New Telegraph 
Since the middle of 2025, when rumours first began to circulate that Kano State Governor, Abba Kabir Yusuf, was contemplating standing away from the Kwankwasiyya Movement that brought him to power in 2023, many dismissed it with a wave of the hand.
Abba was not only the favourite godson of Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso; he shared a personal relationship with the former governor that dated back over four decades. Both men worked together as civil servants over 40 years ago and have been together all through Kwankwaso’s long political journey.
That bond was further cemented when Abba married into the Kwankwaso family, positioning himself as the political heir to the Jagora, the man who today commands the loyalty of millions of Kano’s commoners, the talakawa. It was a huge responsibility, but the pressure was immense.
Since becoming governor in 2023, the All Progressives Congress (APC), which controls the federal government, has mounted sustained pressure on him. At the same time, voices within Yusuf’s inner circle have repeatedly highlighted Kwankwaso’s overbearing influence and urged the governor to “run on his own steam.”
Thus, on January 23, 2026, the man popularly known as Abba Gida-Gida took the plunge. He abandoned the Kwankwasiyya Movement, severed ties with his long-time political benefactor, left the New Nigeria People’s Party (NNPP) on which platform he was elected governor, and joined the ruling APC.
He did not go alone. He crossed over with dozens of former Kwankwasiyya loyalists, all but four members of his State Executive Council, all members of the State House of Assembly, and all 44 local government chairmen. It was not the first time Kano witnessed a seismic political realignment—but it may well be the most controversial.
Beyond the tired argument of “taking Kano to the centre,” Yusuf has advanced no convincing justification for such a drastic move— one that threatens to define, and possibly derail, his entire political future. His party was not in any overwhelming crisis.
There was no ideological faceoff in the Aminu Kano/Rimi mold. There was no visible crack in his relationship with Kwankwaso that endangered his reelection prospects in 2027.
If one discounts persistent rumour that enormous financial inducements often accompany the defection of opposition governors into the APC, the only plausible explanation for Yusuf’s move is the lure of federal might. But federal might has never been the currency of Kano politics.
In some cases, it becomes antithetical to its ideals. Kano’s political culture is far more sophisticated. It thrives on a populist philosophy rooted in the protection of the talakawa.
It has historically been suspicious of power concentrated at the centre, especially when federal policies like those of the present administration led by Bola Ahmed Tinubu, are perceived as elitist rather than egalitarian. Rebellion in such circumstance, not conformity, has often been Kano’s political reflex.
For a politician who rose through the Kwankwasiyya Movement—a movement inspired by the radical populism of Mallam Aminu Kano, the undisputed champion of the common people—Yusuf’s defection is not just ironic; it is ideological apostasy. Little wonder many in Kano already regard his action as betrayal.
But, does a split with Kwankwaso mean a departure from Kano’s Progressive politics? To a large extent, yes. Over the years, there has always been one standout leader in Kano at any point and Kwankwaso presently wears the shoes.
Whether or not Yusuf continues to don the red cap that has become the symbolic attire for the progressive politics that Kano has always been associated with, is beside the point. Perhaps Yusuf failed to consult history. Had he done so, he might have recalled instances of men who abandoned their ideological roots and paid dearly for it.
Foremost among them is the cautionary tale of the charismatic governor of Kano State in the early 1980s, Muhammadu Abubakar Rimi.
Rimi fell out with his political mentor, Mallam Aminu Kano, during his first term over ideological differences, political strategy, and internal power struggles within the People’s Redemption Party (PRP).
The disagreement split the party into two factions. While Mallam Aminu retained the Tabo (traditional) wing, Rimi led the Santsi (radical) wing out of the PRP and into the Nigerian People’s Party (NPP).
And in an unprecedented move, Rimi resigned both from the PRP—the platform on which he was elected—and from office as governor, before contesting the 1983 election on a new platform.
The people of Kano interpreted his actions as principled independence, but they also interpreted it as betrayal. They responded with the harshest political punishment available: a crushing defeat at the hands of Alhaji Sabo Bakin Zuwo of the PRP in the 1983 election.
Rimi never recovered from that misadventure. Until his death in April 2010, his political career remained a shadow of what it once promised. His story has since become a standing reference point in Kano politics—invoked whenever ambition appears to eclipse loyalty to the talakawa and the political principles that define the state.
It should have been a lesson for Governor Abba Yusuf who didn’t even have as much principled conviction as Rimi did, to resign his office. Yusuf may yet believe that federal backing will shield him from a similar fate.
Maybe. Indeed, much will be done to cushion his landing in the APC and project his defection as beneficial to Kano.
The recent promise of the Kano Metroline project— purportedly valued at ₦1 trillion, despite its conspicuous absence from the federal budget of this year — is already being paraded as evidence of federal goodwill.
Federal power will also be deployed to neutralise any immediate political pressure from the NNPP. Just like the same federal power was deployed to neutralise his government’s recall of Emir Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, by propping up Sarki Bayero. But history suggests that Kano voters are not easily impressed by spectacle.
For a man who has spent decades in Kano politics, Yusuf should know this better than most people. In Kano, power may come from Abuja, but legitimacy comes from the talakawa. Yusuf has, indeed, gone full cycle, which makes his current gamble all the more puzzling. And perhaps, potentially perilous
