An anthropological novel is a work of fiction that uses the lens of anthropology—the study of human cultures, behaviors, and societies—to explore and represent the lived experiences, traditions, beliefs, and social dynamics of a particular group of people. It combines narrative storytelling with ethnographic insight, often blurring the lines between literature and cultural analysis.
Additionally, anthropological novels prioritize cultural context as a central character. The aim is not just to entertain but also to educate, interpret, and decode ways of life—often with the same curiosity and discipline that an anthropologist brings to fieldwork. An example of an Anthropological novel is Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.
The novel chronicles the life of Okonkwo, the leader of an Igbo community, from the events leading up to his banishment from the community for accidentally killing a clansman, through the seven years of his exile, to his return, and it addresses a particular problem of emergent Africa—the intrusion in the 1890s of white missionaries and colonial government into tribal Igbo society. Traditionally structured, and peppered with Igbo proverbs, it describes the simultaneous disintegration of its protagonist Okonkwo and of his village. The novel was praised for its intelligent and realistic treatment of tribal beliefs and of psychological disintegration coincident with social unraveling.
Maguzawa, Hausa people who have retained their non-monotheistic religions beliefs, are the central theme of Gagare’s novel. Two terms are incorrectly used interchangeably used to refer to a group of people. Habe and Maguzawa. Ironically, they both mean the same thing, but evoke different, often hostile, emotions. Let’s look at the them closely.
Habe is a Fulfulde word for autochthonous people, i.e., of an inhabitant of a place, indigenous rather than descended from migrants or colonists. To use typical Nigerian parlance, “son of the soil”. Habe for plural and Kaɗo for singular are therefore Fulfulde words to describe original inhabitants of an area, whether Hausa or not. Nothing more, nothing less. The most authoritative Hausa dictionary, that of Bargery defines Habe as “[ha/’be”] {pl. of ka’do I}. Aborigines; indigenous tribes. (= ha’buloki/; ha’baloki; ka’dda q.v. sub ka’do I.)
And who are these original inhabitants of the Hausaland? Hausa people! The Fulani, by continuous reference to the Hausa as Habe may probably use the expression to refer to those original to Hausaland, and thus emphasize their own migrant nature. As they keep repeating in all their writings, they migrated into Hausaland from Futa Toro in 15th century, found an established community and religion and joined it. For sure, they arrived Kano during the reign of Sultan Yakubu, from 1452-1463. They simply refer to the inhabitants of Hausaland – or any other land they settle – as Habe.
The Hausa have been living in their lands for centuries. True “sons of the soil”. They formed a a religious culture not favored or subscribed by all since 700. When the Wangara merchant clerics brought Islam from 12th to 14th centuries in dribs and drabs, some accepted it, especially the kings of the old kingdoms; certainly in Kano by 1380 or earlier. There were also those who rejected the new religion. For some unknown reason, these rejecters of Islam came to be referred to as Maguzawa, from the Arabic term “majusu” meaning pagans, a coinage clearly invented clearly by a Muslim.
However, it only means they are polytheistic in their traditional religious beliefs. But then, to a person with a monotheistic religious belief, any person with contrary opinion is a pagan. Thus, those Hausa who acquired Islam refer to their brethren as “arna” – pagans. The Fulani, in using Habe consistently to refer to the Hausa are thought to use the term pejoratively – since they lumped both the Maguzawa and the Muslim Hausa with the same Habe label. And the irony? The Maguzawa never refer to themselves as such! To them, they are Hausa, plain and simple. It was the Muslim Hausa, with a newly acquired Arabic vocabulary that call them Maguzawa.
Historically, in Kano things did not end well for the Maguzawa, for in about 1380 after receiving Islam, the now Sultan Ali Yaji declared the sustenance of an on-growing war against all who worship any other deity. At first cut, this was religious war – making Yaji’s war against the Maguzawa the first Jihad in in West Africa. It also reflected the power struggle that Ali inherited from his fierce father, Tsamiya (ruled Kano 1307–1343), against the Maguzawa.
