Month: January 2022

By Ishaq Habeeb 

So I made a rather lengthy comment on Prof. Farooq Kperogi’s Facebook post regarding Bola Ahmad Tinubu’s presidential candidacy. He thought it was an excellent observation and thus an independent write up. Here is part of what the comment entails: “Tinubu is too old, too inebriated, too corrupt, too unhealthy, too controversial and too unfit to lead a nation that had just survived a tsunami”. That was my first reaction to the news making the rounds on social media since Tinubu officially made his intention public to run for the office of the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria come 2023.

A week before Tinubu’s announcement, our Vice President, Prof. Yemi Osinbajo, declared his intention to run for the same office come 2023 and officially informed his principal to seek blessings as he intends to succeed him. My confusion here is: Mr Osinbajo’s declaration didn’t generate half the noise, Tinubu’s declaration is causing – although mainly in the negative. It makes me wonder, why are we all too focused solely on Tinubu? Everybody talking about what a terrible choice he’d be for the job, all attentions shifted away from Osibanjo.

Osinbanjo, Buhari’s VP since 2015, has never had any rift or imbroglio with his principal regarding the state of the nation. So now I put this to sleepy-eyed Nigerians: if Buhari is Pharaoh, doesn’t that make Osinbajo, the Vizier? Pharaoh’s Second-in-Command. That said, Osinbajo’s nonchalance to Buhari’s bad governance can only mean one of three (3) things:

1. That Osinbanjo is 100% with and actively part and parcel of the Buhari govt hence part to blame for the crass mismanagement of this country since they took over in 2015.

2. That he’s indifferent to the misruling and mismanagement of the country by his principal, so long as he remains the country’s VP and his family is safe and far away from the horrible effects of the bad governance, the Buhari regime – in which he’s the VP – has unleashed on Nigerians.

3. That he is not happy with the status quo but lacks the integrity and moral decency to do the pastoral thing and speak out against the ills or even step down, rather than feign indifference, watching the daily destruction of Nigeria and Nigerians by his principal, with himself, as second in charge.

Concluding thoughts…

Osinbajo is just as terrible as Tinubu for the job they’re eyeing, and Nigerians shouldn’t reject Taye but accept Kehinde. They’re two sides of the same coin. However, imperfect as they both are, if they’re the only two options, between the two, I’d rather go for the least, healthy, mentally and physically fit Osinbajo, over a sick, decrepitly-old, shady, and stinkingly-corrupt Tinubu. But thank God for multiple choices.

Ishaq Habeeb writes from Kano and can be reached via his Twitter handle @realishaqhabeeb.

By Hussaina Sufyan Ahmed

Forty-six days of Haneefah’s kidnapping ended in sorrow after she was today, Thursday, January 20, 2022, found dead with severe injuries in her body.

Haneefah Abubakar, a five-year-old girl, was abducted on November 4, 2021, on her way back from an Islamic school at Dakata quarters, Kano State.

The decry by some social media users during her kidnap was rampant as fliers were created to show support for the family in finding out about her whereabouts.

According to Haneefah’s uncle, Suraj Sulaiman: “The kidnapper took Haneefa to his wife, but she refused to hide her. He later decided to take her to Tudunwada where he operates a private school. First, he poisoned her tea with pesticide. Then, after she died, he buried her there.”

The kidnappers were apprehended yesterday, Wednesday, January 19, 2022, in Zaria, at their point to collect the second round of ransom after the initial 6million naira.

The news of Haneefa’s death has stirred a lot of reactions from people online and offline. People have been posting about it, sending condolences to Haneefah’s family and praying for immediate action against her killers.

Haneefah has since been buried according to Islamic rites.

May her gentle soul rest in peace.

By Ahmad Deedat Zakari

Bashir Ahmad, Personal Assistant to President Muhammadu Buhari on Digital and New Media, has completed a block of flats to serve as a centre for the learning of the Qur’an and Islamic literature in his hometown.

Mr Ahmad named the school after his late grandfather and announced it on Facebook.

He wrote, “Months after the foundation laying of a newly Islamiyya, established by my Foundation the Bashir Ahmad Foundation (BAF) in my hometown, Gaya LG, Kano State. I am glad to announce that works have been completed, and the school which is named after my late grandfather, Late Ishaq Ibrahim Model Tahfiz Qur’an, will be commissioned for [the] public in the coming weeks.”

