, citing countries such as China, Japan, and India, which he noted had made significant strides in science and technology by teaching children in their native languages from an early age. Kano State can do this because Education, being on the Concurrent Legislature, gives room for any policy variation of Education from that of the Federal Government’s Exclusive list. 

Certainly, the idea of teaching all subjects in Hausa springs from a noble intention — to enable children to learn in the language they understand best, and to reaffirm local identity against the long shadow of colonial linguistic domination. I witnessed this during my tenure as a Teaching Practice Supervisor in various schools in Kano. Students tended to understand language lessons more fluidly than those in other languages. And we are talking about over 40 years ago. Along the line, I even came up with how to use Hausa proverbs to teach science, based on over 30 curated Hausa proverbs with scientific content (e.g. gravity in “komai nisan jifa, ƙasa zai dawo”) and trained dozens of teachers in Jigawa (ironically enough, Kano was not interested at the time!) on this much later.   

Yet, the success of such a language policy depends on its contextual intelligence — its ability to strike a balance between local comprehension, national unity, and global relevance. In all cases of such debates, the examples of China, Japan, and India are the most commonly cited as best practices that have worked. With its virtual monolingual Hausa population (perhaps the only State in the Federation with this attribute), elevating Kano as “Little China” certainly sound, albeit contradictorily, post-colonially romantic. This all sounds inspiring. But, without taking the shine off it, how realistic is it?

There is a certain merit to the idea, but only to a certain extent. Research everywhere agrees: children learn faster and think better when taught in their native language. Even UNESCO and Nigeria’s own education policy support this approach for the first few years of primary schooling, where community languages are encouraged, rather than metropolitan languages. Let’s look at some cases.

Ethiopia is perhaps the only country in Africa with a continuous mother-tongue education system. The country did not suffer the horrors of colonisation on the same scale as the rest of Sahelian African countries, as it was only briefly occupied by Italians between 1936 and 1941. It uses regional languages (Amharic, Tigrinya, Oromo, Somali, etc.) as the medium of instruction in primary and secondary education. In universities and higher education, Amharic or English is used depending on the region and field. Thus, Ethiopia’s system is perhaps the closest to continuous mother-tongue instruction, although English dominates technical and postgraduate studies.

In Tanzania, Swahili is the dominant language in primary schools, but English is introduced from secondary schools up to universities, especially in fields such as science, medicine, and law. In Rwanda, the medium of instruction in schools was switched from French to English in 2008, while Kinyarwanda remains the mother tongue in early primary education. In Mozambique, Portuguese dominates in secondary and tertiary education, and local languages such as Makhuwa, Sena, and Tsonga are used in early primary school. 

This pattern is repeated in other African countries, such as Ghana (Twi/Ewe in early schooling, English later), Senegal (local languages in the early years, French later), and Kenya (Kikuyu, Luhya, Dholuo in early schooling, English later). Thus, no colonised African country has fully implemented mother tongue instruction from primary through university, rejecting colonial languages entirely.

In Kano, where everyone speaks Hausa, the policy could genuinely improve comprehension and reduce dropout rates. Pupils won’t have to struggle with English before grasping basic concepts in classrooms. That’s a win. However, there is a catch, and it lies in the regular comparison with China, Japan, and India, as if Kano is a nation, rather than a State within a nation that has 400 languages. Let us look at the language policies of these countries closely.

China has between 281 to 305 languages and dialects. However, it took decades — from the early 1900s to the 1950s — to standardise Mandarin (Putonghua), reform writing, and establish a comprehensive teacher-training and translation system, enabling everyone to be educated in one language. 

Japan is relatively homogeneous, but still has dialect diversity with 16 living languages. Although Japanese is the dominant language of instruction, there is no law declaring it the official language of the country. In fact, a school could use other languages. There are now a few schools that use English to teach science and mathematics classes. Japan created a national standard (based on the Tokyo speech) during the Meiji era (late 1800s) — alongside massive investment in textbooks, printing, and teacher training. India, on the other hand, is multilingual by law — it has 22 official languages and hundreds more in daily use. Each state uses its local language for early schooling, but keeps English for higher education and technology. 

So, what worked for these three was not language alone, but long-term state planning, standardisation, and bilingual balance. Each of these countries went through a long, continuously sustainable process of deliberate policy strategies that ensured the success of their language policies in Education, backed by political stability. In Kano, policies are routinely changed with new regime changes, regardless of their merit. Let us look at the obstacles. 

English remains the principal language of science, technology, and international communication. A policy that sidelines it completely in early and middle education could restrict students’ ability to compete globally and to access higher education resources. Unless a bilingual model is adopted, the system may produce students with strong local literacy but limited global mobility.

Nigeria’s labour market — in public service, academia, commerce, and technology — operates primarily in English. Graduates from a Hausa-only system would face difficulty transitioning into these environments without adequate English proficiency. This could widen inequality rather than close it. Unless there are expectations that students from Kano, who will be the products of this policy, will never work in any Federal government agency in the country. 

