Opinion
Rarara’s Invective Barbs: Innuendoes, Body Shaming, and Kano Politics
Abdallah Uba Adamu
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.
Adamu is a Professor of media and cultural studies, Bayero University, Kano. He first published this article on Facebook.
Mustapha Muhammad
As the 2027 general elections draw nearer, the signs pointing towards a possible victory for Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf in his bid for a second term as Executive Governor of Kano State are becoming clearer by the day. The road, once fraught with political obstacles, conflicts, and challenges, appears to be clearing rapidly. Victory is increasingly within sight, God willing.
The foundation of Governor Yusuf’s political momentum rests on his administration’s performance, astute political manoeuvring, successful consensus-building during party primaries, and proactive reconciliation efforts. By bringing key political figures from Kano’s three senatorial districts—South, North, and Central—under one umbrella, coupled with the perceived decline in the influence of the Kwankwasiyya movement following widespread defections to the All Progressives Congress (APC), Governor Yusuf has positioned himself favourably ahead of the forthcoming election.
He stands out among the contenders for the Kano governorship. His political resilience and strategic departure from what he considers the troubled waters of the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP) demonstrate his ability to navigate complex political challenges in pursuit of victory.
Below are some of the key factors driving Governor Yusuf’s political momentum ahead of the 2027 general elections.
Transformative Governance and Administrative Scorecard
Over the past three years, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf has implemented people-oriented projects and policies aimed at improving the lives of Kano residents across critical sectors.
Educational Revitalisation
Increased budgetary allocation: Funding for education rose from 29.5 per cent in 2024 to 30.5 per cent in 2025 and reached 31.5 per cent in 2026, out of a total state budget exceeding ₦1.47 trillion.
Massive recruitment: Nearly 20,000 teachers, including personnel recruited under the Kano State Better Education for All (BESDA) initiative, were employed to address critical teacher shortages in classrooms.
Infrastructure upgrades: Nearly 400 schools across the state’s 44 local government areas (LGAs) have undergone complete renovation, alongside ongoing construction projects.
Academic excellence: Kano State led national performance rankings in the National Examinations Council (NECO) examinations in 2025 and 2026. In 2026, the state produced 74,413 candidates who obtained at least five credits, including English Language and Mathematics, surpassing Lagos State, with 72,496 candidates, and Oyo State, with 55,543.
Healthcare Modernisation and Pension Delivery
Primary healthcare overhaul: More than 340 primary healthcare centres across the 44 LGAs have been renovated.
Hospital expansion: At least 10 new general hospitals have been constructed in underserved LGAs, while work is ongoing on six additional facilities to ensure that every LGA has a dedicated general hospital.
Modern equipment: Health facilities have been equipped with CT scanners, dialysis units, ultrasound machines, and automated laboratory analysers.
Settlement of pension arrears: Of the inherited ₦48 billion backlog of pension and gratuity liabilities, the administration has disbursed more than ₦32 billion to retirees.
Agricultural Development and Rural Infrastructure
Farm mechanisation and subsidies: The state procured 98 tractors and 48 combine harvesters while introducing a 50 per cent fertiliser subsidy programme across all LGAs.
Irrigation expansion: The rehabilitation of the Watari Irrigation Scheme expanded irrigation coverage by 1,000 hectares, with the aim of boosting year-round agricultural production.
Road networks and urban renewal: Eighteen of the 34 planned five-kilometre rural road projects have been completed, with solar streetlights installed. In addition, 12 of the 24 planned urban renewal road projects, covering approximately 76 kilometres, have been delivered.
Bridge reconstruction: The Kubaraci-Kura Bridge was restored, reopening important economic and transportation corridors.
Empowerment and Skills Acquisition
Social safety nets: Monthly stipends of ₦50,000 are provided to 5,200 women, while grants of ₦150,000 have been distributed to youths across the state.
