MY ZARIA ODYSSEY AND THE ANGEL OF ZAZZAU

“What are you still doing in Lagos?! Come on, prepare your sweat clothes and get ready for the Zaria harmattan. Look, not only are you on the first list, you are also on the merit list. Make sure you come down as fast as you can because registration is about to close.” 

I was privileged to have attended his exhibition – a group show that took place in the impressive foyerof the defunct Continental Merchant Bank, the marble house at Falomo,Ikoyi.It was around 1988/89, and indeed one of the very landmark shows of that era – an all masters exhibition, wherein this very unassuming but intriguing academic from the popular and fecund Zaria art school was one of them. Mr. Jerry Buhari was not the biggest name on show neither was he the most fascinating, but he stood out for me till date. 

Professor Jerry Buhari’s self-effacing carriage as well as his high intellect and unalloyed humaneness stand him out of the madding crowd. He remains one of my most esteemed mentors, and I’m pretty sure for many others. 

After my studies at the Federal College of Education in 1988, I had a brief stint working as a fulltime artist for two odd years. But within that period I also had a strong urge to further hone my skills so I could up my professional studio skills in addition to my pedagogical capacities; and I felt ABU was the place to go, but I knew no one (there); I had never been to northern Nigeria before. My attendance at that epochal show in Ikoyi was really a motivating force for me,but I did not have any serious one-on-one interaction with anyone from ABU – not even Buhari. 

In the year 1990, I applied for Direct Entry of JAMB – seeking admission into the Faculty of Environmental Design (ABU) to study Fine Art. When the results were out I went to JAMB office to check for mine; as I went through the list of faculties and the results from the great ABU my heart pounded so hard I could almost hear it save for the noise from the milling crowd about. “What in the world is really going on here?” As the mind talk ravagedthe callipers of my being, my heart pounded the more, and I was torn between fright and bewilderment: was I unsuccessful, and why? But no! There was not a single result from the department of Fine Art and Industrial Design! Other faculties and departments had their results released; how come there was nothing from the entire department?! I just could not understand. 

As the days passed by despair was setting in. And one day while ruminating over the matter theidea came: write to the university (Jerry Buhari). I put pen to paper; I introduced myself, and told Mr.Buhari that I met him at the landmark exhibition in Ikoyi, and told of my experience at the JAMB office. By merely attaching his name to the Department of Fine Art, ABU, Zaria, it was enough to reach him by post. After about a week plus, to my excitement and amazement I got an urgent reply from Mr. Jerry Buhari. It arrived in just two days after postage because it arrived by Speed post – with an expensive postage stamp - N20.My heart was beginning to pound again; I fidgeted a bit and then neatly opened the white envelope. 

Again, I was caught between ecstasy and wonder. Should I scream and shout or should I quietly sit down to reflect? What a country! “So, this is how I would have lost my place or admission (to the most prestigious art school in the land)”, I pondered aloud. Within this brief period I had had two different correspondences with Mr. Jerry Buhari.Those subtly reprimanding words from the amiable professor were more than soothing to my troubledsoul. It was December of 1990; and the very next day,with my sweater hanging around my neck just in case, I was in an early morning bus off to the ancient city of Zazzau as the natives referred to the old Zaria (empire) in Kaduna State, where my admission letter was waiting for me.If I had known I would have boarded a night bus but alas I was in this gruelling trip to the end of the country. Many hours into the day, the bus made its way through the dusty roads as the evening began to envelope the hazy crimson skies of the savannah. 

I got to Kaduna city and quickly switched over to a mini bus to take me down to Zaria. Midway into this last lap, in my discomfiture I voiced out to the driver: “Please, I’m going to ABU!” Immediately a lady sitting just by my side enquired, “Which of the campuses,” and I responded, “Samaru”, and she said, “Don’t worry, I’m going there myself.” And what a relief that was as I sank back into my seat and felt as light as the evening breeze.At about 9 pm, we both alighted in front of the university main gate, andthe cold wind rushed at me violently. “Go through there and you’d find your way; welcome to ABU”, she said to me with a warm smile as we went our separate ways. I thanked her and stoppedbriefly to put on my sweater. 

As I entered the campus I was accosted by a jovial and friendly fellow, Dansu – a level 400 student; he knew I wasfreshand he took delight in helping me around. He also knew Mr. Jerry Buhari, and even offered to take me to his place in Samuru village the following morning.His breath oozed with strong liquor but I trusted this stranger who offered me a bed space in his hostel room to pass the night.During that dusty and freezing harmattan night, I just managed to catch some sleep, shivering all through till dawn. 

I had to go see this Angel of Zazzau first before any other thing. And so in the morning Dansu took me to Mr.Buhari’s place outside the campus – to greet him and thank him. A simple and amiable fellow, he was very glad to see me and generously counselled me on how to begin to settle in to my studies. As I commenced registration processes proper, I soon discovered to my disbeliefthat not a single admission letter was sent out to successful candidates of the faculty; maybeI was just beginning to understand the country in which I lived. Even after lectures had begun, registration still continued for the next couple of weeks. 

Morgan Nwanguma, 2023

Lagos

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Painting by Gani Odutokun

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