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AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE: Between Destiny Fulfilled and Persistent Opposition in Zazzau – V (b)

  • Published on October 3, 2025
  • By U.S. Machika

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

Ambassador Ahmed Nuhu Bamalli

His Highness, the 19th Emir of Zazzau, Five Years On

Read Bamalli’s Fifth Year Anniversary Chronicles Here:

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – I

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – II

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – III

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – IV

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – V

 

 – Continued from –

AMADU, FIVE YEARS ON THE THRONE – V

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality.

The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of Chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

In practice, the Ordinance stripped the kingmakers of their decisive voice. Their carefully prepared lists could be accepted, rejected, or wholly substituted at the whim of the Governor. This was no administrative accident but the deliberate architecture of colonial power — a machinery designed to bend tradition to conquest, now disguised as legality. With the stroke of a pen, centuries of dynastic balance yielded to imperial fiat.'

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

It was within this creeping absolutism that a perceptive prince of the Mallawa dynasty, Alhaji Nuhu Bamalli, raised his alarm. In a letter dated 16th January 1950 to the Resident of Zaria, he posed a question that cut to the heart of the matter: had Zazzau already been refashioned into a mono-dynasty by colonial design? His protest, pointed and almost prophetic, gave voice to the anxieties of rival ruling houses now reduced to spectators, watching one lineage enthroned again and again under the shadow of conquest clothed in law.

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

It was based on Bamalli's bold move that gave Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto and Premier of Northern Nigeria, on the eve of independence, the foothold to intervene in 1959, to break the Bereberi monopoly. With the same legal instrument once wielded by the colonial state, the Sardauna rebalanced the scales of legitimacy, opening the gates of succession and installing Muhammadu Aminu of the Katsinawa dynasty. In doing so, he restored plurality to Zazzau’s fractured throne and underscored a paradox: the very law of conquest could also be turned against monopoly to reclaim a measure of justice.

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

Yet the law of conquest did not vanish with the Union Jack. It was not repealed but inherited — and adapted. The Northern Region carried it forward, amending the 1948 Chiefs (Appointment and Deposition) Law, later enshrined in Cap. 20, Laws of Northern Nigeria, 1963. In its provisions, the Governor retained the same supreme authority once claimed by the British. When Zazzau came under the newly created North Western State, it was this very law that enabled the Governor to appoint Dr. Shehu Idris as Emir in 1975.

The principle endured through each round of state creation. On 19th February 1981, Kaduna State revalidated the old order under KD.S. Law No. 1 of 1981, backdated to 1st December 1980. Only two years later it was strengthened again in KD.S. Law No. 11 of 1983 — the Chiefs (Appointment and Deposition) (Amendment) Law, 1983. Behind these layers of renumbering and revalidation lay a stubborn continuity: the DNA of conquest, still intact, still alive in statute.

It was this same law — dressed in local authority but descended from imperial conquest — that remained on the books when the storm of 2020 broke, and the 19th Emir of Zazzau was appointed. The past had not passed; it had merely changed its robes.

Thus, from 1902 to 2020, the thread remained unbroken: conquest disguised as legality, authority concentrated in the hands of governors, and the throne of Zazzau rendered perpetually vulnerable to forces outside its palace walls.

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

By this law of conquest, the sovereign prerogative of the Caliphate — the power to appoint and depose chiefs — was seized and reallocated to the British Crown. The High Commissioner and his Resident became arbiters of succession, wrapping their interventions in the borrowed robes of “custom” while wielding an unyielding veto. In Zazzau, this alien supremacy was first displayed with theatrical finality in 1903, when the dynasty of Mallam Aliyu was dethroned and the Resident enthroned his chosen heir. What centuries of dynastic rivalries and internecine struggles could not achieve, a single decree of colonial fiat accomplished: a rupture in the continuity of Zazzau kingship.

That rupture hardened into permanence through the ordinances that followed. The Native Authority Ordinance of 1916, and the statutory instruments that succeeded it, transformed conquest into jurisprudence, embedding British supremacy not merely in practice but in law. Where succession had once been a sacred negotiation among kingmakers, princes, and tradition, it was now hostage to the signature of men who neither spoke Hausa nor bowed to its customs. Zazzau royalty, once anchored in ancestral legitimacy, was redrawn on imperial terms — a dynasty suspended between heritage and hegemony.

