Opinion

By Usman Abdullahi Koli, ANIPR

Some lives are measured in years, others in titles, and some in possessions. The rarest and most enduring lives are measured in the hearts they touch and the hope they restore. Dr Bala Maijama’a Wunti belongs firmly in that rare place. His journey has been one of resilience and quiet strength, of rising from hardship to become a fountain of generosity whose waters reach far beyond the place where they spring.

Born on 8th August 1966, his earliest years were marked by a loss that would shape the rest of his life. Losing both parents as a child meant entering the world with an emptiness most could never imagine. Those days were not kind; survival was his only option. There were no easy comforts, no safety nets, only the will to push forward and the dream that tomorrow could be better.

Instead of allowing hardship to harden him, it softened him in extraordinary ways. The hunger he knew became a hunger to feed others. The loneliness he endured became a desire to stand by those who had no one to stand by. The obstacles he faced became a determination to clear the paths for others. He did not allow pain to turn into bitterness; he transformed it into kindness.

Over the years, giving has become so deeply ingrained in his life that it no longer feels like charity; it feels like breathing. He has lifted burdens that would have crushed families, stepped in quietly where hope was fading, and turned despair into relief for people who may never know his face but will always remember his help. For him, giving is not a grand event; it is the natural rhythm of his days.

Only yesterday, on the eve of his birthday, he paid the full registration fees for Bauchi State indigenous Law students across Law Schools in Nigeria and added incentives to support their journey. For those young men and women, it was more than a payment. It was a belief in their dreams and a reminder that someone cares enough to invest in their future. Acts like this are not exceptions in his life; they are the pattern.

His foundation, Wunti Alkhair, is an extension of his own values. It reaches into communities, lifts the sick from their sickbeds by clearing medical bills, opens doors of opportunity for young people to acquire skills, and creates moments of dignity where they seemed lost. It strengthens faith by building and restoring places of worship, not as monuments of wealth but as sanctuaries of hope.

What makes him remarkable is not just the scale of what he gives but the sincerity with which he provides it. There is no fanfare, no calculation, no search for applause. Many of those who have felt his kindness will never meet him, yet they carry a piece of him in their stories, in their survival, and in their renewed strength to face life again.

As we celebrate his birthday, we celebrate far more than a date. We honour a man whose life is proof that greatness is not in what we take but in what we give. A man who rose through the storms of his own childhood to become a shelter for others. A man who, in a world too often cold and self-serving, has chosen to be warm and selfless.

May Allah grant him long life, good health, and the strength to keep shaping lives for the better. May his journey remind us all that no matter where we start, we can choose to live in a way that makes the world a little softer, a little fairer, and a little kinder.

Your life is not only a blessing to those who know you but to many who never will, and that is the highest form of legacy.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via mernoukoli@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

In every democracy, opposition is meant to sharpen governance, hold power accountable, and deepen national debate. However, when opposition is driven not by facts, ideas, or vision, but by ignorance and a desire for power, it ceases to be the conscience of democracy and becomes the cancer of progress. Nigeria is today saddled with an opposition that mistakes noise for logic, Twitter trends for policy, and cheap comparisons for economic analysis.

The latest shameless theatrics are the attempts by the obedient leader, our chief serial-contester, and their coalition of recycled political elders to compare Nigeria’s economic trajectory with that of Argentina. They raise Argentina as though it were a heaven of reforms, while ignorantly or deliberately ignoring the bitter cries of Argentines battered by Javier Milei’s austerity chainsaw.

Argentina has cut nearly 48,000 public-sector jobs, vetoed even modest pension increases, and forced retirees onto the streets to be beaten by police water cannons and rubber pellets. Poverty there is climbing toward 60%, subsidies have been axed overnight, and the government survives only by begging the IMF for lifelines.

That is not reform, it is desperation.

This is in contrast to the Nigerian reality. Here, we removed the cancerous fuel subsidy, unified exchange rates, and embarked on painful but necessary monetary tightening to bring inflation under control. Inflation, which soared in 2023, is now sliding downwards in 2025, with headline CPI dropping to 21.8% in August. The fiscal deficit has narrowed from 5.4% of GDP to about 3.0%. Electricity sector debts are being refinanced, and the macroeconomy, though still rough, is anchored on a foundation of stability.