Nigeria’s educational bureaucracy is highly centralised. Curriculum design, examination systems (NECO, WAEC), and tertiary entry assessments (JAMB) all operate in English. Switching Hausa to the medium of instruction at primary and secondary levels, without corresponding policy alignment at higher levels, would isolate Hausa-medium students from tertiary education pathways. Thus, despite Education being on the concurrent list, centralised examinations are under the Federal Exclusive list. Kano cannot create its own WAEC, NECO, and JAMB examination boards; it must use Federal agencies for this purpose. These agencies are in Nigeria’s official language, which is English.  

Next would be concerns about teachers. Currently, and without being aware of the timeline for implementing the Bill, if it is passed successfully, there are not enough trained teachers in Kano with adequate linguistic competence to teach science, mathematics, or social studies effectively in Hausa. 

Moreover, curricular materials, textbooks, and terminologies for specialised subjects (such as chemistry, ICT, or physics) are largely underdeveloped in Hausa — except for some pioneering efforts by the Northern Nigerian Publishing Company and NTI Kaduna in the 1980s–1990s, and more recently by a few authors. For instance, the Centre for Research in Nigerian Languages, Translation, and Folklore at Bayero University, Kano, has produced eight Science textbooks in Hausa for students of primary, junior, and senior secondary schools in northern Nigeria. 

Written by Mika’ila Maigari Kashimbila of the Department of Physics, Bayero University, these are Kimiyya Da Fasaha Don Makarantun Firamare Books One to Three, Lissafi Don Kananan Makarantun Sakandare Books One to Three, Kyamistare Don Manyan Makarantun Sakandare, and Fizis (Physics) Don Manyan Makarantun Sakandare. He had earlier written Lissafin Makaratun Sakandare Na 1. 

I was even part of the committee set up by Bayero University Kano to “launch” these books, although things faltered, and I don’t think the launch ever took place. Wonderful as these books and efforts are, I believe they would serve as supplementary readers to the core textbooks, where they help to deconstruct the more esoteric prose of the English textbooks. 

Other concerns are sociological. For instance, making Hausa the exclusive medium in primary and secondary education in Kano risks political backlash from non-Hausa-speaking communities. In a multilingual federation, such a policy could be perceived as linguistic imperialism, deepening ethnic tensions and further alienating minorities. It may also entrench regionalisation rather than national integration — the very problem English was meant to solve.

Additionally, if Hausa becomes the sole instructional language, students from Kano may face difficulties participating in the global economy, digital platforms, and higher education, which remain English-dominated. True, the increasing use of Artificial Intelligence might alleviate some of these fears – but that is not the same as captive learning. A purely Hausa-medium system would require parallel translation of scientific and technological vocabulary to prevent intellectual isolation — a task that even developed monolingual nations struggle with.

On the positive side, a well-planned Hausa-medium system could revive indigenous literacy traditions, encourage the translation of modern science into local epistemologies, and restore pride in local knowledge systems. It could also expand Hausa publishing, radio, and digital content industries — thereby democratizing access to learning for those currently excluded by the dominance of English.

But the devil is in the details. Policy flip-flops reflecting a lack of consistency are the biggest danger. As antecedents have shown, this particular political climate might favour this move, complete with a law backing it. The next political class might very well destroy it simply because it was not its idea. This has always been the central characteristic of Kano politics. 

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu 

Let me start with a context. It happened on June 27, 2024, Gabon’s Show on YouTube.

“Zarmalulu no work” was an expression uttered by TikTok influencer Sayyada Sadiya Haruna, describing the state of her marriage to another TikToker, Abubakar Ibrahim, a Hausa Rapper based in Kano, northern Nigeria, and known by the stage name G-Fresh Alamin. She used the expression during her interview with Hadiza Aliyu Gabon, a Kannywood (Hausa cinema of northern Nigeria) film actress, in an episode of Gabon’s YouTube Show, “Gabon,” on June 27, 2024. Haruna used the expression to inform Gabon and her viewers that G-Fresh was impotent on their wedding night, using ‘Zarmalulu’ as a social code for his non-performing reproductive organ.   

The expression, which quickly became a meme referring to the male sexual organ and its (dis)abilities, became a trending term in Hausaphone social media counterculture, and G-Fresh, usually full of swagger and macho posturing, was highly ridiculed and his swagger deflated, as it were. In this process, Haruna has provided males with an easy way of explaining their erectile dysfunction to either their partners or their healthcare provider in a less embarrassing and amusing way. The use of the term openly reveals a growing vocabulary of erotic neologisms in Hausa social media and reflects the emergence of what I refer to as Hausa digital counterculture.

This media incidence – which received massive views, significantly improving Gabon’s financial standing – reflects one of the fascinating aspects of language development within the context of media anthropology. I am pretty sure that Margaret Mead, the doyen of cultural anthropologists, would have welcomed social media and its potential in studying digital natives. Safer, too. With the increasing creation of conventional and alternative communities on social media, a new discipline has emerged to enable people to study others without the necessity of being in the same physical space and time with them. So, what exactly is “media anthropology”? 

Media anthropology is the ethnographic and critical study of how media—especially digital and social media—are embedded in the cultural, social, political, and economic lives of people. It is a subfield of anthropology that examines how people create, utilise, interpret, and are influenced by media in their daily lives. It blends the traditional ethnographic methods of anthropology—such as participant observation and in-depth interviews—with the analysis of media technologies and content.

