LOCALLY known as Dr Madu in his youth and later more commonly addressed as Dr Mamman, Dr Madu was an Iroko tree of a man, full of compassion and a burning desire to spread health wherever he found himself. His six-foot-three-inch height and athletic build — which a champion heavyweight boxer would envy — would melt whenever a situation requiring compassion arose.
Perhaps this was because he was sired by two noble people from the two most illustrious professions — that of the nobility and that of the clergy — who cared for the welfare of both body and soul.
His father, Malam Muhammad Shamaki, from whom he inherited his Shamaki of Fika title, was from a long line of blue blood. His mother, Hajiya Fatume Fika, or Bábā Fatume, was the daughter of Mu’allim Malam Muhammad Badi Yaalum. They were educators in the emir’s courtyard, teaching the princes the ABC of religion.
So, you see, Dr Mamman was someone I looked up to — an alter ego, a doppelgänger that I could never match. He drew me close to him from when I was barely a child; I was his favourite amongst all my siblings. He would buy goodies and invite me to his “corner” at home for us to “party”. All the children loved him because he never returned home without something for everyone to taste.
I grew up knowing Madu, whom we later began calling Yaya Madu. He was always at our house in all the towns we lived in because his guardian, our late father, Alhaji Sulaiman Gimba Ahmed, was his uncle, being second cousins with his mother. We were, therefore, third cousins.
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Dr Mamman was in the same class with Adamu Maina Waziri, the late Adamu Garba Talba (Gwargwar), Alhaji Gambo Ma’aji (Treasurer), Baba Ali Mai Dala (I think), the late Adamu Abubakar Waziri (Adamu Masifa), Ya Kingi (my mother-in-law), and some others, from primary school in Potiskum, but especially in secondary school, Government Secondary School, Potiskum.
A brilliant chap who knew what he wanted from the onset, the late doctor left Potiskum in Form Three (in the early 70s) for Government Secondary School, Maiduguri, because he wanted to become a medical doctor. Back then, Government Secondary School, Potiskum, was an arts-only school, while the former offered both arts and science.
And so, with the aid of his guardian, who himself studied at Government Secondary School (as Provincial Secondary School in the 50s), Maiduguri, and was then an information officer with the North-East Government, having returned from a tour of duty as a District Officer (DO) at Gembu, in Sardauna Province, Dr Mamman was transferred to Maiduguri to pursue his dream.
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At Government Secondary School, Maiduguri, he proved his brilliance and versatility. He played hockey for the school, ultimately representing both the school and North-Eastern State in national competitions. His leadership abilities ensured he was elected the school’s Head Boy, and his academic excellence earned him the championship of the mathematics competition open to final-year students. At the school’s academic block, his name is still engraved on boards — one listing Head Boys from when the school was established, and the other listing Mathematics Champions since the competition began. His entries were both in 1972.
After my Common Entrance Examination in 1977, I was admitted to the school, the most prestigious secondary school in the North-East and later in Borno State, which became Government College, Maiduguri, in 1980. I still recall that day on our Speech and Prize Giving Day when, accompanied by Melford Okilo, then Governor of Rivers State, Governor Muhammadu Goni, himself an old student of the school, “upgraded” us, together with Government Girls Secondary School, Maiduguri, to college status and instituted a student exchange programme where ten students from Rivers would come to study in our school under the state’s scholarship programme. Already, there was one in place between our school and students from Kaduna and Anambra States, who were also on full Borno State Government scholarship.
As I mentioned earlier, our father was there, and to avoid truncating the thread, I made sure my son went there too. Incidentally, our father was in Kaigamari House, Dorm One, the same as Dr Mamman some ten years later, and I a few years after that. The gap between the three of us, as Dr Mamman once told me, was: “Rafa (he called our father Rafa – maternal uncle in Bolewa) seniors me by twelve years, and I you by twelve years.”
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He made such a mighty impression on me that when I was to go to Form One, I opted to use the metal box he used instead of the fancy boxes of the era, and I also played hockey. I also entered the Math Trophy competition and became a prefect.
Being an only child, he knew what it felt like to be alone, and God blessed him abundantly in that regard. He left behind 33 children, 21 of whom are graduates, including no fewer than four medical doctors and Dr Kaltume, who is a PhD student in veterinary medicine. He was a man who lived for God, humanity and his children.
While I excelled in hockey, becoming the highest goal scorer in the 1982 Borno State inter-secondary schools’ competition, guiding my school to the finals where we succumbed to Government Secondary School, Damaturu, by 3–1, I could not become the Head Boy (selected from the prefects). Still, I was the Deputy House Captain of my House, Kaigamari. Mathematics, too, was a hard nut for me to crack. The truth was that, even though I was a science student, I disdained the subject from Form One to Form Two, until something clicked in my brain in Form Three, and I became comfortable with numbers and balancing equations. I became pretty good, but having caught up late, I found it difficult to overtake those who had loved the subject before me — and one of them, Ado Zakari, now Kaduna State Director of Medical Services, deservedly won the cup.
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Dr Mamman, the medical doctor, became a practitioner through providence. He once told me a story that defined his destiny at university and ultimately in life. Preclinical medical students were to practise their scalpel skills (Gross Anatomy) on cadavers, and he and his colleagues did that in one of their classes. But that night, he said, he dreamt of a corpse looking straight into his eyes accusingly and saying, “Madu, har da kai?” — as when Caesar said, “Et tu, Brute?” Only that this time it was, “Including you, Madu?”
So, he ran away from Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, where he was studying medicine, after turning down an offer to study Mathematics with Computer Science, and went to Bayero University, straight to the Islamic Department, wanting to study religion.
However, he said, the Dean firmly shook his head and ‘forced’ him to go back to study medicine, saying he was needed there more.
And that was how he returned to Zaria to become one of the best and most reliable general practitioners the North-East has produced — rather than a Sheikh.
Perhaps, as a result of his life experiences, he always had a grateful heart. It was that same heart that gave way, causing his death. His heart had taken a beating after he buried two of his oldest sons — the eldest a few weeks before his own passing. But as I said, he always had a grateful heart. So he was always thankful to Allah for a life well spent, and to Governor Mai Mala Buni for reappointing him Chairman of the State Independent Electoral Commission and for making funds available for his son’s medical bills, as well as his own.
When I married my first wife, late Lami Fatima Babare, on October 30 1992, we lived in his house until I was able to get a house some months later. And despite cooking delicious food, as almost all newlyweds do, Dr Mamman made sure his wives gave us three square meals a day.
May Allah (SWT) forgive Dr Mamman Mohammed and admit him into al-jannatul Firdaus.
Gimba is the Publisher/Editor-in-Chief of Neptune Prime.
