Opinion

By Ibraheem Muhammad Mustapha

The passing of former President Muhammadu Buhari on July 13, 2025, presents a fascinating and troubling paradox for the information ecosystem. Instead of closing a chapter, it appears to have reopened a well-worn, debunked narrative that the “real” Buhari died during his medical trip to London in 2017, and was replaced by a clone or body double named “Jibril” from Sudan. 

As a fact-checker who has previously addressed and debunked this claim, this moment is a sobering litmus test for me and other fact-checkers, as it poses an elementary question of whether classical fact-checking is effective. My analysis leads me to a disquieting conclusion: we are not merely fighting a deficit of information, but a surplus of emotionally resonant, identity-affirming mythology.

Motivated Reasoning and the Psychology of Belief

To grasp the tenacity of the “Jibril” theory, we must first dispense with the simplistic notion that its believers are merely ignorant or unintelligent. The phenomenon is far more complex, rooted in predictable and well-documented psychological mechanics. The primary force at play is what political scientists Milton Lodge and Charles Taber have extensively studied as motivated reasoning. This framework posits that humans, especially in politically charged contexts, behave less as impartial judges and more as motivated attorneys seeking to arrive at a conclusion that aligns with their pre-existing beliefs and identities. For Nigerians whose political identity was defined by opposition to or deep disappointment with the Buhari administration, the “Jibril” narrative was never a hypothesis to be tested; it was a conclusion to be defended.

This dovetails seamlessly with the basic cognitive dissonance theory as was first postulated by Leon Festinger in the 1950s. From the perspective adopted by Festinger, an individual suffers great mental discomfort when they hold contradictory beliefs or are confronted with new information that challenges their existing beliefs. For a citizen who felt alienated, disenfranchised, experienced worse economic conditions or insecurity under a leader they may have once supported or hoped would succeed, the psychological stress is immense. It is far less dissonant to embrace a radical conspiracy that the “real,” competent Buhari is gone than to accept the more painful and complex reality that his administration, for a host of intricate reasons, fell short of expectations. The “Jibril” theory, therefore, is not a failure of logic but a psychological coping mechanism, a path of least resistance to resolve an otherwise unbearable internal conflict.

The Power of Narrative and the Poverty of Facts

Furthermore, fact-checkers fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the battle when we arrive armed with a dossier of facts and data to a war of narratives. Human cognition is not optimised for data points; it is wired for stories. The “Jibril” theory is a masterclass in narrative potency. It contains a villain (the cabal that orchestrated the switch), a victim (the Nigerian populace), a tragic secret (the president’s death), and a mystery to be solved. It transforms the believer from a passive citizen into a heroic truth-seeker, possessing gnosis —a secret, elevated knowledge unavailable to the deluded masses. In contrast, what does the truth offer? It offers the mundane and often unsatisfying complexity of economic policy, security logistics, and bureaucratic inertia. The conspiracy narrative is simply a better, more emotionally gripping story. It provides a scapegoat, assigns clear blame, and creates a sense of intellectual superiority in the believer.

For its most ardent believers, “Jibril” is a symbol of how distant, disconnected, and unrepresentative Buhari’s government felt. Claims that he no longer spoke Fulfulde fluently or looked physically different were not weighed as forensic evidence; they were experienced as embodied metaphors of alienation.

 The Core Crisis is Institutional Distrust

This entire dynamic is supercharged by a catastrophic collapse of institutional trust, which I see as the true Achilles’ heel of fact-checking as a profession. Our work as fact-checkers is predicated on the assumption that a trusted, authoritative third party can adjudicate truth claims. The “Jibril” case demonstrates the collapse of this assumption. The theory gained traction in an environment of profound distrust in public institutions. When citizens do not trust the government to tell the truth about policy or the economy, why would they trust it to tell the truth about the president’s identity? The fact-check is DOA (Dead on Arrival) because the source is already deemed compromised. Therefore, in an environment of deep-seated cynicism towards government, media, and experts, any attempt at debunking is easily reframed as part of the cover-up. Hence, the more forcefully an official source denies a conspiracy, the more it can convince believers that the conspiracy is real. This phenomenon was documented by researchers Brendan Nyhan and Jason Reifler, who identified the backfire effect: each denial is interpreted as a sign of panic from those trying to hide the “truth.” President Buhari’s own need to address the rumour in 2018 (“It’s the real me, I assure you”) was, for many believers, served not as a refutation but as high-level confirmation that they were indeed onto something big.