My initial focus was on Hausa literature and its transformations – from physical print to online publishing, then to the film industry – encompassing feature films and distribution through tapes, CDs, DVDs, and YouTube series. I then moved on to music, from griot wordsmiths to rap and hip hop. It was all pretty exciting. Then, social media made its entrance and created multiple new entries into the field. 

As a media anthropologist, I immerse myself in communities—both online and offline—to understand how people engage with digital media. For this study, I focused primarily on Facebook as a social network. Hundreds of communities were created on Facebook—mainly by young people—that discuss a wide range of topics, providing a rich source of data concerning youth subcultures and how social networks offer a subversive template for creating new identities and expressions. 

As I swing from one community to another – using Robert Kozinet’s Netnographic methods – I began to notice a new pattern of language usage among young Hausa online digital natives. Then I started gathering new words and expressions that offer alternative meanings to their conventional ones. For the most part, they tended to be innocuous, while hiding a deeper, often darker meaning, and are essentially communicated to ingroup members of the communities. Quite rapidly enough, some of the words began to take on a new urban lexicon on their own. 

A typical example is “capacity,” an innocuous word that means exactly what it says: maximum production or containment. Yet, digital natives have turned it into “kafasiti” to indicate an urban cool, swagger, ability, capability, “arrived”, etc. The word is now used in multiple forms and contexts to refer to attainment of either distinction or class (“Alaji, wallahi an baza kafasiti a bikin nan”). 

But, then, old words have always had new meanings in Hausaphone urban language use. For instance, “shege” is literally a bastard in Hausa, but recontextualised to mean “an expert” or “outstanding.” “Mugu” (bad) became an adjective for extremities (“mugun kyau”, extreme beauty). “Arne” (pagan) transformed into contemporary “bro” (kai arne, yaya dai/yo, bro, wazzup?). “Kwaro” (insect) translates into a tenacious, usually studious person. For southern Nigerians, “Aboki” is an imagined insult referring to any northerner, whether Hausa or not, rather than “friend,” its actual meaning. 

Hausa digital natives utilise the unconventionality of the social media they inhabit to create neologisms that often reflect hidden, dark, or altered meanings, frequently dealing with in-group lexicons. After trawling through various sites and TikTok videos, I was able to gather approximately 35 neologisms and incorporate them into a paper I am still working on. 

Looking at these digital coinages and the transformation of words, I was struck by the fact that many of them refer to bawdy or sexually suggestive language along the entire sexual preference spectrum. They tend to be more common in social networks (e.g., Facebook, WhatsApp, Telegram, Signal), where interactions are mainly conversational, than in visual social media (e.g., TikTok, Instagram). The reason is that visuality often identifies the person easily, and in Kano, an Islamicate state in northern Nigeria, this could lead to prosecution on moral grounds. On social networking sites, users often use aliases instead of their real names. Such anonymity gives them the freedom to express their thoughts and use these neologisms in their correct grammatical sense. The sentences are meaningful only to in-group members, within or outside the online communities. 

Examples include “Malam Zakari da almajirai biyu”, referring to the male reproductive organs. “Kaya” (load, baggage) referring to trophy (girl, money, etc), “tarkon alƙali” (judge’s trap/jailbait) for pedophilic behaviour, royal rumble (orgy) and murfi (cover) referring to lesbian activity.

As I noted, over 70% of the neologisms in my collection were bawdy and sexually slanted. Their creators chose the anonymity of online communities not only to create new coinages but also to perpetuate them, without any fear of social labelling or prosecution. Some of these words will gradually become part of conventional social usage, along with their attendant meanings. There is no stopping them. Their very existence highlights another way social media is influencing our culture, language, and traditions. 

But, what do you think – good, bad, indifferent? Whatever your feeling, what can we do about it? Hausa is not the only language facing this, though. A recent book by Adam Aleksic, Algospeak: How Social Media Is Transforming the Future of Language” (July 15, 2025), reveals the international nature of this phenomenon through “algorithmic speech”. As the blurb indicates:

“From ‘brainrot’ memes and incel slang to the trend of adding ‘-core’ to different influencer aesthetics, the internet has ushered in an unprecedented linguistic upheaval. We’re entering an entirely new era of etymology, marked by the invisible forces that drive social media algorithms. Thankfully, Algospeak is here to explain. As a professional linguist, Adam Aleksic understands the gravity of language and its use: he knows how it has evolved and changed, how it reflects society, and how, in its everyday usage, we carry centuries of human history on our tongues…New slang phrases emerge and go viral overnight. Accents are shaped or erased on YouTube. Grammatical rules, loopholes, and patterns surface and transform language as we know it. Our interactions, social norms, and habits—both online and in person—shift into something completely different.”

No, I don’t have “eCopy” to Acibilistically share. You gotta buy the original print copy if you are interested in the way in which social media usage transforms contemporary language. I can give you the cover of the book for free, though!

By Muhammad Sulaiman

Professor Haruna Musa, Deputy Vice-Chancellor (Academics) at Bayero University, Kano (BUK), has emerged as the most widely accepted candidate in the university’s Vice-Chancellor selection process, following a keenly observed congregation vote held on Tuesday, July 1, 2025.

