Yushau Shuaib and his parents

Most tributes are written to eulogise the dead and not the living. I often ask the questions: Must our guardians and mentors die before we honour them by commending their outstanding qualities and exemplary lifestyle as enduring lessons? How sure are we that we would not leave before the demise of such beloved ones, as we constantly defer or procrastinate about giving honour and expressing appreciations when due?

My father, Imam Abdulhameed Shuaib Agaka is very much alive, continuously playing a major role in my life, and generally being a source of wisdom for life situations in our very regular chats. I sincerely can understand the deep sense of loss of those who have lost their parents; some too early in life.

As a significant part of the reflections on my 51st birthday today, I wish to celebrate this courageous and resourceful man of God and father of mine.

With ancestry from the Kanuri nationality of the great Kanem-Bornu Empire, whose vestiges survive in the present Borno State, Imam Abdulhameed was born into the family of Imam Shuaib Said, a renowned Quranic teacher and Islamic leader in Agaka, a community with close proximity to the Emir’s Palace and the Central Mosque in Ilorin Emirate of Kwara State.

Yushau Shuaib as a child

Apart from teaching the children of the royal families and artisans about Islamic knowledge in the ancient city, the family’s Quranic Centre hosted one of the oldest handwritten Quran, reputed to be over 200 years old. Imam Said sponsored his male children to the best Arabic and Islamic Schools in Nigeria, with some of them attending Markas in Lagos and the Arabic Teachers’ College in Sokoto. My father attended the School for Arabic Studies (SAS) in Kano before proceeding to Bayero University Kano, where he obtained a Ph.D in Quranic Morphology and Arabic Grammar.

In the tradition of our family, my father ensured that we, his children, went to the Quranic Madrasa at tender ages, the Islamic School for secondary education, before permitting us to pursue other fields of endeavour at the tertiary level. Constantly showering us with gifts, especially when we performed well in schools, and applying the cane – the traditional African discipline enforcer known as Bulala and Koboko – when we misbehaved by performing woefully. He nevertheless allowed us to play, not only for fun but also for physical exercise, and raised us to be strong and fearless when it comes to calling a spade by its name. He still teaches us about the power of prayers and fasting, and the significance of “being our brothers’ keepers” till date.

In my father’s sojourn in Kano, he was the Head of Arabic Studies departments of top institutions of learning, including the School for Arabic Studies, the Women Arabic Teachers College and Aminu Kano College of Islamic and Legal Studies, among others. He has equally been a guest lecturer and Islamic preacher at various higher institutions, and during notable Islamic events. Even while ever busy as a scholar who regularly travelled when we were young, he has always been an overprotective father, closely monitoring our progression in life. He provides us a sense of physical safety and emotional security, with words of encouragement and assurance, and citing mostly verses from the Holy Quran and Hadith.

Yushau Shuaib and his beloved younger brother, Yerima Abdul

Due to his deep commitment to scholarship, he turned his homes at Kofar Nasarawa and Kofar Dukawuya in Kano City to semi-hostels for accommodating relatives and students from far and near, who come to school in the ancient city. Apart from facilitating the admission of some of the students into different institutions, he provided them with free meals, and paid the tuition of a number of indigent students, many of who grew close enough to become extended members of our family.

It wasn’t until I came into adulthood that I realised that many of those who I called ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ were not my father’s biological children, due to his non-discriminatory attitude among all of us. Although, back in the day, out of childishness and unfathomable jealousy, I once asked him if the equal treatment he meted out to everyone was necessary. He replied that: “You will be treated the way you treat others.”

When cakes were not yet fashionable, he had special ways of ‘spoiling’ us on our birthdays, with specially prepared Tuwo and Amala, which came with assorted meat. Also, preparatory to Islamic festivals, he purchased and distributed large yards of clothing materials to family members, relatives, neighbours and even the poor in the community. I enjoyed participating in cutting the yards of materials and labeling them with names of beneficiaries. On Sallah Days, we helped him in distributing minted coins of ‘Kobo’ to kids and the needy from currency pouches.

