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Be your neighbour’s keeper- Adamu Isah Babura

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Adamu Isah Babura
Department of English and Literary Studies
Bayero University, Kano

“Baban Khalifa”, Hafsat called me.
I don’t like this Baban “father of” appellation. Since the tradition demands that she, as my wife, should not call me “Muhammad”, which is my name, why not something like “Sweetheart”, “My Love” and so on that she used to give me before we were blessed with children? Khalifa is the nickname of our first child. He too has his real name hidden. I named him after my eldest brother, Abubakar. As another tradition requests, we should not call him by that name. It would look quite disrespectful.
“Baban Khalifa,” she repeated, now a bit louder, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes,” I responded and looked at her with rapt attention. I knew she wanted something, a request or a favour, I guessed. I would grant her wish, regardless of the difficulty, I said to myself. The setting and timing could not be better.

It was on a peaceful Sunday morning. It had been raining since dawn. The rain began soon after we finished the early dawn prayer (Subh) at the mosque, which was behind our street. We barely reached home when it became so strong. Most likely, those faithful staying behind after the prayer for Zikr could not make it home without getting drenched. Or, they could extend their stay in the small, poorly ventilated mosque, especially as its single door and two tiny windows had to be closed to prevent the rain from coming in. Whatever it was, I was back at home. I slept until after 8:00 am when Hafsat woke me up for breakfast. As usual, she had already arranged everything and more, for she had put on one of her best clothes. There was scented air blowing beautifully from a lighted incense. Moreover, the electricity company had brought back power, which went off during the rain. It is their habit always to take it off whenever it rains. Almost everyone now expects power outage as soon as it starts raining. Quite unusual of my wife today, she insisted that we listen to my favourite music by Nura M. Inuwa. I agreed.
The children were still asleep. After all, nobody would wake them up this early for any reason on a Sunday morning. On the weekends, their Islamic school opens at 2:00 pm. For now, the house was ours, Hafsat and me. I was expecting her to ask for something pricey or a complex task, but she came up with a question I was not ready to answer. No, I could explain it there and then, but I did not want to revisit that unfortunate event that had shaped my life forever.

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“I want to know you better,” she uttered with a serious yet smiling face. That was quite uncharacteristic of her. “Tell me, why are you so dovish?” she asked and then added that she had never seen a man like me who, as others, including my friends and hers, told her, acted like a spineless woman. We had never had a little argument since our marriage seven years ago.

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Well, I did not know where to begin. Marcus Aurelius, a character in the famous Gladiator movie succinctly said, “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” Quite early in my life, I started doing exactly that. Additionally, I expected others to do the same, not only for themselves but also for the sake of humanity. I envisioned a world where peace and understanding exist and reign in all quarters. You may call it El-Dorado on earth. I was well aware that some close friends jibe me on that, saying that this world could not be what I wanted and that I was simply an idealist. I never argued further, for I considered myself a pragmatist. Therefore, engaging them in a debate would be futile. None of us was willing to believe with the other, and that would contradict my principle.

People could be born like that, but I was not. I then narrated to Hafsat a life-shaping incident that happened during our childhood to a neighbour called Tijjani. It left an indelible mark on my personality. Since then, I agreed with the Hausa maxim that says “Mutum rahama ne”, meaning “a human being is mercy”. Before the unfortunate incident, Tijjani never cared to talk to anyone in the community. The most shocking fact about his antisocial behaviour was his being poor. Often, it was the rich that looked down on the low-income individuals. That was not the case here. However, his wife was somehow unlike him as she used to visit one or two friends in the neighbourhood before he forbade her. In short, no one knew anything about him and his family.
On one fateful day, Tijjani, who lived in Hotoro, a suburb of Kano city in those days, took his wife to their house in the metropolis. That was their routine whenever he was travelling. However, quite unusual f their schedule that day, the wife returned to the home in the evening. With a phone in one hand, she picked up a piece of stone and knocked at their door repeatedly, loudly. As she later revealed, he didn’t answer or return her several calls since they parted in the morning. Therefore, she suspected that he might have abandoned the idea to travel and came back home. But, the house was still locked. She frantically called his phone number, again and again, no response. She gave up and went back home.

