Kudos to my paternal uncle (a family man) who cared for ten of us, including my mom, after our dad died in 2010. He ensured we had a sound, good life as if our late father were on earth.
This story is about me, a young beautiful, under thirty years old single intelligent lady. I am the third in my family, with two older brothers, two younger brothers and four younger sisters. I graduated from university and finished my youth service in 2020. I got a temporary job appointment (still on it) before, during, and after my youth service.
I used to help and take care of my siblings. Regarding education, I helped my eldest brother pay his professional exam fees. I also help my immediate older brother in pursuing his education at university. In addition, I covered all the expenses for the two junior brothers in their secondary school days. One is now a student at Aminu Kano College of Legal Studies (second year); the youngest brother recently graduated from secondary school and is looking forward to securing admission into the university for him.
For the sisters, I took over my immediate younger sister’s expenses from my uncle. She’s a student at Bayero University, Kano (BUK). The other junior sister recently got admission to the School of Hygiene, Kano, while the two younger ones are secondary school students, and I still care for them all.
Maturity is not by age but rather by the number of responsibilities one is able to shoulder. The best investment in life is to invest in human beings. I would rather walk around with old clothes and an old-fashioned phone, knowing that my siblings are busy getting qualitative education (modern and religious).
I pray that God will increase my heart and bless my income so that I will help other non-blood-related orphaned children worldwide.
My name is Hamza. My father had two wives. The family comprised ten children from two different mothers. I was the eldest and the sixth in my mother’s room and the family, respectively. We were three in my mother’s room.
One fateful day, our father, Alhaji Basiru, and his friends travelled to Katsina. Unfortunately, they had a ghostly road accident returning to Funtua, our hometown. Only one person survived. I was not enrolled in a public primary school at that time, not to talk of my younger brothers. Our mother became our father and mother; for she had taken all the responsibilities of the father.
Glory be to the Sustainer. Since before our father gave up the ghost, she had embraced some petty trade at home like selling ruwan leda (water, then, usually, packed in a medium-sized leather after being cooled by a Randa ‘earthy pot’), roasted groundnut and selling food later. Her local restaurant, which was home, had become renowned in the locality and the neighbour then, as there were fewer restauranteurs in the area.
She used to sell a bag of rice in two or three days in the comfort of her home. Over time, competition increased. Sequel to that, she boiled to cook only a few measures of rice. I hawked the food on a silver tray when things started getting out of hand. The hawking was usually done after I returned from morning school and sold before late afternoon prayer (Asr), after which I had the opportunity to go to Islamiyya.
Furthermore, she ensured we had all we wanted so that we had the equal privilege to be educated like other children whose parents are alive. I can never forget when I told her what someone told me about what seemed to them like we were chasing education. He said one of his friends said, “If he (referring to me) must further his education, we will see who will sponsor him.”
I felt sad even after narrating the story to our mother. She said, “You see, all these hardships that I endure are for you to be educated. I wish I had money to sponsor your education to university; I can spend any amount in my belongings for you to be educated”. She continued, “Although I do not have enough money to sponsor your education, I believe you will get someone to help you, and that is what I always pray for.” Whenever I remember that, I feel motivated.
Fortunately, I sat for my SSCE and came out with flying colours. It was in the school of our neighbour and brother who sponsored a duo of us, my half-brother and I, in his school. May Allah (SWT) reward him and add to his wealth, amin.
I then applied to Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) Zaria with a JAMB score of 252 for MBBS in 2020. After some years of waiting, due to Covid-19 and the lingering strike, I sat for post-UTME and scored relatively well. However, afterwards, I did not secure admission. That may be due to too much competition.
Still, I did not give up. I knew MBBS was, most of the time, not a one-off thing. So the following year, I sat for another one, prayed, and worked harder. This time around was Federal University Dutse (FUD) and still the MBBS. After all, I got it in that school in early January this year (2023).
I owe my success to my dearest mother. As Prof. Abdalla Uba wrote, her likes are the “REAL woman of substance.” In a few years, I hope to become a feather in her cap ( to be a professional medical doctor ), become an important person to society and save the lives of many victims.
His name was Sadik. Perhaps about 11 years old. He walked into my newly allocated office in the old Mass Communications building of Bayero University Kano (Nigeria) in 2013. I was startled. He was a tiny boy with deep dark skin, a beautiful face with intense eyes and a dolphin smile. He asked if I wanted to buy Fura (steamed millet balls blended in cow milk, often used as dessert, although it could stand on its own as a nutritious meal). He did not look like any of the usual urchins who thronged the corridors of the building look for odd jobs – run errands, empty trash, sweep office when those officially charged – and paid – to do so did not. Intrigued, I ordered one. He disappeared and returned some twenty minutes later with the Fura in a transparent plastic bag. I paid him, and that was that.