Prof. Musa, a Professor of Polymer Chemistry, secured a commanding 853 votes, far ahead of his four contenders in a process described as transparent and credible by participants and observers.

The vote, part of BUK’s Vice-Chancellor appointment procedure, serves as an indicator of community acceptability, contributing 20% to the final selection by the Governing Council.

Other contenders included Professors Mahmoud Umar Sani (367 votes), Sani Muhammad Gumel (364 votes), Adamu Idris Tanko (161 votes), and Bashir Fagge (18 votes).

Presiding over the session, Vice-Chancellor Prof. Sagir Adamu Abbas applauded the maturity and democratic spirit shown during the process, describing the outcome as a “collective victory” for the university.

“The result showcases our institutional commitment to transparency and unity,” he said, urging all candidates to support the eventual appointee.

Electoral Committee Chairman Prof. Muhtari Ali Hajara announced that 1,784 staff members were accredited to vote, with 17 votes deemed invalid and four unaccounted for.

Commending the process, Prof. Gumel, one of the candidates, stated: “The election was fair and credible. The result shows the community’s direction.”

Former Minister of Education, Prof. Rukayyatu Ahmed Rufa’i, and ex-VC of NOUN, Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu, also praised the outgoing VC and the electoral process, urging continued cooperation for the university’s development.

The final appointment now rests with BUK’s Governing Council.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu

They are both young boys, although one seems slightly older. From March to May 2025, they captured the attention and interests of Hausaphone social media with their radically different approaches to digital media visibility. In the process, they provided a template or script for the future of youth engagement in public culture and demonstrated the power of agency. 

Taranding in an open cesspool (Kabiru Isma’il, Kano).

The first was Kabiru Isma’il, better known as Kabeer2pac (apparently a fan of the late American rapper 2Pac Shakur).He had 1.8m followers and 15.1m likes on his TikTok account, which prominently displays his phone number (or that of his agent) for advertising purposes. His early videos clocked in millions of views. His most famous video, in which he shakes the dust off his body and jacket, has earned 51 million views. He devised two strategies to achieve this fame. 

His first videos were posted during the 2025 Ramadhan on 19 and 20th March 2025. In the videos, he was recorded immersed in a stagnant open cesspool of household wastewater (kwatami), dunking himself in it and smearing the sediments on his face. The videographer asked for his motives, and he replied he was doing so to “tarand” (trend) because he yearns for fame (ɗaukaka). He affirms he was not a lunatic. The video had 2.6 million views. He further explained that he resorted to this because his earlier attempts at trending were unsuccessful.

On 3rd April 2025, he switched from cesspool contents smearing to getting a sack of charcoal dust dumped on his head,which earned the video 14.8 million views. By then, his fame spread because the CoalDust video he posted two days later earned him 51 million views. His videos attracted Gwanki Travels and Tours International Ltd in Kaduna, who invited him and offered him a free ticket to perform the lesser Hajj, Umrah. Beaming with happiness, Kabeer2pac declared his gratitude that he had achieved the fame he had sought and had “taranded” very well. Of course, Gwanki also trended because they were riding on his coat-tail, as it were, to advertise their services.

Reactions to Kabeer2pac’s fame and fortune were varied but predictable. Most commentators were happy for him and took umbrage at any view that condemned his behaviour as unhealthy and unbecoming. Some Muslim clerics condemned him. Others were against the money spent on his Umrah, arguing that he was young and the money should be invested in either a trade or his education. His behaviour led to copycat copying. 

Quite soon after it started trending, copycats appeared in various guises, including a cesspool girl, from dousing themselves with petrol to set fire on themselves, to having cement blocks banged on their head, to immersing themselves in a stagnant pool of waste water. In one case, a young boy entered a soak away— all in their desire to “tarand” and possibly get a free Umrah ticket.

In an RFI video interview posted on 16th April 2025, Kabeer 2pac admitted that the possibility of his social media celebrity status is likely to be short-lived, as he understands that people will soon get bored with his antics and switch to something else. But for the period he was trending, he was happy with the endorsements he received and his branching out into comedies and short dancing skits in his trademark winter jacket. 

He has accurately anticipated the ephemeral nature of his antics. About two years ago, others who trended and quickly faded away were even more famous and established what I call “celebrification culture”. The first was Ale Rufa’i Bullgates, who devised his own currency, “Gangalion”. He was followed by Ale Umar Bush, whose speciality was foul-mouthing everyone around him. Each was given a social media celebrity status – private jets, fancy meals, endorsement deals by fancy local merchants. Ale Umar Bush seemed to have a Middle-Eastern “girlfriend”. People mocked their mental health and turned them into the theatre. That was probably why Kabeer2pac prefaced his first video by proclaiming that he was not mad. 

What motivates people to watch grisly events as lookie-loos, whether on screen or in physical spaces? Kabeer2pac’s audience can be called voyeuristic or spectator audiences. Odd or outlandish behaviour fascinates them because it provides novelty, entertainment, and sometimes a sense of shock or disbelief. Due to its unconventional nature, such content often triggers curiosity, amusement, or even a desire to share with others. 

