Prayer

God, I pray You reward our mothers and their friends and age-mates with paradise. God, I pray You reward our sisters and their friends. God, give us so much money and means to make the life of our mothers and sisters comfortable. Yesterday I met an elderly woman who said she was my mother. Strange! I did not know her but I tended to agree.

She acted like my mothers and reminded one growing up in village where every woman in the extended family is your mother. Every woman in the neighborhood is also your mother. They beat you and washed the clothes you jumped into the gutter and spoilt and said that they would show your wife and your children the open gutter you normally swam whenever you were angry. I am talking of Hajiya Ya’Abba. Hajiya Liyan you also beat me! I carried your name here while you have never understood what we do when you see us mute glued to our phones. This is what we do.

“Kai jama’a, wai ‘ya’yannan me suke yi ne?” It is Juma when you hear that. So Juma, your name is also here. Apology to Bilyan Juma for he would say I am abusing him. We also had that kind of thinking when we were young. But the name is precisely given to be mentioned. Yes, but not in such rude and reckless way.

That was how they disciplined you. Every mother could act on you without feeling anything, that your mother would be angry.  They were intent to mold you into a good gentle man. You are their son, their errand boy and often made you hawk their things.

Those women who’d never call their first born by their real names, their friends would see you in the streets and buy you things because they knew one woman in your homestead. Women you had been visiting and collecting their money thinking they were your blood relatives only to discover their grandparents and your grandparents were once children in the same neighborhood. I pray for comfort and good health for those women who would see a little boy on their way to gidan shan zabaina trying to buy roasted maize with 50 kobo and begin fumbling at their kullaka telling the person “give him, he is my son” and the man selling the maize would not collect the money when he heard you are the son of so-and-so. The son of that man, and that woman, gidan Alhaji Isa. All manner of description until he understood. He would realize your family’s farmland shared a border with his family’s farmland at Yakufawa or Kudumin Dole or Faraq Qaya. And then you would be visiting him regularly and constantly boasting to other children on your way to his place about a certain relative of yours selling masara. He would never disappoint despite your countless visit with horde of children.

You really did not know that woman, but when you went home and told your mother about the woman who bought you awara or masara, your mother would understand and they would discuss further in their next meeting at shan zabaina or budar kai. People, do you have shan zabaina still and the fatai-fatai I have been missing?

When a chicken was killed or someone’s pot saw a change from boring to a palatable food (I am not abusing tuwo), the food or meet would go round to every door in the family. It was days when you carried salt and daddawa to many families every Sallah and gathered some coins in your pocket that made you feel like you owned all the Euro bond to yourself. Your grandmother who is now dead would give you 50 kobo coins only worth one Naira so that they would look much while she gave your sister Two Naira. People who went to the Binni would buy a loaf of bread at Bichi on their return as gift for little children.

You missed all the rural comfort when you moved to the city. On visit to Bagwai, you ate from a big tray with other children and Muba was constantly angry and reminding you that you were eating his father’s food. You split yourself between Hama’s room and Uwajiya’s room because they are all your mothers. You can’t understand the division and politics of polygamous home because no one tried to make you understand. You also split your time shuttling between Gidan Baban Tukur and Gidan Hajiya, each family eternally asking you to eat their food the moment you arrived. You played football and went to dam at eleven o’clock and proceeded to steal maize and sugarcane from people’ farm who were in a way your relatives. That’s why you enjoyed visiting village.  Your home was a prison. They killed you with chores and orders and arrangements while nobody here would intrude into your world with fetching water in the morning, endless errand or waking you up at dawn to perform subhi prayer.

I pray for our sisters and their friends who would see you in the streets and buy you things like kokon yara. They would see you in the street kicking and rolling and dirtying your clothes after a fight and collect you to your mother because you’re the younger brother of their friends. Never mind if that sister happened to be someone in a very far and distant connection. But these sisters were always close. I am talking about Nanatu and Rafi’atu and Usaina and many others in their bracket. Everyone was afraid to fight you because you are many in your family. Touch one and ten would come out. Came out they did in their number and defended you even when you were wrong. Even when you were the one to pinch another child first. But they would first defend you before asking question. And when no one was seeing, they would beat the child and quickly run home.

You threw words to each other between those who went to Islamiyya on Saturday and those who went to Boko on Friday. In the evening, while fetching water, you would be singing “duro ya kusan cika saura na wanka” before going to Irshadu. Wasila, Jidda, Ummin “Ya’Abba, do you remember this? I am sure Abban Yabi remembers. I am not insulting you o? Your mama na my sister.

