by Solomon Dalung
There is a conversation going on about the Hausa and Fulani that I believe deserves more than social media arguments, ethnic debates and selective history.
This is going to be a long read, so get ready.
I have spent some time reading about the Sokoto Jihad, the old Hausa kingdoms, the emergence of the emirates and the present argument about Hausa identity. The more I read, the more convinced I am that we need to be careful with the way we tell this history.
Because if we get the history wrong, we may end up using the past to create problems for people who had nothing to do with it.
The first thing to establish is that Hausa and Fulani are distinct peoples. But they have lived together for centuries, long before the Jihad of 1804. Fulani communities had gradually moved eastward from the western Sahel and settled in different parts of Hausaland. Some were pastoralists, while others became scholars, teachers, traders and settled members of the communities in which they lived. Many adopted Hausa as their language and became culturally Hausa.
So, the Fulani did not suddenly arrive in Hausaland in 1804.
At the same time, the territories we now associate with Kano, Katsina, Zaria, Gobir, Daura and other parts of Hausaland had established Hausa political systems long before the Sokoto Jihad.
Then came Usman dan Fodio.
Dan Fodio was Fulani by ancestry, but he was born in Gobir and was very much a product of the society in which he lived. His challenge to the rulers was primarily a religious and political one. He and his followers believed that rulers who claimed to be Muslims had an obligation to govern according to the principles of Islam, and that injustice and practices they considered contrary to Islam could not be defended simply because they were committed by established rulers.
This is important because it tells us something about what appears to have motivated the original movement.
It was not initially a campaign saying that Hausa people should stop ruling and Fulani people should take over.
It was a campaign against what Dan Fodio and his followers considered bad and illegitimate government.
And Hausa Muslims were part of that movement.
Some Hausa people had their own grievances against the rulers they were governed by. They joined the Jihad because they believed the existing system had failed them and that a more righteous Islamic government was possible.
But after the old rulers were defeated, another question arose: who would govern the territories that had been conquered?
This is where the story becomes particularly interesting.
The men who emerged as the new rulers were overwhelmingly drawn from the Fulani scholarly and military networks around Dan Fodio.
Why?
I don’t think the answer is simply that Dan Fodio wanted Fulani people to rule because they were Fulani.
The evidence suggests something more practical.
The movement’s leadership was heavily drawn from communities that had produced generations of Islamic scholars. These men had the religious knowledge, the networks, the personal relationships with Dan Fodio and, increasingly, the military following required to lead the new order.
When they received the jihad flags and conquered territories, they became the new political authorities.
That is how religious leadership became political leadership.
And that is how an Islamic reform movement that attracted people from different communities eventually produced emirates whose ruling dynasties were predominantly Fulani.
But there is something else worth remembering.
Being Fulani was not an absolute requirement for becoming an emir.
Bauchi gives us a remarkable example. Yakubu, the first Emir of Bauchi, was Gerawa, not Fulani. He was a Muslim who had studied under Fulani scholars and became an important figure in the Jihad. Dan Fodio recognised him and he eventually established the Bauchi emirate.
Zaria gives us another important example. The Hausa ruler, Isiaka Jatau, accepted Dan Fodio’s authority and was initially retained within the new order. His successor, Makau, later rejected that arrangement and was defeated.
These examples matter because they suggest that the original criterion was not simply ethnicity.
The question was supposed to be: Is this person a legitimate Muslim leader, knowledgeable in the faith and capable of governing according to its principles?
Yet there is a paradox that we cannot ignore.
Although the original movement was not simply an ethnic campaign, the political order that emerged from it became overwhelmingly dominated by Fulani-origin dynasties.
And that political order eventually became hereditary.
The men who had risen through a movement that emphasised scholarship, piety and justice became emirs. Their families became ruling families. Political offices became attached to particular dynasties. Over time, the descendants inherited the authority of the revolutionaries.
This is where I think the current Hausa debate deserves closer attention.
Some Hausa voices today are asking why they should automatically be described as “Hausa-Fulani” when Hausa and Fulani are historically distinct peoples.
I don’t think that question should be dismissed.
A Hausa person has every right to say, “I am Hausa.”
A Fulani person has every right to say, “I am Fulani.”
There is nothing wrong with either identity.
The problem comes when the argument is pushed to the point where one group is portrayed as having no legitimate place in the history of the other.
That is where history becomes dangerous.
The Hausa kingdoms existed before the Sokoto Jihad.
Fulani communities had already lived among the Hausa for centuries.
Hausa Muslims participated in the Jihad.
Fulani scholars and commanders provided much of its leadership.
The old Hausa ruling houses were displaced in many places.