Entrepreneurship: Twenty-six technical and entrepreneurship institutes have been revitalised to provide practical vocational training and equip beneficiaries with relevant skills.
Political Realignment and Party Unity
Governor Yusuf demonstrated political foresight by defecting to the All Progressives Congress (APC). His decision, in the view of his supporters, was timely and strategically informed by the need to secure his political future.
The subsequent defections from the NNPP by members of the Kwankwasiyya movement have, according to this argument, strengthened the case for his political realignment. The move also positioned him and his supporters within a political platform they consider more advantageous ahead of the 2027 elections.
Furthermore, as the state’s APC leader, Governor Yusuf successfully managed the consensus process during the party primaries, resulting in what supporters described as a “no victor, no vanquished” outcome.
His ongoing reconciliation efforts have also helped bring political stakeholders from Kano’s three senatorial districts together, strengthening the prospect of a united political front ahead of the 2027 polls.
With his administration’s reported achievements, political realignment, and reconciliation efforts, Governor Yusuf’s supporters believe he is well positioned to secure a second term in office.
No doubt, Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf, the Executive Governor of Kano State, is traversing the path to victory in the 2027 general elections.
Mustapha Muhammad is the Chief Press Secretary to the Executive Governor of Kano State, Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf. He writes from Kano.
Jamilu Uba Adamu
Some people come into our lives and leave an indelible mark that transcends blood relations. Through their honesty, humility, nobility, contentment and disregard for worldly ostentation, they become more than friends or acquaintances; they become second fathers whose wisdom and kindness shape our lives.
Late Alhaji Bashir Ahmed Maizare was one such rare individual. His death is not merely the loss of a respected sports administrator but the departure of a father figure, mentor and custodian of Kano’s sporting heritage.
A Bond Beyond Blood
My relationship with the late Maizare began through my elder brother, Abdullahi Bayero Uba Adamu, who worked under him at the Kano State Sports Commission. My passion for sports naturally brought me closer to him and strengthened the bond that would eventually develop into a father-and-son relationship.
I vividly remember the day my elder brother escorted me to Maizare’s residence at Kofar Wambai Quarters in Kano and introduced me to him. What began as a simple introduction blossomed into a lasting relationship. From that day, I became a regular visitor to his home, where I found not just a sports enthusiast and administrator but a father figure whose counsel and encouragement meant so much to me.
His home became a place where I could seek guidance, share my concerns and learn valuable lessons about sports and life. He welcomed my questions, listened patiently to my challenges and offered advice without hesitation. His humility made him approachable, while his wealth of experience made his counsel invaluable.
The Shocking News of His Death
I was attending a training course in Jos, Plateau State, when the news of his death reached me. We had just stepped out for a break after a rigorous and exhausting lecture. I switched on my mobile data to check my WhatsApp messages.
Although I belong to several WhatsApp groups, one platform I regularly follow is the Kano Sports Commission group, driven by my enduring passion for sports in Kano.
After attending to some personal messages, I opened the Commission’s group. Almost immediately, I came across a series of condolence messages announcing the death of Alhaji Bashir Ahmed Maizare.
I was stunned. For a moment, I struggled to comprehend what I was reading. Before I could fully process the devastating news, I received a phone call from Malam Haruna Sabga, one of his neighbours at Kofar Wambai Quarters, who confirmed that Maizare had passed away.
The confirmation plunged me into deep sorrow. I felt like crying, my mood changed instantly, and I completely lost my appetite.
It was difficult to accept that someone who had played such a significant role in my life was gone. Beyond the public figure known within Kano’s sporting circles was a man whose personal kindness, encouragement and fatherly affection had touched my life profoundly.
A Mentor Who Believed in My Potential
One of the qualities I will forever remember about Maizare was his unwavering encouragement. He consistently motivated me to participate actively in sporting activities and supported my efforts to contribute to sports development.
His influence and fatherly support recently contributed to my appointment as Team Manager of the Kano Pillars Amputee Football Team and Vice Chairman of the Kano State Tug of War Association.
