By Usman Abdullahi Koli
So much you must have probably heard, read, or physically engaged with Comrade Abdulsalam Abdullahi Muhammad Koli. You may be amazed to know Abdulsalam as his name. You're about to read the story behind the unheard name and the life lived to earn ‘Bawan Lahi’ (Abdullahi), an eponymous name he carried to his grave. I know this not because I'm his son.
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| Comrade Abdulsalam Abdullahi Muhammad Koli |
Today, my father is no more. But I'm a proud son of the man who lived his life to hurt no one. The biography of the late Comrade is better written by those whose lives he impacted. As for me, I will tell you what you really do not know about him.
To start with his real name, Abdulsalam; this name marked his beginning and symbolized his identity from birth to his last breath. Abdullahi was given to him informally, but by affection and tradition. As the only son of his mother, Karima, and the only brother to his sister, Amina, he was popularly ‘Bawan Lahi’—a name that reflected love, protection, and a kind of spiritual closeness.
What began as a name used within the home gradually became the name that defined him outside, spreading to school, public life, and every space he entered. Until Abdullahi became the name the world held onto, while Abdulsalam remained quietly at the root, known only to a few who remembered where it all began.
The Cradle and Formation
Born in 1957 in Nasaru, in the Ningi Local Government Area of Bauchi State, he lost his father at a tender age. Life shifted in a way that demanded maturity before time. What could have broken many became the ground upon which he was built, as he grew under the strength of a mother who had no option but to endure and a sister who stood beside him with a quiet understanding of what had been lost. In that environment, survival was not discussed as hardship; it was lived as daily responsibility, and from those early years, he developed a way of facing life that would later define every stage he passed through.
He began his education with Qur’anic school in Nasaru and nearby villages before he became one of the pioneer pupils of Nasaru Primary School.
At one point, he delayed his education to support his mother and sister by engaging in whatever is called hustle these days, using his late father’s donkey to fetch firewood from the bush for sale and hawking water in clay pots to sell within the community. These were not choices made from comfort; they were decisions shaped by necessity, and even within that reality, his potential remained clear to those who observed him closely.
When some elders in the community suggested that he should remain in the village rather than continue with Western education, it could have easily marked the end of his academic journey, but his mother saw beyond that limitation and insisted that he must go further.
With very little provision and accompanied by friends who shared similar determination, he left Nasaru for Bauchi on foot, a journey that, even in its simplicity, reveals a level of resolve that cannot be taught, as it was not just a movement from one place to another, but a decision to refuse a future that had already been quietly assigned to him.
Upon stepping into Bauchi, he gained admission into Government Secondary School, Garu, where he completed his secondary education in the 1970s, and it was within that environment that another defining element of his identity emerged, this time not from character, but from circumstances that would later carry unexpected significance.
There were two students bearing the name Abdullahi Muhammad in his class, creating confusion in identification. To distinguish them, a teacher began asking questions about their backgrounds. When it came to my father, he explained that his father had been a trader dealing in items such as starch and bleach, a line of trade commonly associated at the time with the term ‘yan koli’, and from that explanation, the teacher chose “Koli” as the distinguishing name.
It was a simple decision made for convenience within a classroom, yet it followed him beyond that space, attaching itself to his identity in a way that would later become permanent, turning Abdullahi Muhammad into Abdullahi Muhammad Koli, a name that would come to carry recognition far beyond the circumstances in which it was formed.
Growing up, his acquaintances called him ‘Audu Raba’, of which the meaning was not symbolic or exaggerated, but rooted in lived experience that people around him witnessed consistently.
There are two accounts of how the name came about, and both are equally revealing. Some explained that he earned it because whatever he had rarely remained his alone. He developed the habit of giving to those around him without hesitation. Others traced this to his role in settling conflicts, as he would step into fights and physically separate those involved, prompting people to shout “ku raba su,” meaning separate them.
What is important is not which version is more accurate, but that both describe the same character—a young boy who could not hold onto what others needed and could not stand aside when people were tearing each other apart. In that combination, the foundation of the man he would become was already visible.
Education, Career, and Influence
He proceeded to Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, where he obtained both his ND and HND in Range Management and graduated in 1983, after which he served in Enugu State during his National Youth Service Corps in 1984-85.
From there, his working life began as a clerical assistant in the Ministry of Natural Resources before moving to Akko L. G. A. as a Range Area Officer, before he moved on to become a lecturer at the Bauchi State College of Agriculture. His role as a lecturer extended beyond the formal expectation of delivering academic content, as he approached teaching with a depth that influenced not only what students learned but how they thought.
Over time, many of those who passed through him went on to occupy positions of influence as deputy governors, senators, emirs, governors, and leaders across different sectors. What makes this even more significant is that his influence did not end within the walls of the classroom, as he became, in many ways, a lecturer without a classroom in the broader political space, where individuals who would later rise to positions of authority sought his guidance, not in structured lectures, but in conversations, reflections, and strategic discussions that shaped their understanding of leadership and governance.
In that informal but highly impactful role, he mentored and advised politicians across different levels, from those beginning their political journeys to those already established within the system, offering insights into electoral strategy, governance, and public responsibility. He understood how elections were won, but more importantly, he emphasized how power should be exercised in a way that served the people.
Many of those who currently occupy positions across the political landscape, whether in executive roles, legislative positions, or traditional institutions, have, at one point or another, sat with him, listened to him, and carried parts of his thinking into their decisions. He did not present himself as a public figure seeking recognition for this influence; rather, he operated quietly, often behind the scenes, ensuring that his contributions remained focused on outcomes rather than acknowledgment.
