Opinion
Hausa Day: 20 Hausa Words in Everyday Nigerian English
Farooq A. Kperogi
Since 2015, every August 26 has been observed as “Hausa Day” (or “Ranar Hausa” in the Hausa language) by Hausa-speaking people all over the world. In honor of this day, I highlight 20 Nigerian English—and Nigerian Pidgin English— expressions that owe debts to the Hausa language.
As with every language that leaves its primordial shores, the Hausa words that make it to Nigerian English are often contorted from their original forms and meanings.
1. “Jaara.” Most speakers of Nigerian English recognize this word as an additional, often small, quantity that a merchant gives to a customer who purchases goods in the market as a show of appreciation for the customer’s business. It is derived from the Hausa “gyara.”
The word’s corruption to “jaara” in Nigerian (Pidgin) English) is a consequence of the absence of the Hausa phoneme “gy” in most Nigerian languages.
Interestingly, in the U.S. state of Louisiana, when I lived for almost two years before moving to Georgia, people use the term “lagniappe” (pronounced Lan-Yap) to signify what Hausa people call “gyara” and that Nigerian English speakers call “jaara.”
No other part of the United States has a culture of merchants giving a small gift to their customers after a transaction. I once speculated that the Louisiana “lagniappe” culture may be traceable to enslaved Hausa people in the state hundreds of years ago.
2. “Babban riga.” The resplendent, broad-sleeved, flowing gown that has now become the attire of choice of Nigerian politicians of all ethnicities is often called “babban riga” in Nigerian English. It’s a slight distortion of “babbar riga,” its Hausa name.
3. “Megad.” This Nigerian English word for what native English speakers call a door guard, a gatekeeper, a uniformed doorman, or a hall porter came to us from a distortion of the Hausa “maigadi,” itself a blend of the Hausa “mai” and the English “guard.”
The fact that most doorkeepers in Nigerian urban centers used to be—probably still are—Hausa or Hausa-speaking northerners helped to admit “megad” into the pantheon of unique Nigerian English expressions.
4. “Buka.” This word now means a cheap, casual, ramshackle eatery that sells already prepared food. It came from the Hausa word “bukka,” which means a temporary, tumble-down hut or tent.
Since most roadside or dirt-cheap eateries in Nigeria used tents (many don’t these days), Nigerians neologized the word “bukateria” from “bukka” on the model of cafeteria, itself an American English word borrowed from Spanish.
5. “Burantashi.” Most Nigerians know this word to be the Hausa word for an aphrodisiac, that is, the bitter herbal concoction that reputedly stimulates sexual desire in men. “Bura” is the Hausa word for the male reproductive organ and “tashi” is the Hausa word for rising, waking up, etc.
Curiously, however, the word “buratashi” (which is probably how it would have been written in Hausa if it were a thing) is more used outside Hausa land than in Hausa land.
In everyday conversational Hausa, at least among Hausa Muslims, “bura” is rarely used except in vulgar insults such as “bura uban ka/ki” (which is now rendered as “borobanka” in some varieties of Nigerian Pidgin English).
I’m genuinely curious how “burantashi” came to be if it’s almost absent in the demotic repertoire of native Hausa speakers. Hausa people call aphrodisiacs “maganin karfin maza” or “gagi.”
6. “Fadama.” This Hausa word for a fertile wetland is now a widely used terminology in agriculture in Nigeria and beyond.
7. “Do guy.” To “do guy” in Nigerian English is to preen, to show off with elaborate sartorial care. That expression owes provenance to the Hausa “gayu,” where it means the same thing. A dandy is called “dan gaye” or “dan danyu” in Hausa.
But it seems like there is a circular sociolinguistic loop in the emergence of this expression from Hausa to Nigerian English. Since “gayu” itself doesn’t seem to be native to Hausa, it’s reasonable to assume that it’s a loan to the language from the English “guy.”
Guy means an adult male in English, and men who wore shirts and trousers (as opposed to the more common Hausa attires of kaftans and babbar riga) were referred to as “guys.”
So, “guy” might have changed meaning from just being men attired in Western clothes to dandies, from where it made its way to Nigerian Pidgin English and later to Nigerian English to simply mean preening.
8. “Long leg,” the Nigerian English idiomatic expression for connections (which even Wole Soyinka used in one of this iconic plays) is said to be the direct translation of the Hausa dogon-kafa. Dogon-kafa can mean long-established, and it can colloquially mean (unfair) advantages that come with knowing people in high places.