By Salma Yakubu

I sat on a bench under a neem tree behind the Faculty of Education lecture hall. I stared emptily at nothing in particular.

‘Hey! Karima!’ My classmate, Siyama, snapped me out of my thoughts.

‘What are you thinking?’ She scowled as she sat down.

‘The test, I hadn’t studied well.’ I complained.

‘You should have studied enough. You know that lecturer is very tough, he wouldn’t hesitate to fail you. Plus, you are not so good in his course.’ She blamed me.

‘Shut up!’ I roared in anger while already in remorse.

‘I should have studied.’  I murmured to myself.

I was still nursing the pain when Aliyu, the class rep, walked up to us. Aliyu is a young and vibrant student of average height and in his early twenties.

‘Oh, you guys are here; I have been looking for you.’ He said.

‘What’s up?’ I held my breath to hear if it was about another test, assignment, or attendance.

‘Mr. Bashir, statistics, asked me to call you.’ He said. My heart skipped a beat.

‘Why?’ I asked before I sprang to my feet. ‘Did I do anything wrong?’ I enquired.

‘I don’t know. He only said I should call you.’ He replied. I turned to Siyama, who was also in awe.

‘Okay, Aliyu, I’m right behind you.’ I threw my stuff inside the bag and started walking. Siyama followed me.

Two lecturers were leaving as we got to Mr Bashir’s office door. Immediately the door closed back, I knocked.

‘Come in’, Mr Bashir responded. So Siyama and I entered the office.

‘Karima only,’ he said without looking at either of us. Siyama and I exchanged a glance as she slammed the door behind her.

‘Sit down,’ he pointed at a sofa across the room. I sat anxiously and clutched tightly to my bag.

‘You…called…for me…sir.’ I stammered.

‘Yes, Karima.’ He removed his spec, dusted it off and placed it in the spec case. ‘You failed my statistics test, do you know that?’ He furrowed.

‘Yes,’ I nodded. He sighed.

‘You score seven out of twenty points. This is going to affect your grade. How do you plan to stop that from happening?’ He focused his eyes on me. I lowered my gaze in silence. ‘Study harder for exams?’ He asked.

‘Yes,’ I mumbled.

He chuckled. ‘You lost thirteen marks. That’s too much. You are most likely to fail the exam.’ He leaned forward. ‘But you have nothing to worry about. I will help you.’ He then retracted. I breathe in relief. ‘You know Karima; we have an unfinished business.’ He gave me a flirty stare. I felt chunks in my throat.

The very day Mr Bashir introduced himself as the statistics lecturer was the day he invited me for lunch, and that was in the first semester. I turned him down. And we never talked about it again. I have forgotten or almost forgotten we had such an encounter. Even the following morning, when we met in school, he didn’t say a word to me.

‘Are you with me?’ He lurched me out.

‘Yes, sir’

‘I still like you,’ he walked over to where I sat. I swallowed hard as he leaned in. ‘Karima, you are  beautiful and smart, but statistics break your egos.’ He laughed devilishly. ‘ In your last result, you got “E”. Do you know what comes after an “E” grade?

I was dumbfounded.

“Fail.” He said as if that means a well-deserved medal of honour. ‘You might repeat the same course.’ He squirmed. ‘Aren’t you worried about not graduating with your classmates?’ I lowered my gaze again. ‘I’m not only going to help you pass the exam but also provide you with a private tutor.’ He dropped his contact card beside me and returned to his chair. ‘Think about it.’ He said and sat down. ‘Oh! My bad! What will I offer you?’ He snapped out.

‘Nothing, I’m okay. Thank you.’ I faked a smile, and thankfully, just then, my phone buzzed.

‘What is vibrating?’ He asked.

‘My phone.’

Before I could answer it, the phone hung.

‘My friend is calling. We’re going home.’ I told him.

‘Oh, I am sorry to have kept you here.’ He slid out three thousand Naira notes from his pocket and forwarded them to me. ‘Please, fare with this,” he said.

‘I have transport fare, thank you.’ Then, in astonishment, he said okay, and I left.

By the time I got home, it was past six o’clock. My Abba was sitting in the parlour, his attention on the television when I entered. I greeted him and headed to my room.

