Hajiya Bilkisu Yusuf: So late a tribute
On September 25th last year, I had woken up at about 4am and decided to read a book from my ipad. At about 5.15am, I remembered I needed to reply to a quick email to a friend in London before going down to my chapel for morning prayers and Mass. But, as I opened the box, […]
On September 25th last year, I had woken up at about 4am and decided to read a book from my ipad. At about 5.15am, I remembered I needed to reply to a quick email to a friend in London before going down to my chapel for morning prayers and Mass. But, as I opened the box, I saw a mail from Sr. Kathleen from Ireland.
I had no intention of reading any mail, but my eyes caught the name Hajiya Bilkisu in the mail. I decided to open the mail and then, there was her message, only one line: Am in shock and greatly saddened that Bilkisu is gone in today’s stampede.
My iPad fell off my hands and for some seconds, I simply closed my eyes. I had not heard anything about the events in Saudi Arabia. I jumped out of bed and immediately switched on my phone and called Mohammed Haruna.
I shot a pointed question: Mallam, what happened to Hajiya Bilkisu? (Mohammed neither calls me Fr or Bishop. For a long time, we have always called one another, Mallam, but it always actually sounds or ends with something like a question mark, Mallang?)
Mohammed responded in the affirmative and tried to explain something, but I simply dropped the phone. I am not sure how, but I dropped on my knees and wept profusely. I got to my chapel much later and celebrated Mass and asked God to rest her beautiful soul. I skipped breakfast.
I waited till later in the morning before I called her husband, Alhaji Mustapha Bintube. I had first met him during his time in Federal Savings Bank (FSB) some years back and we had remained in contact with me occasionally teasing him about a loan from Jaiz Bank after he moved there. I tried to condole with him as best as I could. In between, he said to me, I can imagine how you feel, Bishop.
Alhaji Bintube knew that Hajiya was a very special friend of mine. I had often joked with her to please put in a word for me so that Alhaji Bintube would to give me a loan from Jaiz Bank. She would laugh and say, Ba ruwa na, ai kun fi kusa. I had often joked with her that she was lucky she had a good husband who allowed her so much freedom to travel the world – something she was often glad to acknowledge.
I first met Hajiya Bilkisu a few months after her appointment as the editor of the New Nigerian Newspaper. I was quite excited when I heard of her historic appointment. Hitherto, to the best of my recollection, the only visible female face in the ‘New Nigerian’ had been our beloved Mrs. Theresa Bowyer, the late educationist and writer who wrote constantly for the paper and was at a point a member of the Board of Directors, I recall. Women hardly ever had their voice in the ‘New Nigerian.’ I had never heard her name, but I was really and truly excited about a northern female journalist.
I decided that I would go and pay my respects to her. I knew that as a contributor to the paper, she would at least know my name. In those days, I used to write my column, ‘The Mustard Seed,’ type it and then personally drive to the ‘New Nigerian’ office to drop off the piece for the editor. I asked Mohammed how I could see her and he told me she was a very simple woman and would be delighted to see me.
I showed up in the office at about 5pm in my soutane. Despite my contribution to the paper, it was the first (and last) time I would enter the office of the Editor of the New Nigerian. I knocked on her door and she stood up and opened the door. I recall that Bilkisu did shake my hand quite warmly that evening. (Even when, much later, she stopped shaking hands with men, I used to tease her that this was not applicable to me!) I still recall the warmth of her reception that evening. She told me how much she had looked forward to meeting me and that she had read my articles with a lot of interest. We talked and talked and talked for almost an hour.
In the course of our conversation, one or two senior staff came to see her but she gave the impression that we were not done yet. When I finally got out of her office (on my own terms), one of her senior staff who looked visibly shocked said to me: Fr Kukah what did you do to our editor? She normally does not give this kind of time to anyone. She is a rather no-nonsense person. I smiled and moved on. The encounter would mark the beginning of a friendship that I truly treasured very much.
We met at several conferences. Whenever I complained about how busy she was and wondered how she had so much energy, she would often say, look who’s talking. On three occasions when I was asked to nominate a speaker for a conference on Islam in Nigeria, she always was on top of my list. When the Commonwealth office asked me to nominate two Muslims to attend a conference, I nominated her along with Mallam Kabir Yusuf. Two or so years later, a follow up conference took place in Australia. Again, I nominated them both. Thus, when the University of Birmingham asked me to deliver a keynote address at a conference on Islam in Africa and to nominate one person to participate she was my first choice.
This time, Hajiya Bilkisu literally warned me that if I failed to turn up at the Conference, she would not attend. She reminded me that while I had nominated both she and Mallam Yusuf and failed to turn up in Australia (True, I had written my paper for the Conference but at the last minute, it became impossible for me to travel and so I had to send my paper to be read at the conference, but she never forgot this). I of course did make the conference in Birmingham. We spent some time together and talked and talked about the future of our country and so on.
Our friendship took a slightly different turn when I got to know that she and the late Katherine Hoomkwap were very close friends. Much later, as I got to know her well, she stopped calling me Fr. Kukah. For emphasis, she upped her game and my name was, Father, Father, with the Father, pronounced as Fazha. So, it was always Fazha, Fazha, whether on the phone or at any encounter. On a few occasions, she would say, ah, sorry, Bishop, but in reality, it was always, Fazha, Fazha.
Along with Mrs. Hoomkwap, we all bonded together because I had known Mrs. Hoomkwap since 1975 towards the end of my studies at the Seminary in Jos. They both told me that their friendship went way back to their university days. At the death of Mrs. Hoomkwap, Hajiya was there for the burial. At the graveside, she placed her hand on my shoulder and as I turned to see who it was, all she said was, Fazha, Fazha, Kate ta tafi ta barmu. My last meeting with her was at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs during the visit of the UN Secretary General, Bank Ki Moon. I turned around and it was Hajiya. Fazha, Fazha, masun gari, she said. We exchanged pleasantries and I introduced her to Mrs. Jean. That was the last I would see her.
It is impossible to improve on what has been written about Hajiya Bilkisu. Her memories will linger on for a long time. She was a courageous, hard working woman dedicated to her faith, family and country. With still no rise in the number of female journalists in northern Nigeria, she has left behind a huge vacuum. However, she did bring about much respect, integrity, dignity and professionalism to what is at best a men’s club. She was a great friend to have.
I read most of the tributes to Hajiya but Mahmud Jega’s was the most curious. I was struck by what he left out than what he put into his tribute. As we all know, Mahmud Jega has a memory of elephantine proportions and is a writer with a perspicacious sense of minutiae. I was really surprise that in his tribute to Hajiya Bilkisu, he stated that when he went to meet her as the new editor of the ‘New Nigerian,’ he met some young girls in her office. Hajiya asked him if he had any interests in any of them. Forgetfulness is not a Jega tribute, but to my greatest surprise, in this matter, Jega did not offer us a follow up as to how he answered Hajiya Bilkisu’s question or what happened thereafter.
Bilki, Bilki – as I often called her – we miss and pray for the repose of your gentle and loving soul. We will keep pushing the boundaries so that we can build genuine friendships. You lived well and died doing what you loved best, your faith. I imagine you and Kate now know that heaven is the presence of God, and belongs to all those who love God and do what is right. I miss your dearly.