9. “Kaya mata” or “kayamata” (which native Hausa speakers would write as “kayan mata”) has come to mean sexual stimulant for women and is now widely known by that name in southern Nigeria.
10. “Mudu,” the unit of measurement that most Nigerians use in the market, is a Hausa word.
11. To “see gobe” in southern Nigeria is to be in trouble, sometimes good trouble. It’s the title of Davido’s 2013 hit song. It may have been derived from the Hausa “sai gobe,” which literally translates as “until tomorrow.” I am also curious to know how the semantic transition occurred from “until tomorrow” to “being in trouble.”
12. “Suya” literally means frying in Hausa, but it has become the name for barbecued meat in Nigeria, which Hausa people call “tsire.” Since most non-Hausa Nigerians can’t faithfully pronounce the phoneme “ts” in Hausa, it’s entirely possible that Hausa tsire sellers encouraged the popularization of suya, an easier word to pronounce among non-Hausa-speaking people.
13. “Dogon yaro” (which literally means tall child) is the Hausa word for neem tree, but it is almost universally known by that name in Nigeria.
14. “Wahala.” Although “wahala” is an Arabic word, it came to Nigerian (Pidgin) English most likely through Hausa. It’s derived from the Arabic “wahla,” which means fright or terror, and is now firmly established in most Nigerian languages—and in the West African Pidgin English spoken in Nigeria, Ghana, and Cameroon.
15. “Waaka.” In Nigerian Pidgin English, “waaka” is a popular insult often uttered in moments of extreme exasperation with all five fingers stretched out. It’s a corruption of the Hausa “uwar ka” (male) “uwar ki” (female). Uwa means “mother” in Hausa, so “uwar ka” is “your mother!”
16. “Mugu.” Nigerian 419 email scammers popularized this expression in Nigeria and beyond. It is understood to mean a chump, that is, a fool who can easily be tricked to part with his or her prized possessions under false pretenses. But this meaning of the word departs from its original Hausa meaning of “sadist.” Now, mugu has other variations such as “maga.”
17. “Haba!” This exclamation of astonishment or disappointment that has crept into Standard Nigerian English is native to the Hausa language. But a British linguist by the name of Roger Blench observed that “Habahaba! was a common expression of joking amazement in the US in the 1940s,” and wonders if there is any relationship between the Nigerian “haba!” and the obsolete American English “habahaba!” in light of the phono-semantic similarities between both expressions. I doubt that there is.
18. “Shikenan” (often rendered as “shikena” in southern Nigeria), the Hausa term for “that is it,” is now almost universally used in Nigerian (Pidgin) English.
19. “Shege.” This means bastard in Hausa, although it can also be used as an intensifier. It is now widely understood and used in the same context in Nigerian Pidgin English.
20. “Zobo” (short for zoborodo), a kind of drink originally limited to Hausa land is now probably the most pan-Nigerian locally produced drink. It is sold in African shops in Europe and North America.
Bonus: Turenchi, usually dogo turenchi, (which would be turanci, dogon turanci in Hausa), is now widely used in Nigerian Pidgin English and in informal standard Nigerian English to mean long, boring, ineffective harangue in English by politicians and academics.
Kperogi, is a Professor of journalism and emerging media at Kennesaw State University, USA. This article was first published on his Facebook account.
Abubakar Shehu Kwaru
There is an adage that behind every successful leader stands a dependable ally—one who offers moral discipline, commitment, ability and an unwavering desire to make meaningful impact. Leadership is rarely a solo endeavour; it thrives on loyalty, sound counsel and shared vision.
It is widely acknowledged that a good leader is one who listens to the views, suggestions and constructive criticism of close associates on matters of socio-economic and political importance. In Kano’s political landscape, one of such tested and proven leaders is Murtala Sule Garo, who has served in various capacities and was presented by the All Progressives Congress (APC) as its deputy governorship candidate in the 2023 elections.
The political milestones recorded by Garo cannot be separated from the dedication, loyalty and strategic support of those around him. Prominent among these trusted allies is Honourable Lamin Sani Kawaji, the current Chairman of the APC Caucus in Nassarawa Local Government Area.
It would not be an exaggeration to describe Honourable Kawaji as one of the key commanders supporting their “grand commander” and youthful political leader, Honourable Garo. For nearly two decades, I have maintained a close and personal relationship with both men, observing firsthand their political evolution and shared journey.
