(22105956 - Journal of Sufi Studies) Sufi Poetry in Twentieth-Century Nigeria

journal of Sufi Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
brill.com/jss
Sufi Poetry in Twentieth-Century Nigeria

A Khamriyya and a Ghazal by Shaykh Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq (1909–1974)
Andrea Brigaglia
University of Cape Town (South Africa)
Andrea.Brigaglia@uct.ac.za
Abstract
This article presents the translation and analysis of two poems (the first in Arabic,
the second in Hausa) authored by one of the most famous twentieth-century Islamic
scholars and Tijānī Sufis of Kano (Nigeria), Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq b. Khiḍr (1909–74). As
examples of two genres of Sufi poetry that are rather unusual in West Africa (the kham-
riyya or wine ode and the ghazal or love ode), these poems are important literary and
religious documents. From the literary point of view, they are vivid testimonies of the
vibrancy of the Sufi qaṣīda tradition in West Africa, and of the capacity of local au-
thors to move across its various genres. From the religious point of view, they show
the degree to which the West African Sufis mastered the Sufi tradition, both as a set of
spiritual practices and techniques and as a set of linguistic tools to speak of the inner.
Keywords
Arabic poetry – Hausa poetry – Nigeria – qaṣīda – Sufi poetry – Sufism in West Africa –
Tijāniyya
* This paper is based on research supported in part by the National Research Foundation
of South Africa (Reference number UID 85397). This paper was originally presented
with the title “Sufi Poetry in Twentieth-Century Nigeria: Two Mystical Odes by Shaykh
Abu Bakr al-ʿAtiq (Kano, d. 1974),” at the workshop on Muslim Scholars, Past and Present,
hosted by the Leiden University Centre for Islamic Studies (LUCIS) and the African
Studies Centre (ASC), Leiden, 23 April 2015. I am grateful to the audience, and in particu-
lar to Prof Louis Brenner, for their insightful comments that have helped me in sharpen-
ing my analysis. Shaykh Bashīr Bukhārī (Kano), as well as Shaykh al-ʿAbd Lāwī b. Abī
Bakr al-ʿAtīq (Dr Lawi Atiƙu Sanka) need to be acknowledged for nurturing my love for
the Tijānī literature of Nigeria, feeding it with innumerable data and insights. I would
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Sufi Poetry in Twentieth-Century Nigeria 191
Introduction: Arabic and ʿAjamī Poetry in West Africa
The West African tradition of Arabic poetry dates back to at least the twelfth
century. The first record of a West African literate who composed verses in
Arabic is that of Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm b. Yaʿqūb al-Kānemī (d. 608/1211 or 609/1212
or 1213), a scholar trained in eastern Kanem and Baghirmi (today’s Chad), who
travelled to Marrakesh where he engaged in a poetic duel with the scholars
of the Almohad court.1 Over the centuries, with the growth of Islamic literacy,
the classical forms of the Arabic literary tradition became part of the estab-
lished curriculum taught in the scholarly circles of the region. The ability to
write verses, in particular, as emphasized by John O. Hunwick, “was considered
the hallmark of the accomplished scholar” in West Africa.2 Virtually all West
African Muslim scholars wrote some verses, as even a cursory look at the titles
included in the volumes of the annotated bibliography The Arabic Literature of
Africa dedicated to West and Central Africa will show.3 Nigeria does not make
exception, and “the greater number of the earlier writers of the area in the
Arabic language” composed verses, as already pointed out Adrian H. D. Bivar
and Mervyn Hiskett in one of the earliest contributions on the Nigerian Arabic
literary tradition.4 While the vast majority of the written qaṣīda production was
in Arabic,5 several African languages developed their own traditions of verse in
like to express my thankfulness to an anonymous reviewer of the Journal of Sufis Studies,

who helped improve the quality of the translation and commentary of the Arabic poem.
Oludamini Ogunnaike and Rüdiger Seesemann read a draft and offered additional insights.
All remaining mistakes in the interpretation of the poems are my sole responsibility.
1 John O. Hunwick, “The Arabic Qasida in West Africa: Forms, Themes and Contexts,” in Qasida
Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, Volume 1: Classical Traditions and Modern Meanings, ed.
Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle (Leiden: Brill, 1996): 83–98, 83.
2 John O. Hunwick, “The Arabic Literary Tradition of Nigeria,” Research in African Literatures
28.3 (1997): 210–23, 218. A similar point is made by Hunwick also in “The Arabic Qasida in
West Africa,” 84 and 97.
3 John O. Hunwick (compiler), Arabic Literature of Africa, vol. 2. The Writings of Central Sudanic
Africa (Leiden: Brill, 1996); and, idem, Arabic Literature of Africa, vol. 4. The Writings of Western
Sudanic Africa (Leiden: Brill, 2003).
4 Adrian D. H. Bivar and Mervyn Hiskett, “The Arabic Literature of Nigeria to 1804: A Provisional
Account,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 25.1/3 (1962): 104–48.
5 I use the term qaṣīda here in its broadest sense to refer to any writing in verse inspired to the
model of classical Arabic poetry, rather than in its stricter definition of an ode obeying to a
precise structure and sequence of themes. It is in the broader sense, in fact, that the term has
been used in non-Arab Africa and Asia, as opposed to the stricter definition adopted by the
classical Arabic tradition. See Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle, “Introduction,” in Sperl
and Shackle, Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, 1:xv–xxvii.
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192 Brigaglia
ʿajamī (non-Arabic languages in Arabic script). As most of the Muslim scholars

of the region in pre-modern times were affiliated to Sufi orders, Sufi poetry was
commonly taught and original works on Sufi themes were composed.
Notwithstanding the huge amount of Islamic verses produced by West
African scholars, the West African qaṣīda has not yet received the attention it
deserves. This neglect is due not only to the general disinterest in West Africa
by the academic scholarship of Arabic and Islamic studies, but also to the fact
that the bulk of the West African qaṣīda is made of homiletic (waʿẓ), didactic
(juridical or theological naẓm) and devotional (mainly madḥ) verses. These
genres are often seen as not “original” or “spontaneous” enough to deserve
close literary studies. Establishing an artificial distinction between didactic
and devotional poetry on one side, and “real literature” on the other side, for
instance, Hunwick argued that “relatively little of the verse output” of West
African Muslim scholars “was of what one might call a literary nature.”6 Abdul-
Samad Abdullah and Abdul-Sawad Abdullah, who dedicated an otherwise
interesting article to an overview of the panegyric genre in West Africa, also
repeat a similar stereotype. One the one side, in fact, they recognize the “mas-
tery of Arabic language,” the “eloquence” and the “high levels of linguistic skill”
of West African authors of Arabic poetry, as well as the “very high standard of
technical skills” demonstrated by their use of various classical meters. Still, for
them Islamic poetry in West Africa has “no philosophical depth.”7
Some studies in western languages have contributed to invert this trend,
drawing attention to the West African qaṣīda tradition in both its literary and its
religious/philosophical dimensions. Jean Boyd and Beverly Mack, for instance,
have extensively documented the remarkable poetic output of Asmāʾu bt. Fūdī
(Nana Asma’u; 1793–1864).8 Though the poetry of Nana Asma’u is mainly of a
purposive (political, homiletic, celebratory, elegiac) character,9 it is also un-
doubtedly “real literature” by any definition of the term. Christiane Seydou’s
2008 annotated anthology of Fulfulde mystical poetry from Mali is also a very
6 Hunwick, “The Arabic Qasida of West Africa,” 84.

7 Abdul-Samad Abdullah and Abdul-Sawad Abdullah, “Arabic Poetry in West Africa: An
Assessment of the Panegyric and Elegy Genres in Arabic Poetry of the 19th and 20th Centuries
in Senegal and Nigeria,” Journal of Arabic Literature 35.3 (2004): 368–39.
8 For a biography, see Beverly B. Mack and Jean Boyd, One Woman’s Jihad: Nana Asma’u,
Scholar and Scribe (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000). For a comprehensive col-
lection and translation of her works, Jean Boyd and Beverly B. Mack, Collected Works of Nana
Asma’u, Daughter of Usman ‘dan Fodiyo (1793–1864) (East Lansing: Michigan State University
Press, 1997).
9 Jean Boyd and Graham Furniss, “Mobilize the People: The Qasida in Fulfulde and Hausa as
Purposive Literature,” in Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, 1:429–50.
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rich work, which masterfully breaks down the artificial boundary between oral
and written, popular and learned literary traditions in an Islamic (prevalent-
ly Sufi) context, showing the degree to which the popular literary cultures of
Muslim West Africa are infused with classical Sufi doctrinal themes.10
Some works on the topic have also appeared in Arabic, from the now clas-
sical (and outdated) ʿAlī Abū Bakr’s al-Thaqāfa al-ʿarabiyya fī Nījīriyā,11 to the
more recent al-Shiʿr al-ṣūfī fī Nījīriyā by ʿUthmān Kabara,12 al-Adab al-ʿarabī
al-nījīrī by Kabīr Ādam Tudun Nufawa13 and Shiʿr al-rithāʾ fī Sukutū by Bābikir
Qadramārī.14
Besides the homiletic (waʿẓ) genre,15 the bulk of Sufi poetry from West
Africa is cast within the apparently repetitive madḥ genre (panegyric ad-
dressed to the prophet or a saint). Not only, however, there is much more to
10 Christiane Seydou (ed.), La poésie mystique peule du Mali (Paris: Karthala, 2008). See also,
for a recent translation of an anthology of the Arabic poetry of the celebrated Senegalese
Shaykh Ahmadu Bamba (d. 1927), Sana Camara (editor and translator), Sheikh Ahmadu
Bamba: Selected Poems (Brill: Leiden, 2017). Another recent book by Fallou Ngom docu-
ments the role of ʿajamī Wolof literature in the establishment of the network of follow-
ers of Ahmadu Bamba (Muridiyya): Fallou Ngom, Muslims Beyond the Arab World: The
Odyssey of ʿAjamī and the Murīdiyya (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). For Hausa
ʿajamī poetry, see Mervyn Hiskett, A History of Hausa Islamic Verse (London: School of
Oriental and African Studies, 1975). Oludamini Ogunnaike has insightfully reflected on
the (cultural as well as religious) implications of the presence of the Sufi qaṣīda tradi-
tion, through recitations and performances, in the public space of a contemporary West
African Muslim city. See Oludamini Ogunnaike, “The Presence of Poetry, the Poetry of
Presence: Meditations on Arabic Sufi Poetry Performance and Ritual in Contemporary
Dakar,” Journal of Sufi Studies 5.1 (2016): 58–97.
11 ʿAlī Abū Bakr, al-Thaqāfa al-ʿarabiyya fī Nījīriyā min 1850 ilā 1960 m. ʿām al-istiqlāl (Beirut:
n.p., 1972).
12 ʿUthmān Kabara, al-Shiʿr al-ṣūfī fī Nījīriyā: dirāsa mawḍūʿiyya taḥlīliyya li-namādhuj
mukhtāra min intāj al-ʿulamāʾ al-qādiriyyīn khilāl al-qarnayn al-tāsiʿ ʿashar wa’l-ʿishrīn al-
mīlādiyya (Cairo: al-Nahār, 2004).
13 Kabīr Ādam Tudun Nufāwā, al-Adab al-ʿarabī al-nījīrī fī al-qarn al-tāsiʿ ʿashar al-mīlādī
(Kano: Dār al-Umma, 2008).
14 Bābikir Qadramārī, Shiʿr al-rithāʾ fī Sukutū khilāl al-qarn al-tāsiʿ ʿashar al-mīlādī (Kano:
Dār al-Umma, 2010).
15 For an example of homiletic Sufi poetry from Nigeria, see Umar Abdurrahman, “Themes
of Sufism in Aliyu Na Mangi’s Poetry,” Islamic Studies 28.1 (1989): 29–38. See also Stanisław
Piłaszewicz, “The Image of Temporal World, Death and Eternal Life in Hausa Homiletic
Verse,” in Mort et rites funéraires dans le Bassin du lac Tchad, ed. Catherine Baroin, Daniel
Barreteau and Charlotte von Graffenried (Paris: ORSTOM, 1995), 279–94.

