Hausa Films

Directors: Ahmad A. Bifa & Auwal D. Yakasai 

‎Producer: Yakubu M. Yakub

‎Language: Hausa

‎Company: Tumbin Giwa TV

‎Premiere: 8/6/2026

‎Cast: Adam Garba, Isah Adam (Feroz Khan), Fatima Ibrahim, Maryam Booth, Maryam Yahaya, Ummusalama Inuwa, Radiya Jibril, Shatou Abdul, etc. Zarge is a Hausa word for ‘noose’, which refers to a loop of rope with a slipknot that tightens when pulled. Figuratively, the word denotes confusion or a difficult situation. The series Zarge lives up to its title, being a harrowing drama of compounding crises. 

The story revolves around Fatima (Fatima Ibrahim), a young village girl whose fate takes her away from her own family, only for her to become the saviour of another.

The series opens with Hajiya (Ummusalama Inuwa) plotting to abduct her pregnant in-law, Nafisa (Radiya Jibril), and have her unborn child killed. Meanwhile, Fatima and her friends return to their village after finishing boarding school, but their bus breaks down. As they wait for the driver to fix the vehicle, Fatima slips away and takes a forest shortcut, hoping to reach home sooner. 

Deep in the forest, Fatima finds Nafisa held captive by Hajiya’s henchmen. Nafisa attempts to escape, but her abductors chase her down. As she flees, she runs into Fatima, who has been hiding and watching. The ensuing struggle triggers Nafisa’s labour. Fatima helps her deliver the baby, and Nafisa, with her final breath, entrusts the newborn to her.

After an arduous journey, Fatima finally takes the infant home, only to face her parents’ disappointment. Assuming that Fatima has had the baby out of wedlock, they refuse to accept the situation. She therefore leaves home for the city, where she finds work as a housemaid. Ironically, she ends up in the very home of Nafisa’s in-laws, the people who wanted the baby dead. The drama continues…

Zarge is a gripping series that holds the audience in suspense, anticipating danger in almost every scene. Each episode ends with a perfect noose that you fear might tighten, especially as Fatima works in Hajiya’s house. What if she comes across Nafisa’s picture and reveals that the baby is her son? What if Hajiya discovers the truth and kills him?

However, Fatima appears to be a godsend to Nafisa’s family. Not only is she raising the surviving newborn, but she is also unknowingly saving his father, Umar (Adam Garba), without knowing who he is or his connection to the child. For instance, when Hajiya and her children plot to poison Umar, Fatima saves him by secretly replacing his poisoned food with another meal. 

The screenplay is tightly structured, with well-written character motivations that drive the plot. This makes the conflicts feel connected and engaging. The screenwriters and directors deserve commendation for bringing these elements together cohesively.

The series is also technically solid. The cinematography beautifully captures the natural forest landscapes, authentic village settings, and atmospheric night scenes. The sound design is carefully balanced, with Nazifi Asnanic’s evocative soundtrack heightening the emotional intensity.

The actors all deliver wonderful performances. Ummusalama Inuwa is effective as Hajiya, and the debutante Fatima Ibrahim is perfectly cast as the young village girl. She portrays her character’s innocence and inquisitiveness so convincingly that it is hard to imagine anyone else in the role. However, while Maryam Booth and Maryam Yahaya don’t get much scope, Adam Garba, Isah Adam (Feroz Khan), and Shatou Abdul deserve special mention.

In conclusion, Zarge is definitely one of the best series of the year. Its intriguing drama makes for an enjoyable watch. I highly recommend it.

Rating: 4/5

Reviewed by Habibu Maaruf Abdu.

‎The Shareef brothers, Abdul and Umar M. Shareef, seem to have a strong fondness for playing romantic heroes. This likely inspired them to produce an emotional love story in which they take on their favourite leading roles. The production, entitled ‘Soyayyata’ (Translated as ‘My Love’), also appears to be their first series under the ‘Shareef Studio’ banner.

