THE first strikes in Dambe are thrown before the boxers even leave their house.
Fighters don charms and amulets, dye their fist or even score their arm with a razor, inserting traditional medicine before it scars over — all guaranteed to protect them in the ring or deliver a knock-out punch.
Combined with prayers from “mallams”, or spiritual guides, they are unstoppable — not just in Nigeria, but increasingly around the world.
The Dambe World Series kicked off in Abuja, the capital, on Saturday in the latest evolution of a sport that traces its roots back centuries among west Africa’s Hausa speakers.
“Instead of trying to Westernise it, or instead of trying to make it something else, for us the goal is to professionalise it,” said Maxwell Kalu, founder of the West African Fighting Championship, the group organising the tournament.
At the same time, a key goal is also “opening the door in terms of inviting people to compete in Nigeria”.
Held on the ground of the national stadium and broadcast by DAZN, a British sports streaming service, the tournament is a far cry from the social tradition said to have been organised by 10th-century Hausa butchers.
“This one is big, I’m very happy,” said Abdullahi “Coronavirus” Ali, a 20-year-old who has been fighting since he was a child. “The audience is growing every day.”
As Coronavirus — nicknamed so for his ferocious punches — spoke to AFP, two amateur fighters worked the ring behind him, in a pre-tournament exhibition match in Dei Dei, a working-class Abuja exurb.
Chickens pecked under the rickety wooden stands while cigarette smoke wafted above the crowd.
In Dambe, in lieu of a glove, the fighters each have one fist tightly bound in rope — their striking arm. The other hand reaches out, feeling the space between the opponents and looking for something to grab or parry before the fighting arm whips forward as if from a loaded spring.
Amid the blows, one fighter lost his balance and fell — a “kill”. The round was over.
Dambe might have once seemed destined to be confined to the margins in places like Dei Dei as Abuja’s elite paved over anything standing in the way of modern skyscrapers and highways.
Slowly, the government has taken more interest in preserving and promoting the sport, as have private groups like the WAFC.
With the advent of YouTube and Instagram, Dambe now attracts fans across the world, with one promoter telling BBC in 2017 that 60 percent of his viewers were from outside Nigeria.
The sport has also grown at home.
In 2018, a Dambe match in the southern city of Lagos drew in spectators curious about their northern countrymen’s pastime — and excited to see it in a proper stadium.
Earlier this month, athletes from across the continent descended on the megacity for the African Knockout Championship, a Western-style mixed martial arts tournament.
But Kalu envisions the opposite: foreigners making their way to witness a distinctively Nigerian way of fighting.
Professionalisation also brings the opportunity to bring in safety protocols and stable salaries to the otherwise unregulated combat sport.
“If I get married, I won’t allow my children to do it,” said Usman Abubakar, 20, his fist dyed a dark henna colour and arm replete with charmed scars, recalling an injury to the chest that saw him sit out for two years.
Saturday’s fighters will be competing to represent Nigeria in what is envisioned as a multi-stage, international series.
Last year, supported by the WAFC, British national Luke Leyland travelled from Liverpool to compete in a Dambe match — reportedly the first white fighter to ever do so.
He was “destroyed”, according to one local media report, though he wrote positively of the experience.
Nigerian fighters remain cool on the idea of sharing the spoils of victory.
Asked what would happen if non-Nigerians started competing, “Coronavirus”, Abubakar and a third fighter, Anas Hamisu, were all excited at the prospect of more people embracing their sport.
But they also all shared the same prediction: the Nigerians would win.