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

Perhaps until the death of Mallam Ja’afaru, it remained uncertain whether Zazzau would continue under its quadruple-dynastic balance — shared among the Bereberi, Mallawa, Katsinawa, and Sullubawa — or shift into a hereditary monarchy dominated by a single house. That question the British answered — not by accident, but by deliberate design. By installing three Bereberi Emirs in succession, they tilted the scales towards monopoly, edging the emirate dangerously close to a mono-dynasty. From that decision flowed two tectonic shifts: the very definition of royalty was altered, and the throne itself was gradually recast as the inheritance of one house at the expense of the others. The fragile balance between king, kingmakers, and rival dynasties was irreversibly redrawn.

That redrawing still reverberates, not least in the storm that has defined Emir Amadu’s own accession. What marks his enthronement as unprecedented is not that it provoked opposition — crowns in Zazzau have always been contested — but that the opposition did not dissipate once the turban was tied. In earlier crises, dissent melted into reconciliation, or else was absorbed into palace structures. With Amadu, dissent hardened; it calcified into something enduring, almost institutional — expressed in legal challenges, political manoeuvres, and a steady undercurrent of public scepticism.

Thus, Amadu’s five years are not merely an anniversary; they are a crossroads. His reign is the story of destiny fulfilled yet legitimacy contested — a crown secured, yet shadowed still by dissent. For him, opposition is both peril and possibility: a threat to his authority, yet also a chance to turn resistance into reconciliation, division into unity, scepticism into loyalty, turmoil into transformation. And in this delicate balance, his record of unprecedented development stands out — the nurturing of human capital through expanded educational opportunities and empowerment initiatives; the transformation of the landscape through modern infrastructure, from roads and healthcare facilities to revitalised palaces and community centres; and the strengthening of social bonds through cultural revival, conflict mediation, and inclusive festivals that bridge divides. These achievements are both his shield and his trial: proof of vision on one hand, and a test of endurance on the other.

These successes in his reign will be remembered not as the mark of a monarch imposed, but of one who cemented his rule through vision and inclusiveness. In the theatre of Zazzau history — where conquest, law, and politics have long wrestled with providence — Emir Amadu now stands at centre stage.

Five years on, he is both symbol and paradox: the emblem of destiny fulfilled, yet the reminder of legitimacy contested. His challenge remains stark — to turn the crown from a trophy of conflict into a banner of unity and achievement. Yet in these five years, he has already shown that destiny was not only fulfilled, but secured.

From the jihad of 1808 to Lugard’s fiat in 1902, from colonial ordinances to state laws, the thread has never snapped: conquest has always clothed itself in legality, and the right to enthrone has always rested in the sovereign hand of power. In 2020, that sovereign was the Governor of Kaduna State, heir to the same authority once wielded by Caliphs, Residents, and Premiers.

The Native Authority Ordinance (No. 17 of 1943) marked the moment when conquest ceased to be mere practice and became law. With this statute, the Governor of Nigeria was vested with formal and unchallengeable power of appointment — a decisive legal instrument that enabled the colonial state to confirm, bypass, or impose rulers entirely at will. What had once been the raw prerogative of conquest was now clothed in statute, carrying the full weight of imperial legality. The genius — and the cruelty — of this measure lay in its permanence. The Law of Conquest, which had allowed the British to sideline Zazzau’s ancient succession rules, was no longer an occasional override; it was codified, amended in 1930, and entrenched through the Zaria Native Authority under the Ordinance of 1943. When it was officially gazetted in 1948, this statute came to be recognised across Northern Nigeria as the “Principal Law” governing the appointment and deposition of chiefs. For decades, it stood as the supreme instrument of succession — the iron framework by which colonial power reordered tradition and enthroned authority in its own image.

Ambassador Ahmed Nuhu Bamalli

His Highness, the 19th Emir of Zazzau, Five Years On

 

Thus, the appointment of Ambassador Ahmed Nuhu Bamalli was not an aberration but the latest chapter in a long tradition — an act carried out under the very law that has, for more than a century, defined succession in Zazzau. Whatever the whispers of kingmakers or the cries of rival dynasties, his coronation bore the full weight of history’s most enduring decree: that conquest, once transmuted into law, becomes the supreme arbiter of thrones.

Here lies the paradox of Emir Amadu’s reign: legally unassailable, yet politically contested; enthroned by right, yet shadowed by resistance. And it is upon this paradox that the next segment turns — to ask not how the crown was won, but how it is worn, and whether the weight of history can be transformed into the promise of unity. 

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