‎Soyayyata (though they mistakenly wrote the name as “Soyayya ta”) is a romantic drama exploring unrequited love, mistaken assumptions, and the complexities of family ties. The series primarily follows a love triangle involving Abbas (Abdul M. Shareef), Zuhra (Maryam Booth), and Haneef (Umar M. Shareef).

‎Abbas and Zuhra are cousins raised together within a shared family compound. Since childhood, his mother had betrothed Zuhra to him, as is customary in Hausa tradition. Abbas grows up to love Zuhra, but she sees him as nothing more than a brother. Meanwhile, she meets Haneef at a wedding, where he falls in love with her at first sight – an affection she fortunately reciprocates even more deeply.

‎Noticing something unusual in Zuhra’s behaviour, Abbas’s younger sister, Suhaima (Madina Abdul), persuades their parents to formally approach Zuhra’s family about the intended marriage. However, while Zuhra’s father, who is Abbas’s uncle, approves, her mother rejects the proposal. Abbas also learns the painful truth that Zuhra does not love him romantically, igniting emotional turbulence and family conflict.

‎Meanwhile, Haneef’s mother opposes his choice of Zuhra because of her humble background but later concedes because of his persistence. However, his father falls ill and dies suddenly on the day of his wedding to Zuhra, setting off a chain of dramatic twists that reshape the course of the story.

‎Despite its compact premise, the series sustains engagement through the gradual introduction of new narrative layers and characters. For instance, Ilham (Asmeey Wakili), introduced in a pivotal role towards the end of Season 1, breathes new life into the story. Despite its rather slow pace, the series keeps audiences engaged with steadily mounting tension.

‎Soyayyata is indeed worth watching for its relatable theme, which resonates strongly with young audiences. It dramatises the familiar scenario of a childhood-betrothed ‘cousin’ losing out to a ‘newcomer’. Young women with early betrothal experiences will identify with Zuhra’s predicament, while those nursing a secret crush will empathise with Abbas, who suffers in silence, enduring the pain of unrequited affection.

‎Additionally, beyond its central love story, Soyayyata explores themes of class discrimination, parental materialism in marriage arrangements, and the far-reaching consequences of such decisions. It also highlights how a lack of open communication can make arranged marriages fragile enough to break even the strongest familial bonds.

‎The series, however, scores little in terms of production quality. Continuity lapses are evident, and the editing lacks finesse. Also, while the interconnection across episodes is reasonably sustained, Episode 4 largely recycles scenes from Episodes 1 and 3. Nevertheless, these shortcomings are pardonable, given the competent direction and commendable performances that make the series ultimately captivating.

‎Finally, if you are struggling to keep pace with the endless YouTube series being released every day, Soyayyata is one you shouldn’t overlook. It is well worth your time.

‎Rating: 3/5

By Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin 

The Kannywood film industry is more than an entertainment industry. It has become one of the most powerful cultural influences in Northern Nigeria. The stories it tells shape how people think, speak, and sometimes even behave. Characters become role models, and the habits they display often find their way into everyday life.

That is why this is a respectful appeal to directors, producers, and scriptwriters: as you entertain millions, also seize the opportunity to promote simple habits that make our society safer, healthier, and more compassionate.

One of the simplest ways to save lives is also one of the most overlooked. Wearing a seat belt should not depend on the distance being travelled. Whether someone is driving to the market, taking children to school, or travelling across states, everyone in the vehicle, including those in the back seat, should buckle up before the journey begins.

Unfortunately, films often show characters jumping into cars and driving away without fastening their seat belts. This unintentionally sends the message that seat belts are optional. Imagine the opposite: respected characters calmly fastening their seat belts before starting the engine, reminding passengers to do the same. Such scenes require only a few seconds but can influence millions of viewers.

Also, modern driving is increasingly threatened by distracted driving. Many people believe it is harmless to answer a quick call, read a message, or reply to a text while driving. Others assume it is safe to use their phones while waiting at a traffic light.