These appointments represent more than personal achievements to me. They also remind me of the encouragement I received from a man who believed in nurturing others and helping them discover opportunities to serve.
Maizare understood that sports administration was not merely about organising competitions or managing teams. It was also about identifying talent, encouraging young people, sharing knowledge and creating opportunities for others to contribute meaningfully to society.
He was always willing to offer guidance whenever I encountered difficulties. Whenever I faced a challenging situation in sports, he was among the first people I contacted. He would listen attentively and offer practical solutions, never making me feel that my concerns were unimportant.
That willingness to help, even when there was nothing to gain personally, distinguished him as a genuine mentor.
His Contribution to Documenting Kano’s Football History
One of the most enduring aspects of my relationship with the late Maizare was his invaluable contribution to the successful writing of my book, *Takaitaccen Tarihin Wasan Kwallon Kafa a Kano* (A Brief History of Football in Kano).
Documenting the history of football in Kano required access to reliable information, historical accounts and the experiences of people who had witnessed the evolution of the game. Maizare proved to be an invaluable source of knowledge and guidance throughout the process.
He never grew tired of attending to me. He patiently answered my questions and shared insights that helped me navigate the challenges of documenting the history of football in the state.
His support went beyond the ordinary assistance of a friend or acquaintance. He understood the importance of preserving sporting history for future generations and willingly contributed to an effort that would help keep Kano’s football heritage alive.
Looking back, I realise that his contribution to the book was part of a much broader legacy. He was not simply sharing information; he was helping preserve the collective memory of Kano’s sporting community.
More Than a Sports Administrator
Late Alhaji Bashir Ahmed Maizare was more than a sports administrator. He was a school from which others could learn, an archive of sporting memories and an encyclopaedia of Kano’s sports history.
His knowledge, built on years of experience and close association with the sporting community, made him a valuable resource for anyone seeking to understand the development of sports in Kano.
Yet, his greatness was not defined by knowledge alone. His humility, generosity, patience and commitment to youth development made him an exceptional human being.
In a world where positions and titles sometimes create barriers between leaders and those they serve, Maizare remained accessible and approachable. He demonstrated that true leadership is not measured solely by the authority one possesses but also by the lives one touches and the opportunities one creates for others.
His life offers an important lesson to sports administrators and public servants: institutions become stronger when experienced individuals are willing to mentor younger people, preserve institutional memory and pass on knowledge rather than keep it to themselves.
For Kano State, his passing should serve as a reminder of the importance of documenting the experiences of veteran sports administrators and preserving the history of the state’s sporting achievements. When such individuals pass away without their knowledge and experiences being adequately documented, society risks losing an irreplaceable part of its heritage.
A Loss Beyond the Family
The death of Alhaji Bashir Ahmed Maizare is a profound loss not only to his immediate family but also to the sporting fraternity in Kano State and Nigeria at large.
For those who knew him professionally, he was a repository of sports knowledge and experience. For those who benefited from his mentorship, he was a source of guidance and encouragement. For me, he was a father figure whose support and kindness I will continue to cherish.
Although death has taken him away from us, the values he embodied and the lives he influenced remain part of his enduring legacy. His contributions to sports administration, youth development and the preservation of Kano’s football history will continue to inspire those who had the privilege of knowing him.
Personally, I will forever remember him with gratitude. I will remember his patience, his encouragement, his willingness to help and his unwavering belief in the value of sports. Above all, I will remember the fatherly relationship we shared, which was built not on blood ties but on mutual respect, kindness and genuine affection.
May Almighty Allah (SWT) forgive his shortcomings, accept his good deeds, illuminate his grave and grant him Jannatul Firdaus. May Allah also grant his family, friends, colleagues and the entire sporting community the strength and patience to bear this irreparable loss.
Alhaji Bashir Ahmed Maizare may be gone, but his legacy lives on in the people he mentored, the knowledge he shared and the sporting history he helped preserve.