Trending Young Dangote (Sadiq Usman Ahmed, Kurmin Mashi, Kaduna)

In contrast to Kabeer2pac, Sadiq was a street hawker in Kurmin Mashi, Kaduna, whom someone tagged Young Dangote. His nickname refers to the Hausa business mogul Aliko Dangote, the richest Black man in the world at the time. Anwar Textiles Ltd discovered him at a traffic stop in Kurmin Mashi, Kaduna, on 18th May 2025, when the young lad, who looks about 13 years old, was hawking car fresheners. 

Intrigued, the videographer asked how he started the business. Beaming an incredibly infectious smile (alone enough to make you buy his ware, even if you had no intention of doing so), he said he started with ₦300 with which he used to purchase cotton buds for ₦50 and sold for ₦70-₦100, before moving to products he bought for ₦350, selling at ₦500, happy with whatever profit he made. Gradually, his capital reached ₦5,000, then ₦1000, “har jari ya kai dubu hamsin cifi cif”/up to ₦50,000 neat. He said he prefers schooling to hawking, but poverty forced him into hawking. He relates this with a devastating, charming smile and enthusiasm for his current station in life, clearly with a business goal in mind. 

Touched by his resolve to improve his business, the video was posted on Anwar Textiles’ personal account and went viral. This impressed so many people (including the Pop Cola company in Kano) that they sent their widow’s mite to Anwar Textiles to improve the boy’s capital. Some asked for an account. In a very honourable way, Anwar Textiles traced the boy’s father. They recorded a video in which the father explained their happiness about the crowdsourcedfunding efforts made by Anwar Textiles. He emphasised that they were not begging for assistance as such (they were well off, but had a bad patch in life), but are grateful to those who contribute to the boy’s entrepreneurial ambitions. An account number was given. 

By 16th May 2025, Sadiq had over ₦300,000 capital and a larger basket to hold more products, which Anwar Textiles helped to purchase for him. The balance of the money was handed over to the father. He thanked Anwar Textiles for making it possible for people to know him. He displayed his new “mobile shop” and declared, “daga nan sai ƙasar waje, inshaa Allahu”/next, overseas, by God’s grace. He also stated his intention to go back to school soon. 

I find Anwar Textiles honourable. He located the boy, helped him, and supported his family. Importantly, he did not engage the boy in a gaudy marketing gimmick for his company, as done with Kabeer2pac. The boys’ marketing strategy was brilliant, as seen in a video posted a few days later in which he persuaded a motorist to buy more car fresheners than the customer actually intended to buy!

Both of these teenage boys demonstrate what personal resolve can achieve. Through social media, each person has attained something they wanted at the beginning of their lives. Kabeer2pac’s social media platform, which thrives on trends and viral content, where the unusual or unexpected can quickly gain traction through likes, shares, and comments, further amplifying its reach, worked perfectly well. He has the fame (ɗaukaka) he strives for. 

For Young Dangote, who has no social media presence (I even doubt if he has a phone, for he would probably plough the money into his business), we see what the power of crowdfunding and simple determination can do spontaneously. Comments from those who knew the family indicated that they were stable (as indeed even the father stated), but went through a bad patch. Instead of mourning their turbulent period, Sadiq dropped out of school, picked up a basket, got some money, bought car fresheners, and started hawking them at traffic stops. The rest, as they say, is a viral history. 

Social media can be a space for what Bala Muhammad (Adaidaita Sahu) at the DEEDS Book vs Screen May 2025 KHAIRUN Dialogue refers to as “digital iskanci”—or something else. Your judgment of each is, of course, personal.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

Nigerian scholar Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu has officially announced the publication of his new book, Hausa Cinema of Northern Nigeria: Cultural Imperialism and Censorship, a landmark work that explores the development, politics, and aesthetics of Hausa-language film across West Africa.

Published by Bloomsbury, the book is the product of over twenty years of research spanning multiple countries and academic disciplines. Rather than focusing solely on the popular commercial industry known as “Kannywood,” Adamu takes a broader approach, examining Hausa cinema in its many forms—including diaspora productions, documentaries, art films, and digital series.

“This is not just about Kannywood,” Adamu explained. “It’s about Hausa cultural expression wherever it exists, rooted in Islamicate values and media flows across the Global South.”

Completed in 2010, the manuscript faced delays and was almost shelved. However, a 2023 conference presentation and a meal hosted by Dr. Muhsin Ibrahim, where Adamu jokingly called the large waina “one terabyte,” in Cologne, Germany, reignited interest, leading to its acceptance and revision. 

The final version, praised by scholars such as Graham Furniss and Brian Larkin, will be released in July 2025.

Though priced at $130, Adamu plans to publish a locally accessible companion book titled Kannywood: A Brief Introduction later this year in Kano. It will be tailored for readers interested in a concise, less theoretical overview.

With this announcement, Hausa cinema gains its most comprehensive and scholarly treatment, firmly placing it in the global conversation about media and culture.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu

As we celebrate the World Book and Copyright Day (the UNESCO, not UK version) on 23rd April 2025, and even though it is targeted at children and youth, let’s reflect; after all, we were once children and youth. A historical excavation of our reading habits shows how lucky we were.