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194 Brigaglia
the madḥ than meets the eyes,16 but West African scholars did also experiment
with other genres, leading to remarkable literary creations. After some obser-
vations on the madḥ genre in the region, this paper will present the translation
and analysis of two examples of Sufi qaṣīda in the more unusual genres of the
wine ode (khamriyya) and the love ode (ghazal). Both poems were authored by
the Nigerian scholar Shaykh Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq b. Khiḍr (Shehi Atiƙu; 1909–74).
These examples will demonstrate the depth of the integration of West Africa in
the poetic tradition of the Arab-Islamic qaṣīda, and of the engagement of West
African authors with the spiritual tradition of Sufism.
Some Remarks on Madḥ Poetry in West Africa
Focusing on the Prophet as the model of spiritual perfection, the Sufi madḥ
genre has the advantage—if compared to more lyrical genres—that it allows
the author to reveal his own spiritual stations and to disguise them at the
same time. This is the main reason why, in the traditional scholarly circles that
nurtured the literary tastes of West African authors, the madḥ was normally
preferred to the Oriental ghazal of a Rumi and a Hafez and to the khamriyya
of an Ibn al-Fāriḍ. Probably, West African Sufis, who were, for the most part,
also scholars of Islamic jurisprudence and theology, judges (qāḍī-s) or Quranic
teachers, felt that (at least part of) their public would not understand the use of
the metaphors of love and wine. Moreover, the madḥ genre, which projects all
spiritual perfection in the Prophetic model, was considered as more suitable
to the spiritual etiquette (adab) of the religious scholars, according to which
references to individual emotions have to be minimized, because subjectivity
in itself is seen as inherently problematic from the point of view of spiritual
realization. For authors like Shehi Atiƙu and many of his peers in Kano, who
either belonged to the Fulani ethnic group or participated into a culture that
was deeply imbued with a Fulani ethos, the etiquette required by the tradi-
tional Muslim scholarly culture also strongly resonated with their culturally
inherited pulaako (“Fulani decorum”), which famously emphasizes dignified
detachment rather than the expression of emotions.
This is not to mean that claims of one’s own spiritual authority were not
made by West African Sufi authors by alluding to their mystical experiences;
quite the contrary. But the fact of encoding such allusions in the poetic genre
16 For the poetic translation of a compelling Prophetic madḥ by a Senegalese Sufi, see
Rudolph Ware, “In Praise of the Intercessor: Mawāhib al-Nāfiʿ fī Madāʾiḥ al-Shāfiʿ by
Amadu Bamba Mbacké (1853–1927),” Islamic Africa 4.2 (2013): 225–48.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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of the Prophetic madḥ had a twofold raison d’être. On one side, it allowed to
frame the Sufis’ spiritual accomplishments as the outcome of their love for
the Prophet and of their complete annihilation in his ḥaḍra (spiritual pres-
ence), which was not a matter of formal reverence to orthodoxy, but a central
aspect of their spiritual methodology.17 On the other side, it produced pieces
of literature that could be recited by the Sufis’ students and peers during the
communal events dedicated to the celebration of the Prophet’s birth (mawlid),
thereby nourishing a popular culture of devotional literacy whose consumers
extended well beyond the circles of the literate scholars, and entrenching what
Oludamini Ogunnaike has called “the presence of poetry”18 in the public life of
West African Muslim communities. The image below, (figure 1) is a perfect ex-
ample of the public presence of poetry, and in particular, of poetry of the madḥ
genre, in a West African city. The image portrays the house of Shehi Atiƙu,
whose poems will be discussed more in detail in this paper, in the Kano ward
of Sanka. Until today, forty years after his death, every year during the celebra-
tion of the Prophet’s birthday in the Islamic month of Rabīʿ al-awwal, the walls
of the house are decorated with a selection of verses from the author’s poems
in praise of the Prophet, like the following ones from his Miftāḥ al-aghlāq fī
madḥ ḥabīb al-Khallāq.
‫ال أ ق‬ ُ ‫أ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ق ن ف‬
� ‫كا � ��ي �إ طرا ��ي ؞ لا �م�ا � ��س��طره ع��لى � و ر ا‬ � ‫�م�د �ح�ي �ل�ه ��د‬
‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ْ
‫� ذ أ �ق ُ � َن ّ � � ث ن ع��ل � ظ ال خ ا ق‬
‫أ‬ ُ
� ‫م�ا � ا � و ل بم�� ر ب� ا لو ر ى ؞ � ��ى ي��ه ب�� ع��ِم � ��ل‬
‫د�ة �لخ ّ ق‬ َ‫ت‬ ْ‫أ‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫ُق‬
� ‫��لا‬ ‫��ل �م�ا � ش��ا ��ي �م�د ح�ه �ِم� ن� ب��ع ِ�د � ن� ؞ و� فص��ه ب��ع��بو ا‬
‫ف ت�ُ أ �غْ ق‬ ُ ُ ُ
�‫ق�� ع ب��د ه و خ��لي��ل�ه و‬
� ‫ح ال� �لا‬ ‫ح ب��يبُ��ه ؞ و� فص��يّ��ه �هو ��ا‬ ‫ل‬
‫ّ �لخَ ق ل ا ق‬ ‫أ‬ ُ ‫خ‬ ْ ُ ّ
� ‫ك ِل ا ��ل� ب�ا ٳط�ل‬ � ‫�را و�ي��ر هم ؞ �هو � �ص�ل‬ � �‫�هو ��سي��د ا �لر��س�ل ا �ل ك‬
‫أ‬ ‫آ‬ ّ ‫ِم‬
‫َ �ق ��سُ ال ْ �ز ق‬ ‫�ُق �ة ��لن ال ل �ه ��ذ � � ن �ق‬
� ‫� � ا �و ر إ� ا �ي ا ل� �ي ؞ ِم�� ُ ب ِل م م ر‬
‫ا‬ � ‫ا‬
� ‫د‬ � �
�� ‫�هو ��ب��ض‬
‫خ ت�ُ � ق‬ ‫أ‬ ُ ‫أ‬ ّ ُ
ْ‫� ن ًّ� ن ت‬ ُ ‫أ‬ ‫ن ن‬
ِ ‫�ِم�� و ِر ه ال� كوا � طرا كو�� ؞ � �ص�ل ال� �صو ل و��ا م ا‬
� ‫ل��سب��ا‬
17 For an insightful discussion of the Sufi practice of “annihilation in the Prophet,” re-
dressing an earlier interpretation by Valerie Hoffmann (“Annihilation in the Messenger
of God: Development of a Sufi Practice,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 31.3
[1999]: 351–69), see Oludamini Ogunnaike, “Annihilation in the Messenger Revisited:
Clarifications on a Contemporary Sufi Practice and its Precedents,” Journal of Islamic and
Muslim Studies (forthcoming). Ogunnaike’s observations are mainly drawn from contem-
porary West African examples.
18 I borrow the term from Ogunnaike, “The Presence of Poetry, the Poetry of Presence.”

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196 Brigaglia
‫�غ� ث�ُن � مَ ن �لخ فّ ق‬ ‫� قّ طَ ُ �ذ‬ ‫�هو عي�� ن� عي�� ن� ا �ل‬
� ‫ح� ��ل��س��م�ه ا �ل� ��ي ؞ �هو و��ا ب��ع��يِ��ه ا ��ا‬ ِ
‫�زُ ُ ل َ�خ� ف � ن ال أ � ق‬ ُ
�
ُ‫�ز ْتُ ش ت‬
�
� ‫��ا ��ه و م��ص ب��ا ح�ه ؞ و ج��ا ج��ه ا م�� ي ع�� ر م�ا‬ ‫�هو ي��ه و�م�� ك‬
‫� ض ْ �ة خ ّ ق‬ ّ
� ‫ح��ر ا �ل��لا‬ ‫� �ل‬ َ‫ق ب‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ ُ َ ن‬ ‫�غ ن‬
‫ب�ل �هو �م��ا ط��ي��س�ه ا �جل�� ا ب� �م�� ؞ ج�� ِ ب� ا �ل��لو‬
‫� ّ � ن � ق � � �ق‬
‫�ل‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ل‬ ‫م‬ ‫�س‬ ‫�ه‬ � ّ ‫��س ّ ا �ت � ّ ��س ُّ ��س‬
‫ا‬
��
‫يم ب �ي‬ ‫�د‬ �
��‫ل‬ ‫ا‬
� ‫ا‬ ‫و ر و‬ ‫؞‬ ‫�ه‬
‫ه‬ � ‫ر ل��ج ��ل�ي ر ِر �إ‬
‫�ل‬
ّ ِ
‫ّ ق‬ ُ
‫ن‬
� ‫� �لا ل ب��و ر ه ا �ل��بر ا‬ ‫و�هو ا �ل��صرا ط ا لم��ست��ق��ي محمد ؞ �م�ا �ح�ي ا �ل��ض‬
‫م‬
My praise of him is in silently bowing down my head
Not in what I can write down on paper
For what can I say, in praise of someone

Whom the Lord of the world has described as “the most exalted in
character”!19
Say whatever you want in praise of him, provided

That you describe him as a servant of the Creator20
Say: His servant, His friend, His beloved

His pure one, the opener of all locks21
The master of all noble messengers and the best from among them
He is the origin of all creatures, without exception
He holds in his hand the divine light which

From the time before Adam has been distributing (God’s) sustenance22
Everything, without exception, was brought into being from his light
The origin of all origins, the seal of those who have come before23
19 See Qur’an 68:4, “truly you [Muḥammad], have an exalted character.”
20 This verse is reminiscent of a similar one by al-Buṣayrī in his al-Burda: “avoid what the
ٔ‫ى‬ ّ ‫�ن‬
� ‫� ب�م�ا � �ش� �� ت� �م�د ح�ا ف�ي��ه وا‬
‫حت�� ك‬ ‫)د �م�ا ا د �عت��ه ا � ن�ل��ص�ا ر �ى ب��بي��ه� ؞ وا ح ك‬.
Christians have claimed about their prophet / and give praise as you want, and be judi-
cious” (�
‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫ع‬
21 The reference here is to the invocation of blessings on the Prophet, Ṣalāt al-fātiḥ li-mā
ughliqa, “Invocation of blessings on the one who opened what was previously locked.”
This prayer plays a central role in the daily litanies of the Tijāniyya.
22 Reference to the text of a hadith where the Prophet describes God as the Giver (al-muʿṭī)
and himself as the distributor (al-qāsim).
23 Reference to another phrase in the Ṣalāt al-fātiḥ: al-khātim li-mā sabaqa (“the one who
has sealed what had come before him”).
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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He is the essence of the essence of the Truth, His talisman

And a succour for us, with his subtle assistance
He is His oil, His niche, His lamp

His glass, hidden from people’s eyes24
He is His magnetic lodestone

Who attracts the hearts to the Presence of the Creator
The secret of theophany; the secret of the secret of his God

He is the secret of His Lord the Uncreated, the Everlasting25
He is the straight path, Muhammad

Who obliterates error through his radiant light.26
Verses of prophetic madḥ like the ones above serve to give expression to the
doctrines associated with the idea of the Muḥammadan reality (al-ḥaqīqa al-
muḥammadiyya), here intended as the primordial prophetic principle and as
the first theophany of God. This idea is the cornerstone of the spiritual prac-
tices of the Tijāniyya Atiƙu adhered to, as well as of many other Sufi orders.
A good madḥ is usually one in which there is a continuous movement back and
forth from the historical Muḥammad (with references to his life or to his words
reported in hadiths) to the metaphysical Muḥammad (with references to the
ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya).
24 Reference to the “verse of Light”: “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth. His Light
is as follows: there is a niche, and in it a lamp, the lamp inside a glass, a glass like a glit-
tering star, fueled from a blessed olive tree from neither east nor west, whose oil almost
gives light even when no fire touches it. Light upon Light, and God guides whomever He
wishes to His Light. God draws such comparisons for people and God has full knowledge
of everything” (Qur’an 24:35). The rhetorical device of referring in verse to the text of a
Quranic verse or hadith is known in Arabic as taḍmīn.
25 The text is in Muḥammad al-Amīn ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq wa-dīwānuhu hadiyyat
al-aḥbāb wa’l-khillān (Kano: Zāwiyat Ahl al-Fayḍa al-Tijāniyya, 1988), 169. The translation
is mine.
26 The Ṣalāt al-fātiḥ also describes the Prophet as al-hādī ilā ṣirāṭika al-mustaqīm,
“the one who guides on Your straight path,” words which, in turn, refer to a verse
in the sūrat al-Fātiḥa in the Qur’an. The poet’s use of the word ḍalāl, in the sec-
ond hemistich, are also a reference to the Qur’anic wa-lā l-ḍāllīn, and are thus an-
other example of the poet’s use of taḍmīn. The same is also true of the word al-māḥī
‫ف‬ ‫أ‬
(“the eraser”), from the words in the hadith “I am the eraser by whom God erases
‫ا �ل ك‬
unbelief” (‫��ر‬ ��‫)� ن�ا �ل��م�ا �ح �ي��م‬.
� ‫حو ا �ل�ل�ه‬
‫ب�ي‬ ‫�ي‬

