Opinion
Hausa Names as Ethnographic Identifiers
Abdallah Uba Adamu
It happened 40 years ago. A friend’s wife in Kano had delivered a bouncing baby boy. My friend chose Maikuɗi as the name for the baby. The families on both sides were having none of this. Maikuɗi was not a name, they argued. But he saw nothing wrong with it – a nice traditional Hausa name. He was adamant. They were adamant. Cue in A Mexican Standoff.
Three days to the naming ceremony, he blinked first, and apparently gave up. With a glint in his eyes, he decided to name the child Ibrahim. A beautiful Hebrew name but cognately shared by both Muslims and Christians (from Abraham, the father of all). Everyone was happy – until it dawned on everyone that Ibrahim was the name of my friend’s father-in-law. Tricky. In Hausa societies, names of parents are never uttered. In the end, everyone ended up calling the boy Maikuɗi! Right now, the boy is a successful international businessman living in the Middle East. Earning serious cash, and living up to his name – which means one born on a lucky day. Or Tuesday.
A few years later, the same friend’s wife gave birth a beautiful baby girl. He decided to name her Tabawa. Objections reloaded. Cue in Dog Day Afternoon. As previously, my friend blinked first. He decided to name her Hajara, another cognate of Hagar, the wife of Abraham. It also happened to be the name of his eldest sister. His mother could not utter it – both the Hausa and Fulani system of cultural relations prohibit mothers from calling the names of their first series of children. In the end, everyone ended up calling the child Tabawa. She is currently a university lecturer and a doctoral student in Nigeria. Living up to her name – which means Mother luck, or the name given to one born on Wednesday (in Kano; in Katsina, it is Tuesday) considered a lucky day. Two children, both lucky in their lives. Their traditional Hausa names became their mascots as they glided successfully through life.
So, why the aversion to Hausa ‘traditional’ names? You can’t name your child Maikuɗi, but everyone will applaud Yasar (wealthy – mai kuɗi?). Or Kamal (perfection). Or Fahad (panther). Or Anwar (bright). Or Fawaz (winner). You can’t name your daughter Tabawa, but it is more acceptable to call her Mahjuba (covered). Or Samira (night conversationist –TikToker?). Name your daughter ‘Dare’, and you are in trouble. Change it to Leila, and you out of it, even though this is an Arabic for ‘dare’ (night).
A lot of the names the Muslim Hausa currently use have nothing to do with Islam. Bearers of such names rarely know their actual meaning or context. They were Arabic, and forced on us by the Cancel Culture that attaches a derogatory ‘Haɓe’ coefficient to anything traditional to the Hausa.
Therefore, I, my friend whose family story I just related and another, decided to get together and be Wokish about traditional Hausa names. Paradoxically, none of us is genetically Hausa (whatever that might mean) – one had roots in north Africa, another had Kanuri heritage, and one had Agadesian and Torodbe roots – but all of us self-identified, with absolute honor and tenacity, as Hausa. None of this ‘Hausa-Fulani’ aberrational nonsense. ‘Hausa-Fulani’ appellation, in my view, is a Nigerian Cancel Culture device to suppress the Fulani culture. The Fulani may have conquered the ruling of the Hausa (except one or two places) and imposed their rule. The Hausa, on the other hand, have linguistically conquered the Fulani. In Kano it is considered anthropological purity to claim Fulani heritage – without knowing a single word of Fulfulde (the Fulani language). Substituting rulers, does not get rid of the general populace who remained what they are.
The third friend then took the task with gusto. He spent over ten years compiling authentic traditional Hausa names that have absolutely nothing to do with ‘Maguzanci’ (the label gleefully and contemptuously attached to any Hausa who is not a Muslim by the Hausa themselves) before Islam in about 1349, at least in Kano). He also collected names that had only a tinge connection to Islam. The end product was a hitherto unpublished list of 1001 authentic, genuine, traditional Hausa names that reflect the cosmology of the Hausa.
Hausa anthropological cosmology reflects the world view and belief system of the Hausa community. based upon their understanding of order in the universe. It is reflected in their naming system – just like any other culture. The Yoruba Muslims, for the most part have retained this attachment to their traditional cosmology. Farooq Kperogi has done a wonderful work on Yoruba naming, although with focus on their adaptation of Muslim names. The failure of the Hausa to do so was, of course, due to the suffocating blanket of Cancel Culture that the Hausa have been suffering for almost 229 years.
Now, let’s look at the names and their categories. The first category I created from the 1001 Names which I edited revolved around Being, Sickness and Death. As noted earlier, the traditional Hausa center their naming conventions on ecological and cosmological observations—using time, space and seasons to mark their births. Based on this, the first naming convention uses circumstances of birth. This category of names is used to refer to the arrival of a child either after another child’s death, death of a parent, sickness of the child immediately after being born or simple structure of the child that seems out of the ordinary. Examples include:
Abarshi. This is derived from the expression, ‘Allah Ya barshi’[May Allah make him survive]. A male child born after series of miscarriages. A female child is named Abarta. A protectionist naming strategy where the child is not given full loving attention after birth until even evil spirits note this and ignore, and thus let him be. Variants include Mantau, Ajefas, Barmani, Ajuji, Barau. Now you know the meaning of Hajiya Sa’adatu ‘Barmani’ Choge’s name – the late famous Hausa griotte from Katsina (1948-2013).