Hausa folks over 50 have always lamented the death of reading culture among contemporary Hausa youth. Such old fogies always hark back to the days of reading, mainly English language authors: James Hadley Chase, Denise Robins, Jacqueline Susann, Frederick Forsyth, Nick Carter, Stephen King, Robert Ludlum, Harold Robbins, Ayn Rand, Wilbur Smith, etc. Almost always English. Always British or American. The novels written by these authors, I would argue, laid solid foundations for their knowledge, command and mastery of the English language. 

And the comics. Tintin (actually, Tan-Tan), Asterix, Mad Magazine, Marvel comics (Spiderman, Fantastic Four, Thor, X-Men, etc). The entire comics of London’s Fleet Street. Evoking memories of Valiant, Thunder, Eagle, Commando, Cor!!, Buster, Tiger, Battle. Even football comics (even though I don’t particularly like football at all), such as Roy of the Rovers. The novels, the comics and the TV shows (Star Trek, Space 1999, Man from U.N.C.L.E., Man from Atlantis, Perry Mason, etc.), to be frank, laid the foundation of what I am today. Not much from Africa, though. But the little we had was superb as well. These included Lance Spearman’s African Film, Fearless Fang’s Boom, and a romantic tear-jerker, Joy.  

All were readily available at the Post Office in Kano and major supermarkets of Leventis and Kingsway. The latter in particular became a must-visit place for me in the 1970s. Nothing, absolutely nothing, beats the wonderful smell of fresh books being stacked on their shelves. And it wasn’t just books. I scrimped and saved pennies and shillings until I had enough to purchase my first vinyl record album – Rare Earth’s Get Ready in 1972, three years after it was released in 1969, when I first heard a single version on the radio. 

This was what defined reading culture, at least for those of us in the urban centres who grew up with it. And even if one can’t afford fresh new books and comics from Leventis and Kingsway stores, there are many places in Kano centred around Plaza in Fage, Coca Cola Roundabout, and even the main Post Office frontage itself, where hundreds of second-hand books are sold, even up to now. 

Exchanging books and discussing their plots, characters, and titles set the tone of conversations with friends. The most popular pulp fiction writer, of course, was René Lodge Brabazon Raymond, most popularly known as James Hadley Chase. Interestingly, his novels were written in the 1930s and later, painting an often-depressing picture of his setting (mainly the United States, even though he was British). Titles like Tiger By the Tail, Tell It to the Birds, Just a Matter of Time, Knock, Knock! Who’s There? There is a Hippy on the Highway that evokes our hastily copied Americanism. The garish covers, almost always graced by a long-legged sultry female model, made many truly judge the book by its cover. 

These foreign novels existed alongside African novels, particularly those published by Heinemann since 1969. The Heinemann African Writers Series produced a massive variety of novels, almost 225, many by people from the eastern part of Nigeria. For most of us, though, their postcolonial themes seemed too intellectual. Further, they were made part of the set reading for those offering literature, so again, many who want to read a novel just for pleasure rather than pan-African political philosophy simply avoided them. 

The struggle for the souls—and pockets—of school children in the 1970s continued in efforts to dislodge James Hadley Chase. In 1977, Macmillan Publishers decided to publish a low-cost paperback series under what they called the Pacesetters Series. These were published from 1979 to 1988 and became massively popular. I remember seeing one of the earliest, The Undesirable Element by Mohammad Sule from Kano, published in 1977, while we were students at ABU. 

When Sule finished the novel (which he wrote while a student at the now Rumfa College Kano), he initially took the manuscript to the Northern Nigeria Publishing Company (NNPC) in Zaria, which rejected it because it was in English. Luckily, Macmillan was in partnership with NNPC and the MD, a Briton, asked his wife to evaluate it. She did it positively and recommended it to Macmillan London, who were just about to start their Pacesetter series. See providence. If NNPC had accepted it, they would have created a large pool of English language novelists in northern Nigeria

For Baby Boomers (1946-1964) and Generation X (1965 to 1979), the Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) of 1986 severely affected their reading culture in one way: the books just dried up, whether foreign or local. Foreign became too expensive, local became too repetitive and static. We simply went back to the old classics and read them again and again. It was Robert Ludlum re-read (especially The Parsifal Mosaic) for me. 

All this was for ƴan boko. What about Hausa novels or reading materials? There are very few. By the 1980s, all the classics had been read, and no new ones were coming out. These included Magana Jari Ce, Ilya Ɗan Maiƙarfi, Gogan Naka, Nagari Na Kowa, Sihirtaccen Gari, Dau Fataken Dare, and a whole bunch of plays. Writing and publishing was very strenuous. Publishers could only publish if the books were to be made part of the set reading for WAEC, which limits the writer’s imagination and creativity. 

Then Hafsat AbdulWaheed came along with So, Aljannar Duniya in 1980. The first published Hausa language novel. The first by a woman from northern Nigeria. Plotting the classic Hausa marriage situation. A revolution was ignited in Hausa language fiction, leading to Mills and Boons style romantic fiction or Littattafan Soyayya. In less than five years, both male and female writers had emerged with stories to tell. Writers’ collectives were formed. The printing presses of party politics made it easier to self-publish. So, the writers ignored the snotty hoity-toity “big” publishers, especially NNPC (although NNPC can PRINT your book for payment, as they did with Balaraba Ramat’s early novels).  