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The master of the madḥ genre in contemporary West Africa is probably the
Senegalese Shaykh Ibrāhīm Niasse (1900–75), of whom Atiƙu was one of
the main representatives in Nigeria. Niasse’s six dīwān-s (al-Dawāwīn al-sitt)
have become by far the most widely used pieces of devotional Islamic verse in
contemporary West Africa, partly superseding celebrated classical precedents
like al-Būṣīrī’s al-Burda and al-Fazāzī’s ʿIshriniyyāt. From the literary point of
view, the special appeal of Niasse’s verses lies in the creative use of imagery
drawn from pre-Islamic poetry. The influence of pre-Islamic poetry (whose
study and memorization constitutes an important part of the training of tra-
ditional West African scholars), is visible from the very beginning of the most
famous of Niasse’s six dīwāns, Nuzhat al-asmāʾ wa‌ʾl-afkār fī madīḥ al-Amīn wa-
maʿānī al-Mukhtār, which opens with the verse:
ّ ُ ّ ‫نَ ُ ّ حَ فَ �غ‬ ْ‫ُ ّ أ ن‬ ‫أ‬
‫� ب�ى ا �ل��ق��ل� ب� �إ لا � � ي� ك‬
‫ ��م�هي�ما‬ ‫�و � �م��تي�ما ؞ ��لي�� راٍم ب�ا �ل��ن�ب�ي‬
All that my heart could do was to fall enslaved (to love)
Sworn to a passion, infatuated with the Prophet27
Here the inspiration is from the opening couplet of ʿAmra al-Khatʿamiyya’s

elegy for her two sons:
ُ ‫�َ �أ ن�ّن ا � ْ ن � � ن‬ ُ ُ ْ‫ُ ّ أ ن‬ ‫أ‬
‫� ب�ى ا ��لن��ا ��س �إ لا � � �ي��ق��و �لو �ه�م�ا �ه�م�ا ؞ و لو ��ا �س��ط�ع��ا ل ك‬
‫��ا � ��سوا �ه�م�ا‬
All that people could do was to say “the two of them! The two of them!”
But had it been in my power, [death] would have occurred to someone
else28
By starting his prophetic praise with a verse that echoes a pre-existing one,
known to his audience and drawn from a mother’s lamentation, Niasse inten-
tionally creates a sort of effect of musical reverberation, thanks to which his
love for the Prophet is “attuned with,” and resonates of, the love of a mourning
mother for her two sons.
The appeal of Niasse’s madḥ poetry, however, does not reside only in its liter-
ary quality, but also in the depth of its religious content. In particular, it seems
27 Ibrāhīm b. ʿAbdullāh [Niasse] al-Kawlakhī, al-Dawāwīn al-sitt (Kano: ʿAbdullāh al-Yassār,
n.d.), 6.
28 For the text, translation and commentary of this early Arabic elegy, see Alan Jones, Early
Arabic Poetry: Selected Poems (Reading: Ithaca Press, 2011), 66. My translation is slightly
different than Jones’.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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to me that the most outstanding quality of the poetry of Shaykh Ibrāhīm is

the continuous tension between self-effacing enunciations of Prophetic praise
and bold assertions of spiritual authority, as exemplified in the following short
fragment, out of many that could be quoted to this effect.
ُ � ‫ّ � ف� ه‬ ‫ت‬
‫ح ب��ی� ب� ا �ل�ل�ه �م�ا ا � �غل� ی��ر �م�ا و�م�ا‬ ‫ح ب��ی� و��سی��د �ي ؞ ��ط�ا‬ � �‫ف��ٳ ن� ��سئ��لو � �ع� ن‬
‫ب�ي‬ ‫ن�ي‬
ُ‫ت‬ ‫ا �ةً � ً � ن ق‬ ‫ف ت �ذ‬ ‫ف ق‬
‫� �ج�یْ��ل�م�ا‬ ‫�ر‬‫ص‬ ‫�د‬� ‫�ه‬��‫م‬ ‫ا‬
�‫ح‬ ‫�د‬‫م‬ �
‫ص‬ ‫؞‬ �‫ک‬ �
‫�و��ت�ي و��س�ا ع�ا �ت�ي �صر�� ل� ر � ل و‬
‫ه‬
ً ‫أ ً ت‬
‫ح ّر�م�ا‬
‫ح�ا لا م‬
�
ّ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬
��‫ک ��ي ا � �ش� ��تی��ا ��ي ن��ب��ی ن��ا ؞ ف��ق��د ر ا � �مرا �م��س‬ ‫ر‬ ‫د‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ف��م� ن‬
‫م‬ ‫م �ي‬ �
‫ً أ‬ ُ ً َ
‫�م� ن� ر ا �م��س�ك ا ��لب��د ر �یو�م�ا ب�ا ��ص ب�� ؞ و�م�� ر ا عود الا �م��س �یو�م�ا و� �یو�م�ا‬
� ‫ن‬ �‫ک‬
َّ ‫ّم‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬
‫ا � ف �أ ً ف�أ�ث ا ل �ك ن ق �غ‬
‫��ه� ��د �ا د ر وا �مت��ر د �م�ا‬ ‫� �ا � ك��ر و ؞ و ا‬ ‫�م� ن� ر ا د ر ك لو�ص� �ي��ض‬ �‫ک‬
‫م‬ ‫م‬
If you ask me about my beloved and my master
It is Ṭāhā the beloved of God, and no one else
All my time, all my hours are devoted to his remembrance

In the form of ṣalāwāt and praise-poems that make me shine like a full
moon
Whoever thinks he can love the Prophet as much as I do

Aspires at something that is absolutely impossible
Like someone who tries to reach the moon with his fingers
Or someone who wants yesterday to come again today
Like someone who tries to insert the word ayḍan (in a poem)—many
have tried!
But they had to leave a place for a patch in the garment (to be patched
by me)29
The tension between these two dimensions is reminiscent of the tension

found in much of pre-Islamic poetry between madḥ (praise of a tribal lord, a
relative or a friend) and fakhr (self-praise: for the poet’s own literary or heroic/
military accomplishments). In Niasse’s verses, one sees a similar type of ten-
sion, re-casted in the spiritual world of the saintly hierarchy of Sufism. In the
first hemistich of the last verse, the reference is to the fact that the word ayḍan
29 Al-Kawlakhī, al-Dawāwīn al-sitt, 7–8.

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does not usually sound well in poetry, while the words ghādarū mutaraddamā
(“they have left a place for a patch in the garment”) are a reference to the open-
ing verse of a qaṣīda by the famous pre-Islamic poet ʿAntara, hal ghādara al-
shuʿarāʾu min mutaraddamin, “have the poets left a place for a patch in the
garment (to be patched by me)?” The implication is that the pre-eminence of
Ibrāhīm Niasse among the lovers of the Prophet is similar to the pre-eminence
of ʽAntara among the Arab poets of old.30
An analytical study of Ibrāhīm Niasse’s dīwāns or, more generally, of the
madḥ genre in contemporary West Africa, from both a literary and religious
point of view, is still to be made. After these preliminary observation on the
central role of madḥ in West African Sufi literature, and on the complexities
of the Sufi doctrines embedded in the madḥ verse, I will now move to the two
examples of works by a West African Sufi author that represent a less common
Figure 1 The house in Sanka (Kano) where Shehi Atiƙu lived. On the walls, some verses from
the author’s qaṣīda ending in qāf in praise of the Prophet.
30 For an insightful analysis of the continuity between pre-Islamic and Islamic madḥ po-
etry, see Suzanne Stetkevych, “Pre-Islamic Panegyric and the Poetics of Redemption:
Mufaḍḍaliyyah 119 of ʿAlqamah and Bānat Suʿād of Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr,” in Reorientations/Arabic
and Persian Poetry, ed. Suzanne Stetkevych (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994):
1–56. Stetkevych’s analysis focuses on the function of madḥ poetry as a ritual of exchange.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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(but not less significant) incursion by a Sufi of the region in the genres of
khamriyya and ghazal, so as to originally re-work the classical Oriental Sufi
metaphors of drunkenness (poem 1) and sensual love (poem 2).
The Author and His Literary Works
Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq b. Khiḍr b. Abī Bakr b. Mūsā al-Kashināwī (or al-Kashinī;
better known in Hausa as Shehi Atiƙu Sanka), was one of the leading Muslim
scholars of Kano (Nigeria) in the twentieth century.31 Born in Katsina in
1909, Shehi Atiƙu was raised in Kano, the demographic and commercial hub
of northern Nigeria, by a sister of his grandmother called Raḥma, who was
a devout Sufi. In Kano, he grew up in the ward of Sanka, just a few hundred
meters from the house of Muḥammad Salga (1871/2–1939), the most famous
scholar of Mālikī jurisprudence of his generation in Kano and probably, in
the whole northern Nigeria. Starting from the late 1920s, Muḥammad Salga
animated a dynamic network of reform-minded students of Mālikī law known
in Hausa as the Salgawa.32 The Salgawa became known to the wider public
for their polemical engagement with the Madabawa, the established school
of Mālikī law in Kano at the time, located in the nearby neighbourhood of
Madabo, where Muḥammad Salga himself had studied for several years under
ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Suyūṭī (d. ca. 1910).33 While the public engagement of the
two groups focused on the permissibility of certain traditional funerary prac-
tices, which the Madabawa endorsed and the Salgawa denied,34 the rift be-
tween them also reflected two different, broader attitudes to the Mālikī corpus
31 In providing an outline of Atiƙu’s life and writings, I have drawn from (and expanded) my
previous article Andrea Brigaglia, “Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE,
2014–1 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 6–8.
32 On the Salgawa, see John Paden, Religion and Political Culture in Kano (Evanston:
Northwestern University Press, 1973), 86–94, and Sani Y. Adam, “The Life and Career of
Malam Muhammadu Salga (1869–1938), a Pioneer of the Most Extensive Tijani Network
in Northern Nigeria,” Annual Review of Islam in Africa (ARIA) 13 (2015–16): 158–65.
33 On the Madabawa, see John W. Chamberlin, “The Development of Islamic Education in
Kano City, Nigeria, with Emphasis on Legal Education in the 19th and 20th Centuries”
(PhD diss., Columbia University, 1975), esp. 84–127 and 193–200. See also a detailed his-
tory in two volumes published in Hausa: Suyudi M. Hassan na Babban Malami Madabo,
Madabo Jami’ar Musulunci Kano-Najiriya, na Daya ([Kano]: n.p., 1998); Suyudi M. Hassan
na Babban Malami Madabo, Madabo Jami’ar Musulunci Kano-Najiriya, na Biyu ([Kano]:
n.p., 2007).
34 Ādam b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Suyūṭī wrote Ḥujaj ʿulamāʾ al-madabuwiyyīn (Hunwick,
Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:283).

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202 Brigaglia
traditionally taught in the region: a more statically “traditionalist” attitude for

the Madabawa; a more dynamic one for the Salgawa.
Both the Madabawa and the Salgawa were also associated with the Tijāniyya
Sufi order, which between the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the
twentieth century had become prominent in northern Nigeria, especially in
the Hausa emirates that had remained less receptive (when not hostile) to the
leadership of Sokoto and its Qādirī establishment, like Zazzau (Zaria), Katsina
and Kano.
The young Atiƙu studied Mālikī law with Muḥammad Salga and, after
the latter’s death, with his son ʿAbd Allāh (Abdullahi) Salga (1899–1962). The
Salgawa were also closely associated with Abū Bakr Mijinyawa (1895–1946),
a Tijāni mystic who mentored Atiƙu in the study of Sufi literature. Abū Bakr
Mijinyawa was the author, amongst others, of Sullam al-dirāya wa-miftāḥ bāb
al-walāya, a 430–verse poem on Tijāni doctrines that is still widely studied in
Nigeria.35 Like most of his Salgawa peers, the young Atiƙu studied Sullam al-
dirāya directly from its author. In Arabic grammar and literature, Atiƙu’s main
teacher was Maḥmūd b. al-Ḥasan (known as Maḥmūd na-Salga; 1863/4–1943),
who was also known for his role in broadening the scope of the grammatical
and literary corpus taught in the Kano scholarly circles.36
Between the late 1940s and the early 1950s, the Salgawa re-aligned under the
leadership of the Senegalese Shaykh Ibrāhīm Niasse and became enthusiastic
supporters of the latter’s agenda of Sufi revival (fayḍa tijāniyya). A distinctive
(though not independent) network within the Tijānī order, the fayḍa tijāniyya
was based on the belief that Niasse was the depository of a flood (ṣāḥib al-
fayḍa) announced by the founder of the order Aḥmad al-Tijānī (1737–1815), and
that in that position, he had been granted with the mission to revive and popu-
larize a method of spiritual training (tarbiya) that was believed to guarantee
the Sufi aspirant the achievement of annihilation (fanāʾ) and knowledge of
reality (maʿrifa) in an exceptionally short time.37
Besides Shehi Atiƙu, the Salgawa network included ʿUmar Falke (1893–1962),38
Aḥmad al-Tijānī b. ʿUthmān (known as Tijjani Usman; 1916–70),39 ʿUthmān
35 For a list of Mijinyawa’s works, see Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:269–71.
36 On Mahḥmūd na-Salga, see Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:269.
37 Two excellent monographs on Ibrāhīm Niasse and his fayḍa are Rüdiger Seesemann,
The Divine Flood: Ibrahiim Niasse and the Roots of a Twentieth-Century Sufi Revival
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) and Zachary V. Wright, Living Knowledge in West
African Islam: The Sufi Community of Ibrāhīm Niasse (Leiden: Brill, 2015). See also Andrea
Brigaglia, “The Fayḍa Tijāniyya of Ibrāhīm Niasse: Genesis and Implications of a Sufi
Doctrine,” Islam et Sociétés au Sud du Sahara 14–15 (2000–1): 41–56.
38 Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:276–83.
39 Ibid., 2:284–6.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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al-Qalansuwī (known as Shehu Mai Hula; ca. 1914–88)40 and Muḥammad

al-Thānī Kafanga (knows as Sani Kafanga; 1914–89),41 all of whom had large cir-
cles of students in different areas of Kano city, closely associated with Atiƙu’s one.
All of the above-mentioned scholars would play key roles in animating a literary
and devotional revival that consolidated the fame of Kano as the “capital of the
Fayḍa” (ʿāṣimat al-fayḍa) across West Africa.
Shehi Atiƙu died on the 2nd of May 1974, while he was still at the peak of
his scholarly career. Within the fayḍa tijāniyya network in Kano, he is remem-
bered as one of the most erudite writers. A list of his writings is included in
John Hunwick’s Arabic Literature of Africa.42 Some of his books have been
published in Cairo and in Sudan. These are mainly doctrinal treatises that he
wrote to answer the questions of his international network of students who
had established Tijāni zāwiya-s in Nigeria as well as in neighbouring countries
(Niger, Chad, Cameroon). Although mostly dedicated to Tijānī doctrines and
practices or to general Sufi themes, his writings in prose also include short
treatises of fiqh, for instance his Tanbīh al-ikhwān bi-nuṣūṣ al-aʿyān ʿalā taḥrīm
al-dukhān, supporting the view that smoking is ḥarām.43 His collection of the
biographies of several scholars of the Tijāniyya,44 as well as the biographies
and elegies dedicated to his teachers Abubakar Mijinyawa,45 Muḥammad
Salga,46 and Maḥmūd na-Salga,47 are important references for the history of
the order.
During the 1960s, Shehi Atiƙu became known also for his polemical en-
gagements with the celebrated leader of the Qādiriyya of Kano, Shaykh
Muḥammad al-Nāṣir Kabara (Malam Nasiru Kabara; 1916–96).48 In response
to the latter’s criticism of Tijānī “exclusivism” contained in a book called
40 Ibid., 2:300.

