The Difference Between Hausas and Fulanis

The Hausas and the Fulanis are two distinct ethnic groups found in Northern Nigeria, but they have become closely intertwined in the minds of Nigerians and the rest of the world. Hausa/Fulani is now a single term used to describe the Muslims that live in the North and form one of the three main ethnic groups in the country along with Yorubas and Igbos.

Fulani Girl from Sokoto, Nigeria

It is true that the two tribes are very similar: both share a strong Islamic identity and certain customs including the Hausa language, and both groups have intermarried over centuries to almost become one.

But the Fulanis are sometimes loathe to be grouped together with the Hausas because of pride in their own distinct and distinguished history.

Fulani Father and Child from Kaduna, Nigeria

The fact that it was the Fulanis (also known as Fulbe, Puel or Fula) who brought Islam by force to the pagan/animist Hausa states in Nigeria centuries ago also gives them a sense of religious superiority. Also, the Fulanis throughout history have held leadership roles in the various Hausa communities they settled into, working as judges, teachers, emirs and clerics.

These leadership positions continue today as most Northern presidents and heads of state in Nigeria including Umaru Yar'Adua (President from 2007 - 2010), Sir Abubakara Tafewa Balewa (Nigeria's first Prime Minister), Shehu Shagari (President 1979 - 1983) and Aliko Dangote (Richest Black Man in the World) are of Fulani descent.

The Fulani's traditional nomadic lifestyle of roaming the countryside in search of pasture also distinguishes them from the 'settled' Hausas who live in towns, although most Fulanis are now settled in towns. Fulanis also derive much of their foods like Fura da Nono (Millet cakes and yoghurt) and Main Shanu (savoury butter) from their cattle, unlike the Hausas.

Both Fulanis and Hausa women wear henna dye on their hands and men and women from both tribes in rural areas often have dark facial tattoos, but Fulani men traditionally wear wide-brimmed straw hats with a pointed top, loose kaftan and shorts/trousers and carry sticks when herding; whilst the women's traditional costume is a white midriff-exposing top and matching wrapper with pastel coloured patterns. But like Hausa women, they ordinarily dress modestly in headscarves, covered tops and wrappers made using African print material.

A Fulani herdsman wearing a pointed straw hat, loose kaftan and stick

Fulani woman wearing the traditional white costume

Fulani girl wearing everyday clothing of African print material 

Fulanis also have their own language, Fulfude, which is very different from Hausa. However the Hausa language is commonly spoken by many Fulanis in Nigeria, and for some Hausa has replaced Fulfude as their mother-tongue.

Also, the two tribes have different histories.

The origin of the Fulanis, the largest nomad/pastoralist group in Africa, is obscure, but many link them back to Mauritania due to their similarities in appearance, existence of a Fulfude speaking minority there and the possibility of a North-Western origin of Fulani migration. From the 14th century they spread from Senegal into over 20 countries in Western Africa including Guinea, Gambia and Sudan.

Hausa Woman from Kebbi, Nigeria

The historic Hausa kingdoms, as legend has it, was formed when a Prince from Baghdad named Bayajidda, married a Princess from Borno, Nigeria. His seven sons born of the Princess formed seven 'legitimate' Hausa states in Nigeria today which include Kano, Katsina and Zaria, whilst Bayajidda's seven sons by his concubine formed seven 'illegitimate states,' also known as Banza Bakwai (Hausa word meaning 'Bastard Seven') and included Kebbi, Gwari, Nupe and Illorin.

Hausa Father and Son from Kebbi, Nigeria

The Hausa kingdoms were later defeated by the Fulani Muslims who had arrived into Nigeria and, forming a kinship with the Hausas, settled amongst them. But dissatisfied with the pagan Hausa leaders that ruled them, the educated and radical Fulanis undertook various religious wars or jihads in order to install an Islamic leadership.

One such jihad was led by Usman dan Fodio in 1804 and resulted in the formation of Sokoto Caliphate which became a powerful empire in Northern Nigeria. The Fulanis ruled over this booming economic, military and scholarly kingdom that traded successfully with the rest of the world.

Fulani writer and leader Usman da Fodio (1754 - 1817)

After the fall of the Sokoto Caliphate as a result of British invasion, the Fulanis continued to intermarry and live together with the Hausas. But they often maintained a cultural distinction noted in their stricter adherence to Islam and leadership positions as part of the elite of Northern Nigeria, as well as physical distinctions noted in their lighter skin and slimmer features. This together with an awareness of their history of conquest and rulership often gives rise to feelings of superiority by the Fulanis over the Hausas.

I'm Back in Love With Chimamanda Adichie Again

Permit me this double-mindedness dear reader.

I know I first espoused my absolute adoration of Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie in  "Chimamanda Adichie, Natural Hair and Me", and she was number one in my list of "6 Nigerians that Make Me Proud", but then I spoke about my disappointment in some of her words and actions in "How Adichie Fell of Her Pedestal".

I declared that to me she was no longer this wonderful being; she had fallen off her pedestal and I now saw that my hero-worship of her was flawed and ultimately doomed to failure because she was human and imperfect.

I'm in love with Chimamanda again

But I've changed my mind. Adichie is brilliant and I cannot lie. She really is. I never totally denied her genius, but I was (temporarily) turned off by the harshness I noticed and her lack of warmth towards fans, as well as her sense of superiority. But I've since been able to reacquaint myself with her poise and wisdom through consuming some of her interviews and speeches, and I have changed my mind.

But was it she that changed? Was she always this fountain of witty, thrilling anecdotes that illustrate her points so succinctly? Was she always this playfully intelligent, erudite and clear-minded sage that never over-did her power to enchant listeners, was often endearingly shy, with her voice sometimes quivering (nerves?); was she always such a delight to listen to?

Or did she sense that she was tipping over the edge in terms of believing the hype and becoming egotistical, and decided to backtrack, repent and transform into this luminous, graceful woman that has audiences rapt in attention?

Was it that I knew she was this impressive and true but that that reality was usurped by the furore surrounding her 'mailbox interview' and calling a fellow Nigerian writer one of her 'boys'?

Well, although I wouldn't go as far to say I regret ever seeing her in a bad light - because when I wrote about her falling off the pedestal of my mind I meant it, and was very sad about it - but I have now been re-awakened to the beauty of her intelligence. I let small slights overshadow the beautiful thoughts this woman continues to pour out, and it is a privilege to be alive when she is 'in vogue.'

Her Interviews in Nigeria vs Her Interviews in England or America

It strikes me as interesting that the interviews she does that many including myself find displeasing are those she does with Nigerian interviewers. The interview where she angrily chided the interviewer for calling her 'Mrs' and declaring that she does not want that title (despite being married) happened in Nigeria. I think she has less patience with Nigerian interviewers- as if they rub her up the wrong way, and she often comes off as a snooty, humourless 'feminist' in all the terrible connotations of the word that scare Nigerian men and traditional women.

