By
Mukhtar Adamu Wudil
In the history of the sarauta in Kano, political survival rarely rested solely on titles or turbans, but on wisdom, restraint, and a deep understanding of the limits of power and ambition. When the Kano Civil War broke out in 1893, Emir Tukur asked Dan Rimi Malam who should be sent to Takai, to convince the Yusufawa to abandon their rebellion. Dan Rimi Malam recommended his brother, Nuhu. However, when Malam called his brother Nuhu and informed him of the Emir’s directive, he proposed a plan. He would remain with the Sokoto-backed Emir Tukur, and should the Yusufawa refuse the offer of Emir Tukur, Nuhu should pay allegiance to them and join their ranks in Takai. His logic was simple: if they aligned with both sides, whichever faction won, their family would retain the title and their political relevance. Such a move was not only a brilliant reading of the political terrain but also an important lesson in dynastic preservation.
Aminu Ado Bayero, however, has chosen a very different path. Rather than split risks or act strategically, he has pressured his own siblings into a corner, forbidding them from paying homage to Emir Sanusi II. He insists on an all-or-nothing loyalty that neither serves his family’s interest nor preserves their standing in the long durée of Kano’s game of thrones. His approach is at best emotional and short-sighted, tethered to a battle that has already been lost.
What makes it more troubling is that his strategy appears deliberate. It echoes the same calculated move he used at the outset of the crisis that created the Bichi Emirate. At the time and as a high ranking prince, he reportedly advised his fellow Sullubawa title holders not to grant audience to Ganduje or any government representative regarding the creation of a new emirate, even as he had, unbeknownst to them, already accepted the offer. Perhaps, he feared that if others were consulted, especially weighty contenders from amongst them, Ganduje might have considered alternative candidates. By monopolizing access and silencing internal competition, he secured his path to Bichi, just as he now seeks to control his siblings’ stance on Emir Sanusi.
Former Governor Ganduje, by contrast, seems to have absorbed the very lesson Aminu has refused to learn. He recently ensured that his nephew through his younger brother, Sani, was selected as the village head of Ganduje. For all his role in the current royal imbroglio, Ganduje made sure all leading members of his family attended the turbaning in person to express their gratitude. In doing so, he safeguarded his family’s stake in Kano’s future political order by aligning them with the legitimate Emir.
This single move exposes the fiction surrounding Aminu Ado’s claim to the throne. His supporters frequently cite a supposed court ruling preserving the status quo as proof that he remains the legitimate Emir. But if that were truly the case, why did Ganduje himself bypass him? Why did he not have his nephew turbaned by the very man his camp insists remains the rightful Emir? The answer is self-evident: Aminu Ado is no longer regarded as holding any meaningful authority, not even by those who continue to claim that he is still the Emir of Kano. It is now even more evident that he is a pawn in a game whose real players are already moving on.
Yet, Aminu Ado continues to carry the burden of a defeat already sealed. Rather than bow out with dignity, he deliberately entangles his siblings in a losing cause, prolonging a farce that only erodes what remains of their father’s legacy. With no personal credibility to anchor his acts to, he cloaks this defiance in the language of filial duty, insisting that this is not his personal battle, but a sacred struggle to protect the name and honor of their father. And therein lies the most jarring contradiction.
Emir Ado Bayero (of blessed memory) spent his entire reign resisting every attempt to divide the Kano Emirate. He believed deeply in the unity of the institution and worked tirelessly to preserve it. That his son justified a new emirate and now a phantom throne in his name is not only outrageous, it is morally depressing.
The irony deepens when one considers that Aminu Babba, one of Aminu Ado’s most vocal loyalists, reportedly named his dog after Emir Ado Bayero and remained a known security threat until his death. If this is the crowd now claiming to defend Emir Ado Bayero’s honor, then it is worth asking whether the late Emir’s name is being defended or willingly desecrated.
Perhaps it is time for the children of Emir Ado Bayero to pause and reflect. They must ask themselves, honestly and urgently: is this truly their battle? Or are they being dragged, by pride and propaganda, into a confrontation that betrays the very values their father stood for?
On his own, Aminu Ado should have reflected on the wisdom of Madakin Kano Malam, who, when accused by Emir Alu of not joining their faction during the Kano Civil War, responded firmly, “Idan na bi ku, me zan ku ba ni? Madakin Kano ce, kuma na yi.” Indeed, there was nothing more to gain by fighting battles that do not give you beyond what you already have. Aminu Ado had been the Emir of Bichi and later of Birnin Kano. He had titles, some honor, and opportunity. What more could Ganduje or his other sponsors offer him that was worth so much dishonor to his name and family? They need to consider carefully how Aminu Ado’s ambition is trampling theirs.
The Ado Bayero family need to look to the example of Emir Abdullahi Bayero. When Emir Usman dan Tsoho was appointed as Emir in 1919, instead of Bayero who was Ciroma and the perceived natural heir, Ciroma gathered his siblings and instructed those holding titles to pay homage, sparing only himself and his immediate brother, Dan Iya Abdulkadir. His reason was that since it was himself and Dan Iya that decided not to recignise Emir Usman, the rest of their siblings should consider and safeguard their own interests and the future of the family from a broader perspective. Put it simply: the end of Bayero and Abdulkadir as title holders must not necessarily be the end of their siblings or Emir Abbas’ lineage at large.
That calculated restraint may well explain why, despite Emir Usman’s political scheming, the children of Abbas remained relevant (Bayero and Abdulkadir paid homage later on). It was not just loyalty to a name that sustained them, but the ability to understand when to act, when to wait, and when to withdraw with dignity.
That is the difference between pride and principle. One is loud but empty. The other is quiet but lasting. In the theatre of power, the wise do not mistake applause for authority. They know that legacies are not defended by defiance, but by knowing when to leave.
Mukhtar Adamu Wudil can be reached via mawudil@gmail.com