41 Ibid., 2:304–7.
42 Ibid., 2:289–300.
43 Ibid., 2:298. The controversy about smoking has an old history in Muslim scholarship in
Central and West Africa. For an early example, see Dorrit van Dalen’s detailed study of the
writings of Muḥammad al-Wālī b. Sulaymān (fl. 1688), a scholar from Baghirmi in today’s
Chad (Dorrit van Dalen, Doubt, Scholarship and Society in 17th-Century Central Sudanic
Africa [Leiden: Brill, 2016], esp. 154–87 and 260–92).
44 Al-Fayḍ al-hāmiʿ fī tarājim ahl al-sirr al-jāmiʿ (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:291).
45 Qaṣīda fī rithāʾ al-shaykh Abī Bakr Mijinyawā (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:296).
46 Taḥṣīl al-waṭar fī tarjamat Muḥammad Salgha b. al-ḥājj ʿUmar and Qaṣīda fī rithāʾ al-shaykh
Muḥammad Salgha (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:298 and 296 respectively).
47 Izāḥat al-shajan bi-tarjamat al-shaykh Maḥmūd b. al-Ḥasan and Qaṣīda fī rithāʾal-shaykh
Maḥmūd b. al-Ḥasan (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:294 and 296 respectively).
48 Roman Loimeier, “The Writings of Nasiru Kabara (Muḥammad al-Nāṣir al-Kabarī),”
Sudanic Africa 2 (1991): 165–74.

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204 Brigaglia
al-Nafaḥāt al-nāṣiriyya, Atiƙu wrote Taḥdhīr al-ʿiṣāba al-aḥmadiyya al-tijāniyya

min al-iʿtirāḍ bi-aqāwīl al-nafaḥāt al-nāṣiriyya and al-Ṣārim al-mashrafī al-
maslūl ʿalā al-munkir al-ghabī.49 Through their exchange, the two scholars
came to represent not only two proselytizing ṭarīqa-s competing for follow-
ers, but also two different faces of Islam and Sufism in the public sphere of
Kano. Kabara, in fact, who held the position of public Ramaḍān exegete of the
Quran (mai tafsiri) in the palace of the Emir of Kano, was closely associated
with the aristocracy of the palace. He publicly supported the conservative
party NPC (Northern Peoples’ Congress) during the first Nigerian elections,
and was known for his flamboyant style reflected in his stylish dressing attire
and sophisticated rhetorical style. Atiƙu, on the contrary, tended to keep some
distance from the politics of the palace and was known for shunning public
speeches and focusing on teaching and writing from the seclusion of his house.
Moreover Atiƙu, who was a trader, was closely associated with the merchant
community of Kano and was considered by many as a sympathizer of the
NEPU (Northern Elements Progressive Union), the “leftist” northern party led
by Aminu Kano (1920–83), which harshly criticised the traditional aristocracy
of the Hausa-Fulani emirates.
Notwithstanding their harsh polemical exchanges in writing, Kabara and
Atiƙu shared a common scholarly and literary culture and kept throughout
their life a high mutual respect, as testified by the fact that they collaborat-
ed in a literary composition, a qaṣīda in praise of the Prophet which Atiƙu
wrote in couplets and Kabara turned into pentastichs (takhmīs).50 As most of
the traditionally trained scholars of northern Nigeria at his time, Atiƙu wrote
many poems. His production of Arabic verses, consisting of forty-five poems
in a variety of classical meters, is less known outside Nigeria than his prose
works. These poems have been collected and edited by Muḥammad al-Amīn
ʿUmar in a published dīwān.51 Among them, besides the above-mentioned
elegies dedicated to his teachers, are various eulogies (madāʾiḥ) dedicated to
the Prophet and to Aḥmad al-Tijānī (1737–1815);52 examples of lyrical mystical
49 Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:297–8.

50 Full text in ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 176–95.
51 ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq.
52 Notwithstanding its brevity, his most beautiful madḥ on the Prophet is probably the one
ending in qāf, Miftāḥ al-aghlāq fī madḥ ḥabīb al-Khallāq (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq,
129–30), a few verses of which I have translated above. Examples of his many poems
in praise of Aḥmad al-Tijānī include Itḥāf al-aṣḥāb fī madḥ khātim al-aqṭāb (ʿUmar, al-
Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 37–41), more mystical in tone, and Aslāk al-jawāhir fī madḥ khātim
al-aqṭāb al-akābir wa-dhikr aṣḥābihi dhawī al-sirr al-bāhir (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr
ʿAtīq, 64–74), more biographical.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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verses;53 esoteric compositions containing complex allusions on how to ex-

tract God’s “supreme Name” (al-ism al-aʿẓam);54 two long versifications on the
history of the rulers of Katsina55 and Kano;56 and a virulent libel directed at
the Sultan of Sokoto, which he composed in order to mobilize the Tijānīs of
Kano in support of their Sokoto counterparts when the latter came to be per-
secuted by the political establishment of the region.57 Atiƙu also wrote some
qaṣīda-s in Hausa, mainly of a didactic type: on Tijāni doctrines,58 on Ashʿarī
dogmatic theology,59 and on Arabic grammar.60
Poem (1): Delirium of a Drunkard
My translation is based on a one-folio manuscript preserved in the library of

the author.61 The manuscript is penned by Muḥammad Garo, murīd nāẓimihā
(“disciple of the author”). Shehi Atiƙu had two main disciples in Garo, a (main-
ly Fulani) settlement located on the Kano-Gwarzo road in Kano State. One
of them was known as Malam Yaḥyā and the second is Malam Maḥmūd, the
imam of Garo, who is still alive today. With all probability, Muḥammad Garo
was linked to Shehi Atiƙu through either of the two.
53 Ṭarāʾiq al-wuṣūl ilā ḥaḍrat Allāh wa-l-Rasūl (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 146–7) and
Hadhayān al-shārib li-ḥumayyā ḥubb muʿṭī al-raghāʾib (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq
214). A translation of the second of these two, from a manuscript containing a slightly dif-
ferent version than the one published by ʿUmar, is provided below in the present article.
54 Jawāhir al-kalim fī kayfiyyāt istikhrāj al-ism (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 119–120);
al-Durr al-munaẓẓam fī kayfiyyāt istikhrāj ism Allāh al-aʿẓam (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr
ʿAtīq, 130–3); al-Sirr al-maṣūn fī kayfiyyāt istikhrāj ism Allāh al-maṣūn (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh
Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 137–42).
55 Irsāl al-aʿinna fī naẓm asmāʾ wa-tārīkh salāṭīn Kashina (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq,
48–52).
56 Tazyīn al-sulūk bi-tārīkh mā li-ḥiṣn Kanū min al-mulūk (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq,
90–105).
57 Al-khanjar al-rabbānī fī dhabḥ aʿdāʾ ṭarīqat al-Tijānī (ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 126–
9). See Andrea Brigaglia, “The Outburst of Rage and The Divine Dagger: Invective Poetry
and Inter-Ṭarīqa Conflict in Northern Nigeria, 1949,” Journal for Islamic Studies (forthcom-
ing in 36 [2017]).
58 ʿAybat al-fuqarāʾ fī madḥ khātim al-awliyāʾ (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:299).
59 Munjiyat al-niswān wa-l-wildān min al-wuqūʿ fī l-nīrān (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of
Africa, 2:299).
60 Ruqā duʿāʾ (Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:300).
61 The manuscript was kindly made available to me by the author’s son, Lawi Atiƙu Sanka
(al-ʿAbd Lāwī b. Abī Bakr al-ʿAtīq).

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206 Brigaglia
Figure 2 The manuscript of Hadhayān al-shārib, p. 1.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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Figure 3 The manuscript of Hadhayān al-shārib, p. 2.

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208 Brigaglia
The poem is included in the author’s dīwān published by al-Amīn ʿUmar,62

but with some minor differences from the version used by me. This might be
due either to the fact that ʿUmar was working on a different manuscript, or to
his editorial mistakes. The short introduction and the three-verse prelude that
I include in my translation are also absent in ʿUmar, which might confirm
that he was working on a different manuscript, perhaps one that had been
written by the author before adding the prelude. The fact that the prelude is in
the handwriting of the author might be a sign that the version I have used is
more “authentic” than the one used by ʿUmar. It is also possible, however, that
ʿUmar saw this manuscript but decided not to include the prelude, which is in
a different meter and is therefore not part of the original poem.
1 Hadhayān al-Shārib: Arabic Text

َ‫ّ �ذ أ ت ق �ل‬ ‫آ‬ ّ ٰ
‫� ��ا � �ه�ا‬ ‫ح�ی �ص��ل ا �ل�ل�ه ع��ل ��سیّ��د ن�ا محمّد و � �ل�ه و �ص‬
�
‫ح ب��ه و ��س��ل �ه� ه � ب�ی��ا‬ � ‫��س ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ا �ل ح�م� ن ا �ل‬
َ‫ک‬ ‫ت‬
‫أ م‬ ‫ض‬ ‫�خ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫�ةی أ‬ ‫ب م ُ ُر ّ � ّ ر ضم �ةی أ‬
‫ش‬ ‫ح‬ �
��‫�ر �ع� ��ی� ا �ب� ِ ��ر ال� �م�د � ا �ل��ا � ا �ل‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫ح‬
�‫ح��ر ال� �م�د ی� � ب�و ب� ک‬ � �‫ح� ب‬ � ‫� �ش� �ا ر ب� ح�می��ا‬
‫�ي �ج ن�ي ً �ذِ ن�ي‬ ْ
‫ذ‬ َ ‫ت‬ ‫ذ‬
‫ی�ه� ��ي‬ �� ‫� ع�د ا رتِ�وا ئ��ه �إ � �لو ر و �ی لم�ا و ج��د �ل��س�ا ن�ا‬ ‫�ره و�ه�ي �ِم� ن� ع�لا �م�ا‬ �‫و � �ل�ك ِحی�� نَ� �ُ�س ک‬
‫م‬ ّ ُ‫ت‬
ُ ‫ب��ه�ذَو ��س��ی‬
‫م‬
‫�غ‬ ُ ّ ّ ‫�ه� �ا ن� ا � ش‬
�‫ح� ب� �م�ع��ط�ي ا �لر �ا ئ� ب‬ ‫ل��ا ر ب� �ل‬
� ‫ح��می��ا‬
� ‫ی‬
�
‫أ‬ ُ ‫و ه�ي‬
‫��ق�� ل �خ� ��د ا �ل��ت��ا � � � � ک� �ت ق‬
�‫�ر �ع� ��ی‬ ‫ی و و ی م ی�ج ن�ي بو ب‬
ّ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ّ‫ت‬
‫کا �ل��ص ب��ا �م ب��ل��ج��ا‬
� �‫ح��بو ب� ��ي �غ ��ب ش�� ا �ل�د ج��ا ؞ ف��ص�ا ر ��ؤا د �ي‬
��‫ا لم‬
‫ل�ي‬ ‫ی‬
�‫ج‬
‫��ل‬
‫ح‬ ّ
‫ک��له�ا �م� ن �ش��ه د ه ؞ ن��ل� ت� ��س ًا لا �م�ا �ز ��ه ا � ش‬ ‫ف�ز‬
‫ل��ج��ا‬ ‫رور ی ج‬ ‫� ا ل �ه�مو م�ي � � � � و و‬
‫�غ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫أ‬ ُ ‫أ أ‬
‫ح��بو ب� ج��د ل�ي ب��ع��ط��ف��ة ؞ ب��ه�ا � د رک ا �ل��سب��ا � �م� ن� ی��ر �م�ا و ج��ا‬ ��‫ی�ه�ا ا لم‬
�� ‫� لا‬
------
‫� ت‬ ‫ف �ذ‬ ‫ش ت ش‬ � �‫ع��ا ق‬
‫�� ت� �م��س�ا �ل�ك ا �ل� ش‬
� ‫ح�تی ؞ ��ر ب�� را ب��ه�م ��ل� ا ��س ک�ر‬ ‫��س��ل ک‬
ّ ّ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫أ‬ ً ‫أ‬
�‫ش�ي لم�ا �ش��ر ب� ت‬ ��‫ح��ق��ا ب��ع�دک� ��س ؞ ��ز ا د ��ع��ط‬ � ‫�� س‬ �‫�ش��ر ب� ت� ا �ل ک‬
‫ت‬ ‫ً � ت أ� ت ذ‬ ‫ل�� ا � ف��ه��م� ت‬ ‫أ‬
�‫� �إ � �م ن��ه ا ر �و ی� ت‬ ‫و‬ ‫م‬ � � ‫�د‬ ‫ک‬ ‫و‬ ‫؞‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ر‬�
�
‫ک‬ ‫�س‬ � � � ‫ر ب‬
‫� � ا�ش‬ �
‫و� ر ن�ي‬
‫ک‬ ‫�س‬�
‫� ت‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫� ت‬
�‫ح��ي� ت‬
‫� و�م�ا �ص‬
� ‫�ر ��ي ٳ � ��س ك�ر‬�‫ح�ا � ؞ ب��س ك‬
‫ب�ي‬
‫� ب��ه و�م�ا ع�ل�موا � �ص‬
� ‫��س ك�ر‬
62 ʿUmar, al-Shaykh Abū Bakr ʿAtīq, 214.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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‫ت‬
‫�ذ ف‬
�‫ و �ل� ا � ن��ی� ت‬63 ‫حی��ر ��ي‬ � ‫ل��ر� ع� ّلا ب��ع�د ن��ه� ؞ ف��ز ا د‬
ّ� ‫ت ش‬
‫ل‬ ‫و �زد � ا � ب‬
‫�ذ ق‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ت ق‬ ‫ف ن ت �ذ ش‬
�‫� ب�ا � ؞ ب��ه �إ � �م�ا ر و ی� ت� �ل� ا ب��ی� ت‬ ‫��ی�� ب� ا ا �ل��را ب� و�صر‬
‫ن‬
�‫ لم�ا �م��ی� ت‬65‫ط�� م ن��ه‬ ‫ ؞ �ل لا ا �ل�ع�� ش‬64‫� ع ْ�د �م�ا‬ ‫ح��قّ��ً�ا �ص ت‬
� �‫ل��ر ب‬ ‫ف��ل لا ا � ش‬
‫وو‬ ‫ر‬ ‫و‬
‫ت‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫خ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫خ‬
66��‫ح�تی ا ��س��ی‬ � ‫ح�ا ب��ه‬ ‫�� ؞ ��د ی� �ص‬
� �‫د ��ل�� ل��ا � ��س�ا �ی��ه و �ک‬
‫م‬
‫�ذ ت ق‬ ‫فق‬
�‫�� ّرب��ن�ي �م�دی�ر�هم �إ ��لی��ه ؞ و ن�ا د �م�ن�ي ا ��لن��د ی�م �ل� ا ا ر ��ی� ت‬
‫ح ت‬ �‫� ّ ت ّ ف‬ ‫ ؞ �ل��ذ ا ك ا �ل‬67 ‫ی�ه� ر ق�ی��ً�ا‬ ‫ق‬
�� ‫�� ت� �م ا‬
‫ق‬
� ‫ �ی�م�ن�ي �ر‬68�‫ح� ب‬ ‫أر �ی أ ّ�إلی ر م‬
‫ف‬ ‫ق ت ّ ف‬
�‫��ن�ي ��إ �ن�ي �م�ا ا �مت��ل��ی� ت‬ ‫ ؞ ود ا ر ک‬69��‫� لا ی�ا � ی��ه�ا ا �ل��س�ا ��ي ��ع��ط‬
‫ق ق‬ ّ‫أ‬ ً ‫ق‬ ‫ف��زد � ذ� ا ا � ش‬
�‫� ��ی� ت‬
‫ل��را ب� و �لو ��لی��لا ؞ و�إلا � ی��ه�ا ا �ل��س�ا ��ي ��ض‬ ‫ن�ي‬
‫ن �ت‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬
‫��ب�ه�ا‬ �
�‫ا ��ه�� ا ��ل�ه�ا ب��ل��س�ا ��ه و �ک‬
‫� �ع��ت�� ق‬ ‫نن أ‬
�‫ی� ا �لت��ج��ا ن�ي‬ ‫ب��ب��ا ��ه � ب�و ب� ک�ر‬
‫أ‬
‫ض�ي ا �ل�ل�ه �ع ن��ه و�ع� ن� � ب�و ی��ه‬ ��‫ر‬
‫�غ‬ ‫ق‬
‫��ل محمد �ا ر �مری��د‬
‫م‬
‫ن�ا ظ��م�ه�ا‬
2 Delirium of a Drunkard: Translation