In reality, distraction can be deadly. Safe driving means the phone stays out of the driver’s hands until the vehicle has been parked safely. Showing heroes who ignore incoming calls while driving or politely tell callers, “I’ll call you back when I’ve stopped,” promotes a powerful message without interrupting the story.

Additionally, food is central to many Kannywood stories. Family meals, celebrations, and traditional gatherings are common scenes. Yet one simple habit is often overlooked: washing hands properly before eating or preparing food.

Handwashing properly remains one of the most effective ways to prevent many infectious diseases. A brief scene showing a family washing their hands before sharing a meal can quietly reinforce a healthy practice that protects entire households.

Mental health is another area where Kannywood can make a real difference. Too often, emotional struggles are portrayed only as spiritual attacks. Faith is important, but so are counselling, medical care, and family support. Showing them together would reflect real life and encourage more understanding.

Furthermore, people living with disabilities deserve to be represented with dignity and authenticity. Too often, disability is used merely as comic relief, a symbol of helplessness, or a tool to evoke pity.

Real life tells a different story. Across Nigeria, people with disabilities are teachers, entrepreneurs, professionals, artists, students, parents, and community leaders. They contribute meaningfully to society and deserve to see themselves represented fairly on screen.

Inclusive storytelling means giving characters with disabilities meaningful roles, realistic ambitions, and complete personalities—not defining them solely by their disabilities.

Social change does not always begin with government policies or public campaigns. Sometimes it begins with everyday habits becoming normal. This is why I hope Kannywood filmmakers become more intentional about the habits they put on screen. The greatest impact may not come from dramatic speeches or moral lectures, but from ordinary characters consistently doing the right thing.

After all, audiences often imitate what they repeatedly see. Sometimes, the lessons we never intended to teach become the ones the world remembers the most.

Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin is a graduate of mass communication from Bayero University, Kano, and can be reached at ibrahimaliyu5023@gmail.com.

By Ibrahim Aliyu

Over the past few decades, Kannywood has grown into one of the most influential cultural industries in Northern Nigeria. Rooted in the Hausa language, Islamic values, and local traditions, it has shaped entertainment, storytelling, and public discourse across millions of homes. For many families, Kannywood was never merely cinema; it became a reflection of identity, morality, family structure, and social values.

Yet despite its cultural importance, Kannywood continues to attract criticism from various sections of society. Some believe the industry has drifted from the moral and religious principles it once claimed to uphold. Others argue that society itself has become increasingly harsh, suspicious, and contradictory in its judgments of public morality.

Perhaps the deeper issue is not merely “bad behaviour” in the industry, but the growing tension among public morality, private intentions, and shifting social perceptions.

In Islam, unnecessary physical intimacy between non-Mahram men and women is generally discouraged, and Hausa society has historically taken such boundaries seriously and with respect. However, there was also a period in Northern Nigeria when families could sit together and watch classic Kannywood comedy scenes featuring actors such as Ibro and Tsigai without automatically interpreting every interaction through a sexual lens.

Parents watched alongside their children. Grandparents watched with their grandchildren. Communities laughed together. At the time, many viewers saw those scenes primarily as comedy, storytelling, and harmless entertainment within a familiar cultural context.

This raises an important question: What changed?

Part of the answer may lie in how modern society increasingly interprets many human interactions through suspicion and moral anxiety. The rapid expansion of social media, unrestricted internet access, celebrity culture, and exposure to explicit online content have reshaped how people perceive entertainment, gender interactions, and morality itself.

As a result, public discussions about morality sometimes become less about intentions, discipline, and character, and more about appearances and public performance. In such an environment, accusations of immorality can spread quickly, even when the cultural context or the intention is more complex.

Hausa society contains longstanding cultural traditions that show how social interaction has historically been understood within context and boundaries. Practices such as “wasan kanin miji” and “wasan kaka da jika” reflect playful social interactions that coexisted with strong family values and respect for marriage institutions. These interactions were not automatically deemed immoral because society recognised the importance of trust, intention, and communal understanding.