New emirates were established.
Most of their early rulers were Fulani.
And the majority of their populations remained Hausa-speaking.
All of these things happened.
We don’t have to erase one fact to acknowledge another.
There is also a question we should be brave enough to ask about the political legacy of the Jihad.
If the original justification for overthrowing rulers was that government should be based on justice, learning, morality and proper adherence to Islam, what happened when the new political order itself became hereditary?
Did the later generations always maintain the standards expected of the original leaders?
Did the institutions remain faithful to the ideals that gave them legitimacy?
Or, as happens in many political systems, did the preservation of power gradually become as important as the principles on which the system was founded?
I think these are legitimate questions.
But they should be directed at institutions and political history, not at an entire ethnic group.
A Fulani person living in Kano today is not responsible for what an emir did two hundred years ago.
Neither should a Hausa person today be made to feel guilty for the actions of a Hausa ruler who lived before the Jihad.
We should also be honest about the Jihad itself.
It was a religious movement, but it became a war. It involved conquest, political reorganisation, taxation and slavery. It created a powerful state. It also displaced existing rulers and established new political elites.
There is therefore no need to romanticise it.
But there is equally no need to reduce it to a simple Fulani invasion of the Hausa.
The history is more complicated than that.
Perhaps what we are witnessing today among some Hausa people is not simply hostility towards the Fulani. It may also be an attempt to recover a distinct identity that they feel has been buried under the broad political expression “Hausa-Fulani.”
And perhaps, underneath that identity question, there is another question that has not been asked loudly enough:
Did the political institutions that emerged from the Sokoto Jihad remain faithful to the ideals for which the Jihad was originally fought?
I don’t think we should answer that question by ethnicity.
The descendants of Dan Fodio’s followers should not be judged simply because of who their ancestors were.
But neither should historical questions be avoided because they are uncomfortable.
If the old Hausa rulers were challenged because they were considered unjust, then every generation of leaders should be judged by the same standard.
That, to me, is the real lesson.
Not Hausa supremacy.
Not Fulani supremacy.
Not the politics of historical revenge.
Leadership should be judged by justice, competence, integrity and service to the people.
And perhaps this is where the conversation should take us today.
A lot has changed since the Sokoto Jihad. The North has endured political upheaval, insecurity, banditry, kidnapping, cattle rustling, displacement and, increasingly, ethnic suspicion. Too many people now judge their neighbour first by his identity and only afterwards by his character.
That cannot become our new normal.
If Hausa people feel the need to reclaim and affirm their distinct identity, they should be allowed to do so. It should not be interpreted as an attack on the Fulani. Equally, Fulani people should not be made to carry the blame for the actions of individuals, past or present, simply because they share an ethnic identity.
What we need now is an honest conversation, not another ethnic contest.
Our historians and scholars should help us document this history properly, including the uncomfortable parts. Traditional rulers, religious leaders and community leaders should create room for Hausa and Fulani to speak honestly about their grievances, their fears and what has been lost.
Government must also draw a clear line between ethnicity and criminality. A bandit is a bandit, a kidnapper is a kidnapper and a rustler is a criminal, regardless of whether he is Hausa, Fulani or anything else. Innocent people must never be profiled or punished because of the actions of criminals from their ethnic group.
And our traditional institutions must continually earn the confidence of the people. History and ancestry may explain legitimacy, but in today’s Nigeria, leadership must ultimately be measured by justice, integrity, fairness and service.
We must also be careful not to allow today’s children to inherit yesterday’s bitterness.
The Hausa should be free to be Hausa. The Fulani should be free to be Fulani. Neither needs to erase the other.
We should acknowledge what happened, including the difficult parts, but refuse to turn historical memory into a licence for present-day hatred.
History should give us understanding, not enemies.
The North has lost too many people, too much trust and too much peace already.
Whatever our ancestors did or failed to do, what we choose to do with that history now is our responsibility.
Perhaps that is the real test before us.
Can we look honestly at the past without allowing it to poison the present?
Can a Hausa man reclaim his identity without hating a Fulani man?
Can a Fulani man defend his history without denying the history of the Hausa?
Can we acknowledge that political power changed hands two centuries ago without making the descendants of those who lived through it permanent enemies?
And can we finally judge today’s leaders by the same standard that our forefathers claimed to demand from theirs: justice, fairness, knowledge, integrity and service?
If we can, then perhaps this difficult conversation will have achieved something worthwhile.
If we cannot, then we risk turning history into another weapon in a region that has already paid far too high a price for division.
The past belongs to history. The future belongs to us. Let us be careful what we hand over to our children.
Solomon Dalung Esq.