In Honourable Kawaji, I have found an honest and principled leader—hardworking, disciplined, punctual and accountable. He is a man who matches words with action and exemplifies prudence and reliability in public service.
Born and raised in the ancient city of Kano over five decades ago, Kawaji has built an impressive record across various spheres of public life. Despite the inevitable challenges and bottlenecks that accompany political growth, he has remained steadfast—an attribute common to many successful individuals.
Popularly known as “Dan Sani” among admirers, he hails from the respected family of the renowned Islamic scholar, Sheikh Sani Zawiyya of Koki quarters in Kano Municipality. His upbringing laid the foundation for his discipline and commitment to community service.
Honourable Lamin Sani Kawaji was first elected Executive Chairman of Nassarawa Local Government Council in 2013 and was re-elected for a second term in 2016. During his tenure, he initiated policies and programmes that transformed the council, ensuring that residents benefitted from the dividends of democracy.
His administration prioritised improvements in education, healthcare service delivery, infrastructural development, youth and women empowerment, and the creation of a conducive atmosphere for commercial activities. Public service efficiency also received significant attention under his leadership.
Like his political ally and mentor, Honourable Garo, Kawaji also served as the Kano State Chairman of the Association of Local Governments of Nigeria (ALGON), further strengthening his credentials in grassroots governance.
Upon the expiration of his tenure as Executive Chairman, the then Governor of Kano State, Abdullahi Umar Ganduje, appointed him Special Adviser on Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs. Following Garo’s nomination as the APC deputy governorship candidate alongside Nasiru Yusuf Gawuna in 2023, Kawaji was appointed Commissioner for Local Government and Chieftaincy Affairs to replace him in the ministry.
In that capacity, he performed beyond expectations, consolidating reforms and sustaining administrative efficiency.
Political observers will recall that Garo and Kawaji played significant roles in the APC’s 2019 electoral success, which secured a second term for Governor Ganduje and his deputy.
Today, Honourable Kawaji remains a grassroots politician committed to complementing governance efforts in Kano State, including developmental initiatives under the present administration of Abba Kabir Yusuf.
Indeed, the partnership between Honourable Lamin Sani Kawaji and Honourable Murtala Sule Garo demonstrates the enduring value of loyalty, teamwork and shared political vision. With faith, perseverance and strategic collaboration, their journey in public service continues to reflect the timeless maxim: one with God is always in the majority.
Abubakar Shehu Kwaru is a seasoned journalist who writes from Mandawari Quarters in Gwale Local Government Area of Kano State.
Opinion
2027 begins in Kano: Abba Kabir Yusuf formally received into APC as Tinubu consolidates northern political stronghold
Lamara Garba
From the moment Vice President Kashim Shettima touched down at Malam Aminu Kano International Airport, the ancient city shifted into a different rhythm. The roads leading from the airport were not merely crowded; they were alive. Traders, market women, civil servants, and artisans abandoned their stalls and workplaces for a glimpse of the visiting dignitaries. Young men climbed rooftops and signposts, while elderly men in flowing babbar riga stood shoulder to shoulder with restless students waving party flags.
The chants rolled like thunder along Airport Road, through Fagge quarters, down Murtala Mohammed Way, and into the arteries leading to the city’s historic heart. It was not the choreography of hired enthusiasm; it was organic, loud, and unmistakable.
By the time the convoy approached the iconic Sani Abacha Stadium, the streets had become a river of humanity. The stadium itself seemed too small to contain the emotion that poured into it. In that moment, one truth stood firm: this was no routine political reception. It was a public declaration of belonging — that Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf belongs to the people of Kano, and that the people, in turn, belong to him.
The formal reception of Governor Yusuf by the national leadership of the All Progressives Congress (APC) was described as a homecoming. Yet it felt deeper — almost philosophical. At its highest form, politics is about alignment: of interests, of vision, of destiny. On that day, Kano appeared to signal that its destiny must sit at the table where national decisions are shaped.
Representing President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, Vice President Shettima addressed the sea of supporters with deliberate clarity. Kano, he noted, is too strategic to stand at the margins of Nigeria’s future. His tone carried both political calculation and historical awareness. Kano has always been more than a state; it is a compass. When Kano moves, Nigeria feels it. When Kano speaks, the federation listens.
His remarks were not mere pleasantries. They underscored the significance of Governor Yusuf’s entry into the APC — not as a simple addition, but as the strengthening of a pillar. Kano’s economic vibrancy and political consciousness, he suggested, are integral to the broader national development agenda.
