The Sun Is Setting on the Red Cap Era: The Rise of the “Maliya” Momentum in Kano
For more than a decade, Kano’s political identity was inseparable from a single symbol: the red cap. The Kwankwasiyya movement did not merely win elections; it defined loyalty, belonging, and political relevance. But politics, like history, does not stand still. Across Kano today, a quiet but unmistakable shift is underway. The sun is gradually setting on the red cap era, and in its place is rising what many now call the “Maliya” momentum.
This change is not driven by sentiment or rebellion for its own sake. It is driven by a simple but powerful principle: service over symbolism.
The most visible sign of this transition is the growing wave of defections. Across wards and communities, thousands of former Kwankwasiyya loyalists are publicly discarding their red caps. This is not an act of anger; it is a statement of choice. Many are choosing a new political path they believe offers development, inclusion, and relevance within the mainstream of national power. In Kano, perception matters—but performance matters more.
At the heart of this movement is the Deputy President of the Senate, Senator Barau I. Jibrin, popularly known as Maliya. His rise represents a different kind of political appeal—one anchored less on personality cults and more on tangible outcomes. Scholarships for students, healthcare interventions for the vulnerable, infrastructural advocacy, and a strong voice in the National Assembly have combined to project him as a leader whose influence translates into real benefits for ordinary people.
This is what sets the “Barau factor” apart. He embodies the idea of a home-grown leader who understands local needs while effectively navigating the corridors of federal power. In a state where voters are increasingly measuring leadership by results, such positioning carries weight.
More importantly, Kano’s political narrative is evolving. The long-standing culture of godfatherism—where loyalty is demanded rather than earned—is being questioned. In its place, a new expectation is emerging: partnership. The electorate is signaling that political allegiance must be renewed through consistent empowerment, responsiveness, and visible impact, not merely through symbols or historical sentiment.
As 2027 approaches, the political architecture of Kano is being quietly but steadily rebuilt. The foundation of the Kwankwasiyya era, once unshakable, is showing visible cracks. At the same time, the “Maliya” structure is rising—resting on pillars of human development, access to federal opportunities, and a politics that prioritizes outcomes over optics.
Kano is evolving. Its people are more politically conscious, more demanding, and less sentimental than before. The red cap, once the undisputed crown in town, is now just one symbol among many in a rapidly changing landscape.
History reminds us that no political movement lasts forever. In Kano today, the message from the streets is clear: the future belongs to leadership that delivers, not just leadership that dazzles.
Kano is awake.
~Manus