This does not mean boundaries should disappear, nor does it suggest that moral principles are unimportant. Rather, it highlights the need for balance, sincerity, and self-awareness when discussing morality in public life.

The danger arises when society becomes more concerned with appearing morally superior than with cultivating genuine ethical discipline. Excessive suspicion, constant public outrage, and the tendency to sexualise ordinary human behaviour can deepen social tension rather than achieve genuine moral reform.

In this sense, Kannywood is more than a film industry. It has become a mirror reflecting the wider struggles within Northern society — the struggle between tradition and modernity, religious values and entertainment culture, public expectations and private realities.

The debate surrounding Kannywood is therefore not only about actors, actresses, or films. It is also about how society defines morality, how communities respond to cultural change, and whether public conversations about ethics are guided by wisdom, balance, and sincerity rather than by fear, projection, or moral performance.

As Northern Nigeria continues to evolve socially and culturally, perhaps the challenge is not to destroy cultural institutions out of anxiety, but to engage them thoughtfully, critically, and honestly — while preserving the values that truly strengthen society.

Ibrahim Aliyu wrote via khalilnuradeen@gmail.com.

For the first time in a while, I have come across a Kannywood series trailer so compelling that it instantly made me crave its release. Such is the effect of the newly released trailer for the upcoming series Kaddara, unveiled yesterday.

It is worth recalling that the series was announced a few months ago by Abnur Entertainment. It has since generated considerable buzz due to the reputation of the producers and its stellar cast, including the veteran Nafisa Abdullahi, who is making a comeback after a prolonged hiatus from the Kannywood film industry.

The compelling has further amplified the anticipation. The editing is deliberate, showing only fragments of conflict without revealing the full shape of the narrative. In other words, the trailer teases just enough to excite without giving away the complexity of the plot.

This restraint is commendable, as it avoids the common pitfall of overexposure that plagues many Kannywood teasers.

Equally significant is the assembly of the cast. Alongside Nafisa Abdullahi are Ibrahim Maishunku and Zahradden Sani, whose reduced visibility in recent years has made their presence here particularly noteworthy. They are complemented by the constant faces of Ali Nuhu, Adam Zango, and Falalu Dorayi, among others. Naturally, this is a cast designed to deliver.

However, trailers are just promises, not guarantees. Kannywood has, on several occasions, produced compelling previews that ultimately led to uneven final products. The real test for Kaddara will therefore lie in its narrative discipline.

Kaddara is scheduled for release on Sunday, April 12, 2026. We wait to see whether it can sustain tension, avoid melodramatic excess, and translate its visual appeal into a coherent and engaging story.

Habibu Maaruf Abdu 

habibumaaruf11@gmail.com

By Shamwil Ibrahim (Justice)

The news of Umar Ascon’s death arrived with a weight that words can barely carry. For many who knew him, it felt unreal, like a story told in error, a rumour that would soon be corrected. But it was true. Umar Ascon was gone. For those of us who shared a classroom with him, the loss feels even more personal.

I first met Umar Ascon in 2015 at Kano State Polytechnic. We were both admitted to study English and Applied Linguistics. Like many students starting a new academic journey, we were strangers brought together by the same course and the same campus. Yet it did not take long for Umar to become someone impossible to overlook.

He was one of the funniest people in our class and, arguably, in the entire department. Wherever Umar was, laughter followed. His humour was natural and effortless. He had a way of turning ordinary conversations into moments of joy. In lecture halls, corridors, or casual gatherings around campus, Umar had the rare ability to make people forget their worries, even if only for a moment.

Although he was older than me, Umar never allowed age to create distance between us. He treated everyone with openness and warmth. Over time, what began as a simple acquaintance developed into friendship. Across Kano State Polytechnic, Umar was already known by many students. Whenever he walked across campus, people would often point him out and whisper a familiar word: celebrity.

