My father sacrificed his children’s joy for public good – Late Jos chief imam’s son
Chief Imam of Jos, Sheikh Balarabe Daud died Sunday, May 24, at 82. His eldest son, Abdulalim, 50, narrates how the late cleric rejected his plea to get a job through former House of Representatives’ speaker Dimeji Bankole, among other things about the late chief imam not known by public.
Onimisi Alao & Hassan Ibrahim, Jos
Daily Trust: What would be your summary of the kind of man that your father was? I can’t say my father was perfect, but he was as close to being that as any human being could be. He was the ideal father, one who stood solidly for his children. When I say his children I mean anyone the age of his children who came into his life. Here in the family house, there was no way you could separate his biological children from the others. You met one who has just gone out. Anything I do in the house he does or can do. There is no part of my father’s house or room that I can go which he can’t go. It’s what applies to all of us. You are his child, biological or not, and he treats you as such. He is human and can err, but he was extremely honest and most uncompromising.
DT: Was the near-perfect disposition influenced by his being the Chief Imam of the highly regarded Jos Central Mosque?
It is how he had been. He became the chief imam rather recently. He had always believed that everything should be done by the book. He had always been so. He believed in justice for all.
DT: What sort of a father was he; how did he bring the children up?
In his quiet way, he was a disciplinarian. I will give you an example. I recall when I was in form five and when I returned casually to school as a new term began when students usually act and dress leisurely. The school (Sardauna Memorial College, Jos) had a principal who just came from France and was so tough. She was small in stature but very tough. She was there before she went to France but I didn’t know her because I was among the first set of students when the school had just been renamed Government Secondary School.
We woke up that fateful morning and strolled leisurely to school only to be confronted by this woman, and our attitude was ‘who is this small woman?’ We became even more perplexed as she was shouting at those of us loitering together, ‘What do you think you are doing, go over to the assembly.’ As she got to me in the course of inspecting the students at the assembly, she said, ‘You are wearing blue, but this blue is not uniform. You are wearing yellow, but the yellow is not uniform. Remove it!’ She was that strict, on the first day of resumption of school. I removed my shirt. She said, ‘Ok; but the trousers too is not uniform; remove it.’ As I went into the act of resistance that you may expect from a student facing such a situation, she repeated, ‘Remove the trousers. You must remove it. You either remove your trousers or you walk out of the school and go back home.’ I left the assembly, went over to my bike and rode back home. When I got home, my father who was taking his breakfast when I reached home, said, ‘What are you doing back home?’ I narrated the situation to him. Realising the danger in my act, as I was to register for my GCE around that time, he drove me back to school. The principal was still conducting the assembly when we arrived. Immediately the principal got to her office, my father suddenly pounced on me, dragged me into her office and started hitting me. He became so agitated over me that things began to fall off the principal’s table and the principal began to wonder what was happening. ‘What’s going on, Alhaji?’ she was asking. He said, ‘Madam, I’m sorry. I learnt that this boy misbehaved. Now, please do one thing for me. Please, reconvene the assembly. This time, it’s not only the students of this school that should assemble. Ask the students of Commonwealth College to come. Please go to Naraguta Grammar School, ask the students to come. (The schools were located in the same neighborhood). This boy must remove all his clothes in front of all of them.’ Some other staff of the school had gathered at the principal’s office by this time and they were all begging, ‘Please Alhaji, allow this to pass.’ At the end of it, we settled for me to do some hoeing, digging and cleaning of places around the school as punishment for disobeying my principal. That’s what my father would do to ensure discipline. My father felt I was going towards selfdestruction and he had to stop it.
DT: He appeared to have been a quiet person. Those not close to him would not have known him to be quite such a no-nonsense person. How did he mix his calm outward appearance with such occasional show of toughness?
Daud: He is not given to much talking. He would sooner go straight to the point than indulge in any ceremony.
DT: How did those around him take his personality? Did he make many enemies from his ways which could be that blunt?
There must have been unease in people who would want to approach him with issues that they knew he might not welcome. He probably displeased quit a number of people who must have tried unsuccessfully to influence him. That includes members of his immediate family. He trained us to be honest, to have respect for elders irrespective of ethnic or religious differences, and to uphold the truth and keep our promises. We were brought up by a cleric and one who leads strictly by example. He sacrificed the joys of his children for others. I can cite an example with myself. When the former speaker of the House of Representatives, Dimeji Bankole, came to Jos on an official function and when my father knew very well that I didn’t have a job, I told him, ‘Baba, speaker Bankole has come to Jos and I know he may visit you; why don’t you use the opportunity to find a job for me when you meet with him?’ Fortunately enough, Bankole visited him in our house. He even sat on the mat as a mark of respect and discussed for a while. When I met with my father after the speaker had left to know what happened, he said they discussed only what brought the speaker to his house and that was all. He bluntly told me that the speaker’s visit was purely an official one, which was the peace of the state and it was improper to join personal matters. He added that as a father he was ready to support us to the best of his capacity but that things must be done through due process.
DT: What lessons did you take from him, lessons you wish to guide your own life?
I buy wholeheartedly his sense of honesty and of public good. I may not end up being as truthful as he is but l will always try my best. I’m being called names already. ‘Mr. Due Process’, and all that, but I don’t mind. I want to be able to truthfully defend whatever I do.
DT: What would you recall of his attitude to the crises that bedeviled Jos for over a decade?
He was more troubled about it than his outward appearances could have suggested. He was pained particularly by the mystery of the conflicts. He couldn’t see the sense of the destruction going on. He believed, however, that injustice had much to do with the trend. He felt everyone would be happy if justice reigned over all. Any time there was fight anywhere; he got worried and made frantic contacts. On his own, he would analyse the situation. If it was what he couldn’t immediately do something about, he resorted to prayers. He would pray and pray and pray again. Generally, within the last 10 or so years, the older he got, the longer he prayed at night. He slept less and less, always on his prayer mat: there should be peace, there should be peace.
DT: What would you recall of his last few days or weeks?
They were largely normal. He was ill for a while and he became lean, but he didn’t say much. I think that in seeking to protect us, he didn’t say things which could have bothered us but about which we could have been helpless.