‘Karima,’ Abba called out. I stopped halfway. ‘I’ll like  to talk to you later.’

‘Okayyyyyyyyyyyy,’ I said.

After a cold shower, I sat on the bedside drawer, towelling myself. My phone buzzed inside the handbag. While I was trying to locate the phone, Mr Bashir’s contact card fell off. I picked the contact card up and plugged my phone into charging while I threw on a long multicoloured chiffon gown and went to Abba. His focus was no longer on the television but a book on his hands. Edge of politics, I read the book title as I sat on the fur carpet by his side.

‘How are studies?’ Abba asked while his eyes were still searching on the book. How can I tell him the truth? Aren’t that studies fine?

‘Study’s fine,’ I lied. He shoved the book aside and turned to me.

‘Karima, you are doing well in a lot of things, especially your education. I’m proud of you.’ I smiled. He continued. ‘I want you to do whatever it takes to graduate with good grades. Don’t worry about a job; I am making arrangements for that. I don’t want you to fail, never.’ He said in a mixture of advice and threat.

This is the problem with Abba; he hates any excuse for failure. Did he know my academic challenges? No, he doesn’t. He consistently gives fare, feeds and if there is any need to buy, he gives the money. Abba thought he must have covered the basic problems in my studies. When I told him once about my difficulty in statistics, he laughed it off, saying that I was mumbling because I wasn’t paying attention and also hated the course. It was not true.

I also told Abba about my coursemate, who was willing to tutor me freely, but he rejected the idea. I know he hated to hear me call a male my friend.

‘You see this male tutor? They are fake. They will drive you into falling in love with them and end up messing with you. In the end, you will lose both love and tutoring. The same with girls, too. Don’t be too close; else, you will end up homosexual. You are just 19. Have you ever imagined what your life would look like when you let a boy or girl a mess with you?’ He would say, and I would squirm.

Since my Abba doesn’t like close relations with the same or opposite gender other than Siyama, who was his friend’s daughter, everyone is either a university mate, department mate, neighbour and nothing special.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ His voice drew me back to our discussion.

‘Yes.’ I replied.

‘God bless you.’

‘Thank you, Abba. Can I join Umma in the kitchen?’

‘Yes, she’ll need you.’

‘Take this to your father.’ She served hot jollof rice and beans on a soleplate and arranged them on a tray.

I carried Abba’s food to the dining room, where he asked me to share the food with him. That was the most thing I derived joy from, eating with my father. I left the food halfway and told him I would observe Isha’i prayers.

I went to my room, performed ablution and observed my prayers. Still, on the prayer mat, I picked up a book from the bedside drawer to read; the thought of Abba’s words pinched me at heart. I nurse them deeply. My father might not be a rich Dad, but he was always on top of his responsibilities—a prestigious father. I would not want to either disappoint or do what he disapproved of me. But, the fear of statistics lingered at my heart and let blood flow on my face. I know or perhaps believe there is no way to pass the exam; worse, I scored so low on the test. Yet, my father saw the light and prospect in me, and I must keep that glittering.

Since I couldn’t disobey Abba to have a good tutor and Mr Bashir is offering to help me, I have no option but to take the first step. So I picked the card from my bedside drawer and typed the number on my phone. I managed to keep my breath steady and dial-up. It rang for few times before he answered.

‘Hello!’ I propped up. ‘Karima speaking.’ I listened to him ask which Karima, but he didn’t. Instead, he was awed.

‘How are you?’ He asked calmly.

‘Sir, I don’t want anything to delay my graduation, not even statistics.’ I mumbled. He chuckled and paused a bit.

‘Calm down. You shouldn’t fear. By the way, my birthday is tomorrow, and I’m inviting you. Will you come?’ He asked.

I mulled for a while before I answered him. ‘Yes’

‘I will send my address tomorrow.’ He said. I hung the phone and breathed in. By then, the sweat on my palms turned cold.

The following day, I woke up and, as usual, did chores. Then, I went to collect clothes from Umma’s tailor before  Kaduna’s hot sunset.

At 4 p.m., I sat in front of my mirror and applied cake powder, eye pencil and lip-gloss. Then wore a long black-stoned abaya and a yellow veil. Finally, I sprayed body perfume and picked my handbag.

I went to meet Umma, reading in her room.