Even Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, no spokesperson of any party, but the globally respected WTO chief, publicly affirmed: “Nigeria has achieved stability, now the task is to drive inclusive growth.” Yet, the same opposition that celebrates Argentina’s IMF-borrowed pain and police-clubbed pensioners shamelessly called her “economically ignorant” for acknowledging the obvious.

Tell me what else defines nitwittery than this.

Though not so surprised, because ignorance has always been their brand. They cannot differentiate between stability and growth. To them, the economy is nothing more than the price of a bag of rice. Mr Obi throws around phrases like “lifting people out of poverty” as if they were trendy slogans for his following rally chant.

Oga Atiku, the permanent opposition aspirant, is once again cobbling together his “company of ex-this and former-that”, a cargo association of spent forces whose only qualification is that they once had access to government coffers and now desperately want another turn to loot. Their supporters, equally blind, cheer along, not out of reason but out of ignorance or bitterness, unable to see that governance is not Instagram clout, but hard, grinding policy.

This is not to canonise the Tinubu administration, make no mistake. I, too, demand more. There are ministers in this government who are sleeping on the job, and there are loopholes where reforms have yet to trickle down. Nigerians are eager for a positive impact in their daily lives, particularly in areas such as health, nutrition, education, and civil service efficiency. But unlike the ignoramus opposition, I understand sequencing. You first stabilise the macroeconomy, then you build growth on that foundation. What we need now is coordination, urgency, and social interventions that humanise the numbers. And to be fair, signs are there.

The launch of the Renewed Hope Ward Development Programme, designed to empower 1,000 persons in each of Nigeria’s 8,809 wards, is one right instinct: drilling development down to the grassroots, away from abstract figures, into real people’s lives. As Minister Atiku Bagudu explained, this initiative will stimulate ward-level economic activity, generate employment, enhance food security, and turn stability into grassroots growth. It is precisely the kind of bottom-up complement that the current macro reforms require.

So yes, the work is far from done. Nigerians need more, faster, and better delivery. However, comparing Nigeria to Argentina is intellectual dishonesty or outright ignorance. Argentina is bleeding; Nigeria is stabilising. Argentina is laying off workers; Nigeria is restructuring its debt. Argentina is on IMF life support; Nigeria is financing reforms internally. Argentina is repressing protests; Nigeria is still debating freely.

The opposition can continue to chase clout, weaponise ignorance, and gather their fellowship of losers. Unfortunately, we are not getting what we deserve. Nigerians deserve informed opposition, not this company of old cargoes and nitwits parading as saviours.

However, for those of us who see clearly, we will demand more from the government, but we will not be drawn into the cesspool of ignorance disguised as activism.

The path forward is clear: build on the stability achieved, accelerate the trickle-down effect through real social interventions, empower the workforce, integrate the informal sector, and ignite genuine growth. That is how nations rise, not through the shallow chants of ignoramus opposition, nor through the empty hunger of clout chasers, but through truth, stability, and hard work.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com.

By Dr Abubakar Bello

The recent controversy over an alleged honorary doctorate awarded to musician Alhaji Dauda Kahutu Rarara has sparked debate across northern Nigeria. Initially, reports indicated that the European-American University conferred an honorary doctorate on him in Abuja. However, days later, the institution publicly denied endorsing such an award, describing the event as fraudulent.

This is not the first time Rarara’s name has been caught in institutional back-and-forth. At one point, the Federal University Dutsin-Ma (FUDMA) was said to be planning a conference to celebrate his contributions to music and politics. Yet the university later backtracked, insisting the information was fake. The recurring pattern suggests not a lack of merit on Rarara’s part, but rather institutional hesitation in dealing with a figure whose art, political songs, and social influence are both celebrated and contested.

There is clear precedent for cultural icons receiving academic recognition. The late Mamman Shata, perhaps the most revered Hausa musician of the 20th century, was formally honoured by Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. That recognition secured his place not only in the cultural memory of the Hausa people but also in academic history. By that measure, Rarara too will, sooner or later, be recognised by universities both within Nigeria and abroad for his cultural and political contributions. The real question is: which university will take the initiative?