Imam Abdulhameed Shuaib Agaka

After the demise of our grandfather in 1996, my father, Dr. Abdulhammed Shuaib, voluntarily retired from the service of the Kano State government and accepted his appointment as Imam in Agaka, within the Ilorin Emirate in 1998.

He has committed his life to the service of God and humanity, as he facilitates the establishment of worship centres, offering educational scholarships to indigent students, providing guidance and counselling to the distressed and sponsoring Islamic moral teachings in radio programmes through a foundation named after him.

Even though in old age, with its attendant health complications, he remains in good humour and is persistently cheerful. A thoughtful jokester, my dad lifts our spirit and makes us smile and laugh a lot about life. He once asked me, “Where can we find a medic who will recommend sweet drinks and tasty meat for healthy living?” Also at the peak of the coronavirus infection curve, when elderly people were yielding to the infection and becoming victims of the pandemic in drones, he asked if we could pray for him to ‘depart the stage’ during the holy month of Ramadan. We obediently refused, and the mercy of the Almighty Allah has spared his life to survive till this moment, and very hopefully for many more years to come.

Yushau and his father, Imam Abdulhameed Shuaib Agaka Phd

While he stands behind me, as a strong moral pillar and prayer warrior who boosts my courage and confidence, he always tells me that ‘tolerance and compromise are not signs of weakness but tools for peace and relationship building.’ As an Islamic scholar, he buttresses his points in relation to various issues, while citing copious verses of the Holy Quran and the Hadith in fascinating acts of story-telling.

I’m still proud to be referred to as a “daddy’s pikin,” though devoid of the connotations of a pampered offspring. I will forever cherish his tutelage and guidance. In fact, after his initial reluctance, he ultimately supported me in the choice of a career in communication, which is also a channel for public outreach on a purposeful and virtues-driven experience. Apart from his unfaultable counsels on my family, works and matrimonial relationship, he guided me in making good investment decisions, such as in acquiring my first pieces of land in both Kano and Ilorin Emirates for residences.

Yushau and his father Imam Abdulhameed Shuaib

Dr. Abdulhameed Shuaib, our very dear patriarch, an honourable father, friend, and community leader, is an exemplar of good conduct, a reliable confidant, moral teacher, spiritual healer and my superhero. He is not only one of the friendliest dads ever, he also provided motherly care when it really mattered, easing the burdens of his children and saving us from pain.

Alhamdulillah, I am proud and blessed to have Imam Shuaib Agaka as my father as I pray to Almighty Allah to continue to bless him with good health, peace of mind and the uncommon wisdom that crowns decades in the service of God and mankind.

Yushau A. Shuaib
Author and PR Practitioner

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was written on the birth of his first child on March 29, 1996

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Oh my mentor, my nurturer
Actor of BUK Holly Wood
It pains as you desert fresh students
Half backed in broadcasting.

Don’t go `Karka Tafi, we cry
Duwo malo` we need your ray
In the name of Chineke haven’t we tried”
Or do you want us to become prey
Or have we offended you
Are we so nasty, stubborn
To be controlled
Or gentle and brilliant

Oh my eyes have swollen
My legs tremble
And my voice quivers

For the departure of this great man.
Good-bye from MACOSA and me
Adieu from students of mass-comm.
`Sauka Lafiya` from the ancient city of Kano
Odabo from Giant of Africa

These poems by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph August 11, 1991. It was Dedicated to Mr. Delim Jamar, a broadcast Lecturer with the Mass Communication Department of Bayero University Kano as he returns to his country, United States of America , after a selfless service rendered the department.

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“She is coming,” the lady I sent to call Jamilat informed me. I thanked her, then she appeared in a tip-top shape with some of her friends. Some guests and a couple were removing their eyes from their companions just to catch a glimpse of my natural, God-sent comforter, Jamilat. Never would I exchange her for silk or even a Roll Royce. Being an honest fiancée, she shunned many people who asked for her hand in marriage just to fulfill our long vow of betrothal for future union. She apologised for keeping me waiting as she had just received her mother and sisters. She had a charming smile that could only be bought by a powerful king or a rich man. It made angry men, by it, satisfied. She used it to introduce her friends to me. I replied their greetings with a light banter. They laughed heartily.