‘Umma, I’m off to Siyama’s house.’ I said to her.

‘All this dressing for Siyama’s house?’ She asked. I knew she suspected nothing, but she always thought I sophisticated dressing for simple outings.

‘Siyama’s friend is having a birthday, so she invited me.’ She nodded and said, ‘Be careful. Return safely.’

‘Thank you, Umma.’ I smiled and left.

That is one thing my parents have for me: trust. They never question nor stop my outings. They believe I would never hurt them.

The cab drove me from Unguwan Rimi to Kigo road. We stopped at Balin hotel while I re-checked the address to ensure I was in the correct location. I brought out my phone and dialled Mr Bashir’s up.

‘I’m at Balin hotel.’ I said as he answered the phone.

‘I’m coming,’ he responded from the other end.

So, I paid and freed the tricycle rider.

After a few minutes of standing and clutching my handbag, a car hunk and stopped beside me, when I looked, it was Mr Bashir.

‘Salam Alaikum’, he greeted, winding the glass down. Without a word, I hurriedly sat in the car. I wouldn’t want anyone to recognize me, and thankfully, the car glass had a tint. He drove off to the end of the lane and cornered into the last street. It was two minutes drive into a three-bedroom flat. He parked the car at his garage, and we came out.

‘Welcome’, he said and led the way into the house. I was expecting to meet people, a lot of them. Thus, I arranged to shield myself to avoid running into somebody I knew.

‘Where are your guests? There isn’t seem to be anybody here.’ I rolled my eyeballs around.

‘On my birthday this year, I decide to invite only you.’ He smiled sheepishly. My heart skipped a beat.

‘Only me? No, I can’t stay with you in this building.’ I protested. He ended up reminding me of why I was there in the first place. My body chilled down instantly, and I followed him into the house. He walked me straight to the dining room. We sat down. Varieties of food and drinks were already served.

‘Is today truly your birthday?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘Yes,’ he replied without looking in my direction. ‘I only need both of us here. That’s why I invited only you.’

‘Happy birthday.’ I said.

‘Thank you. Shall we eat?’ He asked. I told him I was full, but he insisted I eat the food.

After the meal, I thanked him and stood to take my leave. I had expected him to see me out, but instead, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me to the sitting room.

‘I have something for you.’ He whispered. With his hands wrapped around my waist, lumps began to grow in my throat. One of his hands still held me while he used the other one to take a shopping bag from the centre table. We sat down while he unwrapped the stuff. It was a brand new phone, a wristwatch and shoes. I liked them, but I didn’t want to take them from him.

‘It is from my heart. You must go with them.’ He said. I had explained that my parent would kill me if I went home with the gifts. I started to leave, but he came behind and held me tightly. I went numb. Before I could bring myself to know what was happening, he threw me to the cushion and pinned me there. I tried to wriggle but couldn’t.

‘Stop!’ I barked, but he didn’t stop pulling my clothes.

When he finally loosened me, I ran home panting as if a dog chased me. Umma asked what was wrong, but I went to my room without a word. I could feel her eyes taking a step with me, but I cared less. I went straight to the bathroom, showered and lay on the bed.

‘Today, I broke my parent’s trust. I won’t be that same saint they had as a daughter.’ I wept the whole night.

I didn’t come out the following day, so Umma came to my room and asked why I hadn’t prepared for school. I quickly wiped my tears and sat up.

‘I can’t go for lectures today. My body aches; I have a fever, Umma.’ I explained even before she asked. She sat beside me on the bed and felt my temperature with the back of her hand.

‘Your temperature isn’t so bad. Anyway, get up and get some drugs and see if it subside, or else we go to the hospital. I’m going out right now.’ She dropped some money in my bedside drawer and left.

I breathed down in relief. It would be easy for Umma to decipher what was going on if I made any move. But, if she saw my gait, I’d be doomed because I haven’t been able to walk since I woke up that morning. My laps were sour and numb.

I could not talk to, text, or call Mr Bashir ever since the incident happened. And when he does, I never replied. 

A few weeks or about a month later, I  began to have itches around my lower abdomen. Then, it developed into a burning sensation, reddish rashes and lumps, and waist pain. Finally, it got worse that I couldn’t walk or urinate effortlessly without crying from the burning sensation. I told Umma about it.