The reason was simple. Even during his years as a student, Umar Ascon was already appearing in Kannywood films. He was gradually building his presence in the Hausa film industry while still pursuing his education. For many students, seeing someone from their own classroom on television screens was both surprising and inspiring.

Yet what made Umar remarkable was not just his growing recognition in the film industry. It was his humility.

Despite the attention he received, Umar remained approachable and friendly. He never carried himself with arrogance. Instead, he used his position to encourage and uplift others.

For me, Umar did something that would shape my life. He introduced me to the Kannywood film industry. Through him, I found my own path into filmmaking, a voyage that continues to define my creative life today. Opportunities like that often come through people who believe in you before the world does. Umar was that person.

Even in recent times, Umar continued to think about the future of the industry he loved. The last conversation I had with him was about a film project he was planning. Umar spoke passionately about creating a production that could reach global standards, a film capable of standing proudly alongside international productions on platforms such as Netflix. He believed strongly that the Hausa film industry had the talent and stories needed to reach the world.

His dream was not only to entertain audiences but to elevate the industry. That dream now remains unfinished.

When the news of his death reached me, disbelief overwhelmed me. I felt compelled to confirm it myself. I called his phone. His wife answered. My voice shook as I asked, almost hoping the answer would dismiss the rumour. “Where is Umar?”

There was silence for a moment. Then, through tears, she spoke words that will remain with me forever. “Umar is no more.” She explained that he had passed away following complications related to liver illness. In that moment, reality settled with painful clarity.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.

Umar Ascon’s death represents a profound loss not only to his family and friends but also to the Kannywood film community. He was talented, vibrant, and deeply passionate about his craft. His presence brought laughter to classrooms, energy to film sets, and encouragement to those around him.

Some people leave behind fame. Others leave behind fortune. Umar left behind something far more enduring: memories, laughter, and inspiration.

For those who knew him, the echoes of his humour and kindness will remain long after this moment of grief passes.

May Allah forgive his shortcomings, grant him Aljannatul Firdaus, and give strength to all those mourning his loss.

Umar Ascon may be gone, but the stories, laughter, and dreams he shared will continue to live on. History will be so kind to you, Umar Ascon (Chairman).

Shamwil Ibrahim (Justice) wrote via ibrahimshamawilu@gmail.com.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu 

On Saturday, March 14, 2026, Dr Muhsin Ibrahim shared a newspaper report with me announcing the passing of Jürgen Habermas. The German philosopher died at the age of ninety-six in Starnberg, an affluent town in Upper Bavaria. Muhsin was well aware of how deeply I had drawn on Habermas’s theory of the structural transformation of the public sphere in my research on Muslim Hausa media cultures. 

His passing marks the end of an era in critical social theory. Habermas’s work on communication, rationality, and society made him one of the most influential philosophers of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, as well as a major intellectual figure in postwar Germany.

Many Africanists did not initially read Habermas directly. Rather, they encountered his ideas through mediated theoretical engagements in the writings of scholars such as Brian Larkin. I myself first became aware of the public–private sphere debate as part of the broader Frankfurt School theoretical repertoire in Larkin’s studies of media culture in northern Nigeria. His work contributed significantly to later “post-public sphere” discussions by demonstrating how Habermasian insights could be adapted to different social, cultural, and technological environments.

Of Habermas’s many publications, the one that proved most decisive for me was The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Originally published in German in 1962 and translated into English by Thomas Burger (with the assistance of Frederick Lawrence) in 1989, it is an extraordinarily dense text. One often needs the guidance of someone already conversant with its arguments to appreciate its analytical elegance. 

I was fortunate to own a copy—purchased for me in the pre-digital era by Gillian Belben, then Director of the British Council in Kano. I read it several times before fully grasping how powerfully it provided a framework for understanding public reactions to Hausa films and the emergence of censorship debates.

Habermas’s study retraces the historical emergence of the bourgeois public sphere as a communicative domain distinct from the state, in which private individuals could assemble to discuss matters of common concern. By analysing the transformations of this sphere, he recovered a concept of enduring importance for social and political theory. In simplified terms, the argument draws attention to differentiated social spaces—those of the home and those of the wider public—and to the ways in which each structures particular forms of discussion and social interaction.