An elder brother would promise you money if ever you pronounced tsire correctly. “Tsire, not chiye.” One day, you got it right and he never gave you anything.

So I was trying to buy things in a shop yesterday when I met an elderly woman. I had only twenty Naira. There was no change and the shop owner refused to “follow” me ten Naira. I turned to leave. “My son, why didn’t you buy?” Concerned, like that old woman in village whom I did not know, the woman called me back. I didn’t have change but before I could lie she proceeded to say “Give him, what is ten Naira. Muma ya’yanmu suna can suna karatu.” I was deeply touched. Her words brought tears to my eyes. I have been hearing them at home when our parents are helping others.

But I am hedging. I was actually broke and went to the shop that night with my only twenty Naira change to buy Kwaki. Players in my stomach had taken to street in riotous action to protest against what they considered an affront and blatant disregard to their sensibilities. My last card was two-hundred Naira after paying the repairman who fixed my computer. You must learn to calculate if you are self-employed as I wrote on my Facebook profile, a euphuism they said for someone in hell. And the woman understood I was self-employed. She paid ten Naira for the Kwaki and also gave me free groundnut worth twenty Naira. This moving experience tells me my life is not my own alone. 

For ladies who are persistently looking you with an eye to part you with the little you have, God, I pray, give us so much money malala gashin tinkiya. If You give them two cars, give us ten for without money we are dead.

Memo To Citizens of Kano

 

As fast growing city, with the largest population on African continent, Kano is experiencing social issues resulting from rapid urbanization. In the late of 2015 through 2016, the city experienced series of fire disaster which culminated in the deadliest inferno in Kano’s history, raging shops and businesses at Abubakar Rimi Market, Sabon Gari Kano. It took the city hours to fight the outbreak.

  

The incident left a gruesome sight, and thousands economically hopeless. Soon afterwards, officials started searching solution, though there has never been preemptive measure and response strategy to fall back in the wake of such incident.

Urban pressures force the city to experience bout of disaster year in, year out. Like other fast growing cities across the globe, Kano struggles with issues of flooding, transportation, crime, drugs, healthcare, agriculture, growing desertification, increased population and scarce opportunities. Boko Haram insurgency has considerably crippled commercial activities. Until recently, the city witnessed frequent social unrest.

Kano has the capacity to shake off stress and bounce back from a disaster. Visiting the Abubakar Rimi market would depict how resilient the city is. Few months after the inferno, activities resumed, things taking up shape singlehandedly by the traders themselves with no intervention from without.

But the fear is busy streets, large population, commercial centers, active citizens with resistance capacity would all amount to nothing without measures in place.

This is where I want to draw readers’ attention. And I hope each and every one would benefit.

When you live in a society where problems are too many, you just get to be naturally interested in finding solutions. You will be sniffing for places the Guardian UK described as “mutually beneficial hub of experience.”

I was in a roundtable discussion some time ago with a panel of sociologists, economists, town planners, transport industry experts and political scientists, billed to talk to participants on the application of knowledge and ideas that could help governments and communities manage affairs in time of hardship, develop resilience capacity, disaster control mechanism, stress and shock.

I had no idea then what this is called in professional terms. I did not know there has been any systematic study on this. I didn’t know a foundation called Rockefeller exists, selecting cities and “helping people around the world become more resilient to physical, social and economic shock and stress.”

Hear the Rockefeller:

“Crisis is the new normal for cities in the 21st century. Because of the collision of globalization, urbanization, and climate change, not a week goes by that there’s not a disruption to a city somewhere in the world: a cyber attack, a natural disaster, or economic or social upheaval. Meanwhile, cities face acute stresses, such as poverty, endemic crime and violence, or failing infrastructure, that weaken a city over time.

“While cities can’t predict which disruptions will come next, they can plan for them, learn from them, and generate additional benefits through the same investments, such as opportunities for economic growth or improved parks for city residents. In other words, they can achieve “resilience dividends” that can make cities better places to live not just in times of emergency, but every single day.”

Although I had no idea, but everything said in that meeting, speaker after speaker, was so familiar to me I was quickly swallowing the points. These are things happening in Kano. I easily related to them.

The experience changed my life forever and opened me up to new dimension, to see hope where none exists.

The workshop rekindled my hope in Kano. Immediately afterwards, I started thinking how to help build a huge economic zone, vibrant and sound media and intelligent business community. I have worries when it comes to consumption, we provide the biggest markets for companies across Africa and beyond and still remain the losers.

I began thinking that in our plan to move Kano forward, we need to produce crop of educated tech-savvy youth in years to come.