In less than five years, the emergent authors have published more volumes than Heinemann (225) and Pacesetters (130). This made Hausa the most voracious reading public in Nigeria. Prof. Graham Furniss of the SOAS London even published a bibliography of the genre, including a whole website based at SOAS. When they became too much for the Kano State public culture, for that was where they flourished, a censorship board was created in 2001 to curb them. When that did not work, the Kano State government burned them in 2007 to cleanse the youth of the books. A harsher censorship regime debilitated them even more, throwing them out of business. The Hausa reading culture died. 

Then the Smartphone came in 2007—the then-Kano state Governor publicly burned Hausa books the same year. The same year, a harsher censorship regime was instituted in Kano that made life hell for the creative industries (Maryam Hiyana, anyone?). The iPhone, while not the first smartphone (Blackberry, anyone?), nevertheless revolutionised communication in its innovative approach to design. Clone copies with Android operating systems cemented the mass appeal of the smartphone. Eventually, it became commodified. 

Then, in 2013, Hausa novelists had their epiphany. They realised that with Facebook bubbling away, they could write their novels and escape censorship. Sure, no money, but they would be sharing their ideas. Things then blossomed from there. They created hundreds of Facebook pages for Hausa novels. When they became technologically proficient or engaged those who were, they created blogs sharing Hausa novels and creating massive readership throughout the Hausaphone world. For instance, Hafsat Hausa Novels (H²) had 471,000 members last time I checked. 

Then they discovered Wattpad, which had been in existence since 2006. They moved on the site with massive gusto, creating novels in three presentation modes – Hausa, English and Enghausa. Mainly by women. The migration online redefines “reading culture” if it is seen as engagement with text. Wattpad’s metrics alone convincingly show that the Hausa reading culture has been revived. For instance, Jewel by Maymunatu Bukar had 1.1 million reads. Thus, E-books and online literary content became increasingly popular, and social media can be used to share and discuss these resources

And let’s not ignore social networks and social media posts and COMMENTS. Agreements, disagreements (including insults typical of Arewa Social Media), expanded explanations – all are READING, and far livelier than just reading a book on your own. But again, social media gives us the opportunity to discuss – have a debate – about the books we like/hate (Goodreads, anyone?). 

“Reading culture” is a dynamic and evolving concept that encompasses more than the mere act of reading. It is an intricate web of practices, values, and institutional structures that defines how individuals and communities interact with texts. Whether viewed through a sociological, historical, or digital lens, understanding reading culture involves recognising the interplay between technology, policy, and the deeply personal ways that texts influence and reflect who we are.

I therefore argue that reading social media is very much part of today’s reading culture. It is a re-invention of reading culture. It may differ from traditional literary reading in depth, tone, and purpose, but it still involves interpretation, meaning-making, and cultural exchange. In any event, all the books, comics, and TV shows you so favoured are now digitally available (I have sourced all of these that defined my youth).

As reading culture adapts to the digital age, social media becomes an important arena for literacy and engagement in all spheres. Hey, you might even find the rest of the James Hadley Chase books you missed (you know he published 98, right?). 

Happy World Book and Acibilisian Day to y’all.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

In a striking example of how far young people are willing to go for online fame, a TikTok content creator known as Kabeer 2Pack has taken social media by storm with bizarre, often repulsive stunts—drawing the attention not only of millions of followers but also of serious academic inquiry.

Kabeer, dubbed the “April 2025 sensation,” has garnered over 5.2 million likes and 618,300 followers on TikTok by performing antics such as bathing himself in filthy gutter water and covering himself in dust and charcoal. His goal, he insists, is not madness but “glory”: “Ba hauka ba ne, ɗaukaka na ke nema,” he says—“I’m not mad, I seek glory.”

While his popularity soars—one of his videos reached 30.3 million views—critics question why such extreme behaviour overshadows respected Islamic scholars like Sheikh Aminu Daurawa, whose most viewed video stands at 2.4 million. In comparison, controversial influencer Murja Ibrahim Kunya boasts 3.1 million followers and 59.4 million likes.

Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu of Bayero University, Kano, argues that these influencers, despite their antics, are crucial subjects for academic study. “Influencers, trenders, even sickos and weirdos are all part of the data to harvest in order to fully understand contemporary society,” he wrote in a recent commentary.

According to Adamu, the phenomenon reflects what scholars now term the “Attention Economy,” where digital content, no matter how outrageous, is exchanged for social capital, influence, and often money. He compares this with global TikTok stars like Khaby Lame, who silently mocks life hacks and has amassed over 162 million followers—earning $20 million in 2024 alone.

“Even the most ridiculous trends can be read as resistance, escapism, or social commentary,” Adamu notes, urging researchers to see past the surface and explore the deeper meanings behind online behaviour.

In a digital age where clout is currency, young people like Kabeer 2Pack are not just chasing fame—they’re reshaping the culture, one like at a time.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

A postgraduate class at Bayero University faced an unexpected turnout issue during a recent lecture on social media’s role in popular culture. 

Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu, from the Faculty of Communication, scheduled his M.Sc. Popular Culture lecture for 2:00 p.m. on Monday, March 24, 2025. However, when he arrived, he was met with an empty classroom.

