By Nworisa Michael
When history finally settles down to tell the story of Kano politics, I do not think it will remember only the roads that were constructed, the schools that were renovated, or the hospitals that were upgraded. Those things matter, and rightly so, but history often looks beyond projects. It searches for defining moments. Moments when perception changed. Moments when a people quietly began to see a leader differently.
In 2023, one of the most common conversations across Kano was not whether Abba Kabir Yusuf would win the election. It was what kind of governor he would become if he did. Many believed they already knew the answer. To them, he would merely be “Kwankwaso’s governor” a successor who would forever live under the shadow of the man who introduced him to power.
Looking back today, it is impossible to deny the role Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso played in Abba’s political journey. Leadership demands honesty, and honesty requires acknowledging history. Without Kwankwaso, there may never have been Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf. That is a fact that should neither be rewritten nor diminished.
But history also teaches another lesson. Every great political mentor eventually reaches a point where the greatest tribute to his own leadership is not how long his followers remain in his shadow, but how confidently they grow into leaders capable of carrying their own responsibilities.
That, perhaps, is where Kano quietly finds itself today. Whether one supports the New Nigeria People’s Party, belongs to another political party, or chooses to remain politically neutral, something appears to have changed. Conversations are gradually shifting. More and more, people seem to be judging Governor Abba on the strength of his own decisions, his policies, and the direction of his administration rather than merely through the lens of those who helped shape his political journey. That change may appear small, but in politics it is profound.
There comes a point in every administration when a governor can no longer borrow public confidence from the goodwill of another. Citizens begin to judge him by the confidence with which he leads, the decisions he makes, the challenges he confronts, and the legacy he appears determined to leave behind.
That moment cannot be manufactured by speeches. It cannot be gifted by endorsements. It cannot even be inherited through political structures. It must be earned.
Perhaps that is why some of the strongest opinions about Governor Abba today are no longer centred on the man who helped him emerge. Instead, they are centred on Abba himself. His supporters defend his record. His critics challenge his decisions. Yet, in both cases, the conversation is increasingly about his leadership. Whether history will ultimately judge those decisions kindly or otherwise remains a matter for time, but the fact that they are increasingly seen as his own is, in itself, a noteworthy political development. Ironically, this is one of the highest compliments any political mentor can receive.
A teacher succeeds when the student no longer needs to be introduced before entering the room. A father succeeds when the child becomes capable of standing on his own feet. A mentor succeeds when those he nurtured begin to write their own chapters without forgetting where their journey began.
Leadership is not rebellion against one’s political beginnings. Neither is it blind dependence on them. It is the courage to accept the responsibility that comes with office and to allow one’s decisions to speak louder than inherited expectations.
This is why I believe the true conversation about Governor Abba should rise above the usual arguments between supporters and opponents. Politics is temporary, but leadership leaves footprints long after campaign posters have faded.
One day, Abba Kabir Yusuf will leave office just as others before him have done. When that day comes, history will not ask whose political successor he was. History will ask whether he justified the trust placed in him, whether he gave Kano reasons to hope, and whether he left the state better than he met it.
Those questions cannot be answered by party slogans. They cannot be answered by social media debates. They can only be answered by time.
Perhaps that is the most beautiful thing about leadership. It is patient. It allows no one to mark his own examination script. It waits quietly until the years have spoken.
Perhaps history will not remember this period simply as the years Abba governed as someone’s successor. Perhaps it will remember it as the period Kano began judging a governor by the weight of his own decisions rather than by the shoulders upon which he first stood. Leadership, after all, is not measured by who introduced you to power. It is measured by what you do when power finally introduces you to history.