Days and almost a week passed, nobody heard of Tijjani. All efforts to trace his whereabouts proved in vain. His wife, whose name I cannot recall, could not ask anyone around, for she very well knew that her husband did not interact with anyone. She resorted to reporting the case to the police who later came and forcibly opened the house. To everyone’s sheer shock, they found an almost decomposed body of Tijjani inside their bedroom. No doubt, people in the neighbourhood had been complaining of strange smell recently. He was gagged, both hands and legs bound with curtains, and his stomach ripped. The house was almost empty, and everything had been packed away. Upon investigation, people in the neighbourhood could only recall seeing some unknown individuals with a truck carting away property from the house. Nobody asked them why, how or anything whatsoever. The few eyewitnesses interviewed by the police thought that Tijjani was simply relocating to another area.

Hafsat’s eyes were already filled with tears. She gently argued that that was the highest form of I-don’t-care attitude on the neighbours’ part and prayed to Allah to rest Tijjani’s soul in peace, and for the punishment of his cruel murderers. Although I said “Amin,” I didn’t agree with her entirely. It takes two to tango. We should be our neighbours’ keepers. Both our religion and culture teach us to do that, for inevitably, we reap what we sow.

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Why I want To Rewrite Kannywood’s Playbook – Dan Hausa

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Kamilu Danhausa

 

By Saif Ibrahim, Kano

Who is Dan Hausa?

I am Kamilu Ibrahim born 31 years ago, but most people know me as Dan Hausa. I was born in Fagge, Kano State, and from the very beginning I knew I wanted to tell stories that reflect the realities of my people. I trained at the High Definition Film Academy in Abuja, SAE Institute, and also took part in the U.S. Embassy’s Filmmaking for Impact program. I join the fikm making industry and started directing in 2017 because I wanted full control over how my stories are told.

Can you tell us a bit about yourself and your journey into film directing?

My journey began with a love for storytelling—I started as a scriptwriter, then worked closely with experienced filmmakers before directing my first film. Over the years, I’ve learned that directing isn’t just about cameras and lights, but about understanding people, culture, and the power of narrative.

Growing up, I saw how films could educate and inspire people. In Arewa, cinema is more than entertainment—it’s a mirror of society. I wanted to use that mirror to reflect our values, challenges, and hopes. That desire to make meaningful films pushed me into directing.

What sets your work apart in today’s Kannywood?

For me, it’s about merging modern cinematic techniques with our Hausa cultural identity. I love bold visuals and tight storytelling, but I never want to lose that traditional heartbeat of my origin. My goal has always been to raise our production quality to international standards while staying true to our roots”, proof of that is clear in my current and biggest project, “Wata Shida.

How would you describe your directing style?

I like to call my style “realism with purpose.” I focus on authenticity—every scene, every performance, every frame must feel true to life. But I also ensure that there’s always a message, something the audience can take home and reflect on.

Can you highlight some of your notable works?

Sure, there is Wata Shida which is currently airing and has an overwhelming response from the public and the likes of Lulu Da Andalu a myth-inspired adventure series showing on AREWA24 and YouTube. YouTube pushed us to think bigger in terms of story and production. Mijin Hajiya earned me Best Director at the 2024 Kano Entertainment Awards, while Tataburza made waves at film festivals. Earlier films like Bakon Yanayi (2019) and my debut Kulba Na Barna (2017) helped me define my style. My latest project, Amaryar Lalle, starring Rahama Sadau, premieres August 2025 on Sadau Pictures TV. Each project is a step forward in showing what Kannywood can achieve.

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What awards and recognitions have you earned?

I have also been recognized by the Arewa5050 Awards and Kaduna International Film Festival (KIFF) for Lulu Da Andalu, which even won Best Indigenous Hausa Film. There’s also an AMVCA nomination for best Africanindigenous language , which is exciting because it means Hausa stories are getting wider attention.”

Who are your key collaborators?

Filmmaking is teamwork; TY Shaba has been a creative partner on several projects, especially on Lulu Da Andalu. I have WORKED with Rahama Sadau on Amaryar Lalle has been fantastic; she brings so much energy to the screen.”

What themes do you explore in your films?

I like telling stories where modern life clashes with traditional values—family conflict, cultural identity, gender roles. These are real issues in our society, and I try to explore them honestly but cinematically. I believe film should make people feel and also think.”