Reassessing the Role of the Fact-Checker

Therefore, I am forced to reassess our role as fact-checkers and the efficacy of our traditional methods. The “Jibril of Sudan” case study demonstrates that reactive debunking is akin to trying to unring a bell. The path forward must be a paradigm shift towards what social psychologist William J. McGuire pioneered as Inoculation Theory. Rather than merely correcting falsehoods after they have taken root, we must pre-emptively “vaccinate” the public by exposing them to weakened forms of misinformation and deconstructing the manipulative techniques being used. The goal is to build cognitive antibodies against emotional manipulation, conspiratorial thinking, and logical fallacies.

Also, we need to learn how to fight a narrative war, not a Factual Skirmish, because we cannot defeat a powerful story with a list of facts. We must counter it with a more compelling, truthful narrative. This involves storytelling that explains complex realities in an accessible and empathetic way.

Then we need to embrace the method of empathy before evidence. The first step in engaging a believer is not to present a fact-check but to acknowledge the underlying grievance. A conversation that starts with, “I understand the frustration with the country’s direction that leads people to seek drastic explanations,” is more likely to open a door for dialogue than one that starts with, “You are wrong, and here’s why.”

Lastly, the ultimate antidote to misinformation is trust. This is a generational project, not a short-term fix. It requires sustained efforts from the media, government, and civil society to operate with transparency, accountability, and a genuine commitment to public welfare.

The persistence of the “Jibril of Sudan” theory, even in the face of death, is not an indictment of our work as fact-checkers. It is a diagnosis of a deeper societal condition where trust has eroded, and narratives have become more powerful than reality. It signals that the core battle is not over facts, but over trust. Until we can begin the long, arduous work of rebuilding faith in the institutions that serve as arbiters of reality, we will remain locked in this frustrating cycle. The work of a fact-checker, I now believe, must evolve from being a mere verifier of claims to becoming an architect of a more resilient, critical, and trust-based information ecosystem.

By Zailani Bappa

In the last few days, we have been engaged in a debate over whether it was right or not for President Bola Ahmed Tinubu to rename the University of Maiduguri (UNIMAID) after the late President Muhammadu Buhari. I want to add my voice to this as well.

I am a staunch fan and supporter of the late President, and I cherish his exemplary qualities, which are truly uncommon among our present-day crop of active politicians. I respect him alive and in his death. I am also a graduate of UNIMAID.

Despite the above, I strongly disagree with Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s decision to rename my alma mater after President Muhammadu Buhari at this time. The move, to my understanding, is self-serving, dishonest and, obviously, unpopular. And if the President has to do it, there are so many other things available to manipulate for achieving political ambition. 

Just imagine renaming the University of London, or the Oxford University or the Harvard University to another name at this hour. These names have become top brand symbols worldwide and are synonymous with the excellence the Universities are demonstrating.

So is UNIMAID. Its service of excellence has become synonymous with this name for more than five decades. Universities with names of persons, such as Ahmadu Bello University and Bayero University, built their present reputation from the outset, along with those names.

In truth, if President Bola Ahmed Tinubu wanted so desperately to seize the demise of President Muhammadu Buhari to advance his political opportunities in the Northern part of Nigeria ahead of the upcoming elections, he should have renamed the University of Ibadan or the University of Lagos after the late President which will prove to the Northerners more of his nationalistic and unbiased posture. 

After all, the latter of the above Universities was reportedly saved from this kind of unwholesome political decision by his active participation when it was to be renamed after the late MKO Abiola. I will sign and urge everyone to sign the petition currently circulating, which opposes this highly offensive decision.

By Sale Rusulana Yanguruza 

When a leader and loved one passes away, we often reflect on their legacy, the meaning of their life, the impact they made during their lifetime, and the significant contribution they made to society. Upon receiving the sad news about the demise of the immediate former President Muhammadu Buhari, what quickly came to mind was his honourable and distinguished efforts to end insecurity, eliminate corruption, and transform the agricultural sector in Nigeria.

His love for Nigerians prompted him to contest in three elections, and he lost the first two. The losses made him shed tears, but he still contested again. He didn’t give up and strived in 2015; he won and was declared the winner of the presidential election. On corruption, Buhari wasn’t just a fighter against corruption in Nigeria; he was a leader who despised untrustworthy individuals. A president who came to office with a unique energy aimed to end his enemy,”corruption”, and politicians who loot citizens’ property.

When Femi Adesina was granted an interview immediately after Buhari’s demise was announced, he boldly said, “Buhari was as clean as a whistle. Nobody can accuse him of anything that has the slightest affinity to corruption.” Adesina’s words imply that Buhari was incorruptible, as no one could accuse him of corruption; his life was a testament to his integrity. While Buhari saw corruption as a disease that was drastically hampering and tempering development in Nigeria, he stated, in his words during an anti-corruption speech in 2016, “If we don’t kill corruption, corruption will kill Nigeria.”