However, she is very accommodating, genuine, warm, bright, candid, full of humour and laughter and ever so generous with her informed opinion with British and American interviewers. And they are completely enchanted by her. Her articles are widely published in The Guardian newspaper, and Channel 4 News love her.

Adichie discussing her latest book Americanah on Channel 4 News with Jon Snow

Channel 4's lead anchor, Jon Snow (who I love by the way. And he's married to a fully African woman, a brilliant intellectual type named Precious Lunga from Zimbabwe. Jon Snow is also very progressive, I just love the man) particular seems to be taken by her, and I don't mean in a silly, British-paternalistic-fawning-kindness-to-Africans-out-of-some-misplaced-guilt-over-colonialism way, but in a respectful "I like that you are intelligent and African and a Nigerian and a woman, so please shed some light on Boko Haram. Your type of voice is so rare and so needed right now" way.

My favourite Channel 4 News lead anchor Jon Snow and his wife Precious Lunga

He truly engages with her in these interviews and I love that she repays his trust in her capabilities with searingly acute dissections of Nigerian politics that retains her patriotism but pulls no punches.

I think I'm starting to see Chimamanda not only in a different light, but in broader aspect. Sometimes she has bad days and sometimes she has great days. She is of course always poised, but in some interviews she is more 'switched on' and happy than in others.

Take this interview with Lola Ogunnaike for Arise Entertainment 360 for instance. Her body language is closed (crossed legs, crossed arms and she taps her fingers often, a sign of impatience or nerves), she seems uncomfortable and lacks a certain joie de vivre she often has, although she is gracious in her answers.

Ogunnaike (whose regal tone and confident cadences makes me swoon with admiration; she reminds me of the elegant Ivanka Trump) does overdo the fawning and lashes on the acclaim, and I could see Adichie cringing under the layers of superlatives bestowed upon her; at one point Ogunnaike asks: "What does it feel like to be a literary rock star?"

Compare it to this interview below with Damian Woetzel, where she is much more lively, fierce in wit and delivery and brimming with humour, masterfully engaging and real in relaying her profound feelings of identity, Africa and other subjects; I could listen to her forever. (It's also funny how she sits where the interviewer is supposed to sit by mistake, and I like that the man is gracious enough to allow her, without insisting that they swap.)

Adichie's interview with Damian Woetzel is tremendously entertaining

The interview is particularly wonderful, and! Somehow, she manages to mention Fulani and Fulfude! The last question from an audience member was from a Fulani woman from Guinea, and when Adichie asks her "Do you speak Fulfude?" I was like wow.

Biafra, Feminism and Homosexuality

Adichie is also very brave. She has not only wrote and spoken extensively about the Biafran War, an incident Nigeria wants to forget (the film based on her book Half of a Yellow Sun which tackles the war has been banned from screens in Nigeria), she also focused one of her TED Talks on Feminism (below) and wrote a lengthy piece describing the injustice of Nigeria's anti-gay laws.

Biafra, Feminism and Homosexuality: You couldn't find three more controversial, incendiary, polarizing and hot-button issues in Nigeria today, and she skewered them all effortlessly. You may or may not agree with her, but you cannot deny that she addressed all the points and presented her case well. She is fearless, and exemplifies this famous quote by Marianne Williamson:

We are all meant to shine, as children do
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give others permission to do the same.

The clarity of her thoughts, fierceness of her convictions and power of her delivery gives me the freedom to be bold.

My initial reaction to her feminist talk was to disagree, because contrary to the norm (educated, first-generation British-African woman born in the 80s tend to be quite the feminist) I'm a traditionalist and my post titled "I'm a Submissive Woman, What's Wrong With That?" explains my stance.

But I listened to it again and found myself nodding to and agreeing with everything she said. There was no need to insult or demean men to gain our rights, she was saying, but a Nigerian woman (she concentrated her observations on Nigerian culture, much to the delight of the Nigerians in the audience who clapped and laughed generously at her often very funny observations) shouldn't have to shrink from success to enable a man to feel good.

Adichie's is the best modern, globally-sound Nigerian voice we have right now.

I used to imagine the things the great boxer Mohammed Ali would say today if he could talk. The man that was so vocal about race, politics, religion and his own greatness in the past I imagined would have a lot to say about Obama and various aspects of African-American culture today. What a shame that he is unable to inspire our generation with his words, and how cruelly ironic too, that he has had to live his final years voiceless, when he was once celebrated for his exuberant oratory.

Well, Chimamanda Adichie is someone who is using her strong voice to stoke the flames of intellectual debate about the most important issues of our time, and I have fallen in love with her all over again.

"You Are A Fake Fulani"

Expert Fulani: You can't be a Fulani and a Christian
Me: That's like saying you can't be a Pakistani-Christian or an English-Muslim. But you know people like that exist right?
Expert Fulani: Well they betray their ethnicity
Me: Why should your ethnicity dictate your religion or vice versa? Isn't religion a matter of choice and conviction?
Expert Fulani: Yes, but there are certain things that indicate your level of commitment to your ethnicity, and if you're a true Fulani you would never even consider Christianity
Me: But the more educated we are, the more we experience other cultures and understand different peoples, the more we will embrace things that was against our culture years ago. I'm sure you know there was a time when a Fulani woman with a Masters degree from London was improbable and even considered wrong...
Expert Fulani: But religion is much more important than education.


Me: Did you choose to be a Muslim, or was it a family tradition you were born into and found yourself a part of, and you just didn't consider other options?
Expert Fulani: Of course Islam is part of our tradition, but I also know Islam is the truth. Being Fulani is completely linked with being a Muslim. A Fulani-Christian is an oxymoron.
Me: Why should this remain so?
Expert Fulani: Because it is the way it has always been, we like it this way. It is what makes us us.
Me: So a Fulani adult has no right to become a Christian?
Expert Fulani: Not if they love and honour their culture. Not if they respect their family. It is detestable to us and is against the Qur'an.
Me: So what about the few Christian Fulanis in Northern Nigeria who continue to drink Fura da Nono and speak Fulfude?
Expert Fulani: I doubt such people exist. And if they do they are detestable and will certainly not be allowed to live amongst other respectable Fulanis. A Muslim Fulani is the only true Fulani.


