Why I preferred Islamic education – Professor Sani Zaharadeen

In this interview, Emeritus Professor Sani Zaharadeen, who was a vice chancellor of Bayero University, Kano (BUK) before becoming the Grand Imam of the Kano Emirate, speaks on his early education, career etc.

You had a classical Islamic education from the very beginning, can you tell us a little about it?

What happened was that after primary and secondary education, I went to the School for Arabic Studies in Kano.

Did you go through the traditional Qur’anic school before acquiring western education?

Of course, I went through that. Every Muslim child has to start with Quran education. I started mine in a village called Kiru; that was around 1948 or 1949. After that I went to primary school, which was called elementary school at that time, in Kura/Bebeji, later on in Kano metropolis. From there, I went to Rumfa College, which is Kano Municipal School, from 1953 to 1960. I finished secondary education with a first class certificate and joined the famous School for Arabic Studies, which was to be called Kano Law School because originally the school was meant for training sharia court personnel in northern Nigeria.

Was the decision to go to an Islamic college deliberate or something you did consciously because you wanted to do Islamic studies?

It was deliberate; and it happened that after my secondary education, some of us went into military service and some for higher education. I wanted further education and there was provision for Islamic studies to have a class called post secondary, where you would study Arabic, English, Islamic Studies and History. I was there from 1961 to 1963. It was kind of deliberate because all along in secondary school, I was getting good grade in Arabic and Islamic Studies and that prompted me to say that it was another chance to study Arabic in-depth. 

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So there was no direct religious motive and looking for a career?

Yes, as most of us will say, if you have somewhere you can learn Arabic, go for it. When I told my uncle, who was my guardian, that I wanted to go to the School of Islamic Studies, he said it was a very good choice, so he encouraged me to join the school.

Was there no pressure on you to go for a professional course like Law or Business?

No, there was not. The pressure was to get a higher school certificate, and the school was known for that. There was a provision for Arabic, so I took Arabic, Islamic Studies, Hausa, History and English Literature. I passed all of them. 

Does it mean that because you were in the school for a degree, it sort of pointed you to the direction of the then Abdullahi Bayero College?

Exactly. We finished our A-levels in 1962. At that time, the University of India had opened the Department of Arabic and Islamic Studies, so I applied and was offered admission. But there was a development in northern Nigeria that Ahmadu Bello College was going to be a university and Abdullahi Bayero College of Arabic and Islamic Studies would be a faculty of the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU). So we moved the School of Islamic Studies to Abdullahi Bayero College to start degree programmes in 1963/1964.

Having gotten a first class in Arabic and Islamic Studies from the ABU, did it mean you were predisposed to academics rather than the civil service?

Yes. This is because in 1966 when we graduated, I wanted to go into teaching in secondary school in northern Nigeria but we went to Kaduna and three of us were denied letters of appointment as education officers. The supervisor or inspector was the late Emir of Kazaure, Alhaji Husseini Adamu. He told us that he would not give us any appointment letter because they wanted us to continue with them in the university. They promised to recruit us and send us for further studies.

We felt really bad because our colleagues got the letters and some were posted to Funtua, Birnin Kudu, Bauchi and Zaria and they started earning salaries. When we came back to Kano we went to Professor Shehu Galadanci, who was the acting provost and he said the university would not appoint us as assistant lecturers. He, however, promised to get us temporary appointments from July 1966 and by October we would be appointed as lecturers. He added that he would give us 40 pounds per month. We were later given 60 pounds. We started going to the university and the library all the time until October.

You were sent to Sudan for further studies. Sudan is a fairly difficult country to live in; how was the place in those days?

We were very lucky because our teacher, who was the first provost of the college, Professor Abdullahi Tahir, was the one who accepted two us, Abubakar and myself to study for master’s in Arabic. He really took care of us. It was during the civil war. 

We left Kano on September 30, 1967 and started the master’s programme. My wife and child later came around September 1968 or 1969. We finished in January 1970. Life was quite okay at that time because with half a Sudanese pound you could get a ram. It was a bit higher than our currency. Life was a bit cheap then.

After Sudan, I am sure there was a gap in-between and you went to Canada for your PhD; is that correct?

Yes. After we returned in January 1970, the idea was that ABU would train us for master’s degrees and we would stay for two years to teach, after which we would get admission into any university for our doctorate degree. That was what happened. 

When we finished from Sudan, a colleague of mine, Muhammad Abubakar, went for a foreign service and I felt I should go too. I even got the appointment letter. I got an appointment through the post office in August 1966 before the permanent employment letter of ABU came, that I was appointed as an external affairs officer 9. 

I went to my uncle and told him that I got admission and the university said they won’t give us appointment till October. I asked if I could go. He said I was mad and asked why I would go to Lagos, which was unsafe after the 1966 coup. They were scared that there could be war any time. He said that to be successful in one’s hometown was better than in other places. So I dropped the idea. 