No one can doubt Buhari’s assertion that corruption must be eradicated before Nigeria can develop. However, unfortunately, during his first tenure, Buhari made significant efforts to ensure that all stolen assets by politicians were returned to Nigerians and implemented measures to prevent further occurrences. Yet, as time went on, Buhari was said to be poised, which led him to spend about three months abroad during his first tenure as the president of Nigeria. That story paved the way for a lot of rumours, which people spread, saying he had died, but with God’s grace, he was back and continued with his activities, finished his tenure, and sadly, today, he has met his maker.

Buhari has backed his commitment by putting in place some necessary measures, such as the Treasury Single Account (TSA), the Whistle-Blowing Policy, and the establishment of the Presidential Advisory Committee Against Corruption, to combat the systemic theft of public resources and, by extension, its pernicious effects on human rights and development. Yes, Buhari is known for Mai Gaskiya, which earned him votes in 2015. He was the first president who made leaders who had stolen the country’s finances fear him when he was declared president of the Federal Republic of Nigeria in 2015, beating the incumbent president, Goodluck Ebele Jonathan.

 Looked at Buhari and Boko Haram

When Buhari was elected, before his swearing-in as President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria on May 29, 2015, he met with the President of Chad, Idriss Déby, to discuss collaboration on ending insecurity, particularly from Boko Haram in Borno State. Buhari didn’t stop there; he took an official visit to Niger to discuss the issue with the president, aimed at addressing the Boko Haram problem. As Vanguard reported on June 1, 2015, the visit by the newly inaugurated Nigerian leader to Niamey was directed and aimed at decapitating the head of the group as a final solution to the insurgency that had wreaked havoc on the country’s North-East region.

Do you know that Buhari’s first trip as president of Nigeria to an outside country was about insecurity? 

Chad and Niger were Buhari’s first foreign visits outside Nigeria after he was sworn in as president, with the matter of insecurity bedevilling the region, particularly in the northeast. In his inaugural speech in 2015, Buhari said, “The most immediate challenge is Boko Haram insurgency. Progress has been made in recent weeks by our security forces, but victory cannot be achieved by basing the Command and Control Centre in Abuja. The command centre will be relocated to Maiduguri and remain until Boko Haram is completely subdued. But we cannot claim to have defeated Boko Haram without rescuing the Chibok girls and all other innocent persons held hostage by insurgents. This government will do all it can to rescue them alive.”

To support Buhari’s statement, when I attended the Town Hall Meeting organised by News Central Television in Maiduguri, Professor Babagana Umara stated that the Chibok Secondary School, where the girls were abducted, had reopened and is running actively, with Teaching and learning currently taking place in the school.

Undoubtedly, all this was part of the efforts put in by the former President of Nigeria, President Muhammadu, who gave his attention and good synergy to end it. Without a doubt, the long-standing insecurity in the region was drasticallyreduced. Though Boko Haram has carried out some recent attacks, one cannot deny the fact that the former President was at the forefront in reducing it in the region during his tenure.

Is Buhari an Agricultural Transformer? 

Buhari has always been a president who advocated for Nigerians to take agriculture very seriously. President Buhari stated this while delivering a lecture on Tuesday in Abuja at the launch of the National Young Farmers Scheme, a program designed by the National Agricultural Land Development Authority (NALDA). The program aims to spark greater interest among young people in farming.

According to the President, agriculture remains the backbone of the Nigerian economy, being the largest contributor to the nation’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP). Although the advice was intended for Nigerians, today our youth have largely accepted the President’s advice and returned to farming, which they were previously unable to do.

Legacy is not leaving something for people; it’s leaving something in people.” – Peter Strople

Rest in perfect peace, Baba.

Sale Rusulana Yanguruza wrote via salesaifullahi931@gmail.com.

By Ahmad Muhammad Mijinyawa

The Root of Nigeria’s Leadership Crisis?

“As within, so without.”

The (above) ancient adage, the Law of Correspondence, offers a profound lens through which to examine Nigeria’s enduring leadership challenges. Our leaders aren’t from Mars; they are products of our very own society, having navigated the same systems as the rest of us.

To truly understand the quagmire of leadership in Nigeria, we must look beyond what is happening at the higher levels and examine the very foundation of how leaders are formed.

If you examine the structures that produce our leaders from the ground up, a stark reality emerges. We often encounter the same pervasive issues that plague the highest echelons of power: a lack of vision, mediocrity, and disheartening mismanagement of resources. 

This isn’t a coincidence. More often than not, individuals who ascend to higher positions of authority are those who have been leaders at lower levels. This cyclical pattern underscores a fundamental truth: a flawed system inevitably produces flawed leaders, and vice versa.

