Opinion

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu 

On Saturday, March 14, 2026, Dr Muhsin Ibrahim shared a newspaper report with me announcing the passing of Jürgen Habermas. The German philosopher died at the age of ninety-six in Starnberg, an affluent town in Upper Bavaria. Muhsin was well aware of how deeply I had drawn on Habermas’s theory of the structural transformation of the public sphere in my research on Muslim Hausa media cultures. 

His passing marks the end of an era in critical social theory. Habermas’s work on communication, rationality, and society made him one of the most influential philosophers of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, as well as a major intellectual figure in postwar Germany.

Many Africanists did not initially read Habermas directly. Rather, they encountered his ideas through mediated theoretical engagements in the writings of scholars such as Brian Larkin. I myself first became aware of the public–private sphere debate as part of the broader Frankfurt School theoretical repertoire in Larkin’s studies of media culture in northern Nigeria. His work contributed significantly to later “post-public sphere” discussions by demonstrating how Habermasian insights could be adapted to different social, cultural, and technological environments.

Of Habermas’s many publications, the one that proved most decisive for me was The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Originally published in German in 1962 and translated into English by Thomas Burger (with the assistance of Frederick Lawrence) in 1989, it is an extraordinarily dense text. One often needs the guidance of someone already conversant with its arguments to appreciate its analytical elegance. 

I was fortunate to own a copy—purchased for me in the pre-digital era by Gillian Belben, then Director of the British Council in Kano. I read it several times before fully grasping how powerfully it provided a framework for understanding public reactions to Hausa films and the emergence of censorship debates.

Habermas’s study retraces the historical emergence of the bourgeois public sphere as a communicative domain distinct from the state, in which private individuals could assemble to discuss matters of common concern. By analysing the transformations of this sphere, he recovered a concept of enduring importance for social and political theory. In simplified terms, the argument draws attention to differentiated social spaces—those of the home and those of the wider public—and to the ways in which each structures particular forms of discussion and social interaction.

I relied heavily on this analytical distinction when I presented my first international seminar at the Institut für Afrikanistik, University of Cologne, on November 15, 2004. Titled “Enter the Dragon: Shari’a, Popular Culture and Film Censorship in Northern Nigeria,” the seminar explored how Hausa films often rendered visible aspects of domestic life traditionally regarded as private, thereby provoking moral anxieties and regulatory responses. By destabilising the boundary between the two spheres, Hausa cinema helped produce new forms of mediated public debate. A dramatic illustration of this dynamic emerged in the widely discussed Hiyana scandal of 2007, in which a private act became publicly circulated, with far-reaching cultural consequences.

The communicative arena that Habermas conceptualised as the bourgeois public sphere appears today in a historically transformed guise within the networked environments of social media. In Muslim societies such as those of northern Nigeria, digital platforms have intensified the long-standing negotiation between domestic moral order and public cultural expression. 

Conversations once confined to living rooms, mosque courtyards, or informal viewing gatherings now unfold in algorithmically structured yet widely accessible communicative spaces. These interactions do not reproduce Habermas’s ideal of rational-critical debate in any straightforward manner. Rather, they reveal plural, affective, and technologically mediated publics in which questions of religious legitimacy, gendered visibility, and cultural authority are continually contested. Social media, therefore, represent not the revival of the bourgeois public sphere but a new phase in its structural transformation — what might tentatively be described as a “third space.”

The world of critical social theory will undoubtedly feel the loss of Jürgen Habermas. Yet his conceptualisation of the public–private divide will continue to shape scholarly reflections on media, communication, and cultural change for years to come.

Readers interested in further discussions of the public–private debate in Islamic contexts may consult:

Kadivar, Mohsen. 2003. An Introduction to the Public and Private Debate in Islam. Social Research 70 (3): 659–680.

By Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu

The phrase can be read in two ways: the dangers within mentorship, and the danger that mentorship itself may be disappearing.

As one grows older and accumulates experience, visibility, and a measure of goodwill, public culture often expects a form of “payback.” One of the most valued ways to do this is by mentoring younger colleagues—especially those approaching exit points in their careers. Nowhere is this expectation more pronounced than in academic circles. Yet over the years, I have watched the mentorship process deteriorate from both mentors’ and mentees’ perspectives.