They went off later, leaving Jamilat and one of their friends who had been looking at me throughout the exchange of pleasantries. Her name was Talatu, and with her, we went to where Jamilat’s mother and sister sat. They received me warmly as they always did to me and warned me not to push their daughter. “Never shall I do that,” I respectfully reassured them.

I strolled about the school compound with Jamilat who introduced me to her new friends. I was so proud to have her by my side and that made me swagger. Still, Talatu was with us.

One sunny day, during their holiday at home, Jamilat walked into my room accompanied by this girl, Talatu. I was shocked as she didn’t tell me she was coming, I gave them bottles of soft drink and a photo album filled with Jamilat and my pictures. I could see Talatu scrutinizing the album as policemen do with drivers’ particulars at check points. Later, I saw them off.

From all I could remember that day, it was Talatu who did the talking, boosting her ego and saying that she was a captain for some games, official of some school club and so on, but my Jamilat kept mum and smiled. That night, when I visited Jamilat to thank her for her visit, she told me it was Talatu who insisted that they should visit me. She added that Talatu was an honest, trustworthy and faithful friend whom she relied on. Three days later, I heard a knock on my door. As I opened it, I saw Talatu, indeed I received her as a honest friend of my fiancee. I bought biscuits and a bottle of soft drink and played my best Michael Jackson track, BEAT IT.

She liked it and even danced to the music, urging me to dance with her, which I refused to do, saying her friend might come over to look for her. She replied that Jamilat was not aware of her coming. I started to be suspicious, really suspicious of Talatu`s apparent behaviour. I didn’t want to disappoint Jamilat by informing her about her so-call good friend.

Talatu`s visit became more often. A week to their resumption date, she brought a cassette of a music and played it. She implored me tactically with innocence to dance with her. I was enticed and Satan signed this scene. We started dancing as I put her arms around my neck. She played with my hair, kissing me on my cheek and on the lips and gradually, I found myself in bed with her. I felt guilty to let myself get seduced by Talatu. Even if Jamilat forgave me, my conscience would never forgive me.

Three months later, Talatu was suspended from school because she was pregnant. She came to my room and told me the tidings. “To hell with your pregnancy!” I shouted at her. With tears and curses, she went away. My whole life became a turmoil. I prayed that Jamilat did not connect me with the pregnancy. In my state of confusion, I heard a radio broadcast announcing that a prize-given-day was coming up the following day at Jamilat`s school.

What! I must go there with my camera, knowing my Jamilat would at least receive a prize as she did every year. But, why didn’t she write me, knowing that I was always eager to have her picture taken on such occasions? Or did she know about the horrible incident? The guest-speaker delivered his speech and prizes were given to outstanding students. Jamilat received her award before I came into the hall.

She was called upon again to collect the well-behaved student of the year prize. I went over to take a picture of her. When she turned to my direction and saw me, her smile evaporated. She suddenly turned her face away.

“Ja-Jamilat, please turn this way so I can take a picture of you.” I didn’t know when my shaky voice went through the microphone, emitting a pitiful sound to the hearing of the audience. She didn’t turn.

When she turned, her visage was no longer of innocence and her eyes were red and with salty fluid. The audience was more than surprised, as if they had seen a ghost for the first time.

Miraculously, her voice went through the microphone as she said: “If ever I talk to you again, let God put me in hell fire. Go back to Talatu!” Her statement continued to echo in my brain till I got home and learnt that Talatu had died while attempting abortion.

This literary fiction by Yushau A. Shuaib was originally published in Sunday Triumph March 24, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph April 7, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph March 31, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph March 10, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph March 10, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph March 3, 1991

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This poem by Yushau A. Shuaib was first published in Sunday Triumph February 24, 1991

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