A significant reason for Nigeria’s current predicament lies in our collective disregard for the Law of Cause and Effect. Every single effect we witness, every challenge we face, has a preceding cause.

Crucially, you cannot change an effect with another effect. The intelligent approach, therefore, is to identify the underlying causes, deconstruct them to understand their intricate interplay with the impact, and from there, a clear blueprint for change and problem-solving will effortlessly emerge.

Nigeria’s leadership landscape is, undeniably, in a dire state, with dysfunction evident across multiple levels. So, what precisely are we getting wrong in the fundamental process of producing our leaders? The answer isn’t always at the higher levels.

The most crucial insights often lie at the bottom. We must return to the very genesis of leadership to diagnose the root causes of the widespread effects we are experiencing. By doing so, we can finally begin to discern the right direction forward.

Ahmad Muhammad Mijinyawa wrote via ahmadmijinyawa833@gmail.com.

Your Excellency,

We, the undersigned concerned applicants of the Kano State Postgraduate Scholarship Scheme 2025, wish to bring to your attention an issue that has caused great concern and uncertainty among many eligible indigenes of our dear state.

Following the screening exercise conducted by the Kano State Scholarship Board in January 2025, we were informed that nearly 4,000 candidates were confirmed eligible for the scholarship. The process was widely appreciated for its inclusivity across all fields of study.

However, it has come to our attention that the selection process for awardees has taken a one-sided turn. The Ministry for Higher Education has reportedly begun contacting selected candidates via phone calls; however, all those contacted so far are exclusively from STEM fields (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics). Applicants from equally important fields, such as the Social Sciences, Management Sciences, Arts, and Humanities, have been completely left out.

Several applicants have verified with the callers that only STEM candidates are being considered. This development has caused confusion and concern among the rest of us who also performed excellently and are proud indigenes of Kano State. We believe this situation undermines the spirit of equity and fairness for which Your Excellency is known.

To seek clarification, we formed a committee and visited the Scholarship Board. We were directed to the Ministry for Higher Education, but unfortunately, our concerns were not addressed; we were only allowed to submit a letter to the ministry’s secretary.

Your Excellency, we respectfully appeal for your kind intervention in this matter. We believe that every qualified and hardworking indigene, regardless of their field of study, deserves a fair opportunity. If the current arrangement cannot accommodate all eligible applicants from abroad and domestic private universities, we request that consideration be given to sponsoring students to domestic public universities within Nigeria or providing automatic job placements within the state civil service. These would be a worthy recognition of our academic dedication and a meaningful investment in the future of Kano State.

We remain hopeful and confident that Your Excellency will act with your usual sense of justice, fairness, and compassion.

Yours respectfully,

Comrade Safiyanu Yunusa Musa Rijiyar Zaki, Chairman of the Concerned Applicants Committee

MJ Bashir, Vice Chairman

By Usman Abdullahi Koli, ANIPR 

Muhammadu Buhari, former President of Nigeria, is no more. For a moment, I felt very shocked and touched. Not because I expected him to live forever, but because I had never honestly imagined a Nigeria without him somewhere in the background watching, guiding, deciding, or simply being present. I asked myself why the end of some lives feels heavier than others. Perhaps it is because those lives were never ordinary. Buhari’s life was one of service, controversy, silence, and symbolism. Now that the chapter is closed, what remains is the long shadow of his presence, a legacy that will be remembered, questioned, and reflected upon for years to come.

Buhari was never a man you could ignore. You were either with him or against him. I, more often than not, stood in opposition. I challenged his approach to national security, criticised his handling of the education system, and voiced strong concerns about his oversight of Nigeria’s crude oil sector and economy. My criticisms were never born out of malice, but out of conviction. I believed, and still do, that our country deserves better. I thought it was our duty to demand it.

Yet, amid my disagreements, I never lost sight of the man behind the decisions. In 2020, during the #EndSARS movement, when the nation was boiling with fear and fury, I felt compelled to offer a different perspective. I wrote an article titled “Calming the Tide: Buhari’s Antidote.” In that piece, I tried to humanise him. I described him as a lanky man, often caught smiling with his teeth in full view, yet known for the signature frown that defined his public image. Something was striking about how he carried himself in his flowing babban-riga, standing tall and firm like the general he once was, even in the calm of civilian leadership.

Buhari’s story began long before he entered Aso Rock. As a young man, he embraced the uncertainties of military life. He rose through the ranks with grit, ultimately becoming a general in the Nigerian Army. He ruled Nigeria first as a military leader and returned, decades later, as a civilian president. His reemergence was not merely a political move; it was deeply personal. He saw his return as a duty to complete a mission he once began in uniform. Whether he succeeded or fell short, Buhari believed in his cause, and that belief fueled his resolve.