He returned the following day. When I declined to buy it because I didn’t feel like drinking the Fura, he insisted I buy it for others. When I asked why, he simply retorted that I appeared richer than other staff because, first, I was a professor, and second my office was larger. I was amused by his evaluation of my finances based on my position. And true, my office was the largest for staff, but I was a new bride in the Department – having been wedded to Mass Communication after an amicable transfer from the Department of Science and Technology (thus the ‘double’ professor tag), and all stops were pulled to make me welcome. Based on his logic of having a larger office, if not a deeper pocket, I bought about ten and asked him to distribute them to colleagues.
Sadik was to become a regular fixture in the corridor. Always after 2.00 p.m. One day he came with a blue checkered school uniform. Mentally, I thanked the boy who gave him the ‘hand me down’. The uniform was from Musa Iliyasu College, located along Gwarzo Road, a few kilometres from the New Campus of Bayero University Kano. This was a private and prestigious high school in Kano, attended by the children of the well-to-do.
I was told, however, that the uniform was his own and that he was indeed a student at the famous prestigious college. Curious about the human aspect of this development, I decided to delve further. What I found was what I want to share with you regarding the world of Hausa women.
Sadik did not come from an elite home. He was from a large Fulani family living in a ruga (a Fulani cattle encampment) near Janguza Army Barracks in Kano – itself a few kilometres from Bayero University Kano, New Campus, along Gwarzo freeway. The unit was a father, three wives and eighteen children. Sadik was the eldest in his mother’s room. They were herders. Indeed, Sadik was born near Tamburawa along Zaria Road in Kano when the family was on the move in 2002. They camped near Janguza Barracks, where they located their ‘hometree’.
The mother was the one selling the Fura at Bayero University Kano New Campus that Sadiq marketed. She had a ‘stand’ near the Faculty of Engineering. She had a lot of customers in all categories of the university community. After all, even professors love Fura. Her interaction with the university community enabled her to develop an interest in education, and she wanted to get Sadiq to attend a school and eventually a university. She did not want Sadik to follow the family herd. His father, however, wanted the child to join the family herding tradition. The mother then engaged one of her customers, a professor, to drive to the ruga and convince the father to allow the child to attend school, to which he reluctantly agreed. The mother then took over the process of educating the child.
She enrolled him in a local private primary school inside the Janguza Barracks. After he finished, she inquired which was the best high school around, and Musa Iliyasu came highly recommended. She enrolled him there. An exclusive private school. Paid for from the proceeds of her Fura business. She bought a bike for Sadik to make it easy for him to attend the school, some five kilometres from their tent. His legs could barely reach the pedals, but he was enthusiastic about learning. After school, he would go to her Fura stand, park the bike and then trample all over the BUK mega building advertising his mother’s Fura (even boldly entering the Vice-Chancellor’s office to market the Fura), all the way till 6.00 p.m. when they close ‘office’.
I interacted with Sadik for three years. He was so curious, bold, confident and always lifting books on my desk, trying to read them, asking endless questions, his eyes always darting and roving all other office. He was truly an inquisitive and intelligent child.
In 2016 I temporarily relocated my place of work to Abuja, and that was the last I saw of Sadiq. I did not fully return to Bayero University till 2022. In the intervening period, I had wistfully thought of Sadik and finally decided to find out what had happened to him when I returned. It was a massive success story of doggedness by a traditional woman.
When Sadik finished Musa Iliyasu College, he told his mother he wanted to be a pilot. She asked him to find out how much it would cost. Off he went to the Nigerian College of Aviation Technology (NCAT), Zaria, where he learned the fees could be as much as ₦7.5 million. He informed his mother, who immediately asked him to continue the process of getting admitted. She would pay the entire sum – after all, she was already a millionaire with the large herd she had. She earmarked the number of cows to sell to raise the pilot school fees. Sadik did the entrance exams but did not scale the final test. So, he was not admitted.
He then applied to BUK with his JAMB score of 201 for Computer Science but did not meet the Post-UTME requirements for the program. Again, he faced rejection. His mother initiated the process of getting him alternative university admission and was advised to take him to Al-Qalam University, a non-profit Islamic university in Katsina. He went there and inquired about the admission process and the fees. With his results, he was admitted. His mother sold two of her cows for ₦450,000 and gave him the money to pay for the school fees in Computer Science and his accommodation in Katsina. He enrolled and started his program.
When he relocated to Katsina, she sent him money every day. She eventually gave him ₦200,000, with which he started a Fura packaging business, employing his co-tenants in the house he was renting. Soon, he established a small business employing other students. Eventually, he vied for and succeeded in becoming the Vice-President of the Computer Science Students Association of the Al-Qalam branch.
Sadik became a dedicated student with a consistently high CGPA, which could eventually lead to either a good second upper or a first in Computer Science. He was eventually elected the President of the Computer Science Students of his university chapter. One day, the officers of the Association came to Kano for a function during a school break and decided to see his house, especially after he told them he lived in a ruga. They were astonished to discover he was telling the truth – their respect for his modesty raised higher.
In January 2023, I was in my office at the Faculty of Communication BUK when someone walked in. I was bent on my laptop but did notice the guest removing his shoes and coming and standing in front of my desk, waiting for a pause in my typing.