In a candid post on his Facebook page, Professor Adamu described the situation, expressing disappointment at the absence of his students, many of whom are mature individuals committed to their education. 

“I will wait one more hour, all by myself,” he wrote, revealing the gravity of the situation as he sat alone in the lecture hall.

The incident raises concerns about student engagement and commitment in higher education, particularly among postgraduate students who are expected to take their studies seriously. 

Professor Adamu’s experience reflects a growing trend of attendance issues in classrooms, prompting discussions among his social media followers about students’ attitudes to learning in Nigerian universities.

As the academic community reacts to this situation, it remains to be seen how institutions will address these challenges in the future.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu

For some weeks, I had been involved in judging a photo competition themed “Spirit of Kano”. One way or another, I was made the “Chief Judge” by the Curator, Dr. Shuaib Sani Shuaib, Executive Director, Makuba Center for Arts and Culture, Kano. He is also the Curator for Global Shapers Community, Kano Hub. Overall financial support was also provided by Engr. Anas Yazid Balarabe, who is also the founder of the cooperative. 

As an amateur photographer with a deep and intense interest in art and the aesthetics of the environment, coupled with a fanatical advocacy for the best State on this side of the Milky Way Galaxy, I was honored to be appointed the Chief Judge. However, since it was an open competition and open voting, I designed the judgement criteria for the photos,which were used to judge the 100 or so entries by other judges. Photographers were urged to send pictures that, in their view, capture the “Spirit of Kano”. Many people participated, and many photos were sent. 

These entries were beautifully shot and captured the Spirit of Kanawa and Kananci. They were all beautiful. However, I judged them based on what the images conveyed about Kano in various visual ways—history, architecture, food, clothing, urban life, historiography, etc. For me, choosing the best three was really difficult because there was so much beauty and talent in each photograph—faces, places, spaces. The entire collection was a riot of colorful visual poetry that describes Kano. 

Each picture in the entries has unique features and communicates the dynamism of both urban and rural Kano. Thousands of words could be woven around each picture that communicate the vibrancy of Kano. My selection cuts across history, trade and lived-in experiences. I would have loved to see some architectural shots – the ones I saw were mainly Emir of Palace pictures (Ƙofar Kudu or thereof). A few shots of ‘mansions’ and ‘haciendas’ would have given an evolutionary trajectory of the Spirit of Kano, in addition to the alleyways and gidan kara.

Four judges trudged through the 100 or so entries and made their choices. These were then further pooled by common choice from each judge to pare down the selection to six, on which the final judgment of three was made. To ensure a fair and transparent selection process, the top three winners were chosen based on a combination of judges’ evaluations and public voting. The final ranking was determined by taking an average of the judges’ scores and the public vote ranking in which the winners emerged. Very transparent. Further, everything was done online. 

The final judgment of the top three (shown here) truly deserves it. The winners, based on the highest scores, along with their prizes, were:

1- Muhamad Sani Abbas (₦250,000)

2- Alamin Mohammed (₦150,000)

3- Aisha Suleiman Halili (₦100,000)

Muhammad Sani Abbas’s best picture was of a young greengrocer measuring a customer’s order in a local market. The intensity of his face captured everyone’s imagination and admiration. The photo of the boy is a bookmark on Kano and its commerce—never too young to start. It was indeed a beautiful shot. 

Alamin Mohammed took second place. Interestingly, the picture also shows another young lad galloping on a horse in full ‘royal’ regalia. Frozen in time, the horse rider captures Kano’s ancient tradition and royal heritage. 

Third place went to a composite study of the Kano Emir’s palace guards (Dogarai) from a truly sensitive POV. The winner, Aisha Halilu’s portrait of a shadowed Dogari, makes the maximum use of light and shadows to accentuate the beauty of the setting. The Dogari, with his back to the camera, clearly was not the focus of the shot but the far houses he was gazing at—a contrast between the traditional Hausa architecture of the palace and the post-modern bungalows he was gazing at. 

A picture by Ahmad Sufi, which I voted for, did not win, but that’s alright; after all, it was aggregate scores that mattered. I didn’t place it number one, but I had expected it to be at least number three. The outcome only highlights the high quality of the visual appeal of the photos entered in the competition. 

The one that did not make it on my list was a market scene with an Arab (at least the guy looks like an Arab but dressed in Babbar Riga) holding on to a camel. Far in the distance is a communication tower. To me, the pictures talk volumes about migration, cultural adaptation, trans-Saharan road networks and contemporary communication – all visually encapsulating what Kano has been for centuries and those to come. 

I think it is wonderful that an NGO of young, committed individuals could come up with this. It should be the purview of the Kano State History and Culture Bureau. A letter was sent to the Kano State Government requesting partnership/sponsorship, but there was no response at all. Even the prize money was sourced by Dr. Shuaibu, showing a commitment to Kano far greater than many of us. 

What could the next steps be? Perhaps an annual event? Or a regionalisation of the competition? For instance, it would be fantastic to see the “Spirit of Zazzau”, followed by Rano, Daura, Katsina, Gobir, and so on, all the way to Niamey. This way, we could have an annual Spirit of Hausa Kingdoms as visual poetry, encouraging young people to appreciate the historical, cultural, and aesthetic qualities of their environment.