Features

Rarara’s Invective Barbs: Innuendoes, Body Shaming, and Kano Politics

Published

3 years ago

April 7, 2023

Dauda Kahutu Rarara

For the past 43 years that I have been a researcher, there were two areas I stay clear of: politics and religion. If you see my hand in any of these two, then the entry point is popular or media cultures. For instance, I have recorded a lot of Kano Qadiriyya’s Anfasu zikr, not as a devotee, but as an ethnomusicologist – focusing on the body percussion and movements (after studying the wonderful works of Margaret Kartomi on body percussion while in Morocco). Similarly – and to balance things somewhat – I recorded Tijjaniyya zikr sessions at Chiranci in the city of Kano as part of a larger study on religious performances. All my recordings were uploaded to a dedicated YouTube public channel. I was therefore amused when people try to pigeon-hole me either as Qadri or Tijjani. I am neither.

Politically, I am apolitical, meaning I really don’t care who rules the country. I don’t even vote, having done once long time ago (at the insistence of a dear friend), and promised never to do it again. But performance arts brought my attention to protest songs and the prosecution of singers in Kano. The end product was a paper, “Poetic Barbs: Invective Political Poetry in Kano Popular Culture” which I am sure is floating somewhere in a modified form. And I thought that was it.

In 2014 I came across a song that I found amusing. I was playing it on my laptop when someone exhibited surprise that I was listening to the songs of Dauda Adamu Abdullahi Kahutu, with stage name of Rarara. That was the first time I even heard the name. The song was “Zuwan Maimalafa Kano.” It attracted my attention in two ways. First, its lyrical construction as well as delivery was just amazing. Rapid fire. He should have been a rapper, a genre of music I am totally besotted on (old school DMX, 2Pac, Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube, Queen “The Equalizer” Latifah, y’all). It was clear Rarara was singing off cuff, not reading from a setlist or lyrical sheet. Second, it was the most detailed invective song I have heard in Hausa Afropop music genre. I started digging and latched on him and his songs. So, for the last seven years or so, I have been following every song he released using the invective matrix.

So, what is an invective song? Invective is the literary device in which one attacks or insults a person or thing through the use of abusive language and tone. If you like, “zambo/shaguɓe”. Invective is often accompanied by negative emotion. Invective can be divided into two types: high and low invective. High invective requires the use of formal and creative language, while Low invective, on the other hand, makes use of rude and offensive images. From 2010, Rarara became a master of popular Hausa invective oral poetry. He used his skills to abuse, insult and body shame anyone he was paid to insult. Including former masters and associates.

A pattern evolved. His switchbacks. Chronologically, his earliest non-invective song was “Saraki Sai Allah” (in honor of then Governor Ibrahim Shekarau’s turbaning as Sardaunan Kano in 2010 by the late Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero). In 2011 – barely a year later – when Shekarau failed to anoint Rarara’s ‘master’, Deputy Governor Abdullahi T. Gwarzo to succeed him, Rarara became ballistically invective – and established a career in body shaming, abuses and innuendoes against various previous masters. Shekarau bore the blunt of colorist abuses – often a case of the kettle calling the pot black. No one was spared his invective barbs. Deeply cut. Insulting. Spread over 39 songs, from 2014’s “Malam Ya Yi Rawa Da Alkyabba”, to 2023’s “Tangal-Tangal.”

I have seen social media calling Rarara out on his not being a Kano indigene, getting rich in Kano through his songs, and yet insulting Kano’s leaders. This is all true. However, ‘da ɗan gari a kan ci gari’ (enemy within). Only about three songs in my analytical corpus by Rarara were free-standing (i.e., unsponsored). All the others were commissioned and paid for – by politicians from Kano, to abuse other politicians from Kano. Rarara always acknowledges his sponsors in the opening doxology of his performances.

Rarara was a highly unprincipled and unethical businessman. Show him the money, and he will praise his closest friend and abuse the friend’s enemy. Show him more money, and he will insult the same friend he praised, and heap praises on the enemy he insulted. Does anyone remember that the glorified “Ɗan Ƙaramin Sauro” (irritating mote) was part of the demeaned “Banza Bakwai” (Bastard Seven)? The bromance did not end well, did it? Business unusual.

In any event, Rarara’s invective braggadocio came back to hit him hard on 5th April 2023 when his opponents used his mother’s picture in unflattering terms and splattered it all over social media and gave her a feminine variation of an insulting name he used against one of his targets. Apparently when the shoe is on the other foot, it pinches.

Thus, instead of focusing on political ideology and promises of creating a better life for the electorate, often politicians in Kano (and I think Kano, as usual, is the only state that uniquely does this) would pay more attention to denigrating, shaming, and condemning opposing candidates, creating an unfavorable imagery of the politician to prevent his being voted. Rarara was a perfect malleable puppet in this process. He has the same emotional value to Kano politicians as an alien from Saturn. Despite his lyrical brilliance and acerbic wit, he was expendable. How many singers from Kano can you recall doing the same invective insults as Rarara to Kano politicians? Two? Three? Their corpus is not as extensive as that of Rarara. Conversely, how many politicians from Katsina pay Rarara money to insult other Katsina politicians? I can only remember one.

Wary of possible legal action against direct defamatory speeches, politicians often find it easier to engage what I call ‘political drones’ to communicate their defamatory messages through the popular medium of singing. In this way, when push comes to shove, it is the singer who would face legal – or in some cases, physical – wrath in one way or other. Unethical singers like Rarara – who was arrested, but not charged in 2014 over “Zuwan Maimalafa Kano” – were willing to pay the price in exchange for the stupendous amount of money they will receive. At least they will have enough for medical care when their houses were wrecked, assaulted and incapacitated to continue singing.