What is your next project?

I am working on Wata Shida Season 2, a story about a woman who enters a six-month sham marriage to protect her inheritance. It’s socially meaningful but also very entertaining. I will also continue with season 2 of “Amaryar Lalle.”

Can you tell us a little about your latest project?

This project is very close to my heart. It follows a young girl fighting to get an education in a society full of obstacles. Through her eyes, we see how family, tradition, and resilience collide, and how hope can survive even in the harshest situations.”

What inspired you to make this story?

Growing up, I saw so many bright young girls whose dreams were cut short just because they were girls. I felt a responsibility to tell this story—not as fiction, but as a mirror of what is happening around us.

How do you balance tradition and modernity in your work?

A: It’s about respect. I respect our traditions, but I also embrace new technology and ideas. In my films, I make sure traditional values are represented truthfully, while using modern techniques to improve production quality.

 

What challenges do you face as a director in Kannywood?

Budgets are often limited, and resources can be scarce. But the biggest challenge is sometimes societal misunderstanding of what we do as filmmakers. People forget that film is also an art form and a tool for change, not just entertainment.

Can you tell us your favourite project

Every project has its own special memory, but I’m proudest when a film sparks conversation or impacts people’s lives. For example, one of my recent films about youth unemployment led to community discussions and even small initiatives to help young people. That’s when I feel film is doing its job.

What advice would you give to aspiring directors?

Learn the craft—don’t rush. Watch films, study scripts, spend time on set even if it’s just to observe. Most importantly, stay humble and focused. Filmmaking is about patience, teamwork, and vision.

What should audiences expect from your upcoming projects?

Expect more powerful stories rooted in our culture, with better technical quality. I’m working on projects that tackle real societal issues, and I believe they’ll resonate with audiences not just in Arewa, but globally.

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Antenatal Care: Why some women misses several sessions

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By Aisha Muhammad Rabiu

 

In many parts of Northern Nigeria, antenatal care is a vital step in ensuring the health of both mother and the unborn child. Yet, an increasing number of women are neglecting this crucial stage of pregnancy, putting themselves and their babies at serious risk, hence the high infant, mother mortality rate.

 

Health experts have been warning that antenatal visits help detect pregnancy complications at its early stage, provide essential supplements for healthy mother/child development, and educate mothers on safe delivery practices. But for some women, they find antenatal care as a burden either due to poverty or lack of awareness based on cultural practices and beliefs. As such antenatal remains a neglected priority.

 

 

In Kadawa, Fatima Sani, a 28-year-old expectant mother, admits she has not attended a single session of antenatal since the start of her pregnancy. she said “It’s not that I don’t want to go, but the clinic is far from my house, and my husband says we should save the transport money for delivery day. I just pray Allah protects me and my baby.”

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From Dan Bare, Shago Tara precisely, Khairat a mother of 4 shares her reasons for not attending antenatal session even though she is fully aware that the session is very important to pregnant women. She said “I feel healthy, so I don’t see the need to go for antenatal. My mother gave birth to all her children at home without any clinic visits, and they all survived.”

 

In Rijiyar Zaki, Hadiza Mukhtar recalls her previous pregnancy, where she skipped antenatal visits entirely. “The nurses were rude to me when I first went. I decided I would not return. This pregnancy, I haven’t gone at all,” she confesses.

 

For Usaina Muhammad of Kurna, the problem is financial. “I can’t afford the registration fee, and I also have other children to feed. I know antenatal is important, but survival comes first.”

 

Meanwhile, Maryam Lawan of Layi Kaji reveals that misinformation has influenced her decision. “Someone told me that the iron tablets they give at the clinic make the babies grow too big, making delivery harder. So, I decided to avoid it altogether.”

 

Medical professionals emphasize that skipping antenatal care increases the risk of complications such as anemia, high blood pressure, infections, and even maternal or infant death. Dr. Ibrahim Musa, a gynecologist in Kano, warns: “We see many emergencies that could have been avoided if the mother had attended antenatal. Most of these cases arrive late, making it harder for the doctors to save lives.”

