I don’t recall when I first met Kabir Salisu. It is
very difficult to put dates to when you met people that you encountered when
you were a kid. For Kabir Salisu, I could mention any date in the late 80s and
it would be true. This is because at the time I was a student of Army Children
School, New Cantonment ‘A’, Kabir was in Government Day Secondary School, a
school that shared the same land with Army Children School and Command Children
School. However, the more definite meeting came later when he was courting the
lady that later became his wife. The then Miss Ofuoma Obruche lived at EB 2
Dutse Close, Angwa Shanu, Kaduna, the same house where I and my siblings were
raised and which tend to find ample mention in my fiction and nonfiction.
I still recall, like it was yesterday, the group of
dashing cadets that hung around the compound waiting to see Miss Obruche—I think
a friend of his was at that time also courting another lady in our rather large
tenement building.
I also recall that we danced all night when Kabir and
Ufoma finally tied the knot in a simple ceremony that rightfully took place in
Eb 2 Dutse Close.
So celebrated was the love the 2 couple shared that
even when many of us moved away from Kaduna as life happened, we still kept in
touch, still looked out for news of births, of marriages and… deaths.
With the coming of gsm and social media, keeping in
touch became easier and one by one we all somehow reconnected on
Facebook. Of the several success stories that this rekindling of contacts highlighted, Kabir’s growth as an army officer was the least surprising. A man
whose humility and intelligence was obvious as first glance, his high flying
career was no fluke.
I recall communicating with Kabir on Facebook when he
was serving in Sudan and jokingly requesting for a Janjaweed scarf and him
laughing and telling me: “ok, if that’s what you want, you will get it”. I
recall him sending me his phone number when he returned to Nigeria, without my
asking, and asking that I come and see him. It is to my eternal regret that I
never took up that invitation, that I stayed away, luxuriating in the
semi-closeness that is social media connectivity.
I can’t claim to be close to Kabir Salisu—his wife,
family, colleagues and a host of others rightfully holds that distinction—but I
knew him and followed his career keenly and fully expected him to reach the pinnacle
of his profession.
I believed him to be one of the bright lights in a
nation fighting to beat the encroaching dark. It is this light that has now
been extinguished.
The much I know about him tells me that this humble
man was a patriot and if we had more like him in Nigeria, we will do better as
a country.