He was undeniably a man of sharp edges. His stubborn adherence to principle often came at a cost. He preferred silence when the nation needed clarity and stood firm when compromise was necessary. His integrity, once lauded, became the subject of scrutiny. Some wounds were self-inflicted; others were inherited from the complexities of leadership. Regardless, they will shape how history remembers him.

Despite it all, Buhari remained anchored in a modest way of life. He never sought extravagance. He governed in the way he understood best—that is, through order, discipline, and restraint. These traits, while admired by some, alienated others. Yet, behind that stoic exterior was a man deeply invested in the idea of service, even if the methods failed to reflect the expectations of many.

The end of a life always casts a different light on it. Legacies are never truly complete until the final chapter has been closed. Buhari’s legacy will be debated in homes, classrooms, and political circles for years to come. But today is not for judgment. Today is for remembrance. For the man, not just the president. For the soldier who once stood on the frontline, and for the leader who walked through the dust of Daura into the marble halls of national power.

At over eighty, he still had something to give. Not in speeches or policy, but in presence, in counsel, in memory. Nigeria needs his wisdom, perhaps now more than ever.

I mourn him, not because I always agreed with him, but because I respected the weight of the burden he carried. He did not lead perfectly. But he led. And in many ways, he led with sincerity.

Now he is gone. But his footprints remain on the battlefield, in the ballot box, and in the hearts of those who watched, waited, and sometimes wept. His story is one of contradictions, courage, convictions, and consequences. But above all, it is a Nigerian story.

Rest in peace, General Muhammadu Buhari. The march is over. The bugle has sounded. And history, in all its fullness, will remember you.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via mernoukoli@gmail.com.

By Habib Sani Galadima

In 2021, I attended the wedding dinner of my friend Jamilu Ibrahim Lawan. I was seated close to the front, on a white plastic chair wrapped in gold fabric. Before me, the table was neatly set: a plate of Jollof rice, definitely not Nigerian, soft meat, and chilled drinks.

Then the emcee began his greeting: “Malam Alhaji Dr. Musa, Hajiya Barrister Halima, distinguished guests…” The crowd responded with approving nods. The roll call was not mere protocol. It was a performance of hierarchy, identity, and cultural choreography; compressed into names.

Last week, I was at another gathering with my brother. We both wore beads, but his was longer and more ornate. I casually called him by his marketplace nickname “Ustaz”. Minutes later, someone suggested he should lead the zuhr prayer. I cannot say the title alone earned him that role, but I am certain it tipped the scale. In Hausa society, a name does not just identify, it calibrates power. Every title is weighed by a specific cultural logic.

Whether it is ‘Malam’, ‘Alhaji’, ‘Ustaz’, ‘Engineer’, or ‘Sarki’, each one signals something; scholarship, pilgrimage, class, inheritance, or even self-promotion. To outsiders, they may sound interchangeable. To insiders, they map power, piety, education, and ambition.

Understanding Hausa titles is not about translating words. It is about interpreting what they signify, how they command trust, confer legitimacy, or inflate status.
Ask a Hausa child who taught them how to read Qur’an, and the answer is often the same: “Malam.” But today, that word travels far beyond the Tsangaya.

Originally from the Arabic ‘mu’allim’, meaning teacher, ‘Malam’ once marked someone rooted in Islamic knowledge, versed in tafsir, guardians of moral clarity, respected in both mosque and marketplace. A ‘Malam’ was more than a scholar. He was a compass.
Now the title is elastic. It applies to schoolteachers, lecturers, civil servants, even radio presenters with confident diction. In classrooms, it confers authority. In markets, it softens tone. Sometimes it is just what you call a man whose name you do not know. And on social media, Malam can shift from respect to ridicule, used to mock someone who parades borrowed wisdom.

This stretch reflects Hausa society’s deep reverence for learning, but also its evolving standards for what counts as knowledge. Malam no longer guarantees scholarship. It signals the appearance of learning, genuine or not.

Still, the word carries weight. It opens doors, commands silence, curates tone. Whether whispered by students or shouted from campaign stages, Malam remains a title that balances between reverence and performance. Between earned wisdom and social display.

Once upon a time, calling someone ‘Alhaji’ or ‘Malam’ was enough. Today, it is Alhaji Engr. (Dr.) Chief Sani, and the wedding card has not even listed his full name yet.
Across Northern Nigeria, title stacking has become a performance of prestige. What began as distinct acknowledgments of religious devotion (Alhaji), scholarly authority (Malam), or traditional office (Waziri, Sarki or Galadima) now mingle with Western academic and professional badges like Pharm., Barr., or Engr. One name carries five honorifics.