Across Nigeria, universities have rightly celebrated industrialists, politicians, and philanthropists with honorary degrees, sometimes even surprising their own local institutions, as happened when other universities honoured Katsina’s business mogul, Alhaji Dahiru Mangal, taking Umaru Musa Yar’adua University, his home-state university, by surprise. Yet cultural figures, especially musicians whose work captures the pulse of society, are too often overlooked until history forces recognition.

This is an opportunity for Nigerian universities to redefine what they celebrate. Honorary degrees are not just ceremonial gestures. They are statements of value, affirmations that music, political commentary, and popular culture are as vital to society as commerce and politics.

Whether in Katsina or beyond, Nigerian universities have the opportunity to lead by recognising Rarara. Doing so would not only honour one man but also promote the significance of indigenous music and political expression in our collective intellectual and cultural heritage. The controversy over fake awards should not overshadow this larger truth: Rarara’s contributions are genuine, and he deserves formal recognition.

 Dr Abubakar Bello wrote from the Department of Biological Sciences, Umaru Musa Yar’adua University, Katsina. He can be reached via bello.abubakar@umyu.edu.ng.

By Aisha Musa Auyo

When you can be kind and helpful, do it immediately. Don’t procrastinate or wait for the “right time.” You may not live to see that time, or the person you want to help may not. The point of power is always now.

I’m inspired to share this because two recent incidents made me reflect deeply. One was the death of a close relative, the other, the passing of an acquaintance I only met once but stayed connected with through social media.

In the first incident, an aunt of mine came from another town for her monthly hospital appointment. She usually arrived a day before to avoid being late. That evening, after visiting some relatives, she spotted a shawarma shop and sighed: “Zan so na ci shawarma ko da sau ɗaya ne a rayuwata” (“I would love to taste shawarma at least once in my life”).

My cousin, who was driving, ignored her words and sped past. I pleaded with him to go back, but he insisted the shop was closed and wouldn’t open until 7 p.m., which is true. My aunt looked disappointed.

Later at home, I begged him again to get me shawarma bread so I could prepare it for her. He brushed it off, saying he was tired, and reminded me she’d be leaving early the next morning. “You can always make it for her next month,” he said. But my heart wouldn’t allow me to postpone it.

Eventually, he bought the bread, and I stayed up late preparing the fillings, finishing by midnight. I set my alarm for 4 a.m., woke up, rolled, and grilled the shawarma. By 5 a.m., it was ready. When I handed it to her, she was overjoyed. She couldn’t believe I went to such lengths to fulfil her simple wish. She prayed for me with a smile, and we said our goodbyes.

Later that day, she called to say she had arrived home safely and that my shawarma exceeded her expectations. She even saved some to take home. Though I joked, it must have been cold by then. She prayed again for me before hanging up the phone.

A few days later, she passed away.

I was in shock. Just last week, she was with us, longing for shawarma. I wept, but deep down, I thanked Allah that I didn’t delay. That shawarma became her first and last.

The lesson is clear: never delay an act of kindness. Tomorrow is not promised for you or for them.

Aisha Musa Auyo is a doctoral researcher in Educational Psychology. A wife, a mother, a homemaker, a caterer, a parenting and relationship coach. She can be reached via aishamuauyo@live.co.uk.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

The insecurity challenges in Nigeria, particularly banditry, have defied simplistic solutions. While the kinetic approach, military and law enforcement operations, has achieved some notable successes, it has not produced the outcome of sustainable peace. Instead, it has often fueled a cycle of violence between state and non-state actors, while local communities continue to suffer. To break this cycle, there is a compelling need to complement kinetic measures with non-kinetic strategies such as dialogue, community engagement, education, intelligence-driven peacebuilding, and socio-economic empowerment.

The kinetic approach is necessary but insufficient. It weakens the operational strength of criminal groups but fails to address the root causes of insecurity, such as poverty, unemployment, social injustice, and a lack of community trust in the government. In some cases, heavy-handed operations or operational errors can create resentment among local populations, inadvertently attracting recruits to criminal networks.