‘How could you be so careless?’ She struck at me. ‘Let me see.’ She opened my legs, and I saw the situation by herself. She screamed out. ‘Is this what you have been living with?’

‘I’m sorry, Umma.’ I cried.

‘Let’s go to the hospital right now.’ She helped me walk down to her car and drive off.

We met a gynaecologist at the hospital. He immediately took a swap from me to the laboratory. After some time, he returned and asked Umma to follow him. Umma returned with tears. She sniffed and shook her head.

‘Umma, why are you crying?’ I asked.

‘Karima, you have gonorrhoea.’ She replied. My heart skipped a bit.

‘Mr. Bashir has finished me.’ I wailed.

Umma paused and faced me. ‘Who is Mr Bashir?’ She asked with curiosity. ‘What did you have with him?’

I narrated everything to her. I saw Umma weakened to her bones. But, even without a word from her, I knew she was pressing herself not to injure me.

‘Forgive me, Umma.’ I cried.

‘Where is he? Where is the dan iska [rascal]?’ She yelled.

‘He should be in the school.’ I said.

She stomped out of the ward.

By the time she came back, it was with my Abba. I almost peed on the bed. I threw my face away in shame.

‘Karima, I heard what you did.’ He turned his back to me. ‘I hope you know; I will never trust you?’ He said with all bitterness. ‘The so-called Mr Bashir whom you trust as your statistics god, the one who put you in this condition, has escaped my retribution.’

I was surprised but dared not ask him. Umma left the room as Abba set to say the final words. ‘He’s dead. The bastard is dead.’ He raged.

Cold ran down my spine.

‘What happen to him?’ I asked.

‘A tanker fell on his car yesterday as he was leaving the school.’ Abba said.

‘Noooooooo’ I screamed out. Abba’s heartbreak was boldly written in his eyes.

‘He can’t ruin me and die like that.’ I cried.

For the first time in my life, my parents were angry with me. Unfortunately, that would be the price for disobedience and too much fear. But, If Abba wasn’t too strict, I would have been tutored by my classmates, and things wouldn’t have been this way.

‘Abba, I was ready to do anything for you, to make you proud.’ I said while holding tightly unto his hand. That was when I saw tears roll down his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry, Karima. I cause this upon you.’ He held me, too.

‘Your exam is next week. I hope you will be able to read, okay?’ Abba said.

Salma Yakubu is the author of Behind The Moon. She can be reached via princessbeautynigeria111@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam Imam

A renowned political analyst, Prof. Kamilu Sani Fagge, the lead presenter in the Nigerian Guild of Editors Meeting held in Kano, has said that media play a vital role in consolidating democracy in Nigeria.

Citing historical examples, Prof. Fagge said that after Nigeria’s independence, media was at the forefront in any attempt to democratise the country.

Fagge spoke at the Tawn Hall Meeting of Guild Editors held at Tahir Guest Palace Hotel, Kano, on Wednesday, January 19, 2022.

The event, supported by the US Embassy, was themed: Agenda Setting For Sustainable Democratic Culture.

Owing to the press role of holding the government accountable, Prof. Kamilu stated that media serves to deter corruption. If the media is silent about corrupt officials, many issues will have been swept under the carpet. However, “If you don’t kill corruption, corruption will kill you!”

In his remark, The Emir of Kano, Alh. Aminu Ado Bayero has urged editors and journalists to avoid spreading fake news, which hampers democracy and threatens the unity of Nigeria.

Also commenting, Prof. Auwalu Nadudu emphasised that “media has been the tool and mechanism of sustaining and protecting democracy.”

Reporters and editors of various media organisations, including students of mass communication from Bayero University and Kano State Polytechnic, were among the event participants.

By Ahmad Deedat Zakari

President Muhammadu Buhari congratulates Super Eagles on their brilliant wins against Egypt, Sudan and Guinea Bissau at the ongoing African Cup of Nations in Cameroon.

The President took to his verified Facebook account to commend the victories of the Super Eagles and urged them to maintain the zeal in making Nigeria proud.

The President posted, “Congratulations to our Super Eagles on winning all their three games and advancing to the second round of the AFCON in grand style. “

The President also advised the players to be good ambassadors of their country on and off the pitch.

He also noted that Nigerians are looking forward to Super Eagles bringing the cup home and assured them of his unflinching support.

