Once you’ve been to ABU Zaria, you’ve been to Nigeria
It has been almost three decades since I walked out of Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, carrying not just a degree but a worldview. Yet whenever I hear the name ABU, a surge of nostalgia rises as fresh as the harmattan breeze that used to sweep through Samaru. ABU is not simply a university. It is an institution, a brand, a federation, and a nation unto itself. It is the place where Nigeria comes together to study, to live, to argue, to celebrate, and to dream.
This past weekend, the Student Representative Council staged the annual cultural carnival, a kaleidoscope of music, colors, dances, and laughter. For outsiders, it may have looked like just another student event. For those of us who have worn ABU’s badge, it was much more. It was a reminder of why ABU remains the most cosmopolitan university in Nigeria.
Universities across the country call themselves “federal.” They wear the title like a badge of neutrality. However, many of them are still regional in character. Walk through Nsukka and you will mostly hear Igbo. Visit Ife and you will be immersed in Yoruba. Stroll into Ibadan and the amala sellers will remind you that you are deep in the South West. ABU is different. ABU is not federal in name only. It is federal in its blood, its soul, and its breath.
In my time, we used to say, “There is no local government in Nigeria that does not have at least one student in ABU.” That was not an exaggeration. It was the truth. From Sokoto to Bayelsa, from Borno to Ekiti, from Calabar to Kano, every lecture hall, hostel corridor, and cafeteria line reflected Nigeria in miniature.
ABU was, and still is, a place where the son of a fisherman from the Niger Delta could sit beside the daughter of a farmer from Katsina, both taught by a professor from the Middle Belt. It is the one university where you cannot easily define where Nigeria ends and begins. That is ABU’s greatest brand promise: diversity at scale. ABU does not just admit students. It admits Nigeria itself.
Yes, ABU gave us degrees. It gave us lectures in vast auditoriums, tutorials in crowded classrooms, and examinations that stretched our minds. But the true curriculum of ABU was not only in the classroom. It was in the people.
Living in ABU was like attending the United Nations of Nigeria. You learned politics not only from textbooks but also from dining-hall debates with fiery comrades from Enugu. You learned economics not just from lectures but from bargaining with a roommate from Kano who could haggle over anything. You learned sociology not only from your lecturers but also from observing how a classmate from Ibadan greeted elders differently from one from Bauchi.
At ABU, you could not remain narrow-minded. You could not afford to think like a local champion. The school itself forced you to grow. It pushed you to adapt. It required you to listen, to understand, and to empathize.
It was at ABU that I discovered there is no single way to eat rice. Some call it jollof, some call it tuwo, some call it masa. In the end, it is rice. It was in ABU that I learned there is no single way to dream, no single way to pray, no single way to greet, and no single way to live. That was the real education. That was the ABU brand of education.
Looking back almost thirty years later, I can say without hesitation that ABU shaped my thinking, my worldview, my relationships, my orientation, and my sense of Nigerian identity. Because of ABU, I can sit comfortably in a room in Maiduguri and feel at home. Because of ABU, I can share a meal in Port Harcourt without feeling like a stranger. Because of ABU, I have friends in every corner of this country, friends I can call brothers and sisters.
ABU made me Nigerian, not in the shallow sense of holding a green passport, but in the deeper sense of belonging everywhere. Nigerian in the sense of seeing humanity first before tribe or tongue. Nigerian in the sense of knowing that diversity is not a weakness but a strength. When I look at myself today, I know that my confidence, my open-mindedness, my ability to relate with people from every culture, and my instinct for unity all have one root: ABU Zaria.
Every great brand has a unique selling point. For some universities, it is age. For others, it is history. For still others, it is academic prestige. For ABU, it has always been one thing: scale and diversity. ABU is not simply a school. It is a federation. It is not just a campus. It is a carnival. It is not merely an institution. It is a nation.
Other first-generation universities may boast of being “the first and the best” or “the first indigenous university.” They may show off their history, their architecture, or their regional pride. ABU’s pride is Nigeria itself. ABU is where Nigeria meets itself. ABU is where the nation’s future leaders first learn to live together. ABU is where young men and women from the 774 local governments arrive as strangers and leave as compatriots.
That is why ABU alumni stand out. They carry a quiet confidence, born not only of education but also of exposure. We were not only trained in classrooms. We were trained in Nigeria itself.
It has been nearly thirty years since I left those gates. Time has passed, but my gratitude has not. I am proud that I attended ABU Zaria. I am proud that I lived through its diversity. I am proud that I was part of its carnival of cultures. I am proud that I carry its lessons everywhere I go.
The annual SRC Cultural Carnival may last for a weekend. The real carnival of ABU is lived every day. It is lived in the hostels, in the lecture halls, in the cafeterias, and in the friendships. ABU is not just about what you study. It is about who you become. And three decades on, I can testify that I became more than a graduate. I became a Nigerian in the truest sense.
So when people ask me about ABU, I smile. I tell them ABU is more than a school. ABU is a brand. ABU is a home. ABU is Nigeria. Once you have been to ABU, you have been to Nigeria.
Anonymous
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