When we came back from Sudan, I got admission into Medina University. At that time, the plan was that the university would give me a leave of absence with two-third of my salary and provide accommodation for my wife and five children for the period of the PhD. One-third would be given by the state government and they would pay for the school fees and so on. 

I applied to the Kano State Government in 1970, and luckily, Alhaji Husseini Adamu was the secretary of education. He told me that he took my case to the Executive Council but the governor asked why I chose the school when I was reading Islamic Studies; why not Al-Hazr. I said he was right because Al-Hazr was a world renowned university for Islamic studies. But I didn’t want to reapply. He said I should tell the vice chancellor, Ishaya Audi, that I got admission but the state government was not ready to sponsor me. He said the vice chancellor may write the governor to request for a waiver so that I could go for the scholarship. I booked an appointment to see the vice chancellor in Zaria, and I was told he wrote to the governor who later approved it.

Your choice of McGill University was not because you were keen to go there, what happened?

I was keen to go because the university had an established Institute of Islamic Studies. It was established by a well known scholar in Islamic studies. He was an elder brother to a former secretary-general, Smith. The centre had a very impressive library with books in different languages. I was impressed when I saw the names of persons who were there, coming from all parts of the world. That made me to apply. In fact, I saw the advertisement when I was in Khartoum and applied because I felt they had a well established institute, which I am very proud of. They wrote to me when I came back to Kano. 

You didn’t find it strange to go for Islamic Studies in a non-Islamic Canada, what gave you the courage?

Most of my colleagues were more or less postgraduate students in the Institute for the Americans, Canadians, Arabs, and others from all parts of the world. About three of us were Nigerians, so I did not find it strange. Some of our teachers were Arabs. The teacher who supervised my thesis was Professor Mustapha Abu Hakima, who taught in Zaria, a place that is now a college of education. It was called Northern Nigeria Secondary Teachers’ College. He was also a historian for the Kuwaiti Government and was married to an Egyptian architect. We usually conversed in Arabic and not English.

Did you go to Canada with your wife and five children?

My wife later joined me. I spent four years there altogether.

How did you cope with the cold weather in Canada?

Normally, I don’t like cold weather. In North America and Europe, the weather was severe but it was highly controlled because there was a central heater all over – in cars, homes, libraries and other places. So, I didn’t find it difficult. Unless I exposed myself outside, I won’t feel any cold. It was a wonderful time.

After Canada you had a long career at Bayero University, can you talk about it?

I came back from Canada in September 1976. At that time, Professor Mahmud Tukur was the head of Abdullahi Bayero College and he appointed me the head of the Department of Islamic Studies and I started teaching. In 1978, I was elected dean. Then I was invited by the state government to be the commissioner for education (Kano and Jigawa at that time) until civil administration ended in 1979 and I went back to Bayero University and continued as head of department. 

In 1982, I became the deputy vice chancellor, academics. I was there until 1986. Later, I served in different committees in the federal and state levels. In 1985, I was called upon by the Babangida administration to be part of what was called Political Bureau, with Haruna Adamu and others. This was up to 1986 when I returned to the university.

Were you not at any time tempted to go into politics?

No; just professional committees on education and social development. Many of them were also outside the country. 

I travelled a lot during the time to many conferences, especially when the new century of Islam started—1400. There was the feeling to know what  would happen. In many of our conferences in France, Germany, Nigeria and the United States we wanted to know what was there. I tried to attend a conference in the University of Peshawar in Pakistan and on my way I left Karachi for Peshawar one afternoon and one of the planes was hijacked. We stayed in the plane for 12 days and were later released.

During that ordeal, did you feel that was the end? 

There was something like that because we were up to 120 squeezed in a small aircraft and threatened, so anything could happen since the assailants had grenade.

How were you rescued?

It was through the intervention of the United Nations and other countries. I was the only African on the plane. On the first day we thought everything was going to be alright as we were first taken to Kabul in Afghanistan.

Who were the hijackers?

They were followers of Ali Bhutto, a former prime minister of Pakistan. They said there was one ADC. There was a court ruling that Bhutto should be hanged, and he was killed. So they were nursing that grudge. 

There was the ADC of Zia-ul-Haq, who was a military attaché to condone with the family of his wife because his mother-in-law died. He was moving from Karachi to Peshawar and they felt that was an ideal time to strike. They killed the ADC.  I didn’t know there was something called silencer. There was a soldier sitting behind me; they dragged him and hit me on the wall and killed him. We were really worried. After six days in Kabul they took us to Damascus.

Who was handling the plane?

It was the captain of the plane who was in the employ of the airline. He was threatened with a gun. Thereafter, we were moved to another destination and were told that we would be taken to Libya, then Ethiopia, but we ended in Damascus.