But my hope is a bit dented for at least some three reasons. Before I mention them I must acknowledge the inspiring work Mallam Rabi’u Shamma and his team are doing on this front. They are setting a model for governments and private citizens.

  

1)

Our people don’t even know the age in which they live. It is not that there is not great number of youth population on the Internet. But what are they doing?

They don’t concentrate on outsourcing skills and cutting-edge ideas. That is why when I get to town it cuts through me to hear people say “Kano ko da mai kazo an fika.”

They are never aware we are left behind centuries. If people know the modern trends, not posting photos on Instagram which they religiously and passionately do, they would have stopped parading Kano as giant.

2)

Lack of awareness among our people, what you may call Yan Kasuwa. I think we don’t have smart guys here who understand the power of industry. All we have is a bunch of dealers, retailers, and importers who think they are killing by earning little while the producers go with cool cash, rolling their eyes gleefully after beating our people.

Think of anything from the category of soft drink and pasta to biscuit and sweet. You will realize none is produced here. We are throwing huge money away. And we are not even on top of our own farming business. What are we here for on earth? Others are inching to beat us in it. Have you ever packaged tomato from this part? We simply don’t know how to go about things in this age.

I shudder in horror to realize we consume more than we produce. You know there is a problem, great one, when such phenomenon dominates your economic space. Spending more than you earn!

Go to sea ports, the overwhelming majority of people there are likely to be from here. While others are sending their people to train abroad and get hired in Google, our people are sending their children to Bara. Meanwhile, other people somewhere are attracting Mark Zuckerberg’s attention to invest in their tech businesses. Pundits’ prediction points that the next Nigerian billionaire would not come from oil as online business holds firm grip on economy.

We don’t have online shopping mall created here. We don’t have media power, we don’t have platform and advocacy centers with strong presence on the Internet. We are left behind in everything.

These are the signs of 21^st century cultures and civilizations. We need some courses in economic power structure to learn how to drag favour and benefits to our side. But we cannot achieve that with an army of beggars.

We cannot continue like that. We must fight begging until it is defeated. We can’t be weighed down by pessimism and defeatism. We can’t get stuck in shackles while others are moving.

3)

Lack of political will.

I think the least said here the better.  We all know how things are in respect to the intention and philosophy of people in government.  It is extremely painful how these people you call Yan Baka in the media become the source of wasting huge fortune, and how stupidly their paymasters in government, who set them up, are dancing to their tune.  These semi-literate people became influencers of government policies. The painful thing is that they are local Messi. Once outside, they become invisible and empty. That is why somehow I love Kwankwaso. That is why somehow I loathe Shekaraus’s approach to governance for running government as charity, making things free-for-all, everyone dipping their hands to the till according to their position. That is why I somehow dislike Ganduje for being too attendant to the politicians and their silliness.

I have pretty good ideas. Just walking around Kano will present you opportunities on how to make the state great. We have the greatest deposit of manpower more than any other African country I know of. We can harness these resources and create formidable economic structure. We will just set the tune and allow people to go ahead on their own. I can give you one example.

Most businesses in Kano are operating in informal sector. Incorporating them would help document business transactions, retain financial values and strengths and economic indices would pick up right here. For every single naira deposited by a Kano trader for a company somewhere, the economic value and indices would appear in that state. And we will forever show economically backward in government registry.

Look at the scraping business, or what you call gwan-gwan.  Nowhere that I know of all over Africa it is done like here. The Indians are here, but the companies are elsewhere in other states building their economy.

While we recognize that the problems are foundational, stemming from poor policies by past governments, we should not accept this as excuses to leave things unattended. Lack of money shouldn’t be an alibi. That is why you are there as a governor. To find ways for our problems. And you must think like someone at policy level. Every achievement and accomplishment have their firsts. They did not create themselves. 

We know that you can’t accomplish this catalogue of policies in your regime or even witness them in your lifetime, but history will always remember you is you do the right thing of setting the tune.

There is the need for the state officials to tap into various opportunities, to cooperate with development partners for cohesive community, better and integrated development.

In the Rockefeller program, Enugu was chosen some time back.  Kano was there in 2015 for the Rockefeller Foundation 100 Resilience City Program. This year, Lagos state made to the list. But after crosschecking, I am yet to find any evidence pointing to the Kano’s selection.

Put your people to work, Governor, explore every bit of opportunity, here and elsewhere to move communities forward. We are glad you have an information manager who has got a head that could not mistake Blackberry for some kind of exotic fruit. Ask him to explore ways we can apply for the Rockefeller Foundation Program proper. It is free of charge, really. The benefit is big if someone would care.

Am I not writing this one free of charge?