Me: Do you live in a hut?
Expert Fulani: No
Me: Do you herd cows?
Expert Fulani: Of course not
Me: Well that was the way the original Fulanis lived. They were nomadic and lived in temporary homes. So since you do none of those things, how can you call yourself a true Fulani?
Expert Fulani: Don't be silly. There's more to us than that.
Me: Really?
Expert Fulani: Of course. Our culture is more than herding cows. That's even an insult to confine our people to just been cow-herders. We are scientists, businessmen and politicians. Things have changed since we lived in huts.
Me: I agree. So don't you also think that things have changed since every Fulani was a Muslim? Cultures evolve and people change. This doesn't mean that one's ethnicity is less authentic, its just... different. Everyone is allowed to make what they will of their heritage. You can embrace it, reject it or adapt it to suit your situation, but you cannot live in exactly the same way your parents did.
Expert Fulani: But with religion it is different. Religion is our identity. It binds us together and makes us one. It dictates our education, marriages, laws and culture. It is the one thing that can never be compromised.


Me: I understand that being a Muslim is more than just a religion to you. But to say being a Muslim is the only authentic Fulani identity denies the ability of our culture to transcend religion, location and occupation.
Expert Fulani: I don't care to listen to what you're saying. Your western way of thinking has corrupted your view of your ethnicity. We are nothing without Islam. You are nothing without Islam. Christians are known for their wishy-washy religion, but for us Islam is the bedrock of our being and we will never become apostates. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Me: Well I am not. I am in a country that protects freedom of religion and freedom of speech. I may have remained a Muslim if I lived in Kaduna, but then I would not have extended my education, become a Journalist or expanded my knowledge of the world through reading, traveling and interacting with different people. The only shame here is that you believe that a people as noble, hospitable and beautiful as the Fulanis should remain so intolerant of other faiths. I always wonder at those that turn religion - an abstract, subjective thing - into an instrument of fear, hate and condemnation that weighs down, divides and ignores civility and simple humanity when it should transcend petty prejudices.
Expert Fulani: You're just being dramatic. That's not the issue here...
Me: Religious intolerance is exactly the issue here. I don't need your approval to embrace my ethnicity, and I suggest you leave judgements about the rightness of my beliefs to God.
Expert Fulani: Hm, may Allah lead you back to the truth
Me: And may the truth set you free.

Now That Nigeria's President Is a Fulani Man...

Muhammadu Buhari - a Fulani man from Daura in Katsina State - was inaugurated as the 5th democratically elected President of Nigeria on Friday May 29th 2015 in a landmark event that Nigerians had waited for since March, when he was declared the winner of the 2015 elections.

President Muhammadu Buhari during his inauguration

His was a victory much heralded after 16 long years of the corruption-riddled rule of the People's Democratic Party, most recently headed by the now former President Goodluck Jonathan. A determined Buhari triumphed at his fourth try at the Presidency, and his All Progressives Congress (APC) Party gained power at a crucial time when Nigeria is been battered on every side by Boko Haram, fuel scarcity, electricity shortages, the colossal theft of the country's funds and reserves by the few at the expense of the many; spates of kidnappings and the continued dearth in the basic funding of hospitals, schools, roads and agriculture.

Buhari's Fulani Characteristics

Hopes are high that President Buhari, more than any other Presidential contender or leader in recent times, will impose order and stem the tide of iniquity and the haemorrhaging of the country's oil money, purely because of his impeachable character.

His intolerance of corruption and disciplined approach to leadership, along with his simplicity and integrity witnessed during his short-lived first stint leading Nigeria between 1983 and 1985 - then as a military head of state - is widely acknowledged by all and sorely needed at a time when Nigerian leaders have been widely derided for being incompetent. One of his main initiatives during his previous tenure was his War Against Indiscipline, which saw armed officials firmly maintaining order in such civic responsibilities as straight queues and punctuality at work.

General Buhari in the 80s when he was the military head of state

Buhari is a classic example of a stern, self-effacing Fulani man; simple in his ways, firm in his convictions and committed to a sense of duty. Like many Fulani men, he stands tall and erect, is slim yet sturdy and has an unlined face that looks younger than his 72 years, with dignified mannerisms and a regal walk. Like many Fulani men, ostentatious displays of wealth and garish trappings of riches is far from his mind. Despite being a former President and former head of the NNPC and PTF where he had access to billions, he has no overseas mansions or fleet of luxury cars to his name.

Instead Buhari has his much beloved home in Daura, as well as a farm and the customary Fulani sign of success: cattle. His simplicity was such that he once remarked that he only has only one million Naira in his bank account, in an age where Nigerian men of his political experience have billions of dollars in several accounts.

President Buhari (centre) at his farm in Daura with some of his cows

Buhari's upright, no-nonsense character can be attributed to both his nature as a Fulani man and his nurturing as a retired army general old enough to imbibe many of the disciplined traits the former colonial masters instituted in the country, that was evidenced until the 1980s. He belongs to the generation that wore starched shirts, read newspapers in the mornings and books in the evenings, spoke with British inflections (not the faux-American accents affected today) and behaved with decorum in public.

Buhari and Boko Haram

Too young to remember his first outing, two things stood out to me from his inaugural speech at his second coming; his now famous line: "I belong to everybody and I belong to nobody" was a journalist's dream in terms of concisely capturing Buhari's proposed leadership style in nine words. He was saying he is a man of the people but is beholden to no one; he is ready to listen to all but owes nobody anything.

The other thing was his assertion that: "Boko Haram is a mindless, godless group who are as far away from Islam as one can think of." This clinched it for me. Before his win, there were concerns by the opposing PDP party that Buhari was a sympathiser of Boko Haram, and being a staunch Muslim, would bring Sharia Law to all parts of Nigeria. I was wary of him, but by the beginning of the year I along with most Nigerians were so desperate for relief from PDP that we were willing to give even Buhari a try. His win was welcomed because finally a change had come, and there was no anarchy to mark the end of the elections and the predicted disintegration of Nigeria was avoided, with credit for that going to Jonathan's early phone call to Buhari to concede defeat.

But I still wondered about Buhari's religious intentions, until he made that statement. It allayed my fears, and his efforts in the first week after resuming power of moving the military to the heart of the insurgency in Borno State and meeting with other West African Presidents to discuss how to end Boko Haram speaks of man that has made getting rid of these terrorists a priority.

Buhari's Wife

Aisha Buhari was thrust into the limelight during the latter stages of Buhari's presidential campaign, where her clear-headed speeches in support of her husband and her grace and decorum was in direct contrast to Jonathan's wife Patience, whose forceful rants and 'Bulldog in a China Shop' approach to things rankled. Mrs Buhari's reserved beauty is another welcome change, as is her eloquence.

President Buhari's wife Aisha, a Fulani woman from Adamawa State

A Fulani woman from Adamawa State, the new First Lady married Buhari in 1989 when she was 18 years old. She is his second wife (Buhari divorced his first wife Safinatu, with whom he had four girls and a boy) and they have five children, four girls: Amina, Halima, Zarah and Aisha and a boy named Yusuf.