The non-kinetic measures are designed to fill the gaps left by the actions of military and security forces, as well as to reduce unnecessary pressures on security forces. These include: building trust through dialogue with traditional rulers, religious leaders, and local influencers, including the actors themselves; creating opportunities for youth through education, vocational training, and employment; rehabilitation and reintegration, including providing pathways for repentant bandits or militants to rejoin society; intelligence gathering and strengthening human intelligence networks within communities to prevent attacks before they occur.

In combating insecurity, multi-stakeholder engagement is imperative, as national security cannot be achieved solely by the federal government. A sustainable strategy requires the active participation of state governments in tailoring responses to local realities. Support from local governments in intelligence gathering and community mobilisation is also essential. 

Engagement of traditional and religious institutions as custodians of local values and mediators in conflict resolution, as well as collaboration with civil society and development partners to address humanitarian and socio-economic needs, is equally important. The government should also introduce local language media programs through social media and other media, it will reach and enlighten the bandits and other insurgents

The current approach of adopting a hybrid security framework that blends military action with non-kinetic approaches to create both deterrence and reconciliation is commendable. This dialogue approach should be institutionalised through community dialogue platforms. Furthermore, establishing regular consultation forums where local leaders and security agencies exchange intelligence and build trust is also important. 

Investment in youth empowerment and the development of targeted programs for skills acquisition, entrepreneurship, and agricultural employment should be integrated into the non-kinetic approach to undercut the appeal of criminal networks. 

Another vital element is strengthening data-driven decision-making by basing security strategies on rigorous research, mapping conflict-prone areas, and conducting historical analyses of community dynamics. Fighting insecurity is a continuous process; any slack will have a negative impact. Therefore, creating measurable benchmarks and developing monitoring frameworks to evaluate the success of both kinetic and non-kinetic interventions over time will be beneficial.

No government can afford to sustain a security approach that fails to deliver positive outcomes. A purely kinetic strategy risks perpetuating violence, while a strictly non-kinetic approach may embolden criminal groups. The way forward lies in a carefully balanced model that applies force where necessary, while simultaneously addressing the root causes of insecurity through dialogue, trust-building, and socio-economic development. Only by harmonising both approaches can Nigeria break the cycle of violence and build a foundation for sustainable peace and security.

Zayyad I. Muhammad writes from Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Sonia Wa Sarki

I write this letter to call the attention of Nigerian graduates to the urgent need to learn veritable and viable skills. The realities of today’s world have shown that academic certificates alone are no longer sufficient to guarantee a meaningful livelihood. The growing rate of unemployment in Nigeria calls for a rethink of how young graduates prepare themselves for life after school.

Every year, thousands of students graduate from universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education across the country. Unfortunately, the labour market cannot absorb them all. The available jobs are too few, and competition is fierce. Those who rely only on their certificates without developing practical, marketable skills often find themselves stranded, frustrated, and disillusioned.

It is no longer news that many young Nigerians roam the streets with impressive degrees but little to show in terms of personal enterprise. Some spend years submitting applications that yield no results. Others become dependent on their families, while a few give in to despair. The question that every graduate must ask is: what can I do with my own hands that can sustain me, even if no one gives me a white-collar job?

Skill acquisition is the surest answer to that question. Beyond academic knowledge, every graduate needs to learn something practical that the society demands. Skills such as digital technology, software development, photography, tailoring, catering, welding, shoemaking, agriculture, or even content creation can open unexpected doors of opportunities. Many Nigerians who embraced skills early now employ others, including degree holders.

Graduates must understand that the global economy is changing. The age of oil wealth and government jobs is fading fast, while the knowledge and creative economies are rising. Nations now reward innovation, entrepreneurship, and resilience more than mere certificates. Nigeria cannot be an exception, and her graduates must adjust accordingly.

It is also important to stress that learning a skill does not diminish the value of one’s degree. Rather, it enhances it. A graduate of engineering who also learns carpentry or metalwork is far more resourceful than one who waits endlessly for an engineering job. A graduate of English who also learns publishing, editing, or graphic design can create multiple income streams. Education and skills should complement each other.

Moreover, employers themselves now look beyond certificates when hiring. They want problem solvers, creative thinkers, and innovators. A graduate who demonstrates practical competence stands out more than one who merely quotes theories from textbooks. Skills sharpen critical thinking, instil discipline, and provide a sense of independence that certificates alone may not offer.

