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.
Comrade Abbas Ibrahim
By all standards, the recent violent invasion of Kano’s bustling GSM Farm Centre Market by suspected political thugs is a dangerous development that must be condemned in the strongest possible terms. What transpired on Monday, April 27, 2026, was not merely an attack on traders and innocent citizens; it was an assault on public peace, economic prosperity, and the very foundations of democratic engagement.
Farm Centre is not just another market. It is one of the largest mobile phone and information technology hubs in Northern Nigeria, attracting traders, investors, and customers from across the country and neighbouring nations. Its vibrancy has made it a critical contributor to Kano’s economy and a symbol of the state’s commercial strength. Any attack on such a strategic economic centre is, by extension, an attack on Kano itself.
The scenes were deeply disturbing. Shops were looted, while vehicles and motorcycles were vandalised, and many innocent people sustained injuries. Traders—many of whom are still struggling to recover from previous devastating fire outbreaks—have once again been thrown into uncertainty, pain, and financial hardship.
Even more troubling is the fact that the Kano Passport Office is located within the vicinity. Such brazen violence near a sensitive federal facility raises serious security concerns and presents an unfortunate image of Kano to both local and international visitors.
Although the politician allegedly linked to the incident has denied involvement, the episode underscores a much larger and more troubling reality: the growing recklessness of political actors and their inability or unwillingness to restrain their supporters.
As the 2027 general elections approach, Kano cannot afford a return to the dark days when political contests were settled through violence, intimidation, and destruction. Democracy thrives on ideas, persuasion, and the ballot—not on thuggery, fear, and bloodshed.
Political leaders must understand that they bear both moral and legal responsibility for the actions of their followers. Silence in the face of violence is complicity, while ambiguity only emboldens criminal elements who exploit political rivalries for personal gain.
While the swift intervention of the police—including the deployment of teargas and the arrest of six suspects—helped restore order, the incident has once again exposed glaring limitations in the security architecture around Farm Centre. The police division is evidently overstretched and unable to respond effectively to large-scale disturbances in such a densely populated commercial area.
This is why the Kano State Government must immediately strengthen the operational capacity of the Kano State Vigilante Group and, more importantly, fully leverage the Kano Neighbourhood Safety Corps.
Established with an initial strength of 2,000 personnel drawn from all 44 local government areas, the Corps was specifically designed to complement conventional security agencies. The law establishing it wisely insulates it from partisan politics, ensuring professionalism, neutrality, and community trust. Under the capable leadership of retired Lieutenant Colonel Aminu Abdulmalik, the Corps possesses the discipline, structure, and local intelligence needed to provide rapid response and preventive security.
The time has come for its strategic deployment to critical economic hubs such as Farm Centre.
Recommendations for Immediate Action
First, all political parties and aspirants must publicly commit to peaceful conduct and take responsibility for the actions of their supporters.
Second, law enforcement agencies must thoroughly investigate the incident and prosecute all those found culpable, regardless of political affiliation.
Third, security presence at Farm Centre should be significantly enhanced through a joint task force comprising the Police, Civil Defence, and the Kano Neighbourhood Safety Corps.
Fourth, the Kano State Government should establish a permanent rapid-response security unit dedicated to protecting major commercial centres.
Fifth, political leaders must invest in civic education, teaching their supporters that elections are contests of ideas, not battles for survival.
Finally, traditional rulers, religious leaders, civil society organisations, and the media must intensify advocacy against political violence and promote a culture of tolerance.
A Test for Kano
Kano stands at a critical crossroads. The state can either allow desperate politicians and criminal elements to drag it backwards or rise above violence and preserve its proud reputation as the commercial heartbeat of Northern Nigeria.
The attack on Farm Centre must serve as a wake-up call. Political ambition must never be allowed to supersede public safety. The livelihoods of hardworking citizens must never become collateral damage in the pursuit of power.
Kano deserves better. Its traders deserve protection. Its democracy deserves maturity.
The journey to 2027 must begin with a firm and collective rejection of political violence in all its forms. Anything less would be a betrayal of the people.
Comrade Abbas Ibrahim writes from Kano and can be reached at abbasibrahim664@gmail.com
Jamilu Uba Adamu
Last week, while writing a tribute to the late Alhaji Ibrahim Galadima, one question kept haunting me: who will fill his shoes?
Kano, with its long tradition of producing great men across every sector—from business and politics to academia and sports—has never failed to replace its icons.
In sports administration, Kano’s roots run deep. At independence, the Premier of the Northern Region, Sardauna of Sokoto, Sir Ahmadu Bello, appointed the late Alhaji Muhammadu Danwawu of Kano as the Northern Region’s sports administrator. Decades later, in 1991, the state produced the Chairman of the Nigeria Football Association, Alhaji Yusuf Garba Ali.
That tradition was sustained by the immense contributions of stalwarts like the late Alhaji Isiyaku Muhammed, the late Alhaji Usman Nagado, and the late Alhaji Abdullahi Abba Yola—men who served the game with distinction and left footprints in administration, mentorship, and institutional growth. Alongside them were other excellent administrators such as Alhaji Tukur Babangida, Alhaji Ibrahim Abba, Dr. Sharif Rabiu Inuwa Ahlan, Bashir Ahmad Maizare, among others.