And the politician who caused it all? He can’t even remember the song that made him popular, having moved on to greener political pastures. Until the next election cycle when he will latch on another expendable drone to help him heat up the polity through more invective songs using campaign words he does not have the guts to utter himself.

Rarara’s defense of not uttering specific names in his invective taunts and body shaming do not stand up to scrutiny under Nigeria’s defamation laws, and demonstrates that while he was a brilliant lyricist, he needs to understand the law. This is because his invective defamation in the form of his songs is publicly available (indeed, he made them so), created a narrative about individuals that are easily identifiable either by their physical appearance or public behavior, created a negative impression on the person being so targeted, and was not misquoted as Rarara’s utterances (from his songs) were publicly available and subject to an only interpretation as intended. A clever prosecutor would have enough to jail Rarara on listening to any of his invective songs, if someone complained hard enough.

Invective songs can often have their positive sides in the sense of making politicians – or their targets – aware of public perception of their misdemeanors, or at most, errant behaviors. Rarara’s invective narrative in the selected songs I analyzed, however, do not demonstrate their oversight functions in public accountability for politicians. Regardless of whether explicit names were uttered or not, their narrative was focused on kicking them when they are down, and subjecting them to public ridicule. This questions the artistry of Rarara as a purveyor of aesthetic values of the Hausa oral arts.

Academicians ignore Rarara and his art – and I think that’s a mistake. True, some would argue that his songs have no aesthetic, intellectual or ideological value. On the contrary, they do. In their own way. They are beautiful as lyrical discourses. His delivery is truly artistic, even if the content is inelegant. Unlike other songs in the repertoire of political communication, his are not protest songs, and thus lack ideological focus. They neither educate, illuminate or illustrate any aspect of political culture. They only entertain – at the expense of the dignity of the people he attacks. His songs synthesize Hausa rural lexicon overlayered with abusive, often self-constructed urban jargon to enhance general appeal – and act as rabble rousers for politicians who think like him. It is a unique, if unadmirable business model in the performing arts.

Subsequently, Rarara’s songs cannot be compared, by any stretch of imagination, with the classical Hausa protest poets such as Sa’adu Zungur, Mudi Sipikin, Aƙilu Aliyu, Abba Maiƙwaru and Aminu Kano, whose artforms were fueled by educative political ideology, certainly not profit. Mudi Sipikin, for instance. used his poetry to attack the system of colonial rule. Aƙilu Aliyu wrote poems directly attacking the NPC. Abba Maiƙwaru wrote a 10-line NEPU poem for which he and Aminu Kano were arrested in the mid-1950s.

Zungur used his poetry originally to warn the emirs of the north of the necessity for reform, as illustrated in his central work, Jumhuriya ko Mulukiya [Republic or Monarchy]. In this work, he called for political and social problems to be solved on the basis of the existing Islamic institutions, rejecting alien political concepts. He later used his poetry to appeal directly to the common people. In a similar vein, one of the earliest poems written for a northern political party was by Aminu Kano, and called ‘Waƙar Ƴancin NEPU-Sawaba’ [Freedom poem for NEPU-Sawaba], and published in 1953 and put in the final form by Isa Wali. It was one of the earliest statements of Nigerian nationalism.

Despite all these, I argue that as researchers we can’t afford to ignore a current of knowledge flowing right at our feet. But the cold shoulder given to Rarara by our community, opposed to Aminu Ladan Abubakar (ALAN Waƙa) who is a toast to the academic and intellectual community, merely emphasizes the expendable and ephemeral nature of Rarara’s art. Ten years after the release of any ALA song, it will still have relevance. The relevance of Rarara’s songs rarely last to the next song release. Instantly forgettable.

Nevertheless, just as we struggled for the recognition and documentation (if not acceptance) of the Kano Market Literature in the 1990s when everyone was denigrating it, we need to also document the stream of popular culture, including Rarara – warts and all – flowing around us at all times. As far as I could see, only Maikuɗi Zukogi has focused attention on two of Rarara’s songs. More needs to be done.

As soon as I tell myself that I will wrap up the research, he will release a song insulting a former master or associate. Subsequently, I delayed publishing the research until he insults two people, and true to expectations, he did. These were President Muhammadu Buhari (Matsalar Tsaro) and Governor Abdullahi Umar Ganduje (Lema ta sha ƙwaya). With the ‘Hankaka’ barb against Ganduje in the Lema song, my fieldwork became almost complete. His destruction of “ɗan ƙaramin sauro” leaves only the references to be completed. As I argued, based on his corpus, Rarara sells to the highest bidder, with neither conscience or ideology. The huge profit he makes serve as an insurance against future loss of earnings when Kano politicians become mature enough to stop patronizing him to insult each other (and themselves) and utilize his skills in more constructive ways.

My thanks to a team of eager research assistants, headed by my ever faithful and close companion, Hassan Auwalu Muhammad – a former songwriter and lyricist himself. He was the one who mainly, patiently, transcribed the songs which I wove into a narrative going to almost 40 pages! I plan to upload the lot during my Summer break when the children are all here on holiday! By then the threatened wobbling ‘Tangal-Tangal’ had stopped and probably settled for a four-year legal battle.

Related Topics:innuendos Insult Invective

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

Published

3 months ago

August 28, 2025

Nigerian Tracker

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.

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.

Features

Antenatal Care: Why some women misses several sessions

Published

4 months ago

August 18, 2025

Nigerian Tracker

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.”

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

Features

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

Published

6 months ago

May 29, 2025

Nigerian Tracker

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.

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.