He wrote, “They are assured of my unflinching support as they soar like the Eagles that they are to write yet another brilliant chapter of the unfolding story of Nigerian football”

By Abdulkadir Salaudeen

If you don’t know the nature of Nigeria’s prebendal politics, Tinubu going to Buhari is a good case study. We should open our eyes; they have started again. The excruciating suffering of the masses is never their problem. How Aso Villa has become APC Secretariat calls for serious investigation. How it has become a wrestling or boxing ring where political gladiators—like Bola Ahmad Tinubu—declare their intention to wrestle for power is not clear to us. That is sycophancy or political prebendalism, which we window-dress as a political strategy. In the political permutations of an average Nigerian politician, voters’ votes do not count; they are as useless as nursery school certificates.

It irks me, pains me, and depresses me when I see Nigerian masses willing to commit suicide on behalf of politicians for crumbs. To say concern for the masses is the least on the agenda of Nigerian politicians is being diplomatic. Do they think of us in the least? We are as good as cannon fodder in the political battlefield where absolute powers are fiercely fought for.

One funny thing I read a few days ago triggered me to smile, though, sarcastically. The Buhari Support Organization (BSO) publicly and shamelessly expressed their dissatisfaction with the President they claimed had used and abandoned them—having worked hard for his victory. If you have any difficulty understanding what ‘use-and-dump’ means in the Nigerian political dictionary, no time to understand it now. In the coming 2023 election, let’s play our politics wisely and use our voters’ cards intelligently. Do not play into the hands of power-drunk politicians so that you don’t get yourselves mired in the phenomenal cobweb of ‘use and dump.’

As if we are in the season of meeting the President to declare intention, Gov. Dave Umahi of Ebonyi State made his visit too to Aso Rock immediately after Tinubu’s—the kingmaker and ‘father of all democrats’—who is old enough to be a grandpa of this nation. We should expect many such visits. In his comical reaction to Tinubu’s infantile visitation, Kingsley Moghalu, ADC presidential aspirant, tweeted that he forgot to inform the President that he is also running. Is Moghalu trying to be comical? I like that! Moghalu chose to tell the masses, who are much of his concern. I hope other contestants follow suit.

Two things interest me in Buhari’s honest confession in the recent interview he granted Channels TV. One is how torturous it is to work for six hours as an aged president, and two, at the end of the interview, he thanked the two interviewers for punishing him. Indeed, it is punishment to ask an older man who is already in his second childhood (a state of dotage) such brainteasing questions on fantastic corruption, unprecedentedly overwhelming insecurity, dying and nose-diving economy; all these happening under his nose.

Or how better does one put it? Perhaps the President does not know that all these are happening under his nose. Please, ‘dotage’ as used above should not be seen as disparaging. We all have old parents and grandparents, and we know how they behave, which is natural. Only a few people escape this state of dotage at their old age. It shouldn’t be seen as blaming the President for what he has no control over.

It will be political harakiri—for the President or Nigerian voters—to hand over Nigeria, at this critical time, to these official septuagenarians, who are probably octogenarians. A year ago, in my article titled ‘The Trumped Trump, the Triumphant Biden, and Our Old President’, I wrote, “One of the determinants of retirement age is life expectancy which is currently 55 in Nigeria. It is 79 in the United States. This implies that gerontocracy is very bad for Nigeria; it is not too bad for the United States. In other words, if you live beyond 55 years in Nigeria, you are lucky not to have died. You can see why it is wrong to elect old people for general leadership.” 

Tinubu’s meeting with the President on his presidential ambition seems to be a political miscalculation. Referring to the President, Tinubu’s statement that “he didn’t ask me not to attempt” is as good as saying “he didn’t ask him to attempt.” In another article published in September 2020 titled “Edo No Be Lagos: Crucifying Godfatherism and the Godfathers,” I wrote, “Though the Edo’s Tinubu’s misadventure is a major setback, he has been disgraced earlier in Kogi and Ondo states, respectively. He seems to be the proverbial lost dog who refuses to listen to the hunter’s whistle. He has big self-esteem, which has ballooned to a megalomaniac proportion. It is this megalomaniacally induced posture that cost him this much. I just hope he will stop nursing the ambition of being a president in Nigeria come 2023. Though it is his constitutional right to contest, wishing him good luck will be a waste of saliva. So, I will not waste mine.”