Dear Nigerian graduates, it is time to rise above excuses and face reality. The government may provide some jobs, but it cannot employ everyone. Waiting endlessly for opportunities is a dangerous gamble. The future belongs to those who take initiative, who refuse to be idle, and who create value through the mastery of viable skills.

Parents and educational institutions also have a role to play. Schools must integrate vocational training into their curricula, while parents should encourage their children to explore talents beyond the classroom. Society at large must begin to respect artisans, entrepreneurs, and skill-based workers as much as professionals in traditional fields.

In conclusion, this letter is not to discourage academic pursuit but to remind Nigerian graduates that degrees alone are not enough in the present world. Certificates may open doors, but skills sustain livelihoods. The graduates who will thrive in today’s Nigeria are those who combine knowledge with practical ability. To every graduate out there, my message is simple: learn a skill today, and secure your tomorrow.

Sonia Wa Sarki writes from Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salama Ishaku

The issue of phone snatching has become a serious threat to the peace and safety of many Nigerian communities. What was once considered a petty crime has now grown into a menace that leaves people living in fear. From major cities to smaller towns, countless residents have sad tales of how their phones were forcefully taken from them in broad daylight or under the cover of night.

The danger lies not only in the theft of valuable devices but also in the violent methods often employed by the culprits. Victims are sometimes attacked with sharp objects, beaten, or even fatally injured when they resist. What should have been a simple theft frequently escalates into a tragic encounter that leaves lasting trauma on individuals and families.

Phone snatching has become particularly rampant in busy areas such as motor parks, traffic hold-ups, markets, and dark alleys. Motorcyclists, popularly known as “okada riders,” are often linked with this crime, as they swiftly snatch phones from unsuspecting victims before disappearing into thin air. Such incidents happen so quickly that passers-by hardly have time to react, making the criminals more daring.

For many victims, the loss of a phone is not just about the cost of the device. Mobile phones have become essential tools for daily life — for business, banking, communication, education, and even healthcare. Losing one means losing access to vital contacts, financial accounts, and sensitive information. The emotional toll of such an experience is equally devastating.

The root causes of this menace are not far-fetched. High unemployment, drug abuse, and the quest for quick money drive many young people into such crimes. Peer pressure and lack of proper parental guidance also play significant roles. Sadly, society has reached a point where criminal acts like phone snatching are sometimes seen as normal, even celebrated in certain circles.

Law enforcement agencies have made efforts to curb this trend, but the problem persists. In some cities, special patrol teams have been deployed to hotspots, leading to several arrests. However, weak prosecution and poor follow-up often mean that offenders return to the streets to continue their trade. Without stronger deterrents, phone snatching will only continue to thrive.

Community members also have a responsibility in tackling this menace. Vigilance and cooperation with security agencies can make a difference. Neighbourhood watch groups, street lighting, and community awareness campaigns can discourage criminals and protect residents. People must also be cautious with phone use in public places, especially in vulnerable locations.

Technology can also be harnessed in the fight against phone snatching. Tracking applications, biometric locks, and quick reporting systems can make stolen devices less useful to thieves. Mobile phone companies and service providers should work with security agencies to disable stolen phones, thereby reducing the incentive for theft.

Beyond policing and technology, addressing the root causes of crime remains key. Job creation, youth empowerment, and rehabilitation programmes for drug users can gradually reduce the number of young people turning to phone snatching. Government, non-governmental organisations, and religious bodies must work hand in hand to provide alternatives for at-risk youths.

In conclusion, the menace of phone snatching is a social ill that cannot be ignored. It disrupts lives, instils fear, and tarnishes the image of communities. A united response — involving government, security agencies, community members, and individuals — is the only way forward. Every Nigerian deserves the right to walk freely without fear of losing their phone or their life to criminals.

Salama Ishaku writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salama Ishaku

The unauthorized selling of traditional medicine is gradually becoming a menace that begs for our collective attention. Across many towns and cities, traders openly display unlicensed herbal products, often with loud proclamations about their supposed healing powers. While traditional medicine has long been a part of our culture, the unregulated and indiscriminate sale of these substances poses serious risks to public health and safety.

