One evening, after failing yet another recitation test, his father sighed. “Hidayatul, the light of knowledge is al-falaah . Without it, you are a lantern without a flame.”
He narrated the journey of the First Father, weaving in lessons of patience from the Qur’an, proverbs from Kano’s markets, and the bravery of Queen Amina. The blind scholar leaned forward, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I see,” the old man whispered. “I see the cities. I see the faith. You have rebuilt my library with your tongue.” hidayatul mustafid hausa
The room fell silent. The ulama had no answer. Then, Hidayatul stepped forward. He did not cite a hadith or a verse. Instead, he began to speak in clear, simple Hausa. One evening, after failing yet another recitation test,
“In the beginning,” he said, “when the world was still soft like clay, the First Father walked from the East to the West. Wherever he placed his right foot, a market sprang up. Wherever he placed his left foot, a mosque grew. And he carried on his shoulder not gold, but a bag of stories.” The blind scholar leaned forward, tears streaming down
That night, a great caravan arrived from Timbuktu, carrying a blind scholar from the University of Sankore. The scholars of Kano gathered to honour him, but no one could make him smile. He had lost his manuscripts in a flood. “Without my books,” the blind man lamented, “I am blind twice over.”