Sango II: Exit of a true gentleman
In a parody of one of my favourite Hausa musicians, the irrepressible Muhammadu Gambu, I found myself saying; “Without questioning the will of God, why should it be that it is the good people that die daily?” A few days ago it was the lively and respectful journalist, Auwal Sani Toro who breathed his last. […]
In a parody of one of my favourite Hausa musicians, the irrepressible Muhammadu Gambu, I found myself saying; “Without questioning the will of God, why should it be that it is the good people that die daily?” A few days ago it was the lively and respectful journalist, Auwal Sani Toro who breathed his last. Now, it was the turn of Sango. Why? Time is a silent executioner. With its seeming harmless slow movement goes the soul of men.
That Saturday of November 28 was one true weekend. I had not opened the front door of my house all day and was just tuggling with all the gadgets and books around me. Minutes after zuhr prayer, I fell asleep. At the end of the two-hour nap, I returned to the gadgets and immediately opened a mail from the columnist Auwal Sani Anwar. For his way with words, Auwal is one person I like to read, of recent. The mail, as usual, contained his most recent column, captivatingly titled “Zulai Buhari from a distance”. I read through and it held me to the end. I felt drawn into the narration. Like a good writing that it was, it made me visualise the late Zulai and the scenes Auwal described in the piece. I was touched by the obituary that I began to draw the death of the rare lady close to me.
By then, I was preparing to go out, to catch up an appointment. I then put a call through to my wife, who had been out of town, to once again bemoan how life in this new place is dangerously individualistic. “Could you imagine that I have not opened the door all today and this is 4:30pm? This means one can die and people may only get to know when the corpse begins to decompose,” I remember telling her. I don’t know what brought the reference to death. It was one of those things that after saying it, I begin to think of the implications – ‘and he said this’, ‘he said that’ would be said when one eventually kicks the bucket. I dismissed the thoughts as I hurried up to catch up with my schedules.
Those episodes were rather metaphorical. Faraway in Kano, Malam Muhammad Balarabe Sango II, one of those people who you would wish could be spared to eternity, had died and been buried. The friend I went to see availed me with the tragic news. Sango had returned to Kano on Friday and, tragically, got snatched by the inevitable executioner on Saturday morning.
But beyond the death, the manner and circumstances of Sango’s death were exceptional. However, therein lies the pain to all of us who knew him; suddenly losing a humble pacifist of Sango’s standing.
On Friday, as usual with him, since he secured a job at the Federal Polytechnic, Bauchi, and began to shuttle between there and Kano, where his family resides, Sango notified his Facebook contacts that he was on his way from Bauchi for the weekend, requesting for prayers. And when he arrived in Kano, he wrote on the same space again “Alhamdu Lillahi, back to Kano safely. Thank you brothers and sisters” alas, less than 24 hours after this post, Sango was no more!
His death, like his insightful writings, was effortless. Methinks it was the pain that Sango didn’t go through that was actually thrown at us, his many friends and acquaintances, who were deeply devastated by his death.
I came to know Sango from those juvenile days of literary enthusiasm. Fascinated by the art of spinning words together, I began to frequent the monthly Creative Writers Forum – one of the many literary opportunities provided by the then vibrant British Council centre in Kano. For my enthusiastic mind, Sango was a star attraction. Alongside others like Ismaila Bala, Lucas Marcus Jr., Isa Muhammad Inuwa, Sunny Ihiabe, among others, Sango was a guiding light who lit the way for me and many of my contemporaries in that steamy circle.
Aside his bravura as an English writer, Sango was equally a skillful Hausa writer. It was often difficult to determine where lies the man’s greater proficiency – English or Hausa. Oftentimes, he would compose the same piece of poem, or any of his didactic short stories in both languages simultaneously with minimal or no syntactical pointer that one was influenced by the other.
Sango was equally a pioneer in the famous Hausa film industry, Kannywood. He started from the days of itinerant stage dramas and saw the transition to home videos. An excellent scriptwriter and director, Sango also featured in many movies.
However, like several of his contemporaries, the politics of the industry coupled with lack of capital to produce his own titles and, above all, his sense for moral integrity fuelled by education from the two divides, Sango was thrown into oblivion. He chose the dignified role of passionate observer, only getting involved when and where he was involved.
Around 2008, I was approached by a famous Nollywood actor cum producer who had the intent of producing a good Hausa movie. As the first step, he demanded to get a good script that could be turned into a bestseller. To Sango I went and he dusted off about three typed scripts of his. Each was professionally done with a synopsis and the detailed screenplay. In an era where some half-literate directors go to set without anything of a script or even the complete storyline, Sango stood apart, alongside professional but often unutilized directors such as Bala Anas Babinlata, Ahmad Salihu Alkanawy, Dan Azumi Baba, and a few others.
The time I came close enough to Sango was when both of us were elected into the executive council of the Kano State chapter of the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) in 2010. All his virtues that I saw from a distance, and much more, came to fully manifest. He proved to be humble, intelligent and a good listener. He rarely talked at the EXCO meetings, but when he did he would provide insight that would be useful. His co-traveller was Malam Lawan Adamu Giginyu. The duo, it could be submitted, were the voice of moderation and conscience, but additionally, Sango was always there to provide such needed guidance. He barely missed meetings and hardly turned out late.
It was for his humility that Sango appreciated the fact that knowledge and wisdom are not pejorative of the aged. He would therefore welcome any correction or dissenting view about what he expressed from anybody. I cannot remember seeing him angered by any comment or even the most disrespectful of attitudes. He would smile and reply any criticism in that his gentle soft tone.
The many comments by his various contacts on his Facebook page were clear pointers as to who was Muhammad Balarabe Sango II. May Allah grant his soul an abode in the nicest of places, ameen.
Abdulaziz is a writer and journalist. Email: [email protected]