How did we go from single titles to full-length prefixes? The answer lies in both competition and code-switching. In a society where jobs are scarce and respect is fiercely guarded, titles become symbolic currency. They signal arrival. They fend off dismissal. A stacked name becomes shorthand for success, even when its credentials are uneven.

But it is more than vanity. Hausa speakers navigate overlapping systems of esteem; Islamic virtue, traditional nobility, colonial bureaucracy, and global credentialism. The title stack tries to contain them all: faith, lineage, modernity, merit, compressed into one string of prefixes.

The cost is semantic overload. At some point, ‘Dr. Alhaji Barr.’ says less about your knowledge than about your insecurity. It clutters public introductions and invites satire, as comedians mimic “Comrade Chief (Dr.) Honourable Mallam Digital Strategist…” to lampoon inflated self-worth.

Still, the inflation persists. Because in a culture where ‘girmamawa’ is armor, each new prefix feels like one more layer of protection.

In Hausa culture, titles matter. But girmamawa (respect) runs deeper.
An old man in a village, never called Alhaji or Malam, may command more silence in a gathering than someone with ten honorifics. Why? Because Hausa society has always known the difference between a name and a reputation.

Titles like Dr., Hajiya, Malam, or Waziri can open doors. They invite polite speech, they soften refusals, they protect ego. But respect is built slowly: through action, humility, and how one treats others when no one is watching.

People admire the man who settles disputes without shouting. The woman who feeds orphans without posting about it. The trader whose word is stronger than a receipt. These are the quiet architects of girmamawa.

The tension is real. A person can be called ‘Alhaji Barrister’ and still be mocked behind their back if they abuse power. On the other hand, someone with no title might be described as ‘mutumin kirki’ (a person of upright character) and be trusted with community secrets or village leadership.

Hausa proverbs capture this wisdom. One says, “A bin da ya fi ado, shi ne hali”, meaning, (character is greater than decoration).

The lesson is simple: titles may impress, but they cannot replace trust.

By Amir Abdulazeez

During the early and mid-months of 2002, I would often visit an uncle (now deceased) who generously provided me with newspapers before he had even read them himself. On one such visit, I picked up a copy of the Daily Trust, a relatively new publication at the time, and while flipping through its pages, I read the delightful news that not only made me happy but also propelled me into a brief career in partisan politics. Retired General Muhammadu Buhari had decided to join democratic politics and announced his entry into the All Nigerian Peoples Party (ANPP).

At the time, the Obasanjo-led administration was widely perceived as underperforming, failing to address Nigeria’s mounting challenges sincerely. The PDP had morphed into a formidable political giant, while the ANPP was weakening steadily; other newly registered parties existed only in the briefcases of their founders.  Buhari’s decision to enter politics at that time represented the single most decisive move that changed the Nigerian democratic landscape over the last 25 years. Youths, pensioners, activists, comrades, veterans and even fence-sitters found a new rallying point, and almost everyone else joined the new messiah.

Although many harboured reservations about Buhari, especially those whose interests had been hurt during his military regime or the post-1999 established elite who saw him as a threat, I was among the countless young Nigerians who adored Buhari to a fault. My admiration for him was so intense that another uncle once felt compelled to caution me. It was just before the 2003 presidential election when he walked into my room, saw a large framed portrait of Buhari on my wall, smiled, and advised me to moderate my obsession.

My love for Buhari began about 30 years ago. The establishment of the Petroleum Trust Fund (PTF) by General Sani Abacha’s administration in 1994 coincided with our early years in secondary school. By the time the Fund was a year old in 1995, the name of Muhammadu Buhari was on the lips of virtually all Nigerians. In my estimation, then, he was the only tangible positive aspect of the Abacha government. In fact, he appeared to be more popular than Abacha himself; a hypothesis that reportedly inspired Obasanjo to scrap the Fund in 1999 to avoid ‘running a government inside a government’.

I vividly recall a day in 1995 or 1996 when I accompanied my father to a bookshop. The PTF low-price edition of every book we went to buy was available at a 50% or so discount without any compromise in quality. While paying the money, I could see the smile on my father’s face reflecting deep satisfaction and appreciation for the work of the PTF. That was the first time in my life that I truly felt and understood the direct impact of government on the people. In pharmacies, PTF drugs were sold at subsidised rates. There was no propaganda, rhetoric, cosmetics, or media packaging; the work of Buhari’s PTF was there for everyone to see and touch. I was fortunate as a young lad to join elders on travels across the country from 1995 to 1997. I got tired of seeing the PTF road projects that I once asked: “Why won’t this Buhari return as president to fix Nigeria?”

