The Names Live On: Honoring Arewa’s Literary and Cultural Legends By Salim Yunusa
When we began planning KAPFEST 1.0, we knew one thing for certain: there had to be a poetry slam. With seasoned spoken word artists on our team—people who had performed, judged, or simply loved the art form—this decision felt natural. The slam was not just another item on the program; it was the heartbeat of the festival.
Then came the question of naming it. Without hesitation, I proposed either the Aminu Kano Poetry Slam or the Mudi Sipikin Poetry Slam. Both names carried immense cultural and intellectual weight. Both men embodied traditions of activism, literary expression, and the power of ideas. In the end, we chose Mudi Sipikin. It felt right. It felt timely. It felt necessary.
When I told my friend Mukhtar about the decision to name a core segment of the festival after his father, he was genuinely elated. This was not about sponsorship or personal ties. It was about what Mudi Sipikin stood for—literature, thought, science, commentary, and creative legacy. His voice shaped public discourse in Arewa for decades.
At the inaugural Mudi Sipikin Poetry Slam, young poets from across the country took the stage. They performed. They competed. They won prizes—and they made history. Mukhtar and his brother, Sani Misbahu Sipikin, were there to witness it, with Mukhtar even gifting the winners beautiful textiles in a heartfelt gesture. The SSA to the President also graced the event and made generous contributions. It was a moment of recognition, continuity, and historical reclamation.
Then came ZABAFEST, where the slam was named after Dr. Abubakar Imam, one of the most prominent intellectuals in Northern Nigerian history. His children were present, and they expressed deep appreciation. This was not just about honoring a father—it was about acknowledging a generation of thinkers who laid the foundations of our literary culture.
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And just recently, the Jos Art and Culture Festival announced that its poetry slam would honor Danmaraya Jos. That announcement filled me with joy. Danmaraya was not just a musician; he was a griot, a storyteller, a guardian of memory. To see today’s youth uplift his name in a literary space was powerful. This is not about nostalgia—it is about right remembrance. It is about giving names their due.
During the opening ceremony of the Kano International Poetry Festival in 2024, I said: “Can we have enough festivals? I am thrilled that literary festivals are springing up across the North—where we have many unsung heroes and heroines. Festivals are moments to educate, enlighten, empower, and entertain. They reignite our literary passion, forge new friendships, and spark rich conversations about arts, culture, music, and poetry.”
This is why naming these events after icons matters. It is not just about immortalizing them—it is about ensuring younger generations discover them. When I curated the poetry exhibition on Alu Ɗan Sidi, I realized how much has been forgotten. For many attendees, it was their first encounter with the emir’s literary and scholarly work. But the exhibition became a portal: it inspired questions, appreciation, and follow-up conversations. That is how preservation begins.
Today, our ancestors’ literary contributions are being forgotten. Their names are missing from curricula, from public discourse, from national memory. So it is refreshing—no, essential—that young people are reviving these legacies through poetry, festivals, and critical dialogue. This is more than remembrance. It is cultural survival. It is literary resistance. It is stitching our present to the past so that the future remembers.
May this growing momentum inspire better archiving, deeper scholarship, and richer appreciation of these legacies—locally and globally.
Because the names must live on.
Because we must speak them.
Because the griots must never be forgotten.
Salim Yunusa is the founder of the Poetic Wednesdays Initiative and curator of the Kano International Poetry Festival. He writes from Zaria, Nigeria.
