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.