When I began my career, mentees were frequently exploited. They carried out the basic research for their mentors—data gathering, analysis, and preliminary drafting—while the senior scholar ultimately received the credit in subsequent publications. When some mentees later attempted to assert ownership of their intellectual labour by publishing from the same datasets, mentors simply stopped working with them. By then, however, the senior academics had already crossed the Rubicon: they had secured their place in the system and had little incentive to look back.

Being exploited intellectually is not a small matter. In academia, one’s ideas, labour, and reputation are the core of one’s identity. When these are appropriated or manipulated, it feels like a violation — not just of professional ethics, but of dignity. Watching others suffer the same fate, and then seeing the perpetrators continue to flourish without consequence, naturally intensifies the sense of injustice.

A later generation of mentors adopted a more tactical strategy. Mentees were still required to do most of the “dirty work,” often writing up results for papers or book chapters, after which mentors insisted on being listed as joint authors. I objected to this practice on several occasions, arguing that a mentor is institutionally remunerated to support the mentee’s development, not to appropriate the mentee’s intellectual rewards. Yet some mentees willingly entered into such parasitic arrangements, convinced that the mentor’s visibility would enhance their own prospects. Meanwhile, mentors leveraged the mentees’ labour to boost citation counts and online academic metrics—the modern equivalent of academic swagger.

Mentees themselves have not been entirely blameless. Whether within formal institutional settings or in the more fluid spaces of public culture, mentorship ideally enables individuals to reach their potential. Increasingly, however, the relationship is being instrumentalised for economic gain or opportunistic advantage. Recent distressing experiences involving well-known academics [on Facebook and a young man named Ismail Sani] illustrate how goodwill and a willingness to assist can be exploited by outright scams. Such incidents inevitably make potential mentors more cautious, and sometimes less willing, to extend help in the future.

What we are witnessing, therefore, is a shift in expectations from intellectual mentorship to personal patronage. In many of our social environments, the two easily get conflated. Respect for elders, the culture of assistance, and the visibility that comes with academic success can combine to create the assumption that a mentor is also a benefactor. When repeated often enough, the requests begin to feel less like genuine emergencies and more like a pattern of dependence. That can make even a generous person start to withdraw.

Another troubling dimension is the subtle guilt-tripping employed by some would-be mentees. I have received numerous requests to serve as a referee for individuals I scarcely know. We may have met briefly at an event, or they may simply have encountered something I wrote. To them, I appear as a convenient “low-hanging fruit.” Basic courtesy would require prior contact—at the very least, a reminder of the context in which we met. I usually decline such requests. After all, referees are expected to have genuine knowledge of a candidate’s work and character. How can one write an honest assessment based on nothing more than fleeting acquaintance or social-media followership?

Social media has radically transformed access to public figures, rendering them perpetually available. Once a mentoring relationship is established, some mentees interpret access as entitlement. The boundary between guidance and material obligation becomes blurred. Social media makes this worse because it creates intimacy without context — people feel they “know” you, and therefore feel justified in making personal demands. Over time, the mentor begins to anticipate the next request, and the original intellectual purpose of the relationship is quietly eroded.

In the physical, offline world, proximity often enables one to gauge the sincerity of requests for guidance or assistance. The anonymity and immediacy of online interaction, however, have produced what might be called a form of “closed distance”: a space stripped of emotional grammar and contextual obligation. In such a space, panhandling can easily be reframed as a moral claim upon those perceived as accessible or influential.

The cumulative effect is worrying. Mentorship, as a meaningful intellectual and moral relationship, may itself be in danger.

What have your own experiences been?

In governance, performance should naturally translate into greater responsibilities. Since his appointment as Special Adviser on Youth and Sports, Hon. Sani Musa Danja has demonstrated capacity, commitment, and a people-oriented approach that has delivered visible impacts on youth development and sports advancement in Kano State.

Within his first month in office, over 3,000 youths were empowered through food-related initiatives such as Nija Food. This early intervention reflected responsiveness to the economic realities facing young people and set the tone for a tenure driven by action rather than mere rhetoric.