Now, with the passing of Alhaji Ibrahim Galadima, a pressing question emerges: *who will fill his shoes?*
Galadima was not just an administrator; he was an institution. As a former NFA Chairman, he brought credibility, order, and dignity to Nigerian football during turbulent times. His shoes are large—not merely because of the offices he held, but because of the integrity, courage, and vision with which he led.
Yet, if history is any guide, Kano’s well of leadership has never run dry. From Alhaji Danwawu at independence, to the era of Isiyaku Muhammed and Usman Nagado, through Yusuf Ali in 1991, and down to Galadima in the 2000s, the state has consistently raised men of character to step into moments of transition. The challenge before us is not whether Kano can produce another Galadima, but whether we can create the environment that allows such leaders to emerge and thrive.
The vacuum is real. The legacy is intact. The question remains: who among the next generation will rise to it?
Adamu writes from Kano and can be reached via jameelubaadamu@yahoo.com
Opinion
A Baby in 1956, A Granny in 2026; An Idol in 2096: Abdalla Uba Adamu’s Yesterday is Tomorrow
Prof. Aliyu Barau
Professor Abdalla was barely 11 years old when the 1967 science fiction film, Tomorrow is Yesterday, written by D.C. Fontana, was released. The film explores the possibility of traveling back and forth in time. I chose this caption with the understanding that science has shaped Abdalla’s trajectory in academia. Even as a child, he vigorously pursued science. He would ride his bicycle to the commercial side of Kano to buy books from the Kano-based missionary bookstore—the Challenge Bookshop—whose worn-out structure I once knew along Niger Street.
What exactly happened in 1956, and what connections does he have with that year? This is interesting because some events of 1956 may have shaped Abdalla into who he is today. For instance, anyone close to him knows of his fascination with the Kingdom of Morocco, which gained independence in 1956, just as Sudan did. I am not certain whether the Professor has any strong connection with Sudan; however, I would not be surprised, given his work in neo-Ajamisation scholarship. If you know his passion for popular culture, then you should also know that 1956 marked the rise of Elvis Presley. He made his debut on The Ed Sullivan Show and topped music charts, fueling the rock-and-roll era. If you wonder why Abdalla has ventured deeply into the worlds of media and communication, consider that the world’s first transatlantic telephone cable was commissioned in 1956. And if you admire the way Professor Abdalla writes and speaks English with a Midlands sharpness, you should recall that Queen Elizabeth II visited Kano in 1956. These moments symbolically map his journey through time since his birth in 1956.
Professor Abdalla is already something of a scholarly “grand old figure,” as even the students of his students became professors a few years ago. I often find it difficult to call him merely a professor; he is more of a mallam in the true sense of the word in Hausaland, and even more a mwalimu in the truest sense of Swahililand.
Like him or hate him, Abdalla Uba Adamu remains one of the most genuinely apolitical intellectual vanguards Kano has ever produced. Whether you acknowledge it or not, no position has ever—and will ever—distract him from true scholarship. Agree or disagree, nothing can rob him of his golden joviality. You may tower over him physically, but he will dwarf you intellectually. What is striking about Abdalla’s scholarship is its velocity—like a supersonic missile traveling at Mach 15 (a hypersonic speed roughly equivalent to 18,500 km/h, or 11,500 mph). I have yet to see any of his students come close to matching his intellectual range, even as age and retirement approach him. Allah ya kara lafiya. Truly, in Abdalla, we have a rare scholar.
Personally, I say with confidence that I share a genuine and natural relationship with Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu. With all humility, I can say that this rare scholar holds me in high regard. Whenever I call him and he misses the call, he always returns it, and I leave the conversation uplifted by his humour. Za mu sha hira. I know the people in his good and bad books. Throughout Bayero University Kano, I doubt there is anyone who has taken as deep an interest in my academic progress as Abdalla. I can proudly say I am among the few he trusted to co-author a journal article, even though we come from different disciplines but share common interests. He constantly tracks my progress, often calling to congratulate me: “I have seen your paper on ResearchGate or Google Scholar. I am happy. Please keep working.” Many people do not know how humble and philanthropic Professor Abdalla is, but Allah knows. May Allah reward his hidden deeds and guide him to Jannah. One example is his remarkable act of building a house for a homeless blind man.
In 2006, Professor Abdalla served as the team lead for Celebrating Arts in Northern Nigeria, a project by the British Council and the Prince’s School of Traditional Arts, London. The project culminated in a visit by His Majesty King Charles III, then the HRH Prince of Wales. Abdalla ensured that Nasiru Wada Khalil and I participated fully in the activities, giving us the opportunity to benefit. He stepped aside to create space for us. When the Prince arrived and engaged with us at the British Council, I seized the opportunity to present him with a copy of my book, Environment and Sustainable Development in the Qur’an (with the approval of the British High Commission). I still remember Abdalla telling me, “Kayi daidai; nima da ina da shi, wallahi da na ba shi.” Just imagine—such humility.
At his retirement, social media was filled with tributes celebrating this rare scholar. I am optimistic that by 2096, long after both Abdalla and I are gone, the Hausa world will be idolising and drawing inspiration from his erudition and service to humanity. Even in death, his scholarship will continue to shape the future. One final lesson I have learned from him is that one should be in the university not for money or political positioning. This is a principle he firmly believes in—and one I also uphold.
Abdalla na Allah. Allah ya sa mu cika da imani. Abdalla conquers yesterday and tomorrow.
Prof. Aliyu Barau teaches at
Bayero University, Kano.
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