At motor parks, street corners, and crowded markets, it is common to see hawkers peddling mixtures in bottles and sachets, claiming they can cure anything from malaria and typhoid to infertility and diabetes. Some even promise instant solutions to chronic conditions that modern medicine struggles with. These exaggerated claims lure unsuspecting citizens, particularly the poor and vulnerable, who are desperate for relief.

The danger, however, lies in the fact that most of these so-called remedies are not scientifically tested or approved by relevant health authorities. Without proper regulation, there is no guarantee of their safety, dosage, or effectiveness. Some of the concoctions are prepared in unhygienic conditions, exposing users to infections and long-term complications.

Equally worrisome is the way sellers often discourage people from seeking professional medical care. By instilling false confidence in their products, they convince patients to abandon prescribed treatment in favour of unproven alternatives. This not only worsens health outcomes but also contributes to avoidable deaths that could have been prevented through timely medical intervention.

Another aspect of this menace is the use of harmful substances. There have been reports of herbal mixtures laced with high doses of alcohol, caffeine, or other chemicals to create instant effects. Such practices endanger consumers who unknowingly ingest toxic elements in the name of treatment. The lack of labelling and dosage instructions further increases the risk of overdose.

The proliferation of unauthorized traditional medicine sellers also undermines the credibility of genuine traditional healers who practise responsibly and adhere to cultural ethics. By mixing quackery with legitimate herbal practices, the public perception of traditional medicine as a whole is eroded. This makes it difficult for serious practitioners to gain recognition and collaborate with modern healthcare providers.

Mr. President and relevant health agencies must recognise that this problem requires urgent attention. Stronger regulatory measures need to be introduced to monitor and control the sale of traditional medicine. Sellers should be licensed, and products subjected to scientific testing to ensure they are safe for human consumption.

Public sensitisation is also essential. Citizens must be educated about the dangers of patronising unverified medicine sellers. Awareness campaigns through radio, television, social media, and community outreach will go a long way in discouraging reliance on unsafe remedies. People should be encouraged to seek medical advice from qualified professionals rather than fall prey to street hawkers.

Equally important is the need to strengthen the healthcare system. Many Nigerians resort to traditional sellers not out of choice but because hospitals are often inaccessible, expensive, or overcrowded. By improving affordability and access to quality healthcare, the dependence on unauthorized herbal remedies will naturally reduce.

There is also a need for collaboration between traditional and modern medicine. With proper regulation, research, and training, traditional knowledge can complement modern healthcare instead of competing with it. This would preserve our cultural heritage while safeguarding the health of citizens.

Communities themselves must take responsibility by reporting illegal sellers to the authorities. Religious and traditional leaders should also lend their voices in discouraging the spread of unregulated products. Tackling this menace is a collective duty, not one for government alone.

In conclusion, while traditional medicine has its place in our society, the unauthorized and reckless selling of herbal products is a ticking time bomb. The longer we ignore it, the greater the health risks we invite upon ourselves. For the safety of our nation, decisive action must be taken now to regulate traditional medicine, protect citizens, and uphold public health standards.

Salama Ishaku writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Sonia Wa Sarki

I write to call the attention of the newly established National Almajiri Commission and other relevant agencies saddled with the responsibility of tackling the crisis of out-of-school children. The issue has lingered for too long and demands urgent, pragmatic action if Nigeria is to make meaningful progress in education and human development.

For decades, the North has struggled with the twin challenge of the Almajiri system and the rising number of children who are completely out of school. This has created a dangerous cycle of illiteracy, poverty, and social vices. Every street corner in many northern cities tells the same story: barefooted children, bowls in hand, begging for alms instead of sitting in classrooms.

According to UNICEF reports, Nigeria has the highest number of out-of-school children in the world, with over 10 million children excluded from basic education. A significant percentage of these children are from the northern part of the country. This reality is not only a unfortunate but also a time bomb that threatens national security, peace, and development.

The Almajiri system, once rooted in noble intentions of imparting Islamic education, has today become synonymous with neglect, child labour, and poverty. Many parents, unable to cater for their children, send them off to distant towns under the care of teachers who lack the resources to provide proper welfare. The result is a generation of children abandoned to hunger, street begging, and exploitation.

