Articles > A visit to Kano

I have been asking myself a couple of questions lately. Two of the lot: How do I capture the defining details of a historical city that I have in the past only read about in disinterested bits and pieces and only quite recently began to admire, when my pending visit will be my very first? How do I, an Anglican faithful, do unbiased travel justice to a largely Islamic population, which government has announced that it will henceforth judge its defaulting indigenes by the Sharia legal system?

As it goes—and as has happened elsewhere in surrounding States—to breach any ‘commandment’ is to, at the best, be flogged severally, lose a hand or, at the worst, be pelted—to death! As yet, though, no convict has suffered the ultimate punishment. Part of the law permits no taking a taxi or holding of hands with the opposite sex, and no beer taking in public places, so I read. I’m teetotal, so I have little to fear as concerns the last.

That aside, how do I chat (like: “Can you please point me in the direction of a phone booth?”) when the average pedestrian I may approach speaks plain ‘heavy’ Hausa and can make out nothing of the Yoruba that I speak? ‘Broken English may help,’ I console myself trying to wave that line of thinking off my mind.

The travel trade is still pretty much in its advocacy stage than booming in this country, though the assets and attractions are in unspeakable surplus, so I couldn’t have benefited much from the sort of adequate tourist information Tourist Boards are wont to provide on request. So what am I to do? Call my trip off?

I go. Inspite of these, Kano boasts to have the most beautiful traditional setup in Nigeria. That's worth travelling the kilometers to see.

Having lived entirely in Lagos, a supposedly more developed metropolis down south, I wondered what scenes my eager eyes can expect in the strangeness of the Northern powerhouse. I dream up a picture of vast landscape of mud-and-straw houses and long herds of cattle shepherded by a cane-wielding lanky lad. On the telly the other day, a turbaned chief claimed that nothing of relevance happens in the town without the Emir knowing in a matter of hours—without, he stressed, ‘modern communication aid’. How interesting! I‘d definitely love to find out how.

But there is some ‘other’ side to this city, famed for its 15 ancient gates, walls and wars. And it’s the one I long to experience more than anything else touristy. The vintage Durbar. Planned occasionally to round up the 30-day Islamic fasting, it’s the largest ceremonial gathering of horses—and horse racing—ever. Records show the British administrators in the early 20th century requested it be held on special days in particular years before now—1911, 1924, 1925 and 1948 being some of the years.

And the Queen of England, HRH Elizabeth 2, saw one in 1956.

I GO. Sharia or not.

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