I looked up at a tall well-built young man. I immediately knew it was Sadik. At 21 years, everything about him has changed, of course, but not his dolphin smile. He told me he learnt I was asking of him and decided to come and greet me. I was so happy to see him, and it was he who related to me what I had written so far. I immediately connected him to Sunusi Ahmad Baffa Dawakin Tofa, Chairman of the Kano State chapter of the Fulfulde Development Association of Nigeria (FULDAN), of which I was a patron. They promised to come together and see how Sadik could be part of community mobilisation awareness and a role model, especially for youth. Sadiq owes his success so far to his mother.
Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu and Sadik
***
Sadik’s mother, Hajiya Hauwa Suleiman Dikko, was not an educated, entitled, privileged woman. She did not go to school. Her class was the hard knock of life. As a young girl, she missed going to school with lunchboxes and rucksacks festooned with stickers from the Marvel Cinematic Universe – Spiderman, Hulk, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. She did not attend a privileged landscaped school with paintings of Micky Mouse and Donald Duck on their walls. She had no driver to chauffer her to school in an airconditioned SUV. No TV to return to after school hours in a nice airconditioned living room. No iPads to play with. No Netflix to relax her hard stressful day. No extra lesson teacher (Uncle John or Auntie Funmi) to ensure she passed those horrible subjects such as Mathematics.
Her contemporaries who lived such life finished successfully from their expensive private schools (of course, no private school would allow mass failure, especially from children of the privileged) and had gatekeepers to ensure they got admission into the juiciest disciplines in the university of their choice. If at all in Nigeria – otherwise, it would be off to Ukraine (before it became too hot), some obscure countries in Eastern Europe, India, Cyprus, the UK or preferably, Malaysia.
When such contemporaries returned, they had cushy jobs waiting for them and a relatively easy path to the top. Eventually, they are celebrated as women of substance – given awards (which they don’t need) and celebrated in academic papers and opinion pieces as role models of female achievement and doggedness in a patriarchal society. I don’t mind their high-profile visibility. I just believe the accolades are wrongly placed, or at the very least, the Point of View (POV) should sweep around.
My female heroes? Those I will be celebrating today, the 2023 International Women’s Day? Let’s start with Sadik’s mother. And hundreds of others like her. I am sure you know one or two in your locality. They are women, often widowed, left alone, with little or no inheritance, and who, with the little they have, were able to provide much-appreciated services in their communities and keep a tight hold on their families. They don’t engage in endless and fruitless debates about gender identity or reproductive rights nor women’s representation in political representation and their share of hegemony. Rhetoric. Talking loud and saying nothing. As my main Man sang, “Like a dull knife / Just ain’t cutting / Just talking loud / Then saying nothing”. (James Brown, 1970).
Mainly, restauranteurs, these local women build people and impact their communities. With their business – restaurant (ƙosai, koko, tuwo, ɗanwake, wake da shinkafa, alkubus, gurasa, ƙashin rago, etc.), public transport (Keke NAPEP, buses, Acaba/Okada, Ƙurƙura), estate (properties, rental apartments, plots of land) – they are the role models who should be celebrated. They don’t feel entitled and are privileged in the peace of mind they have and the mentoring they do in their communities. They have no PAs, SAs, fierce dogs at the gates of their solar-powered villas and mansions, no frowning ‘maigad’ to intimidate and scare away panhandlers.
They have no SUVs as the cost of one could serve as capital for a whole year for their business. They don’t even have cars, despite some owning a transport business or so. They do not take their holidays in London or Dubai – they have no time for holidays as they are busy serving their communities. They marry off their daughters, not in grand style, with furniture imported from IKEA in China but from local makers – thus contributing to local economies.
So, what should be the concerns of women on International Women’s Day? For me, with a focus on Muslim Hausa women living in traditional communities, how about integrating them into the modern sector digital economy? Instead of empty rhetoric about gender representation, why don’t we focus on enabling them to acquire skills such as mobile phone repairs and POS services – in the comfort and safety of their homes? Many women are now engaged with mobile phones and online trading and payments. Muslim Hausa women feel unsafe in approaching service centres where clusters of men provide these services. Empowering them to be skilled in digital knowledge in the lungu and saƙo (alleyways) of our communities works better than hot-air rhetoric and genuinely can make a difference.
On this day, I, therefore, award accolades to Sadik’s mother, Hajiya Mai Ƙashin Rago Fagge (with a whole street named after her), and countless others whom I am sure Jaafar Jaafar knows more. They are truly women of substance.
Today, being International Women’s Day, please locate any in your community, go right up to her and appreciate her. Celebrate her achievements and her silent but visible impact in the community as the REAL woman of substance.
PS: Some have asked about Sadik’s whereabouts. He is in his final year at Al-Qalam, Katsina, Computer Science, and from his results so far, he is heading towards either a First Class or a very good Second Upper.
Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu can be contacted via auadamu@yahoo.com.
