The state as wedding planner

He should be tall. Kind, of course. And generous, especially when it comes to buying all those little trinkets that a woman desires. "A little handsome", but not too much, Altine Abdullahi says. "It's a danger."

In northern Nigeria, it is a truth almost universally acknowledged that a woman of a certain age, and in a certain situation in life, must be in want of a husband. But if the woman in that certain situation is a divorcee or a widow, finding a husband isn't easy, even without the shopping list of desirable qualities ticked off by Abdullahi (a divorcee).

That is why 1,000 women have thrown their fates into the hands of the Kano state government, which will act as their matchmaker. The religious authority in the Muslim-dominated state, the Hisbah Board, has embarked on a massive husband hunt for divorcees and widows. The first 100 women, including Abdullahi, are to be wed in coming weeks.

She has no idea who her husband will be. But, like the practical character in a Jane Austen novel, she is no romantic. "I know love is something, but ..." she pauses wistfully. "Love doesn't really last."

Abdullahi, 44, preens like a fine, glossy bird, creaming her plump lips, powdering her face, fluttering her eyelashes girlishly. Her smiling face peers out from dozens of photographs decking the wall of her office, where she heads the organisation Voice of Widows, Divorcees and Orphans Association of Nigeria. Her skin is clear, her eyes bright, her silver bangles jangle happily, yet she complains that she looks "tired". "Beautiful? You should have seen me when I was young. Then I was beautiful."

The state-as-matchmaker plan came after Abdullahi made an emotional plea on Kano radio for husbands for desperate widows and divorcees. In Nigeria, women of marriageable age who remain single are seen as suspect, their respectability questioned. Throughout many parts of the Muslim world, divorced and widowed women are forced to go home to their fathers or brothers and are viewed as a burden and failures. Or they live on the edges of society. Sometimes the brother of a dead man will marry the widow and support her and her children. But many divorced women find it difficult to remarry.

In Kano, the state capital, there is a sense of crisis about the number of divorcees, although statistics aren't available to back widespread perceptions of an increase in failed marriages. The problem sharpened here after Kano state and 11 other predominantly Muslim states adopted Sharia between 1999 and 2001, allowing men to divorce unilaterally simply by thrice stating "I divorce you", an act that cannot be undone with a simple change of mind.

"With growing cases of divorce, the state has reached an unenviable record in the nation. In any social gathering and various forums, the most common discussion is the growing rate at which divorce is taking place," said a February article in the Nigerian newspaper Leadership.

In 2008, the government's religious Social Reorientation Programme, A Daidaita Sahu, meaning "straighten your lines" in the local Hausa language, urged men to be tolerant of trivial marital problems. One reason for the state's high divorce rate, the government found, was "the misapplication of power by men to divorce women". Many Kano men, who see obedience as an important wifely trait, don't want to marry divorcees, Abdullahi says. "Nobody comes to us. They say we are not disciplined," she says. "We challenge that. They're our men, and if they don't marry us, who will?"

The Hisbah Board is subjecting all applicants, male and female, to medical and HIV tests, and requires each to fill out a form, providing details of their social "status", education, likes and dislikes, and an outline of what he or she expects in a spouse. Husbands will pay a modest bride price, but no less than one gram of gold. The state will bear all wedding expenses.

About 2,000 men have applied to be screened as potential husbands. For men it looks like an affordable way to get hitched, with the bride price low, the trouble of haggling with the bride's parents averted and the wedding paid for. For the divorcees and the widows, the attraction is the protection offered by the board, which will make sure any future divorce isn't trivial.

Critics, such as writer Aisha Osori, argue that its flaw is in giving false hope of success in marriage to women when society's views of wives remain problematic. "Nothing has changed. Men have not changed, the state has not changed and the realities of the women — right where society wants them to be — have also not changed," Osori wrote in Leadership. "And so the cycle continues, with women in and out of the homes and beds of men who can discard them as quickly as it takes to say ‘talaq'."

Abdullahi recently met Ameenu Daurawa, head of the Hisbah Board, who promised to personally select the best available man for her. He had better find someone who appreciates a bold woman.

Abdullahi's outspoken ways have been controversial. In 2009 she planned a "million divorcee march" in the streets of Kano to protest the dire situation of divorcees and widows. Men — and women — condemned it. She was summoned by the Hisbah Board, forced to cancel the protest and had to promise never to talk about it. She was chastened but didn't give up fighting.

These days Abdullahi looks anything but downtrodden. She goes starry-eyed when listing the hoped-for qualities of her soon-to-be-found husband. "I want a husband who will get me anything I want. If he can take good care of me, I'll stick with him. If not, I'll find my own way."

But can she? The Hisbah Board's determination to save all but the most dire marriages may cut both ways. If she (or any of the women) doesn't like the board's version of Mr Right, she may be stuck.