Muhammadu Buhari, a constant figure in Nigerian political discourse since 1983, is no longer with us. Few anticipated his death, as the brief illness he suffered in London seemed either a rumour or a routine medical trip. Ironically, many of his detractors had “killed” him multiple times in the past; some of them dying before he did. In 2014, former Ekiti State Governor Ayo Fayose ran a notorious advertisement predicting that Buhari wouldn’t last in office for months if elected. Yet he won, served for eight years, and died just months short of turning 83.

Buhari lived a long, dedicated, and enduring life of service and commitment to Nigeria, spanning about six decades in both military and civilian capacities. Save perhaps for Obasanjo, there’s no Nigerian, dead or alive, who matches his array of public portfolios. His personal reputation for discipline, honesty, integrity, and austerity endured throughout his public life. He stood as a symbol of principled and stoic leadership, leaving behind a legacy that will continue to resonate for generations.

Just before his death, the debate of who made him president in 2015 resurfaced with an exchange of tantrums between some pro-Tinubu and pro-Buhari gladiators. While I found the debate outdated, my position remains that Buhari ought to have become president 12 years earlier. For the avoidance of doubt, Muhammadu Buhari did not lose the 2003 presidential elections; it was brutally rigged to return Obasanjo for a second term. That year’s election ranks among the most fraudulent in modern global history. In 2007, the presidential election results were allegedly fabricated, so we can’t even call that an election, let alone determine who won or lost.

Despite my immense love for Buhari, I was left with no choice but to join his critics after 2015. Less than a year in, it became clear that his government lacked the vision and effectiveness many had hoped for. In 2015, I queued until about 10:00 p.m. to vote for him, believing he was Nigeria’s last chance. By 2018, I was disappointed and called for him to serve just one term. I argued then that if he couldn’t lead like Nelson Mandela, he could at least exit like Mandela. By 2021, while in his second term, I was so disillusioned that I openly advocated for his impeachment.

It remains a mystery how our much beloved, tested, and trusted (his campaign slogan in 2003) Buhari failed to meet expectations so short. Some blamed his arrogant and underperforming appointees; others cited a fractured and directionless party. But ultimately, he bore the responsibility. His inability or unwillingness to discipline ineffective ministers eroded his credibility. In 2022, during the eight-month strike by university lecturers, I contacted one of his aides (a relative), who confirmed that it was Buhari’s ministers, not Buhari himself, who opposed paying the lecturers. Another indicator that he wasn’t really in charge. 

In the midst of the storm, Buhari’s administration achieved several landmark milestones in infrastructure, social welfare, and the fight against terrorism. He delivered the elusive Second Niger Bridge, the Lagos-Ibadan and Abuja-Kaduna railways and upgraded numerous critical road networks. His government implemented the Treasury Single Account (TSA), which significantly improved public financial transparency and curbed leakages. Buhari’s war against Boko Haram yielded mixed results but succeeded in reclaiming substantial territory from insurgents. He introduced arguably the largest Social Investment Program in the history of Africa, targeting millions of beneficiaries through initiatives such as N-Power, Trader Moni, Survival Fund, Anchor Borrowers Scheme, and conditional cash transfers.

Nigerians are free to hold divergent views on Buhari. But there should be decency in how we express those views. No one is without flaws; we all have our good and bad sides. One day, we too shall pass, and others will speak of us. Buhari had both triumphs and failings; some reaped benefits, others suffered losses. If you can pray for him, please do. If not, be measured in your words.

The past few days have witnessed a flurry of deaths, a sobering reminder that life is fleeting and death is inevitable. Today’s giants will one day lie lifeless. When Garba Shehu broke the news of Buhari’s death, I immediately made up my mind to put up a tribute. A few minutes after the announcement, I visited his Wikipedia page to verify some information about the general. To my surprise, the information about his death had already been updated: “Muhammadu Buhari (1942-2025)”—so swiftly? I said to myself. Baba is gone. May Allah forgive and grant him Jannatul-Firdaus.

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

There is this thing that has been baffling me for so long. How on earth can someone knowingly take what does not belong to them and claim to be the rightful owner? Be it a car, a motorcycle, money, or anything valuable, how can a person live with that and still have peace of mind? Just wondering. The rising number of fraudsters, armed robbers, and criminals is sending a red alarm through our society. We need to think about this. 

Where is our sense? How can you feel human after intentionally making someone else suffer by stealing or using power to take what is not yours? Even if you escape in this fleeting world, do you ever think about the hereafter? Honestly, I do not think anyone with a conscience can still feel truly human after that.

In today’s fast-paced society, the pursuit of wealth has become more intense than ever. Young people are under growing pressure to succeed quickly and visibly. Social media has made it worse, constantly showing luxury lifestyles, expensive cars, designer clothes, and dream vacations. Everywhere you look, someone is showing off something new, and this has created a culture where being rich is seen as the only proof of success. With this kind of pressure, it is not surprising that many are tempted to look for shortcuts to riches.

