Isma’ila Galadanchi (1961-2024): Tribute to a kind mentor, By Hadiza Adamu Fika

His mentorship and instinct for protecting those under his guidance seemed to be built into his very nature

With a heavy heart, I write this tribute in memory of Isma’ila Galadanchi, a man who shaped my early career and guided me with kindness and wisdom, like a big brother. I first met him in 1999, when I began working at Intercity Bank in Wuse, Abuja. He was the branch manager at the time, but for me, he was more than just a boss. He took me under his wing, partly because of my elder sister, Hassana, whom he had also worked with at Allied Bank in Kaduna, and also because my family had known him for years, as my mother had been a customer at the same bank.

From the moment I started at Intercity Bank, he treated me with a unique blend of professionalism and familial care, always ensuring I felt supported in my new role. He went beyond the duties of a boss, embracing the role of a mentor, a protector, and a big brother.

His mentorship and instinct for protecting those under his guidance seemed to be built into his very nature. This wasn’t just something I experienced personally; many others attested to it as well—those who had the privilege of working with him at Allied Bank, including my sister Hassana, Mrs Sada, Mrs Khadijah Abdullahi, Malam Aliyu, Malam Mansour, and so many more. They, too, saw in him a man whose approach to leadership was rooted in compassion, wisdom, and a steadfast commitment to those he led.

He had a remarkable ability to balance authority with kindness, and though I wasn’t one to back down easily or shy away from speaking my mind, he understood me deeply. I’ve always believed in standing up for what was right, especially in the moment because I’m not one to be a pushover. For me, doing the right thing was non-negotiable. But Alhaji Isma’ila, with his wisdom, gently encouraged me to sometimes let things slide—not because he wanted me to compromise my values, but for the sake of peace.

He showed me that life is often about knowing when to assert yourself and when to maintain harmony. His authority was always tempered with kindness, and over time, he accepted that while I might never change my convictions, he respected my need to stay true to myself. That was part of his greatness as a leader—he didn’t impose his views but guided others with patience and understanding. He helped me grow not only as a professional but also as a person, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Alhaji Isma’ila leaves behind a wife and four children. Although I was never particularly close to his family, I’m sure they experienced the same love, care, and protection that he extended to everyone around him. His mentorship wasn’t confined to the office; it was part of who he was, a guiding force in every aspect of his life. I regret that I hadn’t communicated with him for a long time before reconnecting last year when he reached out after I lost my father in October. His gesture deeply touched me, reminding me of his thoughtfulness, even after all these years.

Our last meeting, though brief, left a lasting impact on me because it was a reminder of his thoughtfulness and warmth. In March of this year, while I was on the train from Kaduna to Abuja, I suddenly heard a voice that was unmistakably his. There was something distinct in the way he spoke, and I knew immediately it was him—Oga Galadanchi. I stood up, and sure enough, he was sitting just two rows behind me. We greeted each other warmly, and he asked after my sister Hassana, whom he had heard was ill but hadn’t been able to reach out to. He asked me to extend his best wishes to her, which I did. That brief encounter, filled with his characteristic care and concern, would be our last.

On the 18th of September, I noticed several missed calls from my friend Bilkisu. My heart sank, sensing something was wrong, though I didn’t know what. When I finally spoke to her, she told me that Oga Galadanchi had been admitted to 44 Hospital in Kaduna and that his condition wasn’t looking good. We prayed for him, and Bilkisu and I reminisced about the times we shared with him at Intercity Bank. Then, at exactly 6:10 pm, Bilkisu called again to tell me he had passed away. Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.

Every soul shall taste death, and no one will pass beyond the designated number of days Allah has prescribed for them on this earth. Yet, I never expected his death to affect me as deeply as it has. I realise now that I never truly said thank you to him—for looking out for me, for guiding me, and for being a steady presence in my life during such a formative time. I owe him more gratitude than words can express, and I hope that through my actions and care for others, I can pass on the kindness and protection he showed me.

Alhaji Isma’ila Galadanchi, thank you. Thank you for everything you did, not just for me, but for Bilkisu Abdulkarim, Fatimah Bello, Hafsat Sambo, Babangida Bakori, Yakubu Abdullahi Marafa, Halima Akaba, Yunusa Ja’afaru, Rabi Adamu, Musa Muhammed Bello and so many others who had the privilege of knowing you. You touched our lives in ways we will never forget. Your wisdom, kindness, and guidance will continue to inspire us.

May Allah (SWT) forgive his shortcomings and reward his good deeds with the highest place in Jannah. May Allah grant strength and peace to his family as they bear this immense loss. Aameen.