Unionism Struggle
He later joined the Bauchi State Ministry of Agriculture, where he served until he voluntarily retired as a Deputy Director, a decision that reflected not withdrawal from service, but a shift toward a different form of engagement that would allow him to operate more freely within the public space.
In 1999, with the return of democracy, civil servants in Bauchi identified a level of integrity and courage; he became the natural choice for leadership, and they pushed him forward as their congress leader, leading to his emergence as Chairman of the Nigeria Labour Congress in Bauchi State.
In that role, he became a central figure in the struggle for workers’ rights, engaging directly with authority in a manner that was firm, unyielding, and grounded in principle, as he confronted policies, challenged decisions, and advocated for fairness without adjusting his position to accommodate power.
During that period, he faced intimidation, threats, harassment, and even arrest, yet none of these altered his approach, as he maintained a consistent commitment to truth and justice that earned him both respect and resistance in equal measure.
His leadership within the labour movement left a lasting impression that continues to be referenced by those who experienced it, not as a nostalgic memory, but as a standard against which subsequent leadership is measured. It was within this same period that he was turbaned as ‘Sardaunan Nasaru’ and later honored as ‘Dan Amar din Ningi’, recognitions that reflected the trust and regard he had earned within his community and beyond.
After his time in labour leadership, his role within the public space expanded rather than diminished, as he became a consistent point of reference in political discourse across Bauchi State, engaging with leaders, advising on policy direction, and offering analysis that was both grounded and forward-looking.
From the era of Governor Ahmed Adamu Mu’azu to the current administration of Bala Mohammed, across changing administrations and political alignments, he remained a steady presence whose insights were sought by a wide range of individuals, including politicians, traditional rulers, students, activists, and members of the general public.
His understanding of political structures, combined with his insistence on accountability and transparency, positioned him as a voice that could not easily be ignored, even when it was uncomfortable to hear.
Political Adventure
He contested for the governorship under the SDP in 2015 and later appeared on the ballot in 2023 under APGA as Vice Presidential Candidate. Yet throughout these engagements, his conduct remained consistent with the values he had always upheld, as he did not approach politics as a means of personal advancement but as a platform for influencing direction and advocating for what he believed to be right.
What defined him more than any position he held was the way he lived among people, as our home became a space that extended beyond family to include individuals from different backgrounds, religions, and circumstances, all of whom found acceptance without condition.
Generosity without Identity
He was known for his generosity with no attention to ethnicity or religion. Sometimes for days, for months, and for years, my father accommodated Muslims, Christians, okada riders, and individuals who arrived with no prior connection but left as part of the household.
He did not create distinctions in how they were treated, as everyone shared the same space, the same food, and the same sense of belonging, reflecting a way of life that prioritized humanity over identity.
There are moments from that life that continue to define how I understand him, including the time when one of my brothers needed money for school registration and he had the amount ready, yet when another individual living with us requested assistance to travel due to a family emergency, he gave out the registration money without hesitation and asked his son to wait, a decision that, while difficult at the time, now stands as one of the clearest reflections his values.
‘Allah shi kyauta,’ a phrase that carried both acceptance and trust, and he lived in a way that balanced effort with reliance on a higher authority. One of the most defining moments I witnessed was when a former governor sent bags of money to him, an offer that many would have accepted without question, yet he asked what service he had rendered to deserve such an amount, and when no satisfactory answer was given, he rejected the money.
Shortly after, he asked for a small amount of money to purchase airtime because he had nothing, a contrast that continues to define him more clearly than any description could.
He was often described as ‘Zuhudu’, not because he lacked access to wealth, but because he chose not to be defined by it, allowing opportunities that did not align with his principles to pass without regret.
He spoke when necessary, and when he did, his words carried weight because they were grounded in understanding rather than assumption, and when he engaged in national issues, people listened across different levels because he articulated thoughts that many held but could not express clearly.
This Nasaru man carried himself with a presence that was both calm and commanding, marked by a consistent use of perfume, a distinctive smile, and a composure that reflected inner certainty rather than external pressure. He also possessed a level of foresight that allowed him to anticipate outcomes with remarkable accuracy, and even during his illness, he spoke openly about the possibility of its conclusion, a reality that we struggled to accept as we held onto hope through the months that followed.
The Curtain Falls
On Sunday, 29th March 2026, at about 10:53 pm, we stood by as his oxygen support ceased, marking the end of his physical presence among us, a moment that remains difficult to process, not because it was unexpected, but because of what it represented. Since then, accounts of his impact have continued to emerge, with individuals sharing stories of opportunities he created, support he provided, and lives he influenced in ways that were not previously known even to those closest to him.
He is survived by three wives, fourteen children, nine males and five females, over twenty grandchildren, and a wide network of individuals whose lives bear the imprint of his actions. Attempts to summarize him often return to words such as honesty, justice, and principle. Yet these words, while accurate, feel insufficient in capturing the full weight of how they were lived in his life.
This loss extends beyond the boundaries of family, touching communities and structures that benefited from his presence, as he was not simply part of society but one of the individuals whose quiet consistency contributed to its stability. Writing this as his son is both a responsibility and a challenge, as it requires balancing personal memory with public understanding, knowing that what he represented cannot be fully contained in either.
What remains clear, however, is that he lived in a way that ensured his impact would not end with him, as the lives he touched continue to reflect his values in ways that will persist beyond this moment.
Allah ya yi masa rahama. Allah ya sa Aljannah ta zama makomarsa. Allah ya ba mu hakurin rashin sa.