President Buhari with his late first wife Safinatu and their five children

Educated up to Masters level with training and certificates in professional beauty treatments and management from various universities both in Nigeria and abroad, Mrs Buhari, until her husband's presidency ran a Beauty Spa in Kaduna and Abuja.

                                     

President Buhari and his wife Aisha during his inauguration

Although always covered up with only her face and hands showing, and wearing a wrap around her body in public, the bespectacled Aisha Buhari gets her makeup professionally done, wears expensive jewellery and even wore fashionably-darkened glasses during the inauguration, where her all white attire matched her husband's. This First Lady, I believe, will be characterised by carefully selected media utterances in national matters relating to women, children and her family, and displays of pricey fashionable pieces complimenting modest clothing designs befitting of a prominent Hajiya when she accompanies her husband to state functions.

I doubt she will seek the limelight, seek political power for herself, engage in politics with male politicians or show any signs of friction or disagreements with her husband in public, unlike her predecessor. I've heard that Mrs Buhari is no wallflower and is quite formidable within her close circles, but hers will be a reserved tenure where she will be largely invisible.

But only time will tell.

Buhari's Beautiful Brood

Buhari is a father of 10 and is blessed with seven beautiful daughters (his first-born daughter with his first wife died during childbirth) and an equally handsome young son, whose striking good looks captivated Nigerians on social media in the run-up to his inauguration.

Zahra Buhari: The face that launched a thousand votes

First to be thrust into public adulation was one of Buhari's younger daughters Zarah, who attends a university in England. Her pictures and tweets were hugely popular and many praised her beauty; she received marriage proposals and some vowed to vote for her father simply because they admired her.

Zarah was then photographed along with her brother walking behind their father at Nnamdi Azikiwe airport in Abuja as they arrived from the UK days before the inauguration. Girls drooled over Zarah's brother, Yusuf, whose easy good looks and calm demeanour marked him out as his father's son.

Zarah walking behind her father with her brother Yusuf

On the day of their father's inauguration, the Buhari girls took a photograph with their mother/step-mother, and Nigeria rejoiced at the nation having such a photogenic First Family, whose ladies were pretty, proper and poised. Most of the girls are now married with children, except the youngest two (below in blue), and no doubt their weddings and future milestones will be grand events.

Buhari's Beautiful Brood: His daughters and wife pose for the cameras 

A New Fulani Era

President Buhari's victory has brought a Fulani man with a Fulani-influenced style of leadership to Aso Rock, and his Fulani family with Fulani values, traditions and style will be of huge interest to me personally and for this blog. 

I look forward to a firm and competent leader, whose anti-corruption stance will influence the rest of Nigeria and whose tenure will be marked by huge strides in combating many of the ills plaguing the country. A leader whose simplicity is powered by his Fulaniness and who will reconfigure and continue on with the various successes of previous Fulani presidents. I look forward to a First Lady who will be more like former first lady, the late Maryam Babangida in carriage and influence, and who will enhance and not obstruct her husband's leadership. 

Nigerians can look forward to lessons in modest femininity from Buhari's daughters, in stark contrast to the slack, salacious and over-exposed lifestyles of many young women today. I look forward to seeing more of the seemingly shy Yusuf Buhari, who will no doubt inherit the better characteristics of his father.

I'm sure there will be some drama, disappointments, controversies and rumours surrounding them at some point in their first four years and beyond, but I believe that on the whole the Buharis will always be respectable in public (if not in private) as they take center stage as the most famous Fulani family in the world.

The Little Fulani Cowgirl and other Abuja stories

So I'm still living and working in Abuja, and below I've documented four unique experiences with what some might call 'the lowly' amongst us. In so doing I hope not to make the same mistake US singer Brandy did, of only documenting street kids on dirt-roads from her visit last year to Lagos, and calling it 'Beautiful Africa.' 

Although I joined others in condemning her pictures - what about the fancy hotels, boutiques and plush cars she experienced? Why only show the (overused, clichéd) poverty of Africa? - I now understand her. Coming from her world, the naked poverty in Nigeria grabbed her attention and touched her more than the wealth in the country. She's familiar with luxury hotels and tarred roads, so the unfamiliar is what stood out for her.

So in these stories, which all occurred last year, I describe my encounters with people I'm not used to, often watch from afar and who I'm not able to know very well due to our different stations in life.

The Little Fulani Cowgirl

You could just make out the top of her shaggy head amidst the wide, white flanks of the cows gathered around her. Then she comes into view: a little Fulani girl barely seven years old, with dirt-brown curly hair plaited haphazardly, and the tiny stray strands that escaped forming a fuzzy halo around her little head.

Wearing a blue, oversized T-shirt that reached down past her knees, her thin legs ended in a pair of adult slippers encasing tiny feet caked in the brown dust of the earth that she had no doubt been traversing for hours already that afternoon.

She grasped in her little hand a thin but sturdy stick that was twice her height, which she used as an aid to edge her way past the slow-footed cows and around the side of the road. Now and then she also used the stick to whack a fidgety cow to stop it from heading towards the cars that were waiting for the herd to cross, a scene which occurs periodically on this residential road.

Unafraid, accomplished and proud, the little cowgirl wore a look of experienced calm and maintained an assurance that refused to be intimidated by the animals that were bigger than her or the motorists growing impatient around her.

She wasn’t perturbed by the heat of the sun, the dusty road or the long hilly hike ahead of her, and as I looked she shouted out to the herd with a shrill, tiny voice, and the animals immediately heeded their little mistress and trooped faster past the waiting cars.
 

She manoeuvred the animals with grace under fire; they trusted her and she understood them. And as she walked behind the last cow crossing, our eyes met and she looked at me for a fraction of a second with cool, haughty eyes betraying little of the innocence no doubt still within.

Here was a little girl in charge of her family’s wealth and pride, single-handedly dealing with the hostilities of the city and the terrain, armed with only a stick and her fierce resolve. She knows the roads, the routes, the hills and the valleys, she probably also knew each cow by name.

Soon she will give up herding and settle into the sedentary life of a wife and mother, but for now it was just her and her herd against the world, roaming wild and free and fearless.

As the proud little cowgirl walked off into the distance with her troop of 15 or so cows trudging obediently behind her, I marvelled at her control and confidence.

She was born to do this.

The Barefooted Prisoner

A barefooted, small-boned man with scraggly hair, a T-shirt full of holes and a hound-dog expression walked up to us one warm weekday evening as we stood in front of a Tapas Bar near the Gudu bypass.