Some youth turn to legal avenues such as starting businesses, learning digital skills, or investing in trades. These are commendable paths that require time, discipline, and consistency. However, others begin to lean toward illegal or dishonest means. Internet fraud, online scams, money rituals, and other shady activities have unfortunately become attractive options for those who want to make it overnight. These choices are dangerous and often come with serious consequences that people do not thoroughly think through until it is too late.

The reality is that there is always a price to pay for fast money, especially when it comes through illegal means. Aside from the risk of arrest, prosecution, and jail time, there is also the emotional burden and shame that follow. Getting caught in criminal activity can destroy your future. It closes doors to real opportunities, stains your reputation, and breaks the trust your family and community have in you. Even if the law does not catch you, people talk. Your name becomes a warning, not an example.

Beyond legal consequences, there is also a personal cost. Living in constant fear of getting caught or exposed takes a toll on your mental health. Many people who appear to be living large are battling anxiety and guilt behind closed doors. They cannot sleep peacefully, they do not feel safe, and deep down, they know that what they are enjoying is temporary. What is the point of having money if you have to keep looking over your shoulder?

It is also important to understand that real wealth takes time to build. There is nothing wrong with starting small. Many successful people started with little, but they stayed consistent. Whether you are learning a skill, starting a side hustle, or working your way through school or a job, what matters is growth. Progress may be slow, but it is real, and over time, it adds up. That kind of wealth gives you confidence and freedom because it was earned the right way.

Young people need to hear this often. There is no shame in taking your time. Not everyone will blow in their twenties, and that is okay. Social media has created false timelines that make people feel like failures if they have not made it early. But life is not a race. Focus on building yourself. Learn, grow, stay curious, and surround yourself with people who push you to do better the right way. Your future should not be built on lies or shortcuts. Let it be built on purpose and with effort.

In the end, it is not just about making money. It is about who you become in the process. Money comes and goes, but your values, your peace of mind, and your name should remain intact. Do not trade your future for temporary pleasure. Stay focused, stay clean, and remember that true success is not just about how much you have but how you earned it.

Muhammad Umar Shehu wrote from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com

By Bilyamin Abdulmumin, PhD

I didn’t feel very emotional when I first heard about the death of Muhammadu Buhari. Until this morning, when I came across one of his speeches from the 2023 campaign. In that speech, he reflected on his life, the approaching end of his tenure, and his return home. He bade farewell and admonished the congress and the Nigerian people with good leadership, honesty, and trustworthiness. Watching that speech now, occasioned by his passing, felt like listening to a wasiyya, a final will, from one of my dying parents. For the first time, I found my eyes welling up over someone’s death. 

The death of the former president shouldn’t come as a surprise. At 82, he had lived a full, ripe, and by many standards, successful life. Yet many of us were caught unprepared by his passing. He was much in the spotlight, with his move from his Daura residence to a renovated home in Kaduna, and visits from opposition figures, leading to the APC’s restlessness and the immediate response from the then APC chairman, “Habu Na Habu”. 

The last time Buhari was in the news, it was due to rumours that he had slipped into a coma and was in critical condition—claims swiftly denied by Garba Shehu. Like many staunch Buharists, I didn’t take those rumours seriously. After all, we had heard many such baseless reports before.

Two key lessons I’ve taken from Buhari’s leadership: one about Buhari himself, and the second about the general society. For Buhari, integrity and honesty, while essential, are not enough on their own to bring about revolutionary change. I’ve followed transformational leaders like Lee Kuan Yew. Like Buhari, he was tough and sincere. But what set him apart was his well-defined economic philosophy and strategic vision. Buhari, by contrast, appeared to rely heavily on the capacity of his advisers and inner circle. 

For Nigerians, even the much-touted Lee Kuan Yew may still not be enough to deliver the revolutionary change. This is because the mindset and orientation of much of Nigerian society are often at odds with the very change they claim to seek. Many did not fully understand the nature or depth of the “change” being clamoured for in the first place. In contrast, a significant portion of Singaporean society shared in Lee Kuan Yew’s vision—or were at least willing to align themselves with a national revolution. That collective readiness made transformation possible. In Nigeria, however, the societal psyche remains a major barrier to meaningful reform.

History is best understood by future generations. Chairman Mao was once seen as merely a rebel, yet he eventually seized power and reshaped global history. How he was perceived a hundred years ago stands in stark contrast to how he’s viewed today. 

President Muhammadu Buhari came, did his part, and has now taken his bow. Time will reveal the full weight of his legacy. Good night, Baba. May your soul rest in Jannatul Firdaus.