I relied heavily on this analytical distinction when I presented my first international seminar at the Institut für Afrikanistik, University of Cologne, on November 15, 2004. Titled “Enter the Dragon: Shari’a, Popular Culture and Film Censorship in Northern Nigeria,” the seminar explored how Hausa films often rendered visible aspects of domestic life traditionally regarded as private, thereby provoking moral anxieties and regulatory responses. By destabilising the boundary between the two spheres, Hausa cinema helped produce new forms of mediated public debate. A dramatic illustration of this dynamic emerged in the widely discussed Hiyana scandal of 2007, in which a private act became publicly circulated, with far-reaching cultural consequences.

The communicative arena that Habermas conceptualised as the bourgeois public sphere appears today in a historically transformed guise within the networked environments of social media. In Muslim societies such as those of northern Nigeria, digital platforms have intensified the long-standing negotiation between domestic moral order and public cultural expression. 

Conversations once confined to living rooms, mosque courtyards, or informal viewing gatherings now unfold in algorithmically structured yet widely accessible communicative spaces. These interactions do not reproduce Habermas’s ideal of rational-critical debate in any straightforward manner. Rather, they reveal plural, affective, and technologically mediated publics in which questions of religious legitimacy, gendered visibility, and cultural authority are continually contested. Social media, therefore, represent not the revival of the bourgeois public sphere but a new phase in its structural transformation — what might tentatively be described as a “third space.”

The world of critical social theory will undoubtedly feel the loss of Jürgen Habermas. Yet his conceptualisation of the public–private divide will continue to shape scholarly reflections on media, communication, and cultural change for years to come.

Readers interested in further discussions of the public–private debate in Islamic contexts may consult:

Kadivar, Mohsen. 2003. An Introduction to the Public and Private Debate in Islam. Social Research 70 (3): 659–680.

The new series, Bakan Gizo, is unique for departing from the usual Kannywood storytelling. It is much like a thriller, narrated with suspense and tension, while exploring the immoral lifestyle that is rampant among young people today.

Directed by Kamal S. Akali, the story follows Sharifa (Mommy Gombe), a young woman who leaves her home state, Gombe, to study at Bayero University, Kano. There, she is drawn into a new social circle through her free-spirited friends, Salma (Zahrah Aliyu) and Zee (Bilkisu Abdullahi). She also begins an affair with Abba (Yusuf Saseen), who is deeply in love with her but increasingly possessive.

Sharifa is not content with Abba as her partner. She, therefore, enters a new relationship with Sharif (Isah Adam Feroz Khan), a spoiled brat from a wealthy family. However, things take a violent turn when her two lovers discover each other, leading to Sharif being stabbed in the stomach.

Judging by its genre, which is well-suited for a series film format, Bakan Gizo promises to be a compelling and attention-grabbing production. Viewers are already left in suspense to see how the story unfolds, particularly how Sharif’s wealthy mother, a high-ranking police officer (played by Hauwa Farar Lema) who also sleeps with Abba, will investigate the unfortunate incident that befalls her son.

The series appears to draw stylistic inspiration from Indian cinema. This is unsurprising, given director Kamal S. Akali’s creative history, including adaptations of films like Velayudham (as Kanwar Dubarudu) and Drishyam (as Umar Sanda) for Kannywood audiences.

The narrative revolves around a single storyline with interrelated characters. However, while the characters are well connected, some scenes feel disjointed, making the transition between episodes one and two almost convoluted.

On the other hand, although the performances come across as slightly over-the-top, the stellar cast remains highly effective. Seeing Mommy Gombe and Zahrah Aliyu reunite their chemistry from Gidan Sarauta, alongside the rivalry of Isah Adam (Feroz Khan) and Yusuf Saseen (as seen in Labarina), makes for an enjoyable watch.