What should be our headache now is not even politics. But politicians know the best way to distract the suffering masses from their sufferings. This time, we shall not be distracted. Like Tinubu, let’s go and inform President Buhari that all is not well. Let’s inform him that Nigeria is crying while the North is bleeding. Let’s tell him that an older man like him, Saidu Faskari, behind his backyard in Daura, removed his house’s roofing sheet (to sell) to gather N100000 to ransom his kidnapped son. Mr President, this old man was initially kidnapped and ransomed only to have his son again kidnapped for ransom.

Your Excellency, Mr President, please, if you find it difficult—not because you are not willing—to wipe away Nigeria’s tears, and you cannot stop the bleeding in the North, you can at least reach out to this old man behind your backyard in Faskari Local Government of Katsina State.

As you match towards the end of your tenure, think of the legacy you may want to be reminded of. Please, anyone who feels discomfort after reading this article should please thank me for punishing them. May God help President Buhari.

Abdulkadir Salaudeen sent this article via salahuddeenabdulkadir@gmail.com.

By MMuhammad Sabiu

After allegedly being raped by an official of an International Non-Governmental Organization, Aisha Umar, a female Internally Displaced Person (IDP) in Borno State, took her life.

The victim, who was working menial tasks to make ends meet, was allegedly enticed to the suspect’s residence at 303 Housing Estate, near Dalori IDP camp in Maiduguri, on the pretence of cleaning it.

When she entered his flat, the suspect, Huzaif Adam, 35, was reported to have had forcible sexual intercourse with her.

The victim’s cries for aid drew neighbours to Adam’s flat, but he had already raped her, according to a source.

According to the source, the traumatized victim raced to Adam’s kitchen and picked up a knife, which she used to stab herself. She passed away at the hospital a short time afterwards.

The suspect was detained at Gwange Division of Borno Police Command after his arrest, according to a police officer who confirmed the incident to Daily Trust. He was later transferred to the State Criminal Investigation Department (SCID).

The officer was quoted as saying: “We arrested the perpetrator but he has now been transferred to the SCID. His case file is in Gwange Divisional of Police.”

“I was contacted via my office and I called Commissioner of Sport after. The incident happened around our Area 303/202 EFCC area. I saw the perpetrator and interviewed him, and also saw the corpse of the innocent girl at the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital (UMTH). It’s a really sad incident; justice should be served.

“The girl was crying and quoted as saying, ‘Why would you do this to me?’ Instead of bringing shame to my parents after deflowering me, I rather die than go home.”

By Hussaina Sufyan Ahmed

The Imam of Al-Furqan Mosque of Nassarawa G.R.A, Kano, Sheikh Dr Bashir Aliyu Umar, said that during a lecture at the Faculty of Arts and Environmental Sciences, Bayero University, Kano, today, January 19, 2022. 

Dr Bashir lectured on “Islamic perspective on the drivers and ways to mitigate global environmental change”. He further explained the basis of maintaining environmental cleanliness as Muslims, citing Quranic verses and hadith. 

He said: “Islam asserts itself as a universal religion – through reaching people, geographical spheres and historical applicability.”

The former chairman of Kano State Council of Ulama, Sheikh Ibrahim Khalil, was among other scholars who attended the event. He also contributed to the seminar.

He added, “The upholding of environmental protection and maintenance of one’s environment leads to healthy wellbeing and sanity. On the other hand, a lack of environmental protection and maintenance leads to sickness, irrational thinking and poor focus by the people around such environment.”

The lecture was part of the Talking Environment Seminar Series organised by the Faculty periodically.

Ahmadu Shehu, PhD.

As the trial of Mazi Nnamdi Kanu begins in Abuja today, the southeast region has been locked down for three days by the secessionists loyal to him. The infamous terrorist, whose platform for hate, terrorism and wanton killings of Nigerians in the southeast is IPOB, was re-arrested on June 27, 2021, thanks to the sheer wit, bravery and incisiveness of the Nigerian intelligence community and their global counterparts. Recall that the Nigerian government had obtained a court order which proscribed IPOB as a terrorist organisation, effectively making Kanu a terrorist leader.