One of Hon. Danja’s most commendable achievements is his grassroots engagement across all 44 Local Government Areas of Kano State. Through open consultations with the youths, he listened to concerns on welfare, unemployment, insecurity, and inclusion. This initiative brought governance closer to the people and helped rebuild trust between the government and youth.

To strengthen coordination and sustainability, he worked closely with Senior Special Assistants on Youth across the 44 LGAs, fostering cohesive leadership and unified strategies for youth development across the state.

Understanding the strong link between unemployment and insecurity, Hon. Danja adopted a preventive empowerment approach. Over 300 youths previously involved in thuggery and phone snatching were redirected into productive ventures, including popcorn-gurguru production, fast-food services, shawarma preparation, and baking. This intervention not only provided livelihoods but also contributed to crime reduction and social reintegration.

His tenure also saw institutional support for voluntary youth and security organisations, including the Nigerian Boy Scouts and other community-based groups such as the Civilian JTF Kano. Through the provision of working materials and encouragement, discipline, and volunteerism, community service among young people was strengthened.

In addition, a statewide Youth Symposium Day was organised to promote dialogue, leadership, and civic engagement, involving participants from all 44 LGAs. Hon. Danja also paid visits to youth training and skills acquisition centres across the state, encouraging trainees and reassuring them that government support remains within reach (kusa da gwamnati).

Beyond programs, compassion has remained a defining feature of his leadership. Financial assistance was extended to youths facing serious health challenges, including those with spinal cord-related disabilities, demonstrating an inclusive and humane approach to governance.

In sports development, Hon. Danja contributed to the revival of neglected sports such as volleyball, encouraging youth participation and talent development. Administratively, he reorganised and strengthened his office to ensure efficiency, transparency, and effective service delivery.

Currently, his office is coordinating a large-scale youth empowerment initiative under YEIDEP, targeting over 1.2 million youth participants in skills acquisition and entrepreneurship, reflecting executive-level vision and readiness.

Given his performance, statewide reach, and ability to connect with young people, Hon. Sani Musa Danja is well-positioned to deliver even greater impact.

A passionate appeal is therefore made to His Excellency, Engr. Abba Kabir Yusuf, to consider appointing Hon. Sani Musa Danja as the Commissioner for Youth and Sports and nominate him to the Kano State Executive Council. Such a decision would ensure continuity, consolidate gains, and further strengthen Kano State’s youth and sports development agenda.

Shamsuddeen Muazu (AbuMuhd) wrote from Kano State. He can be reached via abumuhdpress@gmail.com.

By Misbahu Muhammad

For decades, the bustling Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market has been more than a commercial hub; it is a community cornerstone, a source of livelihood, and for many, a family heritage. Today, that heritage is under threat as the Tarauni Local Government Council pushes forward a redevelopment plan that has left the very owners of the land feeling sidelined, silenced, and strong-armed.

The council’s vision for a modern market is not, in itself, contentious. Traders and landowners alike acknowledge the need for improved facilities, better sanitation, and enhanced security. The conflict lies not in the what, but in the how.

Landowners and stakeholders are excluded from the planning process. The architectural designs, the project scope, and the financial model were reportedly finalised without their meaningful consultation. The community, whose assets and futures are directly implicated, was reduced to mere spectators in a decision that reshapes their property and prosperity.

“They came with a completed plan and said, ‘This is what we are doing,’” recounted shop owners, whose families have owned plots/shops in the market for five decades “Our suggestions, our concerns about access, shop sizes, or temporary relocation were not entertained. It was presented as a take-it-or-leave-it decree, not a joint venture or partnership.”

The council’s proposed framework is a Joint Venture (JV) arrangement. While JVs can be equitable, landowners report having no alternative models to consider—no option for self-redevelopment through a cooperative society or banks, build-operate-transfer (BOT), no fair buy-out offer, and no room to negotiate the terms of the partnership. The proposed JV terms remain opaque, with fears that they heavily favour the government or its private partners, potentially leaving original owners with diminished stakes and control over their own land.

This singular, non-negotiable pathway has been widely interpreted not as an offer, but as an ultimatum.