Then there is Shekarau, derived from ‘shekara’, a year. A male child born after an unusually longer period of gestation in mother’s womb. A variant of this name is Ɓoyi [hide/hidden]. A female child is named Shekara. Now you know the meaning of the surname of Distinguished Senator, Malam Ibrahim Shekarau from Kano.
A third example is Tanko. This is a child born after three female children. Variants include Gudaji, Tankari, Yuguda/Iguda/Guda. I am sure you know the famous Muhammed Gudaji Kazaure, Member of the House of Representatives of Nigeria and his media presence in late 2022.
Each of these sampled names reflect a philosophical worldview, reflecting spiritual resignation or slight humor. They therefore encode the traditional Hausa perspective of living and dying as inscribed on the way they name their children.
Names that even the contemporary Hausa avoid because of bad collective memory are those linked to wealth and being owned, or slavery.
Slaves have prominently featured in political and social structure of the traditional Hausa societies, especially in the old commercial emirates of Kano, Zaria, Daura and Katsina. Their roles are clearly defined along socially accepted norms and they are expected to perform given assignments demanded by their masters.
Slaves in Kano are divided into two: domestic and farm-collective. Trusted, and therefore domesticated slaves are mainly found in ruling houses, and are prized because of their loyalty to the title-holder. Farmyard slaves were often captured during raids or wars and are not trusted because of the possibility of escape. They were usually owned by wealthy merchants or farmers and are put to work in mainly farms
Although the institution of slavery as then practiced has been eliminated in traditional Hausa societies, the main emirate ruling houses still retain vestiges of inherited slave ownership, reflected even in the categorization of the slaves. For instance, in Kano royal slaves were distinguished between first-generation slaves (bayi) and those born into slavery (cucanawa).
At the height of slave raids and ownership particularly when owning a slave was an indication of wealth, the names of the slaves often reflect the status of the owner. Examples of these names include: Nasamu (given to first slave owned by a young man determined to become a wealthy man), Arziki (first female slave owned by a man), Nagode (female slave given away to a person as a gift), Baba da Rai (first gift of a male slave to a son by his father), Dangana (male slave of a latter-day successful farmer or trader, although later given also to a child whose elder siblings all died in infancy. The female slave variant is Nadogara), and Baubawa (slaves with different faith from the owner), amongst others.
The changing political economy of Hausa societies since the coming of colonialism has created new social dynamics which included outward banning of slavery. Thus, many of the names associated with slaves and ‘being-owned’ in traditional Hausa societies became disused, unfashionable, or which is more probable, to be used without any idea of their original meaning, it is thought that some record of them may be of value. An example is ‘Anini’, usually a slave name, but later used to refer to a child born with tiny limbs. The ‘smallness’ is also reflected in the fact that ‘anini’ was a coin in Nigerian economy, usually 1/10th of a penny—a bit like the small Indian copper coin, ‘dam’ (from which the English language got ‘damn’, as in ‘I don’t give a damn’).
Further, with the coming of Islam, slave names were eased out and replaced by conventional Muslim names as dictated by Islam, Retained, however, are slave names that also served as descriptors of the functions of the slave, even in contemporary ruling houses. Examples of these slave titles which are rarely used outside of the places include:
Shamaki (looks after the king’s horses and serves as an overseer of the slaves), Ɗan Rimi (King’s top slave official and looks after all weapons), Sallama (King’s bosom friend [usually a eunuch], same role as Abin Faɗa), Kasheka shares the household supplies to king’s wives [usually a eunuch], Babban Zagi (a runner in front of the king), Jarmai (the head of an army), Kilishi (prepares sitting place for the king), amongst others. These names are almost exclusively restricted to the palace and rarely used outside its confines. Cases of nicknames of individuals bearing these names remain just that, but had no official connotation outside of the palace.
The coming of Islam to Hausaland in about 13th century altered the way traditional Hausa name their children and created the second category of Hausa beside the first ‘traditional’ ones. This second category became the Muslim Hausa who abandoned all cultural activities associated with the traditional Hausa beliefs. This was not an overnight process, however, taking it as it does, centuries. Even then, a significant portion of Muslim Hausa material culture remains the same as for traditional Hausa. The point of departure is in religious or community practices which for the Muslim Hausa, are guided by tenets of Islam. Affected in this point of departure is naming conventions. This is more so because Islam encourages adherents to give their children good meaningful names. These names must therefore not reflect anything that counters the fundamental faith of the bearer or reflect a revert to a pre-Islamic period in the lives of the individuals.
However, while predominantly accepting Muslim names, traditional Hausa parents have domesticated some of the names to the contours of their language. For instance, Guruza (Ahmad), Da’u (Dawud), Gagare (Abubakar) Auwa (Hauwa), Daso (Maryam), Babuga (Umar), Ilu (Isma’il), amongst others.
So, here you are. If you are looking for an authentic, ‘clean’ traditional Hausa name, or trying to understand your friend’s traditional Hausa name (or even yours) you are welcome to 1001 Traditional Hausa names.
The list divided into two. The first contains 869 authentic traditional Hausa names. The second contains 132 Arabic/Islamic that the Hausa have somehow domesticated to their linguistic anthropology.
The file is available at https://bit.ly/42HJl97.
Adamu, is a Professor of media and cultural studies, Bayero University, Kano. This 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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