The Chairman of the Progressive Governors’ Forum, Hope Uzodinma, described Yusuf’s defection as a return home. In politics, the language of homecoming is potent; it softens rivalry and reframes past tensions as steps toward reunion. Uzodinma went further, calling Kano the “brain” of Nigerian politics — a metaphor that resonated deeply with the crowd. A brain directs, calculates, and interprets. By that logic, Kano’s alignment with the APC signals direction for the country.
Similarly, the party’s National Chairman, Nentawe Yilwatda, portrayed the moment as an infusion of fresh momentum. He spoke of progressive ideals and shared responsibility, emphasising that the governor’s entry would enrich rather than dilute the party’s character.
Standing like an elder statesman observing the unfolding of history, former National Chairman Abdullahi Umar Ganduje declared the party in Kano stronger and more united than ever. In Kano’s political theatre, unity is currency. His words suggested that previous fractures had been stitched into a single fabric.
Yet beyond the speeches was the quiet but powerful statement made by the crowd itself. No script can manufacture such enthusiasm. Thousands who lined the streets and filled the stadium were not merely witnessing a political transaction; they were affirming their governor. Their presence was a reminder that leadership, ultimately, is validated by followership.
Governor Yusuf balanced gratitude with principle. He pledged that his new political alignment would not compromise his pursuit of fairness and justice. Defections often invite suspicion, but he framed his decision as pragmatic rather than opportunistic — a strategic move to widen the channels through which Kano’s aspirations could be realised.
There was symbolism, too, in the earlier announcement of federal support for Kano’s recovery from recent challenges. The financial backing from the federal government and the governors’ forum was presented not merely as relief but as evidence of partnership. In politics, resources often follow relationships. By stepping into the APC fold, Kano was not simply changing party colours; it was strengthening its access to the levers of federal influence.
What unfolded at the stadium was layered. On the surface, it was a mega rally filled with music, banners, and applause. Beneath that surface, it was a recalibration of political equations ahead of 2027. Kano’s electoral weight can tilt national outcomes. Any party that secures Kano secures more than votes; it secures narrative dominance in the North.
Philosophically, the event underscored a timeless truth about power: it abhors isolation. In a federal system as complex as Nigeria’s, alignment between state and centre often determines the pace of development. The rally conveyed a shared understanding that Kano’s ambitions are best pursued in concert with the ruling party at the national level.
As the sun dipped over the ancient city and the crowds gradually dispersed, one could sense that something had shifted. Kano had spoken — not in whispers, but in waves. Whether history will judge the decision kindly remains to be seen. But on that Monday in February, the message was unmistakable: the political map of Kano had been redrawn, and the ink was still fresh.
Lamara Garba, a veteran journalist, writes from Kano.
Isyaku Ibrahim
It has become increasingly apparent that whenever the holy month of Ramadan approaches, the Muslim community begins to experience severe electricity outages.
Despite repeated assurances by the relevant authorities year after year, the situation continues unabated. The current circumstances clearly demonstrate this troubling pattern, imposing additional hardship on residents at a time when the community is only hours away from commencing the sacred month-long period of worship.
One may recall that during the late President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua’s administration, a minister once vowed upon assuming office to resolve the persistent electricity challenges to ensure that Muslim faithful could observe Ramadan without power disruptions. Unfortunately, that promise ultimately proved to be a pipe dream.
It is both disappointing and painful that a section of the community appears to bear the brunt of these outages during a spiritually significant period, especially in a secular society where public services are expected to be delivered equitably.
Public utility institutions such as the Kano Electricity Distribution Company (KEDCO) were established to serve the collective interest of all citizens, irrespective of religious, ethnic, sectional, or political affiliations. When that core objective is undermined, it creates frustration, erodes trust, and fosters resentment within the broader society.
Ramadan is a period of reflection, sacrifice, and devotion. It is also a time when families require stable electricity for basic needs—especially for preparing meals to break the fast and to sustain worshippers during long days of fasting. The inability to access reliable power during such a critical time deepens hardship and diminishes the comfort of an already demanding spiritual exercise.
As the holy month begins, it is my sincere hope that KEDCO and other relevant authorities will take urgent and practical steps to ensure improved electricity supply. Ramadan should be a time of spiritual upliftment—not avoidable suffering caused by preventable service failures.
Isyaku Ibrahim is a Director in Kano Civil Service.
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