He came to us hesitantly, as if he was a pigeon and we were holding out bread in our palms. We tried to ignore him at first, but the weight of sorrow in his eyes and his obvious vulnerability made us forego our concern that he was a scam-artist begging for money. Like the well-dressed, middle-aged man who alighted from a Jeep and asked us for N10, 000 to pay for his daughter’s medical bills. It was only after we gave him what we could and he drove off that it dawned on us that we’d been swindled.

But this small man was different. He kept scratching himself slowly all over as he told us, in a barely-audible voice, his story. Big tears dropped from his eyes, which he wiped with his shoulder in a move that was so pitiful it was innocent.

Back in Taraba State, he said, he and a group of friends were walking through a market when there was a commotion: someone had been stabbed in a fight. He helped eight others to carry the victim to the hospital, and whilst there the victim died and despite their protests, the police arrested them for murder. They were thrown into jail and later ferried to Kuje Prison in Abuja to complete their sentence. That was nine years ago. He was just released today and wanted to return to his wife and children in Taraba but didn’t know where to go or where to start.

We stared at him in silence. Was this for real? Was this poor man’s life just taken away from him for an instinctual act of kindness?

He stared at the floor whilst we consulted amongst ourselves, now and then shooting more questions at him to ascertain the veracity of his tale. He didn’t even ask for money, he just told his story and kept quiet, waiting for us to pronounce our judgment on him from on high, just like the judge and the police declared their life-changing judgement on him all those years ago.  

He mentioned that one of the friends had died in prison; they were regularly beaten up and hardly given any food. If ever there was an example of someone whose spirit had been broken, it was him.

We pitied him and gave him some of what we had, and pointed to the direction of cars going towards the park where he can get transportation to Taraba. He took the money with both hands, offered a lengthy thanks with more tears, and walked away slowly; a dejected, confused victim of poverty.

If the rage from the injustice he’s suffered caused him to kill tomorrow, I wouldn’t blame him. The depraved amongst us are made so by others, which is why we are told not to judge, for only God knows the full story. It is a wonder more men don’t turn to violence, when such violence is visited upon them daily.

How Much is an Egg Roll?

There’s an instant pleasure one derives from biting into a warm egg roll, especially when the dark brown pastry surrounding it is both savoury and sweet and crumbles in the mouth. With this yearning in mind, I walked out of the office at lunchtime in search of the eggroll sellers, who carry their cheap but sumptuous wares on their heads to many a labourers’ delight.

It was my lucky day: A teenage girl was passing by with a lidded, translucent plastic bucket on her head. I could just about make out the eggrolls inside. As she walked on, skilfully balancing her load on a head, she didn’t even need to use a hand to hold the bucket in place, such was her hawking experience.

One arm hung playfully by her side as the other held a small plastic carrier bag hooked to her wrist, no doubt containing her takings for the day’s sales so far. She walked with an air of confident abandon: “I don’t need to go to school,” she seemed to be saying. “The sun and the breeze and the open road are my education. I know these streets like the back of my hand.” 

I made short hissing sounds to get her attention, and when she heard, she turned around and walked towards me. As she reached me, she brought down her bucket and opened it. “Good afternoon madam” she said in a sing-song voice. I greeted her and looked inside her pail. There were eggrolls alright, bigger than average and the rough unevenness of the dark-brown dough glistening with grease testified to the fact that the dough will be sufficiently crunchy. But apart from the rounded eggrolls, there were elongated dough of the same colour, moulded into fat, short tubes. 

“What are those?” I asked, pointing at one.

“Fish roll” she replied, her inanimate eyes wondering away and resting on the woman walking by.

They look interesting, I thought. “Give me one eggroll and one fish roll” I said, looking forward to biting into one of the moist flour-casing and tasting bits of fish instead of a hard-boiled egg.

The girl took out one small black carrier bag from the bag hooked unto her wrist, spread it out on her cupped hand and used it to scoop up the delicacies, wrapping the bag up around them.

“How much?” I asked.

“N200”

I looked back at the snacks in the bag. “Remove the fish one” I said. Knowing that the price of eggrolls ranged from N50 to N80 depending on where you bought them, N200 for two – one of which was a flavour unknown to me – was too much. Plus I couldn’t guarantee that these eggrolls will taste good. Looks can be deceiving. And the freshness of the products, now that it was already 2:30pm and there were only a few left in the bucket was uncertain. Wouldn’t all the oil seep down to the last remaining rolls, making them soggy from the extra grease and the accumulated heat-turned-sweat from the sun?

The doubts raised by the extra N120 was immense. Did my clothes or the fatness of my purse fool this girl into thinking it was full or money? Or did the wholesale price of flour and eggs suddenly increase in Abuja so that it translated into an extra N20 charge for an eggroll? 

But I didn’t say anything. I paid with N500, and saw that I collected all her change: eight N50 notes. I wondered where the rest of her money was. But the abundance of N50s proved to me that indeed the rolls did retail at half the price. The young swindler was smart. “Thank you ma” she said, as she heaved the bucket back unto her head.

Those three words turned my displeasure into a shrug. Back at the office, I bit into the roll. It was still fresh and uncluttered by too much grease. My N100 was well spent.

My Maiguard is Getting Married

Our maiguard has one of those faces that is neither old nor young; he could be 18, he could be 38. Small in stature and speaking a dialect of Hausa that baffled us, Aminu is a good, if absent-minded guard.

I remember when he first arrived from Zaria straight to our house; he was hunched and hesitant, with overgrown hair and a furtive, haunted look in his eyes. He used to grunt to alert you to his presence, and he had a permanent scowl on his face. But after a few months with us, he became more self-assured, got regular hair-cuts, wore the clothes we gave him with pride and stood taller. He even replaced his grunts with words; it was like seeing the blossoming of a flower. Soon he started cooking for himself and made friends with the other guards in the estate, and he smiled and laughed more. Even his brand of Hausa became more familiar to us.

Yet he remained our lowly, trust-worthy Maiguard, until he told us his intentions to return to his native Zaria to get married. I was surprised. So Aminu, this young (or old, we still couldn’t ascertain his actual age-range) man who opens and closes our gate, weeds the yard, washes the cars and does other necessary work around the house for which we paid him an agreeable amount, wanted to get married?

He said that the girl had already been chosen for him by his family; she was the sister of a girl he had been dating previously, but that girl had been given out in marriage to another man when Aminu came to Abuja, so his family had accepted her sister for him.

I remember entering his messy Maiguard house to drop something for him, and on the floor was a picture of a light-skinned young woman wrapped in a red veil from head to toe. She was lying down on her side and stared blankly at the camera. So when Aminu said he’d never met his bride-to-be but had been sent her picture, my mind recalled the girl in red.

She was rather pretty, I thought. Will she be pleased with Aminu, a diminutive man/boy with a semi-permanent scowl? He told us her bride-price was N70, 000 and he’d been saving up for months for her. I wondered if N70, 000 was considered the price for a top-drawer maiden in rural Zaria.

