​Where I Come From

Many years ago, my grandmother’s brother kept her share of their father’s inheritance, a piece of land meant for both of them.

He built on it. Settled into it. Delayed her for years whenever she asked for what was rightfully hers.

But she did not argue endlessly.
She did not beg.

She brought out paper and pen.
She called witnesses, his wife, neighbors, family.
And she made him sign.

That part of the land was hers. And in time, he paid.

This is where I come from.

From a woman who understood that dignity is not loud, but it is firm.
From a lineage where justice is not wished for, it is claimed with clarity.

Behind her stood Hajiya Turai, my great great grandmother.
A woman of trade, of movement, of presence.

She moved between lands carrying both beauty and command.
Wealth, for her, was not just what she held, but what she understood.

My maternal great grandfather was the Liman of the Friday mosque in Katsina.
His father fought in World War II.

And then there was my grandfather.

A man who chose knowledge and became the embodiment of it.
His father served as a storekeeper to the Emir of Katsina. He himself rose to become a district officer during colonial rule in Nigeria.

He crowned kings across Nigeria.
He dined with British royalty.
He attended the University of Oxford.

But beyond titles, he was a man of integrity.

He advocated for his daughters.
He exposed them to knowledge across religions and cultures.
He never forced belief, only encouraged elevation.

He lived fully, socially, intellectually.
And when he retired, he did so without stain.

No corruption. No scandal. Only honor.

He died surrounded by his family.

To me, he is the definition of a man.

And then there is my mother.

Her life was not built on appointments. It was built on merit.

She began as a midwife in Katsina State.
She served in Nigeria under the Petroleum Special Trust Fund, led at the time by Muhammadu Buhari.

She worked on the frontlines, serving families and communities, before choosing to deepen her knowledge.

She moved to the United States.
She studied. She worked. She advocated for girls and women.

And she did not stop.

She continued her work with Nigerian organizations, advancing the health of families.
She went on to serve with the United Nations as a policy adviser, working across 23 countries in Southern and Eastern Africa.

Today, she serves as a consultant for the British government, contributing to partnerships with Nigeria.

There was no rush in her rise.
No shortcuts. No noise.

Just God ordering her steps.
Just quiet obedience to purpose.
Just alignment.

And then there is my father.

A journalist who traveled across Nigeria in pursuit of truth.
Who served as a State House correspondent during the administration of Ibrahim Babangida, reporting from Dodan Barracks.
Who worked briefly in the United Kingdom.
Who moved across the world as a storyteller, observing, documenting, understanding.

In time, he became a leader in his field.

Of course, I am not them.
But I am a part of them.

At four years old, my nickname was BBC.
And after university, my first job was with the BBC.

My first beat was as a health correspondent.

Somehow, without planning it, I became a merging of both my parents.

I do not know what the future holds.

But I will not rush my becoming.

As I live, as I grow, as I advance, I know this:

My path is guided by God.
And I will serve my country and the world with integrity, just as my family has done.

I carry them all.

The work of my mother was not given to her.
It was formed in her by her father.

And what is formed cannot be taken.

Her brothers carry him too.
But not in a way that diminishes her.

Lineage does not compete.
It continues.

I am Fulani.
I am from Katsina.

Do not let language or lifestyle confuse you.

Katsina women stand on business.

Not all lineages are the same.

Mine stands on truth.
On progress.
On service.
On integrity.
And above all, on a love for knowledge.

So what lives in me is not borrowed.

It is inherited.
In spirit.
In discipline.
In knowing.

And that kind of inheritance does not leave.

To know oneself is to understand who you are beyond what the world has called you.

Love always,

Fatima