With the Fulani Jihad that decimated Kano in 1807, the Jihadist literature kept referring to all those who ruled before them as Habe – indeed “The Chronicles of Abuja”, essentially the history of Zaria in exile, used the term Habe for all kings up to Makau (1808). With growing Wokist resentment since early 2000, the term Habe came to be used, pejoratively by the Fulani, to refer to Maguzawa, ignoring the Hausa Muslims who built Islamic empires from mid-14th century to 1804.
Bature Tani Gagare’s ethnographic novel is the first that I know in the Hausa language that provides a critical perceptive on the Maguzawa. But, let’s pause here.
This term is now clearly arrogant, pejorative and sneering, reference for the Hausa in the “us” and “they” cultural universe that separates the Hausa from anyone else. It is rooted in Cancel Culture. So, why not re-route it? Let’s use “Asalan”, or when a qualifier is needed, “Hausa Asalan.” I could use the real Hausa word, “Gangariya”, but it sounds less academic, ko ba haka ba? Plus it doesn’t really capture “original”, just “qualitative.” If I may be pedantic, it actually means “a well-formed, well-developed girl” (yarinya gangariya, watau mai kafasiti). Since “Majus” (fie-worshipper or simply a pagan) is Arabic and gave the root phrase Maguzawa, let’s go back to the Arabic and substitute with a better reference, “Asalan” (originally).
Habe, meaning “indigenous”(although it is not clear whether the Pulaar in Futa Tooro will accept if Hausa migrants refer to them as Habe, since that is their indigenous root) somehow transformed into Maguzawa through religious, not linguistic relationship and is clearly derogatory, as it refers to them being pagans. True, just like in many ethnic groups, there are many that are pagan – following alternative religious belief, and had been doing that for hundreds of years. The religious wars and ethnic cleansings over the centuries have changed nothing. Yet the term is used as a general label for ALL who self-identify as Hausa, regardless of piety. For instance, the first Jihad in the Sahel was by Sultan of Kano Ali (1349-1385, who continued the fight from his father. Subsequently, eight of the Sultans of Kano before 1805 were called “Muhammad” including the greatest of them all, Muhammad Rumfa (1463-1499).
Specifically, the label is gleefully used by Fulani historians to refer to all pre-Fulani Hausa rulers – regardless of how pious they were or their contributions to Islam. Sadly, the Hausa historians themselves (e.g. in The Chronicle of Abuja), use the term, but only to indicate indigeneity, not lack of religion or monotheistic religion; for Abuja was founded by Muslim rulers). So, from this point onward, I will be using the expression “Hausa Asalan” for the group previously referred to as Maguzawa. And their lives as “Asalanci.” Incidentally, Iranians were once also referred to as Magi (Maguzawa) due to their ancient religion, Zoroastrianism.
The most comprehensive information about Bature Gagare and his novel was the interview by the ace journalist with the nose of the unusual, Ibrahim Sheme. This was held on 5th August 2001, and published in Weekly Trust on 17th August of the same year. A copy used to exist on Gumel.com, but somehow it has disappeared. I am not sure if Ibrahim Sheme has a copy of the interview in his Bahaushe Mai Ban Haushi blogspot.
The only researchers who noted the interview for its significance and historical value were Graham Furniss (1998) then at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London, and Stanisław Piłaszewicz (2015) of the University of Warsaw, Poland. Prof Piłaszewicz (no, I can’t pronounce it either, so relax, you are in good company) has also supervised an M.A. thesis titled (from the translation) “The image of the religious life of Maguzawa in the novel Ƙarshen Alewa Ƙasa by Bature Gagare.”
However, wane tudu, wane gangare, I was able to fish out a copy of the interview in my archives! This is useful as it helps explain the book and the author’s intentions in writing the novel. For instance, Bature says of himself:
“I am basically intuitive when it comes to putting the first word on a paper. I have no rules, no plans, no inhibitions of any sort. Words just flow with rapidity so intense that I find it hard sometimes to keep up with my pen. Ideas mutate, the novel forms, characters emerge from naught. Sometimes I could not even predict what would happen next. In fact that was what happened when I was writing Karshen Alewa Kasa. The book just emerged from my scribbles.”