Last week, Aminu left to get married, I could sense his excitement as he said farewell to us. But he’ll come back soon, as his family have advised him to return to Abuja after marriage because there are no jobs in their community. But he won’t be bringing his wife with him. So after a few days in Zaria, during which time he would not only meet his bride for the first time, but would have married her, he would bid farewell to his life-partner for a few months until he returned to Zaria again. Aminu will then return to us a married man.

I wondered if, nine months later, Mrs Aminu would have a baby. Would Aminu still stay on in Abuja? Will he take on more wives? Can he look after a family on his modest Maiguard wages?

All these questions cast my Maiguard in a whole new light.

No Validations from Fulanis Required

When I first started this blog, I posted one of my blog posts on Nairaland, a popular website where Nigerians everywhere come together to discuss both serious and fun subjects relating to their country.

It was on that site that I enjoyed the acerbic Nigerian humour and saw that no matter where they were in the world, family, marriage, money, religion, patriotism, education and tribe remained important for Nigerians. Nairaland was my online entry into Nigeria before I physically arrived, and I landed at Abuja’s Nnamdi Azikiwe airport equipped with knowledge about my countrymen.

I learnt a lot from the Nigerians on that site, but one interaction with a Fulani man in particular influenced my view about Fulanis and myself.

I’d posted a link to my blog and in response, the Fulani man proceeded to dismantle all I held sacred about my Fulaniness, calling me a fake, a fraud and a fool and regarding my religion as the greatest and most distasteful barrier towards my acceptance into Fulani-land. He stated that a Yoruba Muslim was more of a kin to him than me, a Fulani Christian, and other unpleasant things. What he said and what I felt gave birth to the post ‘You are a Fake Fulani.’

I started this blog to provide a Fulani voice in the plethora of Southern Nigerian voices online, and part of me also wanted to call attention to Fulanis out there and say: “Hey! Here I am! See, I’m just like you! Kind of anyway. So, what’s up? Let’s hang out.” I wasn’t in need of affirmation but I wanted to be welcomed, as if from a long journey away, and for them to say “Hey, sister! Welcome. Sit down, have some Fura da Nono. You look so much like our cousin Halima...” and other forms of easy acceptance. For them to say “We know you’re not quite ‘it’ but it’s OK. Fulanis of all kinds are welcome here.”

But that was before the Expert Fulani’s comments on Nairaland. It hurt. And it also made me stop requiring acceptance. I became Fulani all by myself: a rare, unique offshoot not seeking reintegration but just flourishing where I am.

Other Fulanis were happy that I was out there blogging, and I’ve since received a ton of kind words, with many Fulanis from around Africa happy to converse with kin online, a place where Fulanis rarely entered (or if they did, they were male or communicated in French or Arabic).

I’ve become pen-pals with some and even met a couple off-line. They’ve added immensely to my knowledge of myself and Fulanis (thank you all so much). Some have tried to convert me too, and my reticence in broaching the subject of religion with Fulani Muslims remains. I always feel like they feel I’ve done something terrible in becoming a Christian, and the issue is often so raw and immense and bigger than me that I avoid it altogether. Mostly Fulanis I meet online understand that I don’t need their approval, I’m just happy for their presence and acknowledgment and knowledge.

The funny thing is that my Fulani identity was rarely brought to the fore prior to my blogging. In England, being Black, being female, being a Christian, being British, being a journalist, being from South London and being Nigerian were all far more active parts of my being than being Fulani. That aspect of my identity was relegated to the background and only emerged as an act of will on my part, when I realised that I came from a little-known (in the West at least) yet highly admired people that were known as much for their beauty as their remoteness.

The exoticism of it all, and the pride in being able to claim as mine this almost mythical tribe of nomads – who settled in various African countries and had a distinct look that harkened to a history of migration from outside sub-Saharan Africa – was fascinatingly wonderful. Now I understood why I didn’t look like or behave like the usual Nigerians and why I took to Britishness better than others: there are aspects of Fulani culture, like the reserve and the modesty, that compliment British middle-class culture.

My family spoke little of our heritage. My father was no longer alive and his side of the family was largely unknown to me, and my mother was immersed in her Britishness and wasn’t given to talk of ‘the old country’ except to criticise it. My siblings didn’t care and we didn’t live among other Fulanis, so I got information about Fulaniness from an aunt and her husband, and at the time I was also dating a Nigerian with a Fulani mother so I got to know about various aspects of my culture. But there were also traces of my culture that was inherently known to me, I don’t exactly know how, and the more I read and heard the more I knew that I knew it. Like hearing the whispers of past generations or imbibing the instincts and culture that swirled around you invisibly, or receiving knowledge passed down through your blood and DNA.

I always knew I was Fulani, but I didn’t care until months before I started this blog.  

So to have someone shatter this new mirror I was now looking at myself through was not nice, but because being knowingly Fulani was a recent addition to my already robust identity, it wasn’t so bad. I’m pretty solid in my internal sense of self to not need external validation.

So I got over it, and over the years of blogging my Fulani identity evolved: at first it was a thirst for knowledge, then I married a man also of Fulani heritage who opened my eyes even more to Fulaniness so that it became a familiar enough reality to put to one side, like a new present at Christmas you receive and explore with a hot desire that cools by Boxing Day.

Then a recent comment on the ‘You’re a Fake Fulani’ post by Raji Bello brought back memories of the earlier rejection, only this time my reaction was anger, not hurt. He  said that I was of Fulani origin but I was not Fulani, and my claims to being Fulani were weak. I was like, wait, do you presume to think that I need your permission to be who I am? Later I realised that he didn’t mean any harm, and the truth was that ‘authentic’ Fulanis will always raise their eyebrows and say ‘Hmmmm’ when they hear my story.

Then a follow-up comment on the same post by Aliyu Wali, which spoke about the difference between how I saw myself and how Fulanis see me, brought it all home: I will never be Fulani in the full sense of the word.

Now on the one hand it’s sad, but on the other hand, it doesn’t matter at all. Mostly because such intense discussions of my Fulani identity only occur online; I haven’t surrounded myself with full-blooded Fulanis in the real world (besides, rejection in person would be harder to take), and everybody else in Nigeria sees my Britishness more than anything else. But even if I got their acceptance, what then? It wouldn’t make me taller or wealthier.

I’m loved by God and wonderful people, that’s what matters. I’m just happy to have people reading and learning and enjoying my blog and engaging with me, and I’m even happier to discuss these things with other Fulanis, because I’d never heard their opinions on anything before.

