By Khaleed Yazeedu
I am a proud Hausa man. A Muslim. A student of Political Science. A researcher, a writer, and a lifelong seeker of truth. I have read countless books on Africa, our ancestors, our heritage, and the struggles of our forefathers. I have studied justice, equality, respect, and love, not tribalism, not bias, not hate. And everything I stand for flows from these values.
But let me say this with all honesty of my soul: in all my years of study, research, travels, and investigations, I have never encountered a people whose resilience and spirit could rival the Igbo.
In 2016, I set foot in Imo State for the very first time. It was as though history itself whispered in my ears. The Igbo spirit of survival, their kindness, and their raw determination stared me in the face. That memory never left me.
Then in 2022, when Nigeria faced its worst flooding in a decade, destiny carried me again to Anambra State, to Ihiala. From May to October, the waters swallowed homes, villages, and entire communities. I was there with NGOs, walking through Ubahu Okija, Umudara, Amorka, and Mbosi. I saw submerged lands, broken houses, but never broken people.
I saw resilience where there should have been despair. I saw kindness even from the wounded. I saw displaced communities in camps, and I witnessed with my own eyes what it means for human beings to still stand tall after devastation. UNICEF and JDPC were among those bringing aid, but the truest aid came from the hearts of the people themselves.
And it was there, in Ihiala, that my bond with the Igbo was sealed forever.
Any time I speak with an Igbo brother, I do not just hear words, I hear greatness wrapped in resilience. Yes, in every bag of rice there will always be a few black grains, but when I weigh the truth with honesty, the Igbo stand tall. They are builders. They are givers. They are teachers of business, freedom, and survival.
Do you know how many Hausa boys served as “nwa boys” under Igbo masters, and today they are millionaires with businesses of their own? Do you know how many communities across this country thrive because an Igbo man chose to build, not destroy?
How then can I hate? How can I despise such people? Misleading narratives cannot erase the truth I have seen with my own eyes.
I respect my tribe, Hausa is my pride, my blood, my root. But goodness must come before anything else. Humanity must come before identity. For me, friendship with the Igbo is not politics, it is truth written in my heart. I can live among them as one of their own, just as they live peacefully among us.
If you hate me because I love them, then you are not hating me, you are hating the man who is trying to show the world that the Hausa are kindred souls too.
If you doubt me, then go and try it yourself: be good to an Igbo man, and you will see that goodness will return to you multiplied.
I have walked the flood-stricken paths of Ihiala, I have shaken the hands of survivors, I have felt the humanity that binds us. And I tell you today: love is stronger than history, kindness is louder than lies, and truth will outlive every propaganda.
Because in the Igbo, I saw not strangers, I saw my brothers. I saw the mirror of humanity.