Karshen Alewa Kasa, the product of a literary competition, was published by the then Federal Ministry of Culture in 1982, after it had won third place in a writing competition organised by the ministry in 1980. At that time, the 342-page book was the lengthiest novel published in the Hausa language. This record was later broken by first Rahma Abdul Majid’s Mace Mutum (2011) at over 520 and Fatima El-Ladan’s Muma ‘Ya’ya Ne (2023) at 644 pages. It was also the first real modern thriller in Hausa. It tells the story of Mailoma, a Hausa pagan who acquired expensive tastes and a ruthless criminal bent in Kano and Lagos cities and then returns to his rustic, backward village somewhere near Kano where he leads a criminal gang into a volatile, deadly megalomaniac project.
The novel is composed of eleven chapters and can be divided in two thematic parts. The first two chapters present an idyllic life in a Hausa Asalan village, Tsaunin Gwano [The Hill of Stink-Ant]. In a vivid and conversational style, Gagare depicts the local customs, organisation of the villagers, their occupations, and especially their ancient magical and religious beliefs. In that village Mailoma (alias Ƙazunzum, alias Maguzi), the main character of the novel, was born. Having experienced different life vicissitudes, he decides to create a terrorist organisation and manages to make his plans real. His actions change the character of the story, making it more sensational.
So, why did he pick Hausa Asalan people as the theme of his novel? His answer in the interview with Ibrahim Sheme is truly revealing and to me, laid down the basis of Hausa Wokeist Revival, long before the word ‘woke’ became part of the mainstream identity marker. Here is his rationale:
“I picked on the Maguzawa clan as the subject matter of the novel because even as early as the eighties, I was highlighting the society about the dangers of marginalization. The Maguzawa as you know is a derogative term, coined by the Hausa-Fulanis to identify the unconquered group of Hausa speaking peoples among them. The Maguzawa had been the victims of Muslim Hausa-Fulani domination and segregation for over one hundred years because, although Hausas themselves, they had held tenaciously to animistic practices. All attempts to Islamise them by the Jihadists or Christianise them by the missionaries had not eliminated this proud race. For this reason, the Maguzawa are barely tolerated among the Hausa-Fulanis. They are marginalized and isolated, derided and shunned. They are second-class citizens, denied education, employment and social recognition. The Maguzawa are a raw material that can be moulded by any evil genius for the purpose of revolt, insurrection or organised crime. The principal character in Karshen Alewa Kasa, Mailoma, opted for crime.”
Thankfully, this nightmare scenario did not play itself out. Ƙarshen Alewa Ƙasa is a Hausa Wokeists Manifesto, declaring unflinching support, identity, and recognition of a marginalised group to whom the Hausa owe their language.
A downside, though. One thing that irks me whenever I lay my eyes on the cover of Karshen Alewa Kasa is the artwork. The crazy eyes of the male figure with disheveled hair are a grotesque representation of Mailoma. Who says just because he is Hausa Asalan, he must look wild, crazy and disheveled? I know Bature had no hand in the artwork as it was done by the Ministry of Culture’s Art Department. But I have a feeling they deliberately chose a stylized “Bamaguje” in tune with their image of the “original Hausa”. I think it is insulting.
Gagare’s fieldwork was one of the most impressive immersive methodologies that went beyond the surface, and in the final analysis, produced a master narrative. Allah Ya jikan shi da gafara.
If you want to read an academic treatment of Bature Gagare’s novel, the article by Stanisław Piłaszewicz is a good source. Note, though, Prof Piłaszewicz never met Bature, and he composed the article mainly from the classic interview Ibrahim Sheme held with Bature Gagare published in the Weekly Trust (Aug. 17, 2001), .
Piłaszewicz, Stanisław. 2015. “Bature Tanimu Gagare: Hausa Social Activist and Writer.” Studies of the Department of African Languages and Cultures (University of Warsaw) 49: 53-67. https://bit.ly/4kuVBkX.
- Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu is of the Department of Information and Media Studies, Faculty of Communication, Bayero University, Kano