So today, one part of my Fulaniness is an unquenchable glow within, and the other part is fragments I’ve gathered and stuck together. It’s incomplete and crooked and fragile and not as whole as other people’s, but I cherish it and I wear it on my lapel along with the other badges of my identity. The Fulani badge is one of the smallest but often shines the brightest, and sometimes I even forget it’s there, hidden amongst the more robust identities. But when I remember, I touch it and smile.

My Updated View of Fulanis Since Being in Nigeria

I had my predictions, presumptions and presuppositions about Fulani people before I came to Nigeria. Now that I’m here, I’m still looking from the outside in, like a long lost daughter peering through the window at her family eating dinner inside; they unaware of her desire to join them, she not knowing if entering their world would be a good idea. Would they let her in? Or shoo her away because despite her affiliation, she is forever changed?

But there are a few things I thought about Fulanis whilst in England that now I’m in Abuja I see was wrong or not quite the whole story:

WOMEN’S EDUCATION

Pre-Nigeria: I thought that very few Fulani women were educated up to Masters Level, educated abroad, had PhDs or held any high offices in business or other reputable professions.

Post-Nigeria: I’ve seen, met and read about many educated, professional Fulani women; from psychiatrists to editors and most things in between and  with international qualifications, mainly from Arab (majority-Islamic) countries. But these women are the fortunate ones that were born into the upper and political classes.

There are also many local schools specialising in the education of Nomadic Fulani children in Northern Nigeria. From what I saw, all were in deplorable conditions and lacked adequate furnishings or school materials, and the little Fulani children where crowded into tiny rooms. Also, the families of many nomadic Fulani girls refuse to send them to school or allow them to progress past secondary education.

 A (dilapidated) nomadic school in Northern Nigeria

I read a lot of Nigerian newspapers and watch a lot of Nigerian news, and noticed that the Fulani men featured wrote and spoke at a standard far above the average Nigerian (I hope you won’t mistake this for ethnic bias!), and I can say this with authority being a sub-editor for a newspaper here, that the general writing standard in Nigeria, even for editors is shockingly poor, except for the very few bright sparks and many of those were Fulanis.

RESPECT FOR CHRISTIANITY

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis are fiercely Islamic and disliked Christians, Fulani Christians and converts.

Post-Nigeria: Its true that most Fulanis are devoutly Muslim, but the fact that they originally adhered to traditional religions was noticeable because of the ways a few local Fulani men dressed (in tight, effeminate clothing) unlike other muslims.

Another surprising thing is hearing from the mouths of a couple of high-profile Fulanis about their admiration for the Bible, Jesus and Mary. It seemed that the older and more educated some of them became, the more they were able to appreciate the wisdom in the Bible without allowing it to conflict with their Muslim faith. I dare say that some upper-class Fulanis even admire Christianity and would have explored the faith at a deeper level if not for the societal taboos inherent in questioning Islam and looking too closely at Christianity.

CHILD HERDERS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulani cow herders were almost always grown men.

Post-Nigeria: Fulani herders are usually young children and teenagers and even young girls too grazed cows.

TRIBAL FIGHTING

Pre-Nigeria: The Fulanis were guarded, shy and soft-spoken people who herded mostly in isolation from other tribes

Post-Nigeria: There have been many reports since I’ve been in Nigeria of Fulani herdsmen clashing with neighbouring tribes because of grazing grounds issues. Recently in Benue State, some Idoma youths killed five Fulani men and their cows because the cattle were destroying their crops.  Similar clashes occurred in Jos but this time the Fulanis were the agitators. This unrest between Fulanis and neighbouring tribes was something I was unaware of before I came to Nigeria.

The remains of a Fulani settlement after the Benue State clash

UNCONVENTIONAL FULANIS

Pre-Nigeria: Fulanis were strictly muslim and reserved and avoided scandal or mixing with other tribes.

Post-Nigeria: I should have known that that was a naive view to have. I’ve since been regaled by stories of unusual (to me) Fulani behaviour including the brilliant Fulani university lecturer in his 60s who had never been married and never wanted to marry. Although he was generous, renovating an entire wing of the university with his own money, he stated that he was more successful because he was single. 

Or stories of young Fulani men in Anambra State that hung out in bars, drank beer and spoke pidgin English and Igbo with the best of them. Imagine! And of Fulani women who were less than virtuous and did secret, nefarious deeds behind closed doors, both in Nigeria and in places like Dubai. That one tripped me the most. I always thought our women were bastions of morality (in Nigeria anyway, as I'm aware of ‘loose’ Fulani women in Francophone West African countries).

The moral of the story is that no matter how many books or documentaries you hear about a place, people or thing and how much you think you know, nothing beats first-hand information or seeing the thing for yourself. 

My Fulani Experience In Nigeria So Far...

In England, people usually got my ethnicity wrong, were surprised when I told them the truth and I had to tell the story of my background so many times. But in Nigeria...it’s the exact same story!

The only difference is that here people sometimes guess I am Fulani thanks to their familiarity with my people and my resemblance to my kin. But the wonder still persist. Here are the top four questions I get asked the most, in no particular order:

“Are you Nigerian?”

“Which state are you from?”

“Is that a Fulani name?” (It’s not)
"Do you speak Fulfude?" (Sadly, I don't)

So even in my own country, I remain a source of fascination regarding my origin. I thought I’d fit right in, no questions needed to be asked, my membership to my tribe would be obvious and my sense of belonging would be complete. Nope.

But a good thing is that, like I said, people are obviously more familiar with Fulanis in Nigeria than in England. Many Southerners, upon finding out which town/village I come from, tell me stories of their experiences with the town either through doing their NYSC Youth Service there or through business, and tell me how nice the place is. I then tell them I've never been there but would love to go. I've also met non-Fulanis from my state which was interesting.

People also have their own stereotypes and notions of us. I’ve been told by various people that Fulanis are:

1. Very intelligent, especially when educated

2. Never forgive

3. Calm, gentle and polite

4. Shy

5. Are loyal friends

6. Are disliked by some Southerners for their violence
7. Are beautiful and graceful
8. Are a mystery

I’ve met many more Fulanis in the few months I’ve been in Abuja than I did in all my life in the UK, and they fall into three categories:

Older Rich Fulanis: Who are often very nice, informative and interested in my upbringing and background, although I do feel odd and almost apologetic about my appearance when I'm with them, in that they're used to Fulani women covered up from head to toe, and here I am in a suit/jeans/dress.

Young Fulani Ladies and Gentlemen: I've met them at parties, weddings and through friends. The wealthy Muslims are very nice, but stick together and I don't really fit in there with them. The few Christians I've met (who are often bi-ethnic: one parent Fulani and the other from another tribe) are more open, but I normally hang out with Northern, Hausa speaking Christians from a variety of tribes I'd never heard of before coming to Abuja. 