The consequences of this neglect are glaring. Many of these children grow up without formal education, lacking the skills necessary to compete in today’s world. Worse still, they become easy recruits for criminal gangs, violent groups, and extremist movements. Nigeria cannot afford to ignore the dangerous implications of having millions of idle, uneducated, and hopeless youths roaming the streets.

The creation of the National Almajiri Commission is a welcome development, but it must not become another toothless bureaucracy. The commission must develop a clear strategy to integrate Quranic education with modern subjects such as English, Mathematics, Science, and vocational training. This will give the children both spiritual grounding and the practical skills needed to survive in today’s society.

Government at all levels must also invest massively in building functional schools across the North. The lack of infrastructure is one of the reasons many children remain out of school. Where schools exist, they are often overcrowded, understaffed, and poorly equipped. Education must be made accessible, attractive, and affordable for every child.

Equally important is the role of parents. Many parents deliberately withdraw children from school, either due to poverty, cultural beliefs, or ignorance. Sensitisation campaigns are necessary to change attitudes and emphasise the importance of education. No society can progress when its children are left behind.

Religious and traditional leaders must also rise to the occasion. For too long, the Almajiri menace has been treated with silence or indifference. Leaders who wield influence in communities must use their voices to advocate reforms, encourage enrolment in schools, and support initiatives aimed at ending child neglect.

Addressing this menace also requires economic empowerment. Poverty is at the root of the problem. Many families send their children to beg simply because they cannot provide food, clothing, and shelter. Empowering households with jobs, microloans, and skills training will reduce the burden and keep children in school.

Another critical step is the enforcement of child rights laws. Nigeria has the Universal Basic Education policy, but its implementation remains weak. States must enforce compulsory education and punish parents or guardians who neglect their children’s education. Without enforcement, policies remain mere paperwork.

Civil society organisations and international partners also have a role to play. Collaboration is key in building model schools, providing teacher training, and supporting child welfare. With proper synergy between government, NGOs, and communities, the tide can be turned.

The media must equally sustain the spotlight on this issue. The plight of the Almajiri and out-of-school children should not only make news during special events but remain a central theme in public discourse. Awareness is the first step towards action.

In conclusion, Nigeria cannot achieve sustainable development while millions of its children are excluded from education. The Almajiri crisis and the epidemic of out-of-school children must be treated as a national emergency. Education is the foundation of progress, and leaving children on the streets is nothing short of mortgaging the country’s future.

The time to act is now. The National Almajiri Commission and all stakeholders must rise above lip service and deliver real, tangible solutions. The future of the North—and indeed Nigeria—depends on it.

Sonia Wa Sarki writes from the Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri, Nigeria.

By Salihi Adamu

Writing A Glimpse of Takai in the History of Kano has been a personal journey for me. Growing up, I have read stories about Takai’s rich history and its impact on the Kano emirate. However, I noticed that there wasn’t a single book that told the story of Takai in a way that was easy to understand. This book is my attempt to fill that gap.

As I researched Takai’s history, I discovered many interesting stories and facts. I learned about the town’s founding, its role in the Kano Civil War, and its cultural heritage. I also met with people from Takai who shared their experiences and insights with me. Through these interactions, I gained a deeper understanding of the town’s history and its people. This book is a reflection of what I have learned, and I hope it will be a valuable resource for anyone interested in learning more about Takai.

This book is not a complete history of Takai. Instead, it’s a collection of stories and facts that give readers a glimpse into the town’s past. I have endeavoured to make the book accessible to a diverse range of readers, from those interested in history to those seeking to learn more about Takai.

One of the challenges I faced while writing this book was deciding what to include and what to leave out. Takai’s history is complex and multifaceted, with many stories that could be told. I have tried to focus on the most important events and themes, while also leaving room for further research and exploration.

I hope that A Glimpse of Takai in the History of Kano will inspire readers to learn more about Takai and its people. I also hope that it will contribute to a greater understanding and appreciation of the town’s history and culture.

I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this book, from the people of Takai who shared their stories with me to my family and friends who supported me throughout the writing process. Ultimately, this book is a labour of love, and I am proud to share it with readers.