The most alarming allegation from the developers is the use of coercive pressure. They claim government officials have insinuated or explicitly stated that failure to consent to the JV could lead to the revocation of their rights or the outright seizure of their land under the guise of “public interest” or “development control.”

“The message is clear: sign on our terms or lose everything. “This isn’t negotiation; it feels like legalised land grabbing. We are being forced to surrender our property rights under threat.” Currently, many landowners are panicking and have started selling their shops at giveaway prices to these rent seekers, willing to go to any lengths to grab the land.

This approach raises significant legal and ethical questions. The Land Use Act, which vests land administration with the state government, mandates due process and equitable treatment. Experts argue that excluding landowners from a process that affects their fundamental proprietary interests may violate principles of fair hearing and natural justice.

Redevelopment must be inclusive and transparent, presenting a single, non-negotiable contract under the implied threat of revocation; crossing that line. It undermines the trust essential to public-private collaboration and sets a dangerous precedent for urban development.

The Tarauni Local Government Chairman has been advocating for a one-for-one shop. This slogan in itself is ill-conceived, as it lacks an appropriate valuation of shops and a compensation mechanism.  He always argued that the redevelopment is “for the greater good of all” and will “transform the area into a modern commercial zone and must be done even after his tenure. 

As tensions rise, the path to a peaceful and prosperous Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market lies in genuine dialogue. Stakeholders are calling for:

1. An immediate halt to the current coercive process.
2. Full, transparent disclosure of the JV terms, partners, and financial projections.
3. The creation of a truly representative committee of landowners to re-negotiate the redevelopment framework.
4. Exploration of multiple development models, allowing landowners to choose the option that best secures their legacy and livelihood.

The soul of Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market is its people. Any redevelopment that severs that connection is no development at all. The Tarauni Local Government has an opportunity to correct course—to build not just a new market, but a renewed covenant of trust with the community it serves. The alternative is a legacy of conflict and resentment that no new building can ever hide.

By Isyaka Laminu Badamasi

As Muslims, we are encouraged to support the vulnerable among us during the holy month of Ramadan, as acts of charity during this sacred period are multiplied in reward. Ramadan is a time devoted to ibadah (worship), compassion, and the pursuit of spiritual salvation. Both the Qur’an and the Hadith emphasise the importance of helping those in need, particularly during this blessed month.

Zakat, by its very concept, is an Islamic strategy for poverty alleviation and empowerment. It is designed to enhance economic well-being, improve livelihoods, significantly reduce the number of people living in poverty, and strategically increase the number of economically independent individuals. If this divine system is fully adopted and properly incorporated into our socio-economic structures, it can pave the way for a more prosperous, stable, and secure society. This principle is well supported by Islamic teachings, and more information can be obtained from the Zakat and Endowment Units within Shariah Commissions across Muslim-majority states.

As an observer—and someone who has had the opportunity to relate and work with people who serve as members of committees distributing Ramadan palliatives, Sadaqat, Zakat and other palliative programs —a thought often comes to mind during these exercises. The distribution packages usually target vulnerable individuals such as orphans, widows, persons with disabilities, the elderly, internally displaced persons, and those struggling to survive amid the multidimensional poverty affecting many communities in this part of the world.

While this gesture is noble and commendable, I strongly believe that some of these beneficiaries, with the right support, could become economically self-reliant and eventually leave the long queues for palliative collections—queues that, in some unfortunate cases, have even led to injuries or deaths. We can all remember the stampedes during palliative distributions across the country. 

Considering the hundreds of millions, or even billions, of Naira spent annually on Ramadan palliatives by wealthy individuals, corporate organisations, politicians, and governments — which is commendable and should be sustained — it may be worthwhile to redirect part of these resources, or allocate a specific portion toward empowerment initiatives.

For example, a modest sum of N10,000 or N20,000 can be enough to help some women start small income-generating activities. Interestingly, many of the food packages distributed during Ramadan or other palliative programs are often worth more than that amount. (I am not referring to those sharing cooked food or smaller packages) If such resources or separate allocation were converted into empowerment opportunities, they could promote sustainable development rather than temporary relief through the routine distribution of food items. Many professional entrepreneurs and social workers can attest to the long-term benefits of such an approach.