Ameen.
Jamilu Uba Adamu is a sports writer based in Kano.
Safiyanu Bichi
When Abia State Governor Alex Otti recently pulled off his shoe and proudly declared, “This is Aba Made,” the gesture went beyond the shoe itself. It offered a simple but powerful demonstration of what deliberate government patronage can do for local industry.
The message for Kano is equally important: where is Made-in-Kano in government procurement?
This is a question Kano can no longer afford to ignore.
For decades, Kano has been one of Nigeria’s important commercial and industrial centres. The state has a long tradition of manufacturing, textile production, leatherwork, furniture making, tailoring, metalwork, food processing and a wide range of small and medium-scale enterprises.
Yet having businesses and skilled artisans is not enough. Local industries need markets, and government procurement is one of the largest markets available in any economy.
The Kano State Government spends billions of naira annually on infrastructure, furniture, uniforms, clothing, construction materials, office equipment, vehicles, signage and other goods and services. The critical question is how much of this expenditure remains within Kano and how much leaves the state.
This is where a deliberate Kano Local Content Policy becomes necessary.
Every major state government project and Bill of Quantities (BOQ) should, where technically and economically feasible, contain a clearly defined local-content component. A target of 40 per cent Kano content could provide a practical starting point.
The idea is not to sacrifice quality or value for money. Rather, it is to ensure that qualified Kano-based businesses are given a fair opportunity to compete for government patronage.
If the government buys furniture from Kano manufacturers, contracts uniforms from local textile and garment producers, procures locally manufactured footwear and leather products, and sources other goods and services from competent businesses within the state, public expenditure can generate a multiplier effect across the local economy.
The money does not simply disappear after a government contract is executed. It circulates.
A furniture company pays its workers. Workers spend their earnings in local markets. Manufacturers purchase materials from other businesses. Transporters earn income. Artisans receive more orders. Businesses expand and potentially employ more people.
In other words, government procurement can become an instrument of economic development.
This is particularly important at a time when Kano needs to create more productive opportunities for its growing population, especially young people.
The state does not have to begin from scratch. Kano already possesses the human capital, entrepreneurial culture and business networks required to support a stronger local-content regime.
What is needed is deliberate policy, transparent implementation and consistent monitoring.
The government could begin by identifying categories of goods and services that can realistically be sourced within Kano. It could establish a database of qualified local manufacturers, contractors, artisans and suppliers, while maintaining clear standards for quality, pricing and delivery.
There should also be safeguards against turning local-content policy into another avenue for patronage. The objective should not be to favour politically connected businesses. It should be to create opportunities for genuine Kano-based enterprises that can meet established standards.
That distinction matters.
A successful local-content policy must combine local patronage with competition, quality, transparency and accountability.
The experience highlighted by Governor Otti offers Kano an opportunity for reflection. A simple act of wearing a locally made product can draw attention to an entire ecosystem of producers, workers and entrepreneurs behind that product.
Kano can create its own version of that story.
Imagine a government school furnished by Kano manufacturers, public institutions using locally produced furniture, uniforms supplied by Kano garment producers, official events showcasing locally produced textiles and leather goods, and government projects deliberately creating opportunities for competent local suppliers.
That would make “Made-in-Kano” more than a slogan.
It would make it part of government’s economic strategy.
Kano has the people. Kano has the skills. Kano has the entrepreneurs. Kano has the markets.
What is required is a deliberate decision to connect government spending with the productive capacity of the state.
Let Kano Government buy Made-in-Kano.
A 40 per cent Kano Local Content target should not be treated as another political promise. It should be the beginning of a measurable procurement policy that keeps more public money within the Kano economy, strengthens local businesses, supports jobs and helps rebuild the productive foundation of the state.
The real question is no longer whether Kano can produce.
The question is whether Kano is ready to buy what Kano produces.
Safiyanu Bichi is a member of the Kano Budget Working Group.
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