Poor Fulanis: Usually herding cattle numbering from 10 cows to 200. Sometimes the cattle would walk leisurely across the road and delay cars. I see them as I drive past and I've noticed that 80% of the time, the herders are kids no more than 16 years old, both male and female. (Below are pictures of some Fulanis living near my area, taken by a photography colleague)

A Family of Fulani women and children

 A Fulani-designed Calabash

 

 A little boy outside his hut

I once saw a little Fulani girl-herder, no more than 5 years old. She had an ashy face, over-sized slippers on her tiny feet and her clothes hung off her. She was confidently beating the cow closest to her with a long stick so it would move faster. I stared at her from the car window and she looked back at me with both the innocence of a child and the confidence of a skilled herder.

I kick myself every time I think about her for not taking a picture, but then again, somehow I'm glad I didn't because that would be rude, an invasion of her privacy. I would feel like a voyeuristic Westerner, there to gawp at and flash a camera at the poor child as she went about her business, so that she would become a commodity for others to stare at and pity. But for economics and the grace of God, that little girl could have been me.

I've also seen Fulani teenage girls; long, slender and graceful, carrying a tray of some local food or other on their heads for sale. I've also seen the men going about their business. I often make the mistake of confusing Kanuri people for Fulanis because they look very similar in appearance.

Kanuri Women

I also once saw a strange sight: two tall, slender Fulani men wearing tight, colourful, too-short trousers, colourful tops and what seemed like make-up on their faces. Their hair was long and plaited and they stood at the side of the road, totally oblivious and unself-conscious about their vibrant appearance. I was shocked! I was then told that that's how some young Fulani men dress. Hmmm....

I've never wished I spoke Fulfude more than I do now I'm in Abuja. Because here Hausa is no longer a novelty as literally everybody in Abuja speaks it, even the Yorubas and Ibos. They speak it better than me  because it's the lingua-franca here, just like Yoruba is the lingua-franca in Lagos. Of course the non-native Hausas speak it with a heavy accent, but they're fluent nonetheless. So to speak Fulfude would not only be a source of pride, but give me an edge over the Hausa speakers. 

I blame my parents. My paternal grandmother only spoke Fulfude, not even Hausa, but we didn't visit her enough and she's long gone, and my parents' generation mostly speak Hausa.

So here I am, a non-Fulfude speaking Fulani who's never been to her town or village. I must be the least Fulani Fulani in the history of Fulanidom.

I recently heard a great speech from a Nigerian elder statesman Alhaji Maitama Sule, who is a former politician revered for his inspirational oratory, eloquence and wisdom. He encouraged Nigerian politicians to become more like the Fulani herdsman, imploring them to adopt many of the characteristics of the herder. He then explained how each herder knew each of their cows by name, and when each cow is called by its name, it separates itself from the others and dutifully walks towards the herder. The cows also understand and obey instructions in Fulfude.

The herdsman sleeps out in the open with the cows, eats when they eat and rests when they rest, and if a cow is in danger, he risks his life to ensure their safety. His purpose in life is to ensure his cattle's well-being and because he would lay down his life for them, they follow him wherever he goes because they trust him and know he has their best interests at heart.

Alhaji Sule also said that in the holy books, all the great leaders and prophets were herdsmen.

The strength of the bond between the herder and his cattle was eye-opening for me, and I gained a higher level of respect for him. The cows are not just their livelihood and symbol of wealth, but also their responsibility and almost like their children.

Alhaji Sule's desire for Nigerian politicians to emulate the lowly Fulani herdsman as the epitome of servant-leadership was a vivid and compelling argument.

I was proud.

8 Reasons Why You Meet Few Hausa/Fulanis in the UK

I have met few Hausa people in all the time I've lived the UK, but I have many Yoruba and Igbo friends and have met hundreds of others.

I know we're all one; ever since the British decided to bring these three distinct peoples together under one nation called Nigeria, we have shared a destiny and a future. But the Hausa and Fulanis- two distinct groups united by Islam, inter-marriage and history- remain mysterious to many Nigerians abroad due to their relative invisibility. Below are some reasons why I think this is so.

(WARNING: These are wild generalisations. They are based on some facts but it is in NO WAY conclusive, there are lots of exceptions to every rule!)

1. Private People

Hausas are private, reserved people who mind their own business. They are often, in very Islamic states, not as exposed to Western influences as other groups which means that emigration to the UK or the US is not the 'great ideal' they've dreamed about as a result of consuming Hollywood movies or music, as it is to others. Because of their Muslim religion, Islamic countries like Dubai and Saudi Arabia are also more attractive.

2. Simplicity

Hausa people are known for their simplicity (rich Hausa men have been known to walk everywhere and wear the same clothes even though they can afford cars and expensive clothing) so the bright lights of Hollywood or the golden streets of London doesn't hold the same appeal. They are modest and unmaterialistic and don't have the need to obtain expensive things from abroad.

3. Laid-Back

Of course they enjoy the finer things in life, but both Hausa Christians and Muslims don't often go to the great lengths others do to secure a visa to the West. The rigmarole of waiting in line under the hot sun for the whole day outside the US Embassy, the thousands of Naira necessary to secure your tickets out and the paperwork and often dodgy means of acquiring visitor status to enter these countries is not something they pursue. It could be said they lack drive and ambition, which is untrue. A Hausa man's home is his castle and he's able to be content with the little he has as long as he provides for his family.

4. Less Education

Northerners are also less educated than their Southern counterparts. Indeed, many eschew Western-influenced education for traditional Islamic schooling, so going overseas to study and embark on a career is not open to them. They may also prefer travelling to Arab and Islamic countries because they see the West as Christian-influenced which puts them off coming here.

5. Docile Women

Hausa/Fulani women are even less likely to be university-educated than their men, and are sometimes married at an early age, thus their aspirations are stunted and their opportunities for exploring the world limited by their tradition and home lives.


6. Knowing No One Abroad

Another limiting factor to Northerners going abroad may be the fact that they don't know many of their kinsmen living in other countries. If you know people in Mongolia the thought of going there could appeal, otherwise you might choose to stay home instead. Yorubas and Igbos have large communities in many areas around the world so stepping off the plane they have the name of an 'Uncle' or a church to go to.

7. Wealth and Poverty

There are many wealthy Hausa/Fulani Alhajis who do travel abroad, send their children to study in Western universities and conduct business in different countries, but they don't always live amongst other Nigerians. There are also many poor Malams who cannot afford to travel even if they wanted to and learn to make do with the little they have.

8. You Have Met Them But Didn't Know...

Some Fulanis don't 'look' Nigerian. You may also know or have met Nigerians but didn't know they were Hausa/Fulani. So next time you meet an African with a Muslim name, you might be talking to a Hausa or Fulani person; a minority amongst Nigerians in the diaspora.