At Initiatives for Sustainable Development (I4SD), we are preparing to pilot this strategy by supporting a small group of vulnerable women through green-skills economic empowerment programs. Our aim is to create a practical model that Governments, philanthropists, corporate organisations, NGOs, and well-meaning individuals can replicate. We welcome professional support, partnerships, and collaboration to help actualise this vision for a more sustainable future—one filled with dignity, happiness, and social tranquillity.

ALLAH YA karbi ibadun mu, amin.

Isyaka Laminu Badamasi wrote via makwalla82@gmail.com.

By Dr. Umar Musa Kallah

As the US-Israeli war against Iran enters its second week, the initial narrative of a rapid Western triumph has collapsed. What began with coordinated strikes on Iranian leadership and infrastructure has instead unleashed a sophisticated Iranian counter-campaign rooted in decades of preparation, control of global chokepoints, and asymmetric warfare. Verifiable maritime data, energy market reports, and military analyses confirm that Iran is not merely holding ground, it is systematically eroding the economic foundations of American power and its Gulf allies.

The closure of the Strait of Hormuz stands as Iran’s most potent immediate weapon. Since Iran’s declaration and attacks on transiting vessels in early March 2026, shipping traffic has effectively halted, with oil and LNG flows, representing roughly 20% of global trade is severely disrupted. Global crude prices have spiked, insurance markets have pulled coverage, and Asian importers face acute shortages. This is no bluff: tanker tracking and satellite imagery show near-total cessation of commercial traffic, directly strangling revenues for US-aligned Gulf states.

Tehran has complemented this blockade with hundreds of ballistic missiles and drones targeting US military installations and infrastructure across Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia. Strikes have damaged communication systems, radar sites, and air bases, including the US Fifth Fleet headquarters and Al Udeid Air Base. The cost asymmetry is telling: cheap Iranian drones and missiles exhaust multimillion-dollar Western interceptors at a pace that cannot be sustained indefinitely.

Iran has also struck desalination plants and power infrastructure critical to Gulf freshwater supplies. With over 90% of drinking water in several Gulf nations dependent on energy-intensive desalination, these targeted hits are creating humanitarian pressure and accelerating economic paralysis. By weaponizing both energy exports and water security, Tehran is holding civilian populations and regional economies hostage.

This economic siege directly undermines the Gulf sovereign wealth funds that have bankrolled much of America’s AI boom. Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund and Abu Dhabi’s Mubadala have channeled tens of billions into US tech, data centers, and AI ventures. With oil revenues frozen, airspace closed, and infrastructure under fire, these funds are already curtailing new commitments to American projects. The resulting capital drought threatens Silicon Valley valuations and risks triggering a broader stock-market correction, a strategic blow at the heart of US technological supremacy.

None of this is improvised. Iran has spent decades building precisely this capacity: an estimated pre-war arsenal of thousands of ballistic missiles, mass-produced drones, and resilient proxy networks designed for attrition warfare. Its high-ranking scientists and engineers have indigenously advanced these systems through reverse-engineering and innovation, often drawing on historical technological exchanges. Battle-hardened IRGC commanders , seasoned warlords operating with decentralized command, coordinate the response, while a population of over 90 million, tempered by generations of sanctions and pressure, demonstrates profound civilizational resilience and refusal to surrender easily.

This internal steel is coupled with broader strategic depth from longstanding partnerships. Russia, China, North Korea, and Pakistan have provided diplomatic condemnation of the US-Israeli aggression, alongside decades of technological collaboration in missiles, drones, and defense systems that now equip Iran to endure. While direct military intervention has been limited, these ties  combined with Iran’s own preparations will ensure sustained resistance that outlasts Western political will and munitions stockpiles.

The world now faces Tehran’s calculated endgame: choking global energy arteries, disrupting vital water supplies, and redirecting Gulf capital away from American innovation. Every day of blockade, every intercepted drone salvo, and every sign of Iranian societal cohesion deepens the strain on Washington and its partners. Iran did not stumble into this conflict; it prepared for it across a lifetime of strategic patience. As oil prices climb, water crises intensify, AI investments falter, and resilient Iranian forces continue to dictate the tempo, