Opinion

‎‎By Maji Bappa Maina
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‎There are moments in a child’s education that do not appear on a school report.
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‎A child walks onto a stage.
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‎Hundreds of eyes turn towards them.
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‎A word is pronounced.
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‎For a few seconds, everything becomes quiet.
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‎Then the child speaks.
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‎That moment may last only seconds, but the confidence gained from it can last for years.
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‎This is one of the reasons the recently concluded 3rd Yobe Spelling Bee Competition deserves more attention than the applause surrounding the event.
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‎Students from across Yobe’s 17 Local Government Areas were brought together to learn, compete and test themselves in an environment beyond the ordinary classroom.
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‎They had to prepare.
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‎They had to listen.
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‎They had to think under pressure.
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‎And, most importantly, they had to stand up and believe that they could do it.
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‎That experience matters.
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‎A good education system should produce students who can remember what they have been taught. But it should also produce young people who are prepared to stand before others, express themselves and face challenges without fear.
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‎This is where programmes such as the Spelling Bee quietly contribute to educational development.
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‎They create healthy competition among schools.
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‎They encourage students to read beyond examinations.
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‎They give teachers another platform to identify talent.
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‎They expose young people to peers from different parts of the State.
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‎And they create memories that can shape how students see their own abilities.
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‎The wider significance is even more important for Yobe.
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‎A state cannot build its future entirely through physical infrastructure. It must also build the confidence, knowledge and capacity of the generation that will eventually inherit those structures.
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‎This is why the support of the Mai Mala Buni Administration for educational initiatives that bring young people forward deserves recognition.
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‎I also commend Dr. Mohammed Goje, Secretary to the State Government, and the organisers, teachers, schools and partners whose efforts helped bring the competition together.
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‎The real success of such a programme may not be measured only by the names of those who carried away prizes.
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‎It may be found in the student who discovered a new confidence.
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‎In the teacher who discovered a promising talent.
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‎In the child who returned home believing that perhaps the world is larger than he or she had imagined.
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‎Today, they are spelling words.
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‎Tomorrow, some of them may be spelling out new possibilities for Yobe.
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‎That is why supporting young minds is one of the quietest, and most consequential, ways of building a State.
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Maji Bappa Maina is a ‎Political Writer, PhD Researcher at ‎Voice of Development, Leadership & Public Insight.

By Usman Mujtaba Shehu

Out of Nigeria’s roughly 250 million people, more than 50 million are young people aged 16–35. This demographic fact is obvious, yet its implications remain insufficiently grasped—not only by policymakers, but by democracy itself.

Nigerian democracy now stands at a crossroads. On one side are the political actors who systematically extract from the system for private gain; on the other is the steadily eroding trust of citizens in the institutions meant to serve them. Free and fair elections have become as unreliable as the national power supply—intermittent at best, absent at worst. In one state a governor publicly praises INEC; in the neighbouring state the same institution is denounced after the next poll. The inconsistency is no longer surprising; it is structural.

It is against this backdrop that we approach the 2027 general elections. My particular concern with the youth is not abstract: I am one of them, and we constitute the single largest bloc of the population. Yet sheer numbers do not automatically translate into power. The Pareto principle still holds: although young people form the majority, only a committed minority among us will drive meaningful change on the issues that the most affect our generation.

Nigerian youth are entering another election cycle inside a political system deliberately structured to reward sycophancy over accountability. Beyond any single election, democracy itself remains under threat for as long as the integrity of the voters stays in doubt. How can a democracy endure—let alone thrive—when citizens lose the practical ability to decide who governs them?

How did we arrive here? The answer is as painful as it is multi-layered. Governance has been reduced to a competition to empty the public treasury. That treasury is funded by taxpayers and was meant to finance the infrastructure and services that improve ordinary lives. The predictable result is that more than half the country now lives in extreme poverty, including an entire generation of young people who feel they have nothing left to lose except their marginalisation and their poverty. A generation with almost no stake in the society they inhabit is a dangerous political reality.

Yet political apathy is not the answer. Young people must move from the sidelines onto the field—active participants rather than passive spectators. First, we must reaffirm our belief in democratic processes. This election cycle should command our attention and our planning. We must be prepared to rewrite the script; otherwise we cannot confront a political class that is corrupt, self-serving and skilled at manipulation. Until we confront what stands before us with conviction and sustained effort, electoral outcomes will continue to reflect the interests of the powerful rather than the choices of the people.

We should refuse to remain permanent victims of an imperfect democracy. Those among us who are educated and organised carry a particular responsibility to reach those who are not. A significant number of young Nigerians never attended school, dropped out early, or could not afford to continue. The out-of-school crisis is not confined to children; many young adults are also effectively unschooled. The roughly 20 percent of us with the resources, networks and education to act must treat this as a collective task. The issues are too urgent for half-measures, laziness or aloofness.

The task before us requires all hands on deck—including Musa in the North, who may sell sugarcane for a living, and Blessing in the South, who may be struggling to survive in an informal economy. Their economic circumstances should not make their political voices less important. If anything, those who bear the greatest burden of bad governance have the greatest stake in changing it.

Election Day should not simply be another day of political theatre. It should be a day when Nigerian youths exercise the power that democracy gives them: the power to choose who will govern them.

The 2027 election is a golden opportunity for young Nigerians to look beyond political class and elites and ask harder.  As Dr Usman Bugaje has put it, “2027 is a chance for the youths to take back their country”. We must come back to our senses and stop imitating the worst habits of the current political class and begin the harder work of replacing them. We must refuse to be manipulated.

The script can be changed—not through violence, thuggery or disorder, but through the quiet, decisive power of our votes. We have no reason to be afraid. With our numbers, they already know: we can.

Usman Mujtaba Shehu writes from Kano and can be reached via usmanmujtabashehu@gmail.com

By Lawan Bukar Maigana

There are people who go on leave to escape books, and there are people who go on leave only to escape the office. Then there is Kashim Shettima, for whom a leave without books may be like a library without shelves: technically possible, but fundamentally incomplete.

The two-week leave has awakened the bookism in him. After years of governance, meetings, memos, policy conversations and the endless grammar of public administration, one would imagine that a man might simply surrender himself to sleep, travel with his family to some Shangri-La den in Dubai, or disappear into the soft luxury of doing absolutely nothing. But Shettima has never appeared to be a man who considers idleness a convincing definition of rest. For him, perhaps, rest is simply another opportunity to read.

This is not a new discovery. I wrote in 2022 about Shettima as Nigeria’s Modern Day Philosopher-King, drawing from Plato’s idea that leadership and philosophy ought to meet in the same person. Looking back now, I realise that perhaps I was only describing one half of the equation. The philosopher needs a kingdom, yes, but the philosopher also needs books. And Shettima seems to understand that the quickest way to empty a philosopher is to deprive him of reading.

His relationship with books is almost personal. He does not merely read them; he appears to court them. There have been accounts of him browsing bookstores while travelling, moving from one section to another and recommending books to people around him. He has also been described as someone who would choose books over material prizes.

I once had a conversation about this unusual book obsession with Rukaiya el-Rufai, the National Coordinator of Nigeria’s Human Capital Development Programme. She told me something that stayed with me: when it comes to gifts, what impresses her boss the most is a good book. Her advice was simple: when you travel, buy him high-value books. According to her, such a gift can make him happier than a designer perfume.

That, in itself, is a fascinating portrait of a man. While some people measure affection by the price tag on a gift, the intellectual measures it by the depth of thought behind it. A perfume evaporates. A book lingers. A designer bottle may occupy a shelf, but a good book can occupy the mind. This may explain why Shettima’s leave does not seem to be a vacation from intellectual activity. It is more like an intellectual retreat. The office may have been left behind, but the books followed him. The files may have been closed, but the pages remained open.

And when he finally returns to work, we should perhaps prepare ourselves. The post-leave effect in governance may not simply be a refreshed Vice President. It may be a more heavily footnoted one. Every conversation may come with a reference. Every decision may acquire a historical context. Every policy discussion may suddenly develop a philosophical foundation. A simple question could receive an answer, a counterargument, a historical example and, if one is not careful, a brief literature review.

That is the bookism. But beneath the humour lies something serious. Leaders do not govern only with budgets, files and official briefings. They govern with ideas. And ideas, when properly cultivated, are often born from the discipline of reading.

Shettima’s book habit therefore tells us something beyond the man himself. It reminds us that governance should not be an intellectual desert. Public office should not terminate curiosity. Power should not become an excuse to stop learning. A leader who reads is constantly exposed to worlds beyond his immediate environment. He encounters ideas that challenge him, histories that humble him, failures that warn him and possibilities that expand his imagination.

Perhaps that is why, for Shettima, a two-week leave can still become a classroom. He may have left the office, but he never really left learning. And when he returns, the books will return with him, quietly packed into the vocabulary and ideas that will eventually find their way back into governance.

So, Nigerians, prepare yourselves. The Vice President is coming back from leave. And judging by his relationship with books, he cannot leave without reading. Therefore, he is returning not only refreshed but also armed with refined administrative and policy ideas that can help make Nigeria better.

Lawan Bukar Maigana is a media and communications specialist, development advocate, storyteller, and social change driver from Borno State, Nigeria. He can be reached via email at lawanbukarmaigana@gmail.com.

By Hussaini Aliyu Yero



Nigeria’s return to democratic rule in 1999 marked the beginning of the Fourth Republic and raised hopes for a political system in which citizens would have a greater voice in determining the country’s direction. More than two decades later, Nigerian democracy has survived several elections, changes of government and political crises. Yet an important question remains: what role have young Nigerians played in this democratic journey, and what role will they play in the 2027 general elections?

The answer is both encouraging and troubling.

Nigeria has a very large young population, and young people constitute a significant proportion of the electorate. In the 2023 general elections, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) recorded (37,060,399) registered voters between the ages of 18 and 34, representing 39.65 percent of the total registered electorate. This shows that Nigerian youths are not a marginal group in electoral politics. They are potentially one of the most powerful forces capable of influencing election outcomes.

However, numbers alone do not equal political power.

From 1999: Youths as Political Followers.
When democracy returned in 1999, young people participated mainly as voters, party supporters, campaign workers and mobilisers. Leadership positions, particularly at the highest levels of government and within major political parties, remained dominated by older politicians.

For many young Nigerians, politics was something to watch rather than something they could control. Political parties were structured around powerful individuals, political godfathers and established networks. Young people could mobilise crowds, but had limited influence over who became candidates.

This created a contradiction: young people were important during elections but were frequently sidelined when political decisions were being made.

The Growing Political Awareness of Nigerian Youths.
Over the years, this began to change. The growth of social media, increased access to information and frustration over unemployment, insecurity, corruption, poverty and poor governance encouraged more young Nigerians to become politically conscious.

Young Nigerians increasingly questioned traditional political structures, demanded accountability and used social media to organise and express opinions.

The August 2024
EndBadGovernance protests.  demonstrated this growing awareness. Nigerians, particularly young people, took to the streets across the country to protest economic hardship, rising living costs, hunger and poor governance.

The protests showed that citizens were increasingly willing to organise and demand accountability. They also proved that young Nigerians were no longer content to remain passive observers of government policies.

The Not Too Young to Run Movement
One of the most important developments in youth political participation was the Not Too Young To Run movement.

The movement contributed significantly to constitutional changes in (2018) that reduced the minimum age for elective offices. The presidential age was reduced from 40 to 35, while the minimum age for the House of Representatives and State Houses of Assembly was reduced from 30 to 25.

This reform removed a formal barrier to youth candidacy.

However, lowering the age requirement did not solve the larger problem. Young aspirants still face expensive nomination forms, high campaign costs, weak internal democracy, political godfatherism and lack of resources to compete.

The real question is no longer whether young Nigerians are legally old enough to contest. It is whether the political system is genuinely prepared to give them a fair opportunity to win.

The 2019 and 2023 Elections
The impact of Not Too Young To Run became visible in 2019 as youth candidacy increased.

But the 2023 election showed progress was not linear. Analysis by (YIAGA Africa) found youth candidacy declined from 34 percent in 2019 to 28.6 percent in 2023. Of the 15,336 candidates on the ballot in 2023, 4,398 were youth candidates.

This is a warning. While young Nigerians make up a huge part of the electorate, they remain underrepresented among candidates. There is still a gap between youths as voters and youths as leaders.

The 2023 election also showed the potential strength of the youth vote. Youths aged 18–34 were 39.65 percent of registered voters, while 76.56 percent  of newly registered voters during the 2021–2022 exercise were between 18 and 34.

The potential power of the youth vote is enormous.

Political Participation Beyond Voting
Political participation should not be defined only as voting.

Democracy requires more than collecting a Permanent Voter’s Card. Young people should participate in political parties, policy discussions, community leadership, election monitoring, campaigns, civic organisations and public debate. They should also demand accountability after elections.

A young Nigerian who votes but never questions public spending or participates in community decisions is exercising only one part of democratic citizenship.

The challenge is to move from being electoral numbers to becoming political stakeholders.

Looking Towards 2027
The 2027 general election presents another opportunity. By 2027, many first-time voters from 2019 and 2023 will have gained experience. The question is whether that will translate into greater participation and better leadership.

Young Nigerians should not wait until parties distribute campaign materials to get involved. They should begin now by studying parties, candidates, manifestos and asking tough questions about governance.

Most importantly, youths must resist being used as political thugs, crowd pullers or online attackers. Young people deserve to be decision-makers, not just tools for mobilisation.

What Must Change Before 2027
First, political parties must create genuine opportunities for young people to contest and influence party decisions.

Second,  the cost of participation must be reduced. Democracy is not inclusive when only the wealthy can afford forms and campaigns.

Third, young Nigerians must strengthen political education. Youth leadership must be built on competence, integrity and commitment to public service.

Fourth, young voters must reject vote buying. Selling a vote may bring temporary relief but leads to poor leadership.

Fifth, youths should look beyond personality politics. Candidates should be judged by competence, character, record and policies, not ethnicity, religion or social media popularity.

2027 and the Future of Nigerian Democracy
The 2027 election should not be just another contest between parties. It should be a chance for Nigerians to decide what kind of democracy they want.

For youths, the choice is critical. They can remain spectators who complain after elections, or become active participants who organise, contest, vote, monitor and demand accountability.

Since 1999, young people have moved from the margins to the centre of political discussion. Not Too Young To Run showed institutional change is possible. The 2023 registration figures showed numerical strength. Yet low youth representation shows more work is needed.

The challenge is to turn numerical strength into real political influence.

Conclusion
Nigerian democracy cannot be truly representative while the largest generation remains underrepresented in leadership.

From 1999 to 2027, youth participation has been marked by awakening, activism and growing consciousness. The next stage must be deeper: participation must become representation, and representation must become responsible leadership.

Nigerian youths should ask not only “Who will I vote for?” but also “Who will represent us? Who will make decisions for us? And what are we doing to become the leaders we want?”

The 2027 election will test Nigerian democracy. But the future of politics will be determined by what young Nigerians do before, during and after election day.

Nigeria’s youths are not merely leaders of tomorrow. They are citizens and stakeholders today. The future of Nigerian democracy depends on whether they choose to remain spectators or become active participants in shaping the country they will inherit

Hussaini Aliyu Yero can be reached via GSM:09061612465 or
hussainialiyuyero@gmail.com.

By Haladu Muhammad 

As a young Nigerian from the North-East, one issue that has deeply concerned me for over a decade is the widespread apathy among our youth toward the electoral process. When you engage young people from my region or across the country, many express scepticism, asking, “Why should I vote when votes aren’t counted? Why bother standing under the sun?”

They seem to forget the fundamental definition of democracy. As Abraham Lincoln famously stated, democracy is “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” It is anchored in the rule of law and guarantees us the freedom and civic right to cast our ballots, oversee the counting process, and await the legitimate results.

It saddens me that many young citizens overlook the power of their vote. They abandon their civic duty, claiming that enduring the elements to vote is pointless. My key message to everyone is simple: believe in the power of your participation.

Consider recent gubernatorial elections, such as the one in Osun State. When citizens turned out in large numbers, stood patiently in line despite the rain or heat, and ensured their votes were counted transparently, it proved that the system can work. Similarly, when voters in Zamfara State stood firm behind their preferred candidate in the 2023 election, their votes were reflected in the final outcome. 

If all Nigerians emulate this level of dedication, we can drive meaningful change across the nation.

This is why I continuously advocate for young Nigerians, especially those in the North, to register for and secure their Permanent Voter’s Cards (PVCs). As we approach the 2027 general elections, we must prepare to participate fully. You cannot sit comfortably at home, voice your preference for leadership, and yet refuse to engage in the democratic process required to elect them. Expecting change without participation is a major contradiction.

Consider this a wake-up call. To those who already hold a PVC, treat it as a vital instrument for your future. Your PVC acts like a master key or a bank card—it grants you the authority to elect leaders who align with your vision and vote out those who fail to deliver. It is a powerful tool for self-determination for every Nigerian.

I urge our youth to mobilise, ensure their voter registration is up to date, and prepare to vote in massive numbers in 2027. Let us use our collective voice to shape the future of our nation.

Haladu Muhammad is a Concerned Citizen of Nigeria. He wrote from Maiduguri.

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‎‎By Maji Bappa Maina
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‎Governments are often judged by what they build.
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‎But the more important question is what they are able to sustain.
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‎For Governor Mai Mala Buni, governance appears to extend beyond the boundaries of projects, institutions and even the state itself.
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‎His recent engagement in Chad provides another dimension to a governance philosophy shaped by continuity, institutional strengthening, peacebuilding, post-conflict recovery, regional cooperation and inclusive development.
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‎The report of his visit to Nigerian refugees in Kaya, Chad, may appear to be simply a humanitarian engagement. But viewed through the wider lens of governance, it represents something deeper.
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‎Governance does not end where a political boundary begins when the problems themselves cross that boundary.
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‎Insecurity does not recognise borders. Neither does displacement, climate pressure, trade or the movement of people.
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‎The Lake Chad region therefore requires more than individual government interventions. It requires institutions that can cooperate across borders and leadership capable of seeing the region as an interconnected system.
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‎This is where Governor Buni’s role as Chairman of the Lake Chad Basin Governors’ Forum becomes significant.
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‎His visit to the Nigerian refugees in Kaya was not merely about seeing displaced people. It was about listening to them, understanding their circumstances and discussing pathways towards sustainable solutions.
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‎When the refugees described him as the first Nigerian government official to visit them, the significance went beyond protocol.
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‎Presence itself became a form of governance.
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‎But the engagement did not stop at sympathy. The discussion around livelihoods, peaceful coexistence and voluntary return demonstrates an important principle of humanitarian governance: support should not merely sustain vulnerability; it should help people move towards dignity, productivity and resilience.
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‎The Governor’s engagement with the Chadian authorities and the Lake Chad Basin Commission further reinforces this approach.
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‎The emphasis on sustainable security, economic growth, institutional partnership and opening waterways reflects an understanding that the future of the Lake Chad region cannot be secured through security measures alone.
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‎Security creates the space for development.
‎Development strengthens stability.
‎Stability creates the conditions for peace to endure.
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‎This connects directly with the broader governance philosophy of the Buni Administration.
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‎A road is more than infrastructure when it connects communities and markets.
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‎Agricultural support is more than an intervention when it enables people to become producers and employers.
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‎And humanitarian assistance becomes more meaningful when it forms part of a pathway towards stability, livelihood and reintegration.
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‎In each case, development becomes an ecosystem rather than a collection of projects.
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‎Perhaps this is the deeper story behind the Buni Administration, not simply what has been constructed or commissioned, but the attempt to build systems capable of moving from recovery to stability, from stability to development, and from development to sustainability.
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‎The journey is neither instant nor complete.
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‎Governance is always a work in progress.
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‎But when leadership begins to think beyond individual projects and toward institutions, systems, communities and generations, development acquires something more valuable than visibility.
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‎It acquires continuity.
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‎And perhaps the strongest measure of leadership is not how loudly achievements are announced, but how quietly the systems created continue to improve people’s lives long after the announcement has ended.
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‎That is when governance becomes more than administration.
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‎It becomes a philosophy.
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‎Maji Bappa Maina is a ‎Political Writer, PhD Researcher, ‎Voice of Development, Leadership & Public Insight.

‎By Abashi Rahab

I recently read the report titled “Tackling Indiscriminate Dumping of Refuse in Lagos,”. The report highlighted Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu’s directive to intensify refuse collection across the state and drew attention to the persistent heaps of waste lining major roads and public spaces despite government efforts.

‎While the report focused on the operational and environmental dimensions of the refuse crisis, one aspect stood out to me more than any other: the growing acceptance of unhealthy conditions by many residents and traders who have become accustomed to living and working around overflowing waste dumps.

‎That, in my view, is the deeper problem.

‎The report captured the experiences of individuals who have gradually adapted to circumstances that should never be considered normal. One trader explained that whenever the stench from nearby refuse heaps became unbearable, people simply covered their noses with handkerchiefs or pieces of cloth until they could no longer tolerate the inconvenience. Another admitted that the waste negatively affected the food sold to customers but lamented that economic realities left little choice. Such testimonies are both revealing and disturbing. No citizen should be forced to choose between earning a livelihood and safeguarding personal health.

‎The refuse challenge confronting Lagos is far more than an environmental concern; it is a public health issue with serious implications. Uncollected waste attracts flies, rodents, and mosquitoes that spread diseases such as cholera, typhoid fever, and malaria. During the rainy season, blocked drainage channels often result in flooding, while stagnant water creates breeding grounds for disease-carrying insects. In addition, the decomposition of waste releases pollutants that can exacerbate respiratory illnesses and degrade air quality. Over time, poor waste management also contaminates soil and groundwater, creating environmental hazards that may persist for generations.

‎What makes the situation particularly frustrating is that many residents who wish to dispose of waste responsibly are often constrained by weaknesses within the waste management system itself. According to the report, some waste collection operators spend several days—and in some cases up to a week—waiting to dispose of refuse because disposal facilities are overstretched or difficult to access. In certain communities, designated waste collection points have either been removed or become inadequate, leaving residents with limited options. Traders who contribute regularly to waste disposal services still find themselves surrounded by accumulating refuse.

‎These realities suggest that the challenge extends beyond individual behaviour. They point to the need for stronger infrastructure, more efficient service delivery, and improved environmental governance. The Lagos State Government deserves recognition for acknowledging the problem and directing intensified refuse evacuation efforts. However, lasting progress will require sustained investment in waste management infrastructure, additional compactors and evacuation vehicles, expanded disposal facilities, accessible collection points, and stronger monitoring mechanisms to ensure consistency in service delivery.

‎Environmental sanitation should not be treated as an occasional intervention triggered by public outcry. It should be regarded as an essential public service that directly affects public health, economic productivity, and the overall quality of urban life.

‎At the same time, government action alone cannot solve the problem.

‎Citizens also have an important role to play in protecting the environment. The indiscriminate dumping of refuse in gutters, waterways, roadsides, and open spaces continues to undermine efforts to maintain a cleaner city. Public infrastructure cannot function effectively when residents disregard basic environmental responsibilities. Keeping Lagos clean begins with individual actions—in homes, markets, offices, schools, and neighbourhoods. Every resident has a duty to dispose of waste properly and contribute to a culture of environmental responsibility.

‎For decades, Lagos has struggled with the perception that it is overwhelmed by waste and poor sanitation. Yet this image is not irreversible. A cleaner, healthier, and more sustainable city is achievable if government institutions, businesses, communities, and residents work together toward a common objective. What must be resisted is the dangerous tendency to normalise unhealthy conditions simply because they have persisted for a long time.

‎Covering one’s nose to endure the smell of refuse should never become a way of life. Living and working beside mountains of waste should never be accepted as normal. When citizens begin to adjust to environmental conditions that threaten their health and dignity, society risks losing the urgency needed to demand and sustain meaningful change.

‎A clean environment is not a luxury; it is a necessity. Every pile of uncollected refuse poses a potential health hazard, while every effort to manage waste responsibly contributes to a safer, more livable community. If Lagos is to become the cleaner and more resilient city its residents deserve, the solution must involve both stronger government action and greater public responsibility.

‎Only through such a shared commitment can the state effectively address its waste management challenges and ensure that future generations inherit a healthier environment.

Abashi Rahab is a Strategic Communication student at Yakubu Gowon University and an intern at Image Merchants Promotion Limited (IMPR). She can be reached at abashirahab@gmail.com.

By Dr Kabir Asgar

Nobody disputes that students in a university environment need to participate in sports, recreation, cultural activities, social interaction, and entrepreneurship. In fact, our great Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), Zaria, itself presents holistic student development as part of its mission.

This relatively new yet popular ABU-SRC Cultural Carnival has now become a regular fixture on the calendar for every Second Semester at ABU Zaria. Looking at its popularity, the attention it’s getting from all stakeholders, and the distraction it creates, I cannot help but ask: could the timing, scale and intensity of this event be one of the factors that compete with students’ academic concentration and, perhaps, contribute in some measure to the challenges we sometimes observe in undergraduate examination performance?

Let’s think about the amount of energy, time and resources students put into their weeks-long intensive preparations for the carnival, as well as the money spent on costumes, transportation, rehearsals, entertainment and other logistics. For many students, the excitement surrounding the event inevitably competes for their attention with lectures, laboratory work, assignments, projects, and examination preparation.

I am not arguing that the university should have no cultural or recreational activities. Never. I’m aware that the training of these students and the development of their mental and industrial skills extend beyond the classroom, and that cultural activities can have legitimate educational and social value. My concern is rather about proportion, timing, end results, and priorities.

To the best of my knowledge, no assessment is conducted to investigate the academic impact of this carnival and/or other related extracurricular activities on the participating students; therefore, there is no reliable data to base a judgement on. Yet, there is a need to ask questions such as: Does its timing interfere with students’ academic responsibilities? How much time and money do students invest in the event? Who are the person(s) financing the carnival, and what return(s) do they aspire to? And, most importantly, do the educational and developmental values of the event justify its scale and its place in the academic calendar?

There is also the moral and religious dimension, which I deliberately leave aside for the moment: the nature of some of the displays, immodest dressing, unrestricted interaction between male and female students, the conduct of the rehearsals, the chaotic nature of the event and the kind of entertainment sometimes associated with such events should all be subjected to our religious and moral values.

Even if we temporarily put all those concerns aside, one fundamental question remains: What kind of university do we want ABU Zaria to be, and what should occupy the greatest share of our students’ time, attention and energy? Perhaps this is not a call to abolish the carnival, but rather a call for the university to pause, reflect, and objectively evaluate its academic, financial, social, and moral implications.

May Allah continue to guide us to the right path, amin.

By Yusuf Yakubu Muhammad

Youth unemployment is one of the greatest challenges facing Nigeria today. Every year, thousands of young Nigerians graduate from universities, polytechnics, colleges of education, and vocational institutions with high hopes of securing decent jobs.

Unfortunately, the number of available jobs is far less than the number of graduates entering the labour market.

This reality has left many young people unemployed, underemployed, or forced into jobs that do not match their qualifications.

According to the World Bank (2024), Nigeria has one of the fastest-growing youth populations in the world, and creating enough productive jobs for this population is essential for reducing poverty and promoting economic growth. The report notes that sustainable employment is critical to unlocking Nigeria’s economic potential.

Speaking on the importance of youth employment, Dr. Ndiame Diop, the World Bank Country Director for Nigeria, stated that “creating more productive jobs is essential for reducing poverty and helping Nigeria achieve inclusive economic growth.”

His statement highlights the need for policies that go beyond creating temporary employment and instead build an economy capable of generating lasting opportunities for young people.

I had an opportunity to interview a phone accessories seller in Beirut market Kano.

Musa Abubakar is a graduate of geography education from Kano State University of Science and technology said his journey into entrepreneurship began after spending a long time searching for employment without success.

He said he applied for jobs in different places and hoped to secure a stable job, but despite his efforts, he was unable to find one.

He communicated that he noticed the increasing demand for mobile phones and their accessories, including chargers, earpieces, phone cases, screen protectors, power banks and USB cables.

He said this encouraged him to start selling phone accessories on a small scale.

The seller narrated that one of the important things he learned was the need to understand customers and provide them with quality products.

He added that some customers are more concerned about price, while others prefer durable and original accessories, so he tries to provide different options according to their needs.

He said his business has helped him become financially independent and has given him the opportunity to create a source of income for himself rather than depending entirely on formal employment.

One of the major reasons behind youth unemployment is the gap between education and the labour market.

Many graduates possess academic qualifications but lack the practical, technical, and digital skills required by employers.

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), strengthening technical education, vocational training, and entrepreneurship programmes can improve young people’s chances of securing meaningful employment.

However, solving unemployment is not only about helping graduates find jobs. It is also about preparing them to create businesses that can employ others.

Entrepreneurship has become one of the most effective ways of addressing unemployment in many developing countries.

Successful Nigerian entrepreneurs have shown that with innovation, determination, and the right support, young people can transform small business ideas into companies that create jobs for many others.

Abba Abdurrazak, a graduate of computer science from ABU said after graduating the situation was initially frustrating because he had expected to get a job after completing his studies.

However, he added that he later realised that waiting for employment was not the only option available to him.

He narrated that he had an interest in graphic design and printing and noticed that there was a growing demand for printing services in his community.

He said this motivated him to turn his skills and interest into a business.

I did not have enough capital when he started the business, so he began on a small scale with the resources available to him.

According to him, he gradually reinvested the money he made into the business and acquired better equipment as the business grew. He said.
He said one of the major challenges he faced was attracting customers because the business was new and there were already established printing shops.

He added that the high cost of printing machines and materials also made the business challenging at the beginning.

He said his experience had taught him that failure to secure a formal job does not means failure in life.

He added that young people should learn practical skills, start businesses on a small scale and gradually build them rather than depending entirely on government or private-sector employment.


The Founder of the Tony Elumelu Foundation, Tony O. Elumelu, has consistently argued that entrepreneurship is the key to Africa’s economic transformation.

According to him, “Africa’s future lies in the hands of entrepreneurs who create jobs and solve problems within their communities.”

Through the foundation’s entrepreneurship programme, thousands of young Nigerians have received funding, training, and mentorship to establish their own businesses.

Similarly, Professor Yemi Osinbajo, Nigeria’s former Vice President, has repeatedly emphasized that innovation and entrepreneurship are essential for reducing unemployment.

He has argued that investing in young entrepreneurs will strengthen the country’s economy because small businesses are major employers of labour.

Despite these opportunities, many young entrepreneurs continue to face significant obstacles. Poor electricity supply, inadequate infrastructure, limited access to finance, high interest rates, multiple taxation, and policy inconsistency discourage many business owners.

The World Bank has repeatedly identified these challenges as major barriers to private sector growth and job creation in Nigeria.
Experts believe that government must create an enabling environment where businesses can thrive.

This includes improving electricity, expanding internet access, investing in transport infrastructure, providing affordable loans for young entrepreneurs, reducing unnecessary regulations, and strengthening support for small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs).
Young Nigerians themselves must embrace lifelong learning. Today’s economy rewards people who continuously improve their skills in technology, communication, agriculture, renewable energy, artificial intelligence, digital marketing, and other emerging industries. Waiting only for government jobs is no longer a sustainable strategy.

Youth unemployment is not a challenge that government alone can solve. It requires collaboration among government agencies, educational institutions, businesses, development partners, communities, and young people themselves.

By investing in skills development, supporting entrepreneurship, and creating an environment where businesses can grow, Nigeria can transform millions of unemployed youths into innovators, employers, and drivers of economic growth.

As Tony Elumelu rightly observed, “The future of Africa depends on the entrepreneurs we empower today.”

If Nigeria successfully shifts its focus from producing job seekers to producing job creators, the country will not only reduce unemployment but also build a stronger, more prosperous, and more inclusive economy for generations to come.

Yusuf Yakubu Muhammad wrote in from Kano State.

By Ali Tijjani Hassan

There is a difference between a public health system that performs well on paper and one that performs well in people’s lives, and Yobe State is currently teaching us these differences in real time. For over ten days, reports of viral conjunctivitis (Apollo), as it is popularly called, have been spreading across parts of the state. Yet the silence from official quarters has been almost as consistent as the outbreak itself. No public advisory. No visible coordination. No reassurance that anyone in authority is even watching. And silence, in public health, is never neutral. It either means nothing is happening, or it means something is happening and no one has thought to tell the people living through it. Neither of these answers is acceptable. Considering the communicable nature of this outbreak, it is essentially as contagious as yawning. The system should work, and the response should be in place.

I say this, not out of pessimism, because pessimism is cheap and the outbreak deserves better than cheap reactions. Yobe is not a state without human resource capacity. We have a significant number of epidemiologists and precision medicine experts. We have disease surveillance officers, laboratory scientists, environmental health officers, and public health professionals—a full formation of expertise that many states would envy. So, the question is not whether we have the people. The question is whether the system built around those people is actually working, or has quietly become one optimised for reporting rather than responding. Because here is an uncomfortable truth: a health system can hit every donor indicator, produce every glossy report, receive every award, and still fail the basic test of protecting the community it exists to serve. KPIs are not the same as outcomes. A dashboard is not the same as a warned public. You can be commended internationally and still be invisible locally, and that gap between what is reported upward and what is felt on the ground is where public trust quietly erodes.

What sharpens this concern is that we are not operating in isolation. This outbreak is not affecting only Yobe State; it’s spread across northeastern states. Take Adamawa State as an example: it’s currently responding to a similar outbreak of viral conjunctivitis. They already declared a pandemic and activated warning and response systems since the 7th of August, 2026. Coincidentally, Bauchi State is experiencing a cholera outbreak; the state government has been activating its cholera response system since the 1st of August, 2026. These are not distant or hypothetical benchmarks; they are neighbours, operating under comparable constraints, demonstrating that a coordinated response is possible when the will and the system align. So if they can move, what exactly is holding us back?

Is it a failure of surveillance itself, or a failure to verify what surveillance already picked up? Is it risk assessment sitting somewhere in a queue? Is it plain bureaucratic inertia, the kind where information exists but no one owns the decision to act on it? Or is it something more troubling: a culture where we wait for numbers to become undeniable before we treat them as urgent?

I raise these questions not to indict anyone by name, but because public health, by its very design, is supposed to be anticipatory. Its entire justification is that it acts before catastrophe forces it to. A surveillance system that produces reports without triggering timely action has collected data successfully but has failed in its actual purpose. And there is something quietly troubling about a community that learns of a potential outbreak through word of mouth before it hears a single word from the institutions constitutionally responsible for its well-being. That is not just a communication gap. It is a trust gap, and trust, once eroded in public health, is far harder to rebuild than any epidemic curve.

The remedy is not complicated. If there is no outbreak, say so clearly and to everyone, not just to donors. If there is one, say so. If an investigation is currently in progress, please communicate that clearly. If interventions have begun, say so. None of this requires perfect information. It requires the basic respect of keeping people informed while the work is being done. Because silence is not surveillance, and a response no one can see is barely a response at all. The people of Yobe do not need another award ceremony. They need a system that notices early, speaks plainly, and moves before the numbers force its hand. In the end, the truest measure of a public health system was never going to be what it reports about itself. It is what the people living inside it actually experience.

Ali Tijjani Hassan is a public health professional who writes from his personal quarantine after being infected with the Apollo.