Finally, it is too early to pass judgment, but I recommend Bakan Gizo for its fresh storytelling approach in the Kannywood series.

Reviewed by:

Taqdeer (Divine Decree), a 2025 Nigerian Islamic film directed by Ruben Reng, is a captivating tale of love, fate, and cultural heritage. Starring Ibrahim, Sakina, Mustapha, and Zainab as leading characters, this film weaves a narrative that explores the intricacies of human relationships against the backdrop of Nigerian and Hausa traditions.

The film’s plot revolves around themes of destiny, faith, and choices, unfolding a story that keeps viewers engaged. The narrative delves into the lives of its characters, exploring their struggles and triumphs in a way that resonates deeply. 

Watching Taqdeer is a visually immersive experience. The cinematography captures the vibrant essence of Abuja, blending traditional and modern elements harmoniously. The film’s use of Hausa language and Islamic cultural references adds authenticity, making the story feel both personal and universal. The performances by the cast are compelling, bringing depth to their characters.

Taqdeer’s formal techniques, such as its cinematography and sound design, effectively enhance the narrative’s emotional impact. The film’s portrayal of Islamic moral themes and traditions provides a rich context for the story, making it relatable and thought-provoking. The blend of music and story-based sound adds to the film’s atmosphere, drawing viewers into the world it creates.

Analytically, while Taqdeer is strong in many areas, certain scenes linger longer than necessary, which can detract from the story’s overall momentum. Nevertheless, these moments are outweighed by the film’s strength, particularly its moral richness.

In conclusion, Taqdeer is worth watching for its engaging narrative, moral richness, and strong performances. It offers a glimpse into Nigerian Muslim culture and explores universal themes of love and fate, making it a compelling watch for audiences interested in diverse storytelling.  

Reviewed by

Rexford Asamoah Adu

radu@smail.uni-koeln.de

To Kannywood audiences, the TV series Gidan Badamasi needs no introduction. It is arguably the most successful comedy series since the industry’s migration to YouTube/TV series production. There have been other popular comedy series, such as Zafin Nema and Jikokin Maigari. However, none has matched the reach and longevity of Gidan Badamasi.

After six successful seasons, Gidan Badamasi now returned with Season 7. Only two episodes have been released so far, yet the new season already shows the potential to surpass its predecessors. This is due to its thematic preoccupation, which tackles the issue of insecurity in Northern Nigeria and the problematic framing of the Fulani ethnic group as terrorists without distinction. The new season rightly reinforces a crucial truth: that terrorism has no religion or ethnicity.

The first episode opens with Alhaji Badamasi (Magaji Mijinyawa) and his aide, Taska (Falalu Dorayi), being abducted by kidnappers. The kidnappers’ kingpin, Dan Tsito, is portrayed as Fulani.  However, the narrative shows that Dan Tsito’s criminal path begins within his own community (Rugga), before extending into the forest, where he operates alongside criminals from other ethnic groups. 

The series obviously avoids ethnic reductionism and offers a more balanced portrayal of terrorists and terrorism in Nigeria. It also dismantles the notion of selective victimhood by presenting Alhaji Badamasi, a Hausa Muslim, and his aide as victims. This challenges how the international community often wrongly assumes that terrorism in Nigeria targets only Christians, and how films like The Herd (2025) subtly reinforce that misleading narrative.

The director, Falalu Dorayi and the creative team deserve commendation for addressing this sensitive issue with courage and clarity. This is the kind of storytelling Northern filmmakers must prioritise – telling their own stories truthfully rather than allowing outsiders to define their realities.

The series is also technically solid. Both picture quality and sound design are commendable. However, based on the two episodes released so far, the makers need to be more restrained with unnecessary comic scenes. A more disciplined approach would allow the series to do full justice to the seriousness of its subject matter.

In conclusion, Gidan Badamasi Season 7 shows strong promise. It remains as entertaining as previous seasons while effectively blending important social issues into its narrative. I highly recommend it.

Reviewed by