 

Experts and community leaders agree that raising awareness is key in addressing the matter. Antenatal care should be made more affordable, accessible, and culturally acceptable for all women. Religious leaders, health workers, and family members all have a role to play in encouraging expectant mothers to attend regular check-ups.

 

Neglecting antenatal care is not just a personal choice; it’s a public health concern that affects families, communities, and the future of the nation. Ensuring that every mother has the knowledge, resources, and support to seek antenatal care is a step toward a healthier society.

 

Aisha Muhammad Rabiu writes from Bayero University Kano (BUK) and she can be reached at Email: aishatama2020@gmail.com

Phone no.08084273341

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Rano’s Peaceful Legacy: More Than a Slogan, One Tragedy Won’t Define Us

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For decades, Rano Garin Autan Bawo has proudly stood as a symbol of peace and harmony in Kano State. It is a place where neighbors look out for one another, where disputes are settled through dialogue, and where diversity is met with respect—not resentment. In Rano, peace is not just a slogan—it is a way of life passed down through generations.

The tragic incident that recently occurred at the Divisional Police Station in Rano Local Government has deeply shaken our community. Known for generations as one of the most peaceful and united areas in Nigeria, Rano now faces the painful reality of an attack that led to the death of a Divisional Police Officer and the destruction of police property. This senseless act of violence goes against everything our community stands for and must not be seen as a reflection of who we are.

Rano has long been recognized for its peaceful spirit, tolerance, and respect for all. People from different backgrounds, religions, and cultures have lived side by side here in harmony. This didn’t happen by chance—it is the result of years of effort by our leaders, religious figures, and ordinary citizens who believe that our strength lies in our unity and diversity.

Our respect for law and order is deep-rooted. We understand the crucial role that security personnel play in keeping our community safe. The people of Rano have always appreciated the risks and sacrifices made by the police, military, and other agencies to protect lives and property.

Respect for the law here is not just about obeying rules—it’s about a shared belief in justice, fairness, and solving problems peacefully and legally. This belief has helped build a respectful and cooperative relationship between the police and the people.

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What happened at the police station is completely out of character for our community. The individuals who carried out this attack do not represent us. Their actions go against the values that have shaped Rano. We strongly condemn what they did and make it clear that their behavior does not reflect who we are.

The loss of the Divisional Police Officer is not just a blow to the Nigeria Police Force or the Kano State Police Command—it is a loss for all of us. He wasn’t just doing his job; he was part of our extended family. His death is an attack on the peace and security that we all hold dear.

We send our deepest condolences to his family. No words can ease the pain of losing a loved one in such a brutal way. Our thoughts are also with his colleagues in the police force, who have lost a brother and a friend.

We also stand with the Kano State Police Command and the Nigeria Police Force as they face this heartbreaking loss. We understand how much this affects their morale, especially at a time when their work is more important than ever.

Destroying police buildings and equipment is not just an attack on law enforcement—it’s an attack on the very system that helps keep us safe. These facilities belong to the people and serve the entire community. Damaging them harms everyone, especially the most vulnerable among us.

We urge the government and relevant authorities to investigate this incident fully and fairly. Those responsible must be held accountable. Justice must be swift and uncompromised. Our community deserves to see the law upheld and the wrongdoers brought to book.

To our young people—the future of Rano—we ask for calm and reflection. We know that you may be frustrated or angry about many issues. But violence is never the answer. Taking the law into your own hands only brings more pain and setbacks for everyone.

Instead, we encourage our youth to focus on positive, constructive paths. There are peaceful, legal ways to raise your voices and push for change. Use those channels. Help move our community forward.

Rano must now focus on healing, rebuilding trust, and recommitting to the peaceful values that have always defined us. We must come together—young and old, leaders and citizens—to ensure that such violence never happens again.

We call on traditional leaders, religious figures, community elders, youth leaders, and all residents to stand united in promoting peace and respect for the law. Let’s strengthen our partnership with security agencies and support their efforts to keep us safe, while also holding them accountable to serve with respect and dignity.

How we respond to this tragedy will shape our future. Let us choose unity over division, peace over violence, and hope over despair. The actions of a few will not define us. We will protect the legacy of peace that Rano is known for and continue working together for a better tomorrow.

Buhari Abba wrote this piece from Unguwar Liman Rano.

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