I read somewhere that when the time came for you to become vice chancellor and two of you had equal points, there was uncertainty; what happened?

I don’t know because I could not know my marks or those of my colleagues.

Was the uncertainty about the process?

I don’t know. When the process is concluded through the council it will go to the vice chancellor. The council will send three names to the president, who will appoint any of the three. Even if one gets 70 per cent and others 60 and 50, the president has the right to appoint the one with 50. That is what I know.

By then you had served at the politburo, were you part of Babangida’s transition team?

No; we were just working out a system for the government.

I was told that as vice chancellor there is a lot of pressure to do things as a local person; did you experience it?

Yes; there were pressures from your colleagues, classmates, relatives and so on. It is not like now that you have the Joint Admissions Matriculation Board (JAMB) and other examinations. In those days, vice chancellors had discretionary lists to give some few names. But the pressure was not really much because there was a time the late Emir Ado Bayero told me that sometime people would come to put pressure on us to be admitted but I should do the right thing even if it was from him. That was what we did. 

The pressure will definitely come and people will request that their children should be admitted, even when they are not qualified.

What were the highlights of your time as vice chancellor?

My predecessors started the Faculty of Medicine and I worked seriously to see that we had something on the ground. I am glad that Professor Musa Borodo was there because he helped us a lot. We worked together and went to several places in Lagos, including the Medical and Dental Council. We invited the chairman here. 

We went to ABU, Zaria to get some lecturers to work here on part time basis to teach. We also got the teaching hospital to be on course. I remember that there was a state visit by General Babangida and he was invited to the teaching hospital, which was not yet completed. He promised that he would try as much as possible to get three hospitals on course to start immediately. The hospitals were in Kano, Chika in ABU and the one in Nsukka. I feel we did a lot, especially in setting up the medical department.

As a professor emeritus, are you still involved in teaching and research?

Yes; I have some postgraduate students I supervise and some lecturers who come to me. And sometimes I attend their seminars. From time to time, we interact with my former students and colleagues to exchange ideas. Just recently, there was this committee that was set up by the former vice chancellor, who is now the secretary of the National Universities Commission (NUC), Abubakar Rasheed. The committee is called Annual Social Report Committee. It was together with Emir Sanusi, who called the vice chancellor. He was worried about the ideas of marriage, divorce and childcare within our society, including education, almajiri and so on. So, he asked him to set up a committee and some Ulama to salvage the situation.

Somebody will get married and stay with his children and even grandchildren for 45 years, and all of a sudden he would start talking of divorce. And normally, if someone is divorced and her parents are dead and she does not have anything, where would she go. I was very concerned about that and asked the Ulama to look at what was happening in Egypt, Pakistan, Syria and Morocco to walk out what would be good for us. 

There was also a committee on education, Zakat and endowment; and normally, when we collected money we may use it to build schools and so on.

Since 2011 you have been playing the role of the Chief Imam of Kano; is this position based on scholarship or tradition and inheritance?

It may be both. You don’t appoint an imam unless he has knowledge. Alhamdulillah, I thank Allah that I have it. If you come to inheritance, I come from an imam family. The founder of my family, Imam Zaharadeen, had two sons—Muhamad Hamma and the other one, Umaru—were both appointed as imams of Kano. When he came from Sokoto he was appointed imam; and he spent over 20 years in the post, just like his two children. So, seven of us from the family have been imams—Zaharadeen, Hamma, Umaru, Diko, Usman, Idris and myself. 

Is it a political role or purely religious?

It is mixed because the imam is part of the council or court of the emir, where people can bring cases of inheritance, marriage and others. The imam is the leader there. Then, there is the religious aspect, where he leads prayers in the central mosque. When there is death he leads the funeral, and so on.

You were leading prayer in the central mosque when Boko Haram attacked the place, how did you escape?

That was November 28, 2014. We just finished the khutbah and I did takbir for the commencement of the prayer when I heard the sound of a bomb. When I started the recitation of the Quran, people started saying, takbir, Allahu Akbar, then there was commotion, and while I was trying to see what was happening, I saw people crying. We were trying to go outside but were told not to go because there was shooting. So, we stayed inside the mosque for about one hour.

Was the emir also inside the mosque?

No, he had travelled. He was in Umrah but he heard about it. When I came back I discovered that my wife didn’t know what happened. The emir called and told me he heard what happened and he would arrive the next day. He asked if everything was alright and I told him we were safe.

How many people died?

Officially, they said 100, but someone told me they buried 500. It is the seventh anniversary and we pray for the souls of the dead.

Unlike most traditionalists, it seems you have only one wife and a moderate family, is that true?

Yes, I have one wife and eight children. Unfortunately, one died 18 years ago. Alhamdulillah, we have been together for over 56 years. We have six girls and two boys. Wherever we went, we were together. Even when I was the pro-chancellor of the University of Benin, we used to travel together.