For most people who had listened to the dullard’s hateful sermons, watched his videos or had any information about his activities, Kanu’s offences against the Nigerian state and humanity are not in doubt. Accordingly, his actions qualify as terrorism and treason in any lawful state in the world.

Thus, the Nigerian government shouldn’t have any problem prosecuting an obvious criminal whose activities do not need to be proven, for they are self-evident. Mazi should not be spared an inch for all discerning minds – including the responsible, law-abiding, patriotic Igbos who are actually the majority. That is for the best of our nation. Whatever Shekau deserved, Mazi deserves. They are both leaders of terrorist organisations. Nigeria should make this statement as loudly as thunder that no one can disunite this country at will. We are a nation of nations, not a tribal entity.   

But, the implications of Kanu’s monstrous crimes have gone beyond him and his terrorist organisation. It has become a matter of the Igbo people and the southeast. The fact is that the solidarity seen from the southeast raises serious questions on the allegiance and commitment of the Igbo leadership to the Nigerian state.

For instance, at his first trial, Kanu’s surety was a whole senator of the federal republic, Enyinnaya Abaribe representing Abia south district. After that, Kanu brazenly abused all his bail conditions, deliberately jumped bail and cowardly disappeared into thin air.

Given his unguarded utterances and declaration of war against the Nigerian state, the military tested its microphone, hoping that Kanu was the man he says he was. Not long after the beginning of operation python dance, the coward jumped the fence, crossed all rivers and jungles barefooted and found himself in the deep pit of his shit across the ocean, leaving his comrades at the mercy of their own evil.

Still, after the heroic re-arrest of this enemy of the state, some so-called Igbo leaders were quick to let the hell loose, antagonising everyone, calling this national glory all sort of names. They call it an abuse of human rights, unlawful arrest, marginalisation, blah blah. Not long after Kanu’s whereabouts were made public by the government, prominent Igbo socio-political leaders identified with him, making overtures for the release of the dreadful criminal.

The calls for the release of Kanu has become a daily breakfast in the Nigerian media. Igbo socio-cultural groups take to the streets and the media to demand the release of their “son”, who in their view committed no crime in all his atrocities against Nigerians and Nigeria. Indeed, there has never been a single voice against this rascal from the leadership of the southeast.

Then came one of the most shocking but solid backing and endorsement for IPOB’s terrorism when “highly respected Igbo greats” led by Chief Mbazulike Ameachi met President Muhammadu Buhari to demand the unconditional release of Nnamdi Kanu!

Forget the fact that there is nothing “great” in demanding the release of a terrorists’ leader; this singular event means that Igbo elders and leaders are unapologetically sympathetic to Kanu and his cause.

While sociocultural groups and individuals may be excused for this disastrous disposition, the governors and political appointees of the southeast are set to meet the President for the same purpose. For clarity, these are individuals in the highest political and administrative positions, who swore to obey and protect the constitution of the federal republic, who are paid, protected and maintained by the taxpayers’ money. However, they are now coming forward to blatantly stand for a proscribed individual who proclaims secession and calls for the destruction of the very country these officials swore to serve, respect and protect.

It is clear then that the social, cultural, religious, economic and political leadership of the southeast are solidly behind the release of Mr Kanu without trial. This translates to being sympathetic to the man and his cause, for no Nigerian in their right senses would wish the perpetrators of these criminal activities to go unpunished. In essence, all the sections of the Igbo society are either overtly or covertly sympathetic or even in support of Kanu and his terrorist organisation.

Standing behind Kanu and IPOB, and yet proclaiming patriotism and even serving under the Nigerian constitution is the highest level of hypocrisy. The rest of Nigeria should tell the southeast that they can’t eat their cake and have it. The idea that the southeast is yearning for an Igbo presidency when they fight the cause of a secessionist is dumb and highly unintelligent.

The southeast needs to maintain a stand and keep to a clearly defined lane. But, before anything else, let the rest of Nigeria know where they stand. And this is the right moment and the best opportunity to restate their commitment to a united Nigeria by allowing the law to take its course against the secessionists. Failure to do this tells Nigerians that Kanu is not too far from the rest of them. In that case, a Hausa adage ba a baiwa kura ajiyar nama [you don’t trust a hyena with your meat] comes in handy.

Dr. Ahmadu Shehu writes from Kaduna and can be reached on ahmadsheehu@gmail.com