In the Name of God, the most Gracious the most Merciful. May God send his
salutations upon Muḥammad, his family and companions. These verses were
recited by Abū Bakr ʿAtīq b. Khiḍr al-Aḥmadī al-Tijānī al-Kashinī in a state
of drunkenness, after he drunk of the liquor of love of the Aḥmadian pres-
ence ([al-]ḥaḍra al-aḥmadiyya). As these [verses] show, however, he did not
even taste of it, for had he [really] drunk, he would not have found a tongue to
‫ت‬
63 In ʿUmar, this word appears as ��‫ط‬ ��‫ ��ع‬.
‫ش�ي‬ ‫ل�� ا � �ل��ص ت‬ ‫ذ ش‬ ‫ف‬
64 In ʿUmar, this passage appears as ‫� ع�د �م�ا‬
‫ف‬ ‫ر‬ ‫��لو لا � ا ا � ر ب‬.
65 In ʿUmar, ‫�ی��ه‬.
‫�ق ت‬
66 In ʿUmar, �
ً �‫ �س��ی‬.
67 In ʿUmar, ‫�ج �می��ع�ا‬.
68 In ʿUmar, �‫ح��بو ب‬ ��‫ �ل��ذ ا ا لم‬.
69 This verse is reminiscent of what is probably the most quoted of all the verses of Hafez‫أ‬
ً ‫ق‬
‫ن‬ ‫آ‬ by Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya): ‫کا ��س�ا و‬ � ‫ی�ه�ا ا �ل��س�ا ��ي ا د ر‬
�� ‫� لا ی�ا ا‬
‫ش‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ن‬
(mutated from one originally composed
�‫��ه �ع�� س�ا � �مود ا و ل و لی ا ��ا د �م�� ک‬
‫��ل�ه�ا‬ ‫( �ا و��ل�ه�ا ؞ ک‬O wine-bearer, bring forth the cup and
put it onto my lips / the path of love seems easy at first but comes with hardship).

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210 Brigaglia
articulate his delirium. [These verses] are titled: ‘Delirium of a Drunkard, from
the Liquor (ḥumayyā) of Love of the Donor of what is Desired.’
[Prelude]
[i] My Beloved unveiled Himself to me in the shadow of darkness

and my heart like the daybreak shone forth
[ii] All my worries vanished from my witnessing of Him

I attained a joy which no sorrow can dilute
[iii] Oh beloved, by your kindness, grant

that I achieve (the ranks of ) those who came before me without difficulty
-----------
[1] I journeyed along the path of lovers until

I drunk of their brew and I got drunk
[2] Cup after cup did I drink,

But my thirst only grew the more I drunk
[3] This brew intoxicated me. Inebriated and drunk

I nearly died after a mere sip
[4] My friends failed to realize that I was drunk

For I never gained consciousness after that drunkenness
[5] So I drunk again, draught after draught

My bewilderement increased and I was annihilated
[6] I drowned in that drink and in it I persisted

Since I didn’t quench my thirst, I persisted
[7] If not for this drink, in reality, I would have been non-existent
And if not for this thirst for it, I would not have made any progress
[8] I entered the tavern of its sāqī and was

The drinking buddy of his companions before asking for a drink
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
via free access
[9] Then, their leader drew me close to him

And the drinking companions caroused with me, so I ascended
[10] I climbed to their heights, ascending

For that love omened well for me, and I lost my mind
[11] O sāqī, take pity and

Keep the drinks coming, as I’m not yet full
[12] Give me more of that drink, even if just a little bit

Or else, o sāqī, I will perish
[These verses] are concluded, as uttered by the tongue and written by the fin-
gers of Abū Bakr al-ʿAtīq al-Tijānī, may God be pleased with him and his ances-
tors. Penned by Muḥammad Garo, disciple of the author.
3 Delirium of a Drunkard: Commentary

The poem is a khamriyya in a classical style that is strongly reminiscent of Ibn
al-Fāriḍ’s. It is from the latter’s poems, with all probability, that our author
drew much of his inspiration. Atiƙu was not, however, an erudite academic
testing his skills in the imitation of classical poets for a purely literary plea-
sure, but an engaged Sufi who had a major role in promoting a branch of the
Tijāniyya that, as mentioned above, was mainly centred on Ibrāhīm Niasse’s
bold claim of being entrusted with an all-round revival of maʿrifa (knowledge
of reality) through a renewed method of tarbiya (spiritual training). The poem
does not appear in any collection of his writings published during his life, but
only in his posthumous dīwān. Although the author did not probably intend
this particular poem of his to be published, the theme fits so well with his over-
all public profile as an engaged twentieth-century Tijānī Sufi, that there is no
reason to consider it as an artificial exercise or as marginal to his larger literary
production.
The poem is preceded by a brief introduction in which the author frames
the verses that will follow within his experience of “drinking the liquor
of the Aḥmadian presence” (al-ḥaḍra al-aḥmadiyya). The Prophet’s name
Aḥmad (“the most-praised one”) is a reference to the inward reality (bāṭin) of
Muḥammad (“the much-praised one”). In this sense, the Prophet is fully known
as al-Aḥmad only to God, of whose name al-Aḥad (“the One”), Aḥmad is an
outward manifestation. In Tijānī practices, in particular, the Aḥmadian pres-
ence is also associated with a secret (sirr) of the Prophetic essence (ḥaqīqa)

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212 Brigaglia
that is transmitted to the awliyāʾ (God’s saints) and embodied in its most com-
plete form by Aḥmad al-Tijānī as the “Seal of Saints.” In the poem, the claim
of having tasted this reality is immediately adjusted by the humble statement
that the author did not authentically achieve this knowledge, for had he really
tasted it, his fanāʾ (annihilation) would have been so powerful that he would
not have found “a tongue to articulate his delirium.”
The introduction is followed by a three-verse prelude, in which the au-
thor alludes to his witnessing of a divine disclosure (tajallī) which creates
a state of eternal bliss (surūr) followed by a prayer to God to keep him in this
state (verses i-iii).
After the prelude, the actual poem begins with a reference to the Sufi prac-
tices of spiritual purification (the path of “lovers”, i.e. of the Sufis) that are to
be followed by the mystic in his journey, before reaching the point of intoxica-
tion once finally allowed to drink “of their brew” (verse 1), i.e. the brew of the
ʿārifūn, the “gnostics.”
Verse 2 contains a reference to the unlimited nature of the knowledge dis-
closed during the instantaneous achievement of maʿrifa, and to the fact that
contrary to a physical thirst, the spiritual thirst of the mystic cannot be satiat-
ed, for the object of this thirst is not subject to the laws of quantity. Thereafter,
verse 3 follows up with a reference to the spiritual “death” experienced in a
state of fanāʾ.
Verse 4 contains an interesting allusion to the station of baqāʾ (perma-
nence). This station is manifested in an apparent exterior sobriety (ṣaḥw) but
is, in fact, the sign of a more powerful form of intoxication (sukr) and the mark
of authenticity of the Sufi’s fanāʾ. The authentic baqāʾ, in fact, is not a return to
a previous condition of veiling, but the sign of the permanency of the condi-
tion of unveiling experienced during the first annihilation. An impermanent,
unstable fanāʾ is usually manifested in excessive ecstatic utterances, but is in
fact a weaker form of unveiling, as testified by the return to a condition of veil-
ing. The authentic baqāʾ, on the contrary, is nothing less than the permanence
in a state of annihilation, and it is precisely because it has become a perma-
nent condition, that it has lesser exterior signs. This is what the author means
when he says that, as he never returned to his previous condition (of unveil-
ing), his outward behaviour did not bear the apparent marks of his experi-
ence and his acquaintances could not detect his state. The emphasis on the
Tijāniyya being a malāmatī (from Ar. malām, “blame”) order, is an old topos in
the literature of the order. Here, however, the word is intended as a strategy to
dissimulate gnosis by keeping the outward appearance of an ordinary believer.
As explained by Seesemann:
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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In the Tijāniyya, the term does not refer to those who purposely attract
blame or abase themselves, but describes those who avoid blame through
discreetness. Hence, being a Malāmatī, understood as someone who con-
ceals a rank or mystical state, signifies the opposite of practicing taẓāhur,
publicly displaying ranks or secrets.70
In verse 5, the author alludes to a second fanāʾ that occurs without leaving
the previously achieved state of annihilation. In Ibrāhīm Niasse’s words, “the
knower of reality (al-ʿārif) for me (ʿindī) is someone who has been annihi-
lated (fanā) once in the essence (al-dhāt), two or three times in the attribute
(al-ṣifa), and once in the name (al-ism).”71 In Tijānī practices, the second fanāʾ
is the fanāʾ in the Muḥammadan reality and corresponds to the beginning of
the “descending arc” of spiritual realization, which follows the completion
of the “ascending arc” that had previously led the aspirant to his/her first an-
nihilation in the essence.72
Verse 6 contains another reference to the state of baqāʾ (“I drowned in that
drink and in it I persisted”), while verse 7 alludes to the ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya,
which is the presence (ḥaḍra) the Sufi tastes after his second fanāʾ. The ḥaqīqa
muḥammadiyya is the reason and the goal of all existence as well as the magnet
that pulls the spiritual aspirant in the path to ascent: “If not for this drink, in
70 Seesemann, The Divine Flood, 106. In this sense, the implications of the word malāmatī
as it is used in Tijānī literature are very different from those that one finds in the older
Qalandarī Sufi networks studied in Ahmet Karamustafa’s God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish
Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period, 1200–1550 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah
Press, 1994). From the point of view of spiritual psychology, in fact, acting in an unruly
way can easily turn, from an original strategy of self-purification through blame, into
a subtle trick of the nafs to attract people’s attention and create an aura of sainthood
around oneself. This is why in the Tijāniyya, the prototype of the perfect malāmatī is usu-
ally identified in the ʿārif bi-l-Lāh (knower of God) whose outward behaviour is undistin-
guishable from that of an average Muslim.
71 Ibrāhīm b. ʿAbdallāh al-Inyāsī [Niasse], Maqāmāt al-dīn al-thalāth (Kano: n.p., 1990).
Quoted and discussed in Seesemann, The Divine Flood, 67ff.
72 Here I borrow the language of René Guénon in his Perspectives on Initiation ([1946]
Sophia Perennis, 2004). The concept, however, is a much older one, as Sufis have often
seen the “two bows” mentioned by the Qur’an (53:9) in one of its most densely mystical
passages, as a reference to the journey (sayr) from creation to the Truth (min al-khalq ilā
al-Ḥaqq) and then, within the various articulations of the Truth’s theophany in the cos-
mos (tajalliyāt al-Ḥaqq). See, for example, [ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Qāshānī], Tafsīr Ibn ʿArabī
(Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, no date), 2:270–1.

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214 Brigaglia
reality, I would have been non-existent, and if not for this thirst for it, I would
not have made any progress.”
Verses 8–9 introduce another classical metaphor of the Sufi wine ode, that
of the sāqī or cupbearer (the Sufi master). The cupbearer here can be either a
reference to Ibrāhīm Niasse or to Aḥmad al-Tijānī. If the first is the case, “enter-
ing into the tavern of its sāqī ” would be an allusion to the author’s encounter
with and submission to the Senegalese Sufi, and/or to his trip to visit him in
Kaolack (Senegal). Similarly, “staying in the drinking buddy of his companions”
would be a specific reference to the tarbiya (spiritual training) at the hand of
the Senegalese along with his fellow Nigerian Tijānīs. Shehi Atiƙu, however,
was considered to be an accomplished ʿārif biʾl-lāh (gnostic) since before his
encounter with the Senegalese. Contrary to most of his peers from among
the Salgawa, his submission to Niasse was seen more as an acknowledgment
of the latter’s station than as a discipleship stricto sensu. Thus, the cupbearer
is, more probably, a reference to al-Tijānī and an allusion to the author’s jour-
ney in the latter’s ṭarīqa, while the “companions” refer to the various spiritual
masters of the order. In either case, the reference functions as a reminder to
the necessity of companionship (ṣuḥba) and spiritual discipleship (irāda) as a
precondition for the attainment of knowledge of reality (maʿrifa). A third pos-
sibility is that the sāqī is a reference to the Prophet, the “tavern” to the latter’s
ḥaḍra (spiritual presence), and the “companions” a generic reference to all the
gnostics among the Sufis.
Verse 10 (“I climbed to their heights”) alludes to the ascent (tarqiya) that
takes place, potentially ad infinitum, after the achievement of fanāʾ in God
which is the first goal of tarbiya. Though depending on the previous disciple-
ship and companionship, tarqiya can ultimately occur only as a consequence
of being “pulled up” (jadhb) by the spiritual energy (himma) of an accom-
plished master (“their leader drew me close to him […] so I ascended”).
Finally, verses 11–12 bring the qaṣīda to its conclusion with a dramatic invo-
cation to God, who is now the object of the sāqī (cupbearer) shifting metaphor,
to increase the author in spiritual knowledge (“Give me more of that drink […],
or else, o sāqī, I will perish”).
Poem (2): Asmāʾu, the Beautiful One
The second qaṣīda by Shehi Atiƙu here translated is a love poem (ghazal) in
Hausa. The poem is made of thirty-six verses rhyming in -ta, only half of which
were actually composed by Atiƙu. This poem, in fact, is a tashṭīr (lit. ‘halving’)
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
via free access
of an eighteen-verse composition originally written by another Kano scholar of

the Tijāniyya, Yaḥyā al-Naffāḥ (1898–1954).
Co-authorship is a frequent phenomenon in Sufi Arabic poetry,73 as well
as in the various prose genres of traditional Islamic religious literature.74 Re-
working an existing piece of writing is a way for an author to pay homage
to a scholar of a previous generation and revive his legacy, or, in the case of
living colleagues, to cement the relationship between the two. The most fre-
quent forms of co-authorship in prose are explanation (sharḥ), marginal com-
mentary (ḥāshiya), annotation (taʿlīq) and abridgment (mukhtaṣar). In verse
works, co-authorship usually takes the form of versifications (naẓm) of pre-
existing works in prose, as well as of takhmīs (rendering in pentastichs) and
tashṭīr (‘halving’) of pre-existing poems.
From the literary point of view, the tashṭīr technique is one of the most dif-
ficult ones. It consists in breaking up the verses of an existing poem by di-
viding the two hemistichs of each verse and composing two new matching
hemistichs that will be placed in between the now ‘broken’ ones, so that a new
couple of verses is created out of each verse of the original poem. In a poem
composed by using the tashṭīr technique, the two hemistichs of the first verse
of the original poem will become, respectively, the first hemistich of the first
verse and the second hemistich of the second verse of the new poem, and so
on. This technique is made possible by the fact that, according to the rules
of classical Arabic prosody, each verse is normally made of two hemistichs of
equal weight.
Before moving to the actual poem, a few words are necessary on Yaḥyā b.
Muḥammad al-Naffāḥ (1898–1954), the author of the original poem Atiƙu de-
cided to compose a tashṭīr of. The few existing works on Muslim scholarship
in Kano do not acknowledge the contribution of Yaḥyā al-Naffāḥ to the literary
history of the city. He is nowhere mentioned, for instance, in John Paden’s clas-
sical monograph on Islam in Kano, even if the latter is largely devoted to the
(literary and political) activities of the Kano Tijānīs.75 John Hunwick’s anno-
tated bibliography of Arabic literature in Africa mentions some of al-Naffāḥ’s
works, but creates a lot of confusion by listing them under the entries relative
73 Michael Frishkopf, “Authorship in Sufi Poetry,” Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics 23
(2003): 78–108.
74 Michele Petrone, “A note on authorship in al-Suyūṭī’s works: Observations on the ʿArf
al-wardī fī aḫbār al-Mahdī,” in Collectanea Islamica I, ed. Luca Melis and Mauro Nobili
(Rome: Aracne, 2013): 227–33.
75 John Paden, Religion and Political Culture.

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to three supposedly different authors (Yaḥyā b. Muḥammad al-Naffāḥ b. Ādam,

[no date]; Yaḥyā b. Muḥammad b. Muḥammad al-Naffāḥ, b. 1897, d. 1954; Yaḥyā
na-Galadima, fl. 1939). The three names, however, refer in fact to the same per-
son, for na-Galadima was actually one of the two Hausa nicknames Yaḥyā al-
Naffāḥ was known with (the other was na-Dawaki).
As the chief scribe in the court of the Kano emir Abdullahi Bayero (r. 1926–
54), al-Naffāḥ was more concerned with writing than with intensive teaching
(like Muḥammad Salga or Abubakar Atiƙu) or public preaching (like Nasiru
Kabara, Tijjani Usman or Sani Kafanga). This is probably the reason why his
name would never become as famous as those of any of the above. From oral
accounts,76 however, as well as from the quality of the works collected in his
published dīwān,77 one gets the impression that al-Naffāḥ was indeed one of
the most sophisticated Arabic (and Hausa) poets of his generation in Kano.
Born in the Sharfaɗi quarters of Kano, al-Naffāḥ originated from a Fulani
scholarly family of Borno. His father had migrated to Kano during the wars of
Rabeh (Rābīḥ al-Zubayr b. Faḍl Allāh, ca. 1842–1900).78 In Kano, Yaḥyā studied
with various scholars, including one Muḥammad Mai Hamila, from whom he
would be initiated in the Tijāniyya. He later became one of the closest pupils
of (Wālī) Sulaymān b. Ismāʿīl (1890–1939), with whom he reportedly used to
spend hours, in isolation on the Goron Dutse hill, studying the exegesis of the
Quran.79 Sulaymān, who was later appointed as the wālī (a sort of “person-
al counsellor,” a position close to that of chief minister) of the Emir of Kano
Abdullahi Bayero, was a key figure in facilitating the submission of the latter
to the spiritual authority of Ibrāhim Niasse, an event that would prepare the
grounds for the massive introduction of the Tijānī fayḍa in Nigeria.80 I have
not come across any definitive evidence confirming that al-Naffāḥ actually ac-
knowledged Ibrāhīm Niasse as ṣāḥib al-fayḍa and made tarbiya under him or
under any of his deputies. His name, however, would be kept in high regards
by the scholars of the fayḍa network. Atiƙu’s close friend and fellow promoter
of the fayḍa Sani Kafanga, for instance, wrote an elegy for him, in the form of
an acrostic poem in which the first letters of each verses, if joined, compose
76 Lawi Atiƙu, interview with author (Kano, 12 February 2014).

77 Nayl al-bughyā min intājāt al-shaykh Yaḥyā, edited by Muḥyī al-Dīn b. ʿAbdallāh al-Yassār
(Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, n.d.).
78 On the Rabeh wars, see Kyari Mohammed, Borno in the Rabih Years, 1893–1901: the Rise and
Crash of a Predatory State (Maiduguri: University of Maiduguri, 2006).
79 Muḥammad Aḥmad Madīḥ, “Fann al-madīḥ fī dīwān al-shaykh Yaḥyā al-Naffāḥ: Dirāsa
taḥlīliyya adabiyya” (MA thesis, Bayero University Kano, 2009), 18.
80 On Wālī Sulaymān, see Paden, Religion and Popular Culture, 83–4.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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the sentence Ashhadu anna sayyidanā wa-mawlānā Yaḥyā bin Muḥammad

walī Allāh ḥaqqan fa-sallim taslīman (I bear witness that our master and leader
Yaḥyā b. Muḥammad is truly a saint of God, and send salutations).
The poem here translated has never been published, at least as far as I know.
It is not included in any of the many publications of Shehi Atiƙu, nor in the
latter’s dīwān, nor in the dīwān of al-Naffāḥ. The document I have used for my
translation is a two-folio manuscript in the handwriting of the author of the
tashṭīr, coming from the latter’s private library.81 The manuscript is concluded
by a colophon that indicates 27 Rabīʿ al-awwal 1370 (5–6 January, 1951) as the
date of composition. At that time, al-Naffāḥ was still alive. It is therefore easy
to imagine that this tashṭīr must have been part of a private exchange between
the two authors. Perhaps, it was offered as a sort of personal literary homage
by Atiƙu to his relatively elder fellow scholar, or maybe, al-Naffāḥ had first sent
his own verses to his younger colleague, and the latter had responded with his
tashṭīr.
The poem is in Hausa ʿajamī (Arabic script Hausa). The language presents
mixed features of the dialects of Kano and Katsina, but on the whole, it is very
clear. As the use of Hausa boko (Latin script Hausa) is prevalent today as op-
posed to the time in which the poem was written, below I provide a translitera-
tion in Hausa boko for the use of the readers familiar with Hausa. In writing his
tashṭīr, Atiƙu kept the hemistichs originally written by al-Naffāḥ in brackets.
Similarly, in my transliteration and translation I use curly brackets to identify
al-Naffāḥ’s hemistichs. As it is normally the case in the Hausa qaṣīda tradi-
tion, this poem is occasionally interspersed with Arabic terms. Switching from
Hausa to Arabic allows Hausa authors of qaṣīda to draw from a wider lexical
choice, which helps fitting the metric pattern of the verse. In the Hausa trans-
literation below, Arabic terms like dalāl, fakhr, khayāl, and ṭayyāra are in ital-
ics, as opposed to Hausa loanwords of common use from Arabic, which are
not italicized. In the English translation, however, I have preferred to translate
them into English rather than keeping them in their original Arabic. In such a
way, even if the multilingual register that constitutes part of the charm of the
Hausa qaṣīda is lost, the meaning of the verse can be followed more clearly by
the English reader.
81 Access to this manuscript was graciously accorded, once again, by Lawi Atiƙu Sanka.

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Figure 4 The manuscript of Asmāʾu dhāt al-jamāl, p. 1.
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1 Asmāʾu dhāt al-jamāl: Transliteration
[1] {Asma’u dhāti ’l-jamāli, na yi begenta}

na so ganinta, na so in kusance ta
[2] Na ɗauka murya na kiraye ta

{ta ji ni ta yi dalāli, na ji shayinta}
[3] {Sanyi, zafi da kukawa da darawa}

murna da daɗi na rayi, du a ganinta
[4] Nisa, kusanci, akwai du in ka doshe ta

{ɗaci da zaƙi suna nan du ga halinta}
[5] {Ta sunkuyo ƙas, na ɗora rai ta tuma}

ta ƙara nisa garen, na rinƙa tsoronta
[6] Na ɗora binta da lallashi, ta tashi sama

{ta yi bis, na ɗau tammaha na daina hangenta}
[7] {Ba ta barina da yunwa ko ƙishi na ruwa}

ko kuwa tsiraici tufafi don ina sonta
[8] Komai na nema da gaugawa takan ba ni

{komai ya damen ga kaina shi ya dame ta}
[9] {Sai na shigo ta fita, kan na fito ta shiga}

kan na tsaya sai takan ruga da saurinta
[10] Kan na yi sauri ta dakanta, ta ce in shige

{kaddai mu sadu, mu gana can ga ɗakinta}
[11] {Tana da ƙaye da tashin kai, akwai fakhri}

gare ta, domin fa ta zarce sa’anninta
[12] Ta fi su kyawo da ko adabi da ko kirki

{akwai dalali, akwai jiji da kayinta}
[13] {Kishi gare ta, ana wobar fushinta kuba}

tana da duka da ɗauri in ka saɓe ta

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[14] Akwai kashedi da oda-oda, ‘yan uwa ku jiya

{tsaki, harara, gatse, zargi fa, ga mita}
[15] {Ko ka guje, ko’ana kai, ko’ana ka nufo}

tana ganinka, a don nisan hasashenta
[16] Du inda ka so ka ɓoye, ko’ana ka shiga

{tana gani, in ka duba sai khayāli-nta}
[17] {In kai gabas, yamma, ko kuwa waila ko ko kudu}

ko ma ka tashi ya tsunstu, du a hannunta
[18] Hau basukur, ko ka hau jirgi, ka hau babur

{in ka yi tunani, kana nan dai a mulkinta}
[19] {Ko ka nutsa ƙas ka milla, ko ka hau bisa can}

ko da a jirgi na ṭayyāra, bare mota
[20] Ko ka taɓo girgije, ko ka fice shi sama

{ka ɗaukaka can ka lula, du a tafinta}
[21] {In ta gwada ma akwai jinƙai, akwai luɗufi}

gare ta, in kuwa ta ƙi ma sai ta gardamta
[22] Ka tsorace ta, ka zam kiwonta ko da ya zam

{ta rairaya, so da kyauta ba misalinta fa}
[23] {Kyawonta na da yawa, wane wata! Haka na}

ita ta fi kyawon azurfa in ka narke ta
[24] Ita ta fi zinariya, ko sabuwar ƙira

{ta gota rana a haske, ta fi birbishinta}
[25] {Kyawonta ya mallake ni, sonta shi na riƙa}

hannu da firar haƙori, don in fifita
[26] Yabonta shi ne abincina, kaza shi ne

{dini gare ni, ku bar zargin ga begenta}
[27] {Don dai hijabinta ke shakku da wansu batu}

kowa ya gane ta ya yi hauka a dominta
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[28] Ta sanya bargo safifi ta rufe fuska

{da za ya kau sai a gaskata a ɗimauta}
[29] {Mai ƙauraren zuciya, mai ƙaurace jiki}

ko an musanyar watanki ba ni dubanta
[30] Wallahi ƙaurarki sado ce gare ni, kaza

{mikin da kan yi a raina ke ka maganta}
[31] {Masoyiyata, ki soye zuciyata da jiki}

komai kika yi mani, raina ba shi kirɓanta
[32] Ki dandaƙe min ƙasussana, ki zub da jini

{komai kike yi, a raina ya fi daidaita}
[33] {Mai sonki kin san shi, kin san ke kaɗai ya riƙa}
ba waiwaiyawa garas kuma babu jinkirta
[34] Ƙiblaski82 ce fa, shi ke ɗai ya fuskanta

{da ma ki yarda da shi, da ma ki lamunta}
[35] {Mai sonki ya san ki, mai son gaskiya ya faɗa}

ina kamarki, da wacce za ki daidaita!
[36] Shi ne ya sa na yi kirari na koma faɗa

{Asma’u dhāti ’l-jamāli nai begenta.}
2 Asmāʾu, the Beautiful: Translation
[1] {Asmāʾu the beautiful, I fell in love with her}

I desired to see her, I desired to come near her
[2] I raised my voice and called upon her

{She heard me and coqueted, and I wavered}
[3] {Cold and heat, tears and laughter}

Pleasure and bliss, all together upon seeing her
82 I read ƙiblas-ka (“your [masc.] qibla”) as an error for ƙiblas-ki (“your [fem.] qibla”).

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[4] If you move towards her, it’s distance and nearness

{Bitter and sweet, both at the same time}
[5] {She leaned down—but when I put my hope, she recoiled}

She departed from me, and I feared
[6] I went after her pleading compassion, but she flew away
{High up in the sky, and I thought I would not see her again}
[7] {But she did not leave me in hunger or thirst}

Or in nakedness, because of my love for her
[8] Everything I ask for she immediately gives

{Everything that worries me is a worry to her}
[9] {If I get in, she gets out—before I’m out, she’s in again}
Before I can stop, she has already run
[10] If I try to speed, she stays still and says “come”

{Lest we bump into each other in her room}
[11] {Superior and conceited, she’s full of pride}

She knows well that she’s above all her pals
[12] She’s more beautiful, courteous and chivalrous

{Majestic she is, and dignified}
[13] {But she’s jealous, so beware of her anger}

She scolds and chastises if you misbehave
[14] Beware: after a warning, she punishes

{Words, silences, gazes, motions: all warnings}
[15] {If you run away, anywhere you go or turn to}

She still sees you: how sharp is her eyesight
[16] Anywhere you hide, anywhere you move

{She sees, but you can only see her shadow}
[17] {Whether you go east or west, north or south}

Even if you fly like a bird, you’re always in her control
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[18] If you ride a bicycle, take a train or a motorbike

{Think and realize: you are never out of her dominion}
[19] {Whether you sink deep in the earth or you ascend}

Whether you are on an airplane, let alone a car
[20] If you touch the clouds or even pass beyond them

{If you ascend far, she’s still holding you in her palms}
[21] {When she wants, she shows compassion and kindness}

When she rejects, she makes your life impossible
[22] Be fearful of her and put yourself at her disposal83

{For when she gives, nobody is generous like her}
[23] {What a beauty, the moon is nothing in comparison}

She’s more precious than the purest of silver
[24] More valuable than the purest of gold

{She’s more luminous than the light of the sun.}
[25] {I’m under the spell of her beauty, I cling to her love}
With my hands and with my teeth,84 that I may succeed
[26] In praising her alone is my sustenance

{This is my religion, so don’t blame me for her love}
[27] {Because she’s veiled, some people have doubts}

But whoever sees her will become mad for her
[28] Her face is covered by a thick cloak

{If she were to remove it, everyone would believe and lose his mind}
[29] {You nourish the heart and you elude bodily senses}85
If I were given another in your place, I would not look at her
83 Lit., “become a pasture for her.”

84 Lit. “my canines.”
85 There is a nice alliteration here in the original between ƙaurare (“nourish”) and ƙaurace
(“elude”).

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[30] To me, your departure is like your coming

{You alone can cure the wound you have inflicted to my soul}
[31] {My beloved, fry up my heart and my flesh}

Whatever you do, my soul will not complain86
[32] Crush my bones into pieces, spill my blood

{Whatever you do, my soul will like more than anything}
[33] {You know your lover, you know you’re his only one}
He will not swerve, he will not falter away
[34] It is your qibla he aims at, you alone he looks at

{If only you were happy with him, if only you agreed!}
[35] {The one who loves you, knows you—then let the honest say}
“Who is like you, with whom can you be compared?”
[36] That’s why I have praised you and I say once again
{The Divine Names of Beauty, I yearned towards them}
27 Rabīʿ al-Awwal 1370 / 5–6 January 1951
3 Asmāʾu, the Beautiful: Commentary

The poem is built on a play of words between the Arabic personal name
Asmāʾu—which is of quite common use for girls in northern Nigeria—and
its literal meaning, “names.” Asmāʾu here can be seen as an ingenious literary
stratagem by Yaḥyā al-Naffāḥ to create a Nigerian counterpart of the Laylā that
we find in the Oriental ghazal. Like the girl name Laylā (lit. “night”) allows the
Oriental Sufi poets to play with the images of darkness and blindness as
the perfect metaphor for the unveiling of God’s innermost essence in the nega-
tion of everything else, Asmāʾu represents an allusion to the full theophany of
God’s essence in His names.
86 My translation of this word is only tentative. Kirɓa means to “pound”, “to stab” or “to beat”,
but in Katsina (where the author is from), it can also indicate “the restlessness of a well-
fed but insufficiently exercised horse” (George P. Bargery, A Hausa-English Dictionary and
English-Hausa Vocabulary, London: Oxford University Press, 1934, searchable online at
www.maguzawa.dyndns.ws/). I take the word in this last meaning, as the protests or the
complaints of an undisciplined horse for the beating inflicted by a rider.
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In the first line, the poet declares his passionate love for Asmā’u dhāt al-
jamāl, which can be translated both as “Asmāʾu, the Beautiful” and “the Names
of the Essence of Beauty” (or perhaps, with a little grammatical stretch, “the
Divine Names of Beauty”). The poem describes the Sufi’s irresistible attrac-
tion (jadhba) to the ḥaḍrat al-lāhūt, the presence or realm of cosmic existence
where the divine names are manifested in their fullest perfection. The author
introduces and concludes the poem with the same hemistich, Asmāʾu dhāt al-
jamāl na yi begenta. In my translation, I have decided to maintain the metaphor
unresolved in the beginning of the poem, where I translate this hemistich as
“Asmāʾu, the beautiful, I fell in love with her,” and to resolve it in the final verse,
where I translate it as “the Divine Names of Beauty, I yearned towards them.”
In verses 1–2, the poet starts with the image of himself calling upon a girl
after falling in love with her. In v. 2 the use of the term dalāl (“coquetry”) echoes
a verse in the dīwān of Ibn al-Fāriḍ:
‫ق أ‬ ّ ‫ت‬ ‫ً فأ أ‬
‫كا‬ ‫�ْ ف��ا �ل‬
� ‫ح��س ن� ��د � �ع��ط�ا‬
� ‫حك‬ � ‫كا ؞ و‬
� ‫�ذ‬
� ‫تِ��هْ د لا لا �� ن� ت� � �ه�ل �ل� ا‬
‫م‬
Be proud in your coquetry for you are worthy of it
And rule, for beauty has given you the command.87
Verses 3–4 describe the mixed emotions (“cold and heat, tears and laughter,”
“distance and nearness,” “bitter and sweet”) experienced by the lover in his
longing. For the reader who has already understood one of the central meta-
phors of the poem, this is an allusion to the ineffability of the divine essence as
the coincidentia oppositorum.
Thereafter, the description of the state of separation of the poet, as in the most
classical Arabo-Islamic odes, begins. Verse 5 contains an allusion to the con-
trasting feelings of fear (of being rejected) and hope (in the eventual union
with the beloved) that the lover experiences. The interplay of fear and hope,
however, is not only a trope of the classical love ode, but a typical aspect of the
descriptions of the first stages of the seeker in the Sufi path.88
87 The Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Fāriḍ, translated and annotated by A. J. Arberry (Dublin:
Emery Walker, 1956), 66. In this and in the following quotes, my translation is slightly
more literal and less poetic than Arberry’s.
88 Of the classical Sufi manuals, al-Qushayrī’s Risāla is the one that describes the path of
spiritual ascent more systematically as a movement between opposite stations. For the
section on fear and hope, see: Abū l-Qāsim al-Qushayrī, Sufi Book of Spiritual Ascent
(al-Risala al-Qushayriya), abridged translation by Rabia Harris, edited by Laleh Bakhtiar,
(Chicago: Kazi Publications, 1997), 51–68.

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Verses 6–8 describe the behaviour of the girl object of the poet’s longing
as an unpredictable fluctuation of proud conceit (“I went after her pleading
compassion, but she flew away”) and generous care (“everything I ask for she
immediately gives,” “everything that worries me is a worry to her”). This fluc-
tuation between opposite attitudes introduces the theme of the ambivalence
between the manifestation of divine jalāl (majesty) and divine jamāl (beauty),
another classical trope of the Islamic representation of God’s manifestation
through His names—and one that is strictly linked to the psychological fear/
hope dichotomy, of which it functions as the theological counterpart.
Verses 9–10 contain one of the most effective images of the poem, describ-
ing the ineffability of God’s ipseity lying beyond His names, through the very
physical (and somewhat comic) image of the girl running out of her room to
evade the sensual encounter with her suitor, while at the same time inviting
him to step in (“If I get in, she gets out—before I’m out, she’s in again / Before I
can stop, she has already run. If I try to speed up, she stays still and says “come” /
Lest we bump into each other in her room”).
Verses 11–12 insist on the pride vs courtesy, jalāl vs jamāl dichotomy,
while verses 13–14 powerfully introduce the theme of jealousy, anger and pun-
ishment: the only way to achieve union with this girl is to please her in all that
she requires; otherwise, the penalty of banishment and distance will befall on
the lover. The path of divine love Atiƙu and al-Naffāḥ are describing in this
poem—these verses remind the reader—is not for an aspirant who is unscru-
pulous in following the divine law. Asmāʾu is “beyond all her pals” because the
divine presence is beyond all other ḥaḍarāt (cosmic presences). She is easily
angered because the divine presence, if compared to other cosmic ḥaḍarāt like
the Muḥammadan presence, is essentially a presence of jalāl.
With verses 15–20, the poem partially resolves the tension of separation that
was central to the previous ones. Here, in fact, the object of the poet’s love is
described as all-seeing and omnipresent. This allows the authors to express
in powerful verses the paradox of the condition of the spiritual seeker, who is
running after an object (God) who in fact, by being beyond the limitations of
space, is already as near as He can possibly be. Particularly effective are verses
18–19, which emphasise God’s essence as omnipresent beyond the capacity
of modern means of transport like a bicycle, a train, a motorbike, an airplane
and a car to possibly escape its presence. At the time in which the poem was
composed, these means of transport still resonated among the Nigerian pub-
lic of the powerful allure of modernity in its early stages. By asserting God’s
transcendence over the illusionary impression that modern means of trans-
port can overcome the limitations of space, the author(s) remind their readers
that the spiritual states alluded to in the poem are universal conditions of the
human spirit and that they are not contingent on a specific time and place.
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Verses 21–24 return once again to the contrasting images of majesty and
beauty, while in verses 25–26, the lover emphatically declares his complete
commitment to his beloved. In verses 27–28, we find another of the most clas-
sical images of the Sufi ghazal, that of the veil (ḥijāb). It is only because Asmāʾu
is veiled that most people do not realize her true beauty; were she to remove
her veil, everyone would fall in love. Likewise, it is only because God cloaks His
essence in His theophanies (i.e., in creation) that most people remain indiffer-
ent to the spiritual call. Were He to remove His veils, everyone would lose his
intellect. Once again, Ibn al-Fāriḍ comes to mind:
ُ ‫ف ث ُ ّت أ �غْ تْ �غُ ّ ت غَ ّ �ة‬ ّ
‫ح��ج�� ب� �لو ��سر �ى ��ي �م��ل طر��ه ؞ � � ��ن��ه � ر ��ه ا �ل��ر �ع� ن� ا �ل��سر�ج‬
‫م‬
�
Veiled he is; if he were to walk in a darkness the like of his horse’s forelock
The bright-gleaming blaze would suffice for light, with no need for a
lantern89
Verses 29–32 contain some of the most beautiful images of the poem. Here the
lover, in an extreme attempt to win over the heart of his beloved, proclaims
his absolute passivity and abandonment to the latter’s will: “to me, your de-
parture is like you are coming;” “whatever you do, my soul will like more than
anything.” “Fry up my heart and my flesh,” “crush my bones into pieces, spill
my blood,” in particular, are verses whose powerful effect in the Hausa original
cannot be effectively rendered in English translation. These verses are reminis-
cent of the following ones from Ibn al-Fāriḍ’s dīwān:
ُ ّ�
‫ف‬
� ‫��ل ب��ه ج��ع�ل� ت� ��د ا‬
‫كا‬ ‫كا ن� ف��ه ا ئ�ت��لا ف� ؞ ب��ك جع‬ ‫ف ن‬
� � ‫وت�لا ��ي �إ‬
‫�ي‬
‫�خ�ت � ف �خ� �ت � � ن ف‬ ‫�ئ ف‬
� ‫� �ا‬
‫كا‬ � ‫و ب�م�ا � �ش� �� ت� ��ي �هوا ك ا ��بر ن�ي ؞ ��ا � ي��ا ر �ي م�ا‬
‫كا � �ي��ه ر �ض‬
And if in my ruin alone I may become your intimate

Then hasten my ruin, and let me be your ransom
With whatever you wish, test me in my passion

For in whatever pleases you, there is my choice.90
89
The Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Fāriḍ, 28.
90
The Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Fāriḍ, 66. Probably the most extreme and imaginative ex-
ample of a literary “prayer for illness” in an ascetic and mystical context, is to be found in
the Italian sonnet by the early Franciscan Jacopone da Todi (1230–1306). For an English
translation, see Leonard J. Bruce-Chwatt, “Jacopone da Todi’s Mystical Pathology,” British
Medical Journal, 285.6357 (1982): 1803–4. In the context of a Sufi ghazal, the images of the
beauty of the beloved soften the effect of the images of the illness and deprivation of the

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230 Brigaglia
‫ن ت ْ أ‬ ّ
�ِ‫�� ي��ك �م��بت��ه�ج‬
‫� ب�م�ا ي�ر �ض‬��
‫ح‬ �‫ع��ذ � ب�م�ا � �ش� ��ئ� ت� �غ ي��ر ا ��لب��ع�د �ع��ك ج‬
‫��د ؞ � و ف�ى م‬
‫ب‬
� َ‫ه‬
ُ ‫ق‬ ‫بٍ ن أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫خ‬ ‫ق‬ َ‫ت‬ ْ ‫ق‬ ‫خ �ذ ق �ة أ‬
�� ‫� �� ع�� ا ل�م‬ ‫و�� ب��ي�� م�ا � ب��ي�� م� ن ر�م� ؞ لا �ي��ر � ا �ل‬
�
�‫ح‬
�‫ب� �إ � ب ى لى � ج‬ ‫�ي‬ ٍ �
Torment me howsoever you wish, save with distance with you, and you
will find me
The most faithful of lovers, jubilant in whatever pleases you
And take any remnant spark of life you have left

There is no good in a love that spares the heart to survive.91
Thereafter, the poem is concluded by (1) a reaffirmation of the lover’s abso-

lute devotion; (2) an expression of consolation following the acknowledgment
that the beloved knows the pain of the lover (“you know your lover; you know
you’re his only one”); and (3) a reiteration of the initial hemistich, Asmāʾu
dhātiʾl-jamāli na yi begenta, that closes the full cycle of the poem by bringing it
back to its point of departure following a common devise of the classical Sufi
qaṣīda.92 In one of his studies on the Sufi qaṣīda in Arabic,93 Stefan Sperl has
identified a tripartite cycle as the typical thematic development of the Arabic
mystical poem. This tripartite cycle, observes Sperl, serves to give expression to
“a transformation of consciousness on the part of the poet which the listener
is invited to share and identify with.”94 It is to express the achievement of such
a transformation of consciousness that I have chosen to translate Asmāʾu as a
reference to a girl when it occurs at the beginning of the poem, and to the
divine names, when it is repeated in the closing verse.
The thematic structure of the mystical qaṣīda, continues Sperl, unfolds
from a beginning, which introduces the main motifs and grammatical pat-
terns; to a middle section, where a catharsis takes place; to an end, which “re-
sumes the key lexical terms and images introduced at the beginning, placing
them into a new, often contrasting context which expresses the end stage of
lover that are so dominant in Jacopone. One has to remember, however, that (without
prejudice to the sincerity and the harshness of Jacopone’s ascetic effort), there is a touch
of irony and parody in the extreme expressions of his sonnet that by way of paroxysm,
also achieves a similar, softening effect.
91 The Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Fāriḍ, 28.
92 See Arthur J. Arberry on Ibn al-Fāriḍ: ʿUmar b. ʿAlī b. Al-Fāriḍ, The Poem of the Way:
Translated into English Verse from the Arabic of Ibn al-Fāriḍ (London: E. Walker, 1952), 87.
93 Stefan Sperl, “Qasida Form and Mystic Path in 13th Century Egypt,” in Qasida poetry in
Islamic Asia and Africa (Leiden: Brill, 1996): 65–82.
94 Ibid., 65.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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the transformation achieved.”95 In al-Ḥallāj’s poems, in particular, concludes

Sperl, the three stages take the form of (1) a rupture address, (2) the pain of
separation and (3) the consolation because the beloved knows the condition
of the poet.96
A similar cyclical structure as the one observed by Sperl in al-Ḥallāj’s poetry,
can be seen in Asmāʾu dhāt al-jamāl too. Like al-Ḥallāj’s, our poem moves from
a rapturous address (verses 1–4), to the pain of separation (verses 5–14) to a
first, partial catharsis (verses 15–20). Like al-Ḥallāj’s celebrated precedents, our
qaṣīda moves “from the joys of union via a devastating experience of sepa-
ration to the realization that closeness can—and must—be maintained and
thereby expresses the transmutation of the mystic’s consciousness.”97 After
verse 20, however, the structure of our qaṣīda becomes somewhat less con-
ventional, as the various themes of the preceding section (rapture, separation,
closeness) are re-shuffled in an apparently chaotic way, thus creating a sudden
acceleration of the thematic rhythm that prepares for the final catharsis that
takes place in the closing hemistich.
Conclusion
The poems analysed in this article are original articulations of two of the most
classical genres of Oriental Sufi poetry in a context (West Africa) where the
khamriyya and the ghazal have never achieved the popularity they enjoyed
elsewhere in the Muslim world. The author(s) were well-known Tijānī Sufi
mystics and Arabic/Hausa literary virtuosos from Kano, but none of these
two poems was published during their lives. The fact that the Nigerian public
of the time was not accustomed with these genres and could have misunder-
stood the metaphors used by the authors is probably the main reasons behind
their choice to refrain from publishing them.
Poem (1), Delirium of a Drunkard, is the genuine expression of Atiƙu’s ex-
perience of fanāʾ (spiritual annihilation). Although it draws heavily on the
standard imagery of the classical khamriyya genre (probably mediated by the
author’s reading of Ibn al-Fāriḍ), the poem powerfully resonates of the author’s
personal experience and includes some allusions to the spiritual practices of
the Tijānī path. Poem (2), Asma‌ʾu, the Beautiful One, too, is dense with mystical
metaphors and rooted in the author’s knowledge and practice of Sufism. On
95 Ibid., 66.

96 Ibid., 69–70.
97 Ibid., 70.

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232 Brigaglia
the whole, however, the tone is somewhat more playful than dramatic, leaving
the reader with the overall impression that this composition is the fruit of a
decision by al-Naffāḥ and Atiƙu to “play” with the erotic imagery drawn from
their extensive reading of classical Islamic poetry, in order to produce a sort of
Hausa counterpart of the Oriental ghazal. This does not, however, undermine
the literary value of the poem, nor the genuineness of the spiritual experience
it resonates of.
Hadhayān al-shārib and Asmāʾu dhāt al-jamāl are powerful witnesses of the
cultural plasticity of the qaṣīda, “one of the most perfect art forms of pre-medi-
eval times,”98 both as a flexible literary form that is able to adapt to the various
languages that enter into contact with Arabic in the process of Islamization,
and as the vessel of the universal religious message of Islam as lived and taught
by Sufis.99
98 Salma K. Jayyusi, “The Persistence of the Qasida Form,” in Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia
and Africa, 1:1.
99 Sperl and Shackle’s collection of essays on Asian and African qaṣīdas contains many in-
sightful observations on the development of this most characteristic Arab literary form in
a variety of historical and cultural contexts. For an excellent overview of the local and the
global in the qaṣīda tradition of another major Nigerian area (the Yoruba-speaking south-
west), see Razaq D. Abubakre and Stefan Reichmuth, “Arabic Writing between Global
and Local Culture: Scholars and Poets in Yorubaland (Southwestern Nigeria),” Research
in African Literatures 28.3, Arabic Writing in Africa (1997): 183–209. See also Amidu Sanni,
“Oriental Pearls from Southern Nigeria: Arabic-Islamic Scholarship in Yorubaland: A Case
Study in Acculturation,” Islamic Studies 34.4 (1995): 427–50.
Studies 6 (2017) 190–232
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journal of Sufi Studies 6 (2017) 190–232

Sufi Poetry in Twentieth-Century Nigeria

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi 10.1163/22105956-12341302

Introduction: Arabic and ʿAjamī Poetry in West Africa

like to express my thankfulness to an anonymous reviewer of the Journal of Sufis Studies,

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ʿajamī (non-Arabic languages in Arabic script). As most of the Muslim scholars

6 Hunwick, “The Arabic Qasida of West Africa,” 84.

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Some Remarks on Madḥ Poetry in West Africa

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For what can I say, in praise of someone

Say whatever you want in praise of him, provided

Say: His servant, His friend, His beloved

He holds in his hand the divine light which

He is the essence of the essence of the Truth, His talisman

He is His oil, His niche, His lamp

He is His magnetic lodestone

The secret of theophany; the secret of the secret of his God

He is the straight path, Muhammad

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Here the inspiration is from the opening couplet of ʿAmra al-Khatʿamiyya’s

to me that the most outstanding quality of the poetry of Shaykh Ibrāhīm is

All my time, all my hours are devoted to his remembrance

Whoever thinks he can love the Prophet as much as I do

The tension between these two dimensions is reminiscent of the tension

29 Al-Kawlakhī, al-Dawāwīn al-sitt, 7–8.

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The Author and His Literary Works

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traditionally taught in the region: a more statically “traditionalist” attitude for

al-Qalansuwī (known as Shehu Mai Hula; ca. 1914–88)40 and Muḥammad

40 Ibid., 2:300.

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al-Nafaḥāt al-nāṣiriyya, Atiƙu wrote Taḥdhīr al-ʿiṣāba al-aḥmadiyya al-tijāniyya

49 Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:297–8.

verses;53 esoteric compositions containing complex allusions on how to ex-

Poem (1): Delirium of a Drunkard

My translation is based on a one-folio manuscript preserved in the library of

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Figure 2 The manuscript of Hadhayān al-shārib, p. 1.

Figure 3 The manuscript of Hadhayān al-shārib, p. 2.

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The poem is included in the author’s dīwān published by al-Amīn ʿUmar,62

1 Hadhayān al-Shārib: Arabic Text

2 Delirium of a Drunkard: Translation

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[i] My Beloved unveiled Himself to me in the shadow of darkness

[ii] All my worries vanished from my witnessing of Him

[iii] Oh beloved, by your kindness, grant

[1] I journeyed along the path of lovers until

[2] Cup after cup did I drink,

[3] This brew intoxicated me. Inebriated and drunk

[4] My friends failed to realize that I was drunk

[5] So I drunk again, draught after draught

[6] I drowned in that drink and in it I persisted

[8] I entered the tavern of its sāqī and was

[9] Then, their leader drew me close to him

[10] I climbed to their heights, ascending

[11] O sāqī, take pity and

[12] Give me more of that drink, even if just a little bit

3 Delirium of a Drunkard: Commentary

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6 Hunwick, “The Arabic Qasida of West Africa,” 84.

29 Al-Kawlakhī, al-Dawāwīn al-sitt, 7–8.

40 Ibid., 2:300.

49 Hunwick, Arabic Literature of Africa, 2:297–8.

76 Lawi Atiƙu, interview with author (Kano, 12 February 2014).