The autobiography of former military ruler Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida (IBB) has been widely scrutinized for its self-serving narratives, moral ambiguity, lack of sensitivity, excessive self-praise, and unflattering remarks about deceased colleagues.
While I won’t revisit those criticisms, my academic interest in the rhetoric of collective identity in Nigeria led me to examine how IBB defines his own identity in his memoir.
A Facebook user first piqued my curiosity with a post in February, summarizing the book’s narrative: “It’s a journey that begins with his origins, as the son of a Gbagyi woman, and leads up to the June 12 questions—the answers to which you’ll have to read to discover for yourself.”
In my February 15, 2020, column titled True Ethnic Origins of Nigeria’s Past Presidents and Heads of State, I noted that IBB’s ethnic background has long been a subject of debate. Over time, he has been described as Gbagyi (Gwari), Nupe, or even Yoruba from Ogbomoso or Osogbo. However, he has consistently stated that his paternal ancestors were Hausas from Kano who later migrated to what is now Niger State.
I was particularly interested in whether IBB acknowledged his maternal Gbagyi heritage. He did—but while he clearly identified his maternal lineage, he was notably vague about his paternal ancestry.
He describes his paternal grandfather’s origins as follows: “Snippets of details I heard suggested that earlier on, he was a bit of a wanderer, migrating from Sokoto to Kano and Kontagora and settling in Wushishi.”
In contrast, his maternal heritage is described with greater specificity: “Apparently, [my grandfather] met his future wife, a young Gwari girl called Halima, in Wushishi, and since his future parents-in-law would only allow him to marry their daughter if he agreed to make his home in Wushishi, he readily complied before settling down and marrying his pretty wife, Halima.”
IBB again reinforces his maternal identity by stating: “But before he left, my father met and married a beautiful light-skinned Gwari girl, Inna Aishatu, who would become my mother.”
Interestingly, he highlights the beauty and complexion of his maternal ancestors while omitting similar details about his grandfather and father. This raises questions: Was his father Hausa or Fulani? Given that Sokoto, where he traces his paternal roots, was historically inhabited by both ethnic groups, his omission leaves room for speculation.
Did he subtly hint at his paternal lineage by emphasizing his mother’s light complexion—possibly to distinguish himself from the stereotype of the darker-skinned Gbagyi and instead align with the light-skinned Fulani?
IBB previously told a biographer that his great-grandfather was from Kumuria (Kumurya?) in Kano State before moving to Sokoto. Yet, in his autobiography, he only mentions his grandfather’s migration from Sokoto to Kano and later Wushishi. Could this be a deliberate attempt to maintain ambiguity about his paternal heritage?
This identity dilemma appears to have shaped his experiences outside his home region. Up until age 23, when he returned from India as a Second Lieutenant, he was known simply as Ibrahim Badamasi (his father’s first name).
He explains why he later modified his name: “Before I settled down to work at the First Brigade, a particular incident led me to add ‘Babangida’ to my name. During official engagements that led to my deployment to Kaduna, officers who confused the Yoruba name, Gbadamosi, with my last name, ‘Badamasi,’ repeatedly asked me whether I was Yoruba. That question had come up a few times during my enlisting interview for the military. Since that question persisted (and since I knew I wasn’t Yoruba!), I decided to take on my father’s other name as my last name.”
This passage raises three points. First, IBB openly discusses his mother’s and paternal grandmother’s ethnic backgrounds but is notably silent on his father’s ethnicity while explicitly rejecting a Yoruba identity.
Second, he initially introduces his father in the book as Muhammad Badamasi, not Babangida Badamasi, raising questions about whether the latter was truly his father’s alternate name or a later addition.
Third, the assumption that Gbadamosi is a Yoruba name is not entirely accurate—it is the Yoruba adaptation of Badamasi, which is commonly found among Hausa-speaking Muslims in northern Nigeria.
The name Badamasi has an unclear origin, but some suggest it comes from an Arabic poet whose work is studied in traditional Islamic schools. While there is no scholarly confirmation of this claim, a 19th-century Muslim scholar and poet from Ilorin named Badamasi is known for his works used in Arabic instruction. Over time, Badamasi became Yorubanized as Gbadamosi and further anglicized to Badmus.
This reflects a broader trend in Nigeria, where Muslim names—despite their potential to transcend ethnic boundaries—can become markers of ethnicity. For instance, the name Tajudeen is often assumed to be Yoruba because it is more common among Yoruba Muslims than among Hausa-Fulani Muslims. This has led to speculation that Nigeria’s Speaker of the House, Tajudeen Abbas, has Yoruba ancestry, despite his Fulani heritage from Zaria.
Similarly, Dr. Raji Bello, a Fulani man from Yola, has been mistaken for Yoruba because Raji is commonly associated with Yoruba Muslims. Despite advice to change his name to Rabiu to avoid confusion, he chose to retain Raji in honor of an ancestor, a prominent 19th-century Muslim scholar from Adamawa named Modibbo Raji.
Finally, IBB describes his father as a “messenger/interpreter” in the colonial district office but does not specify what language he interpreted. Since his father had no formal education and did not speak English, it is possible he translated between Gbagyi (his mother’s language) and Hausa.
Ultimately, IBB’s autobiography leaves many unanswered questions about his paternal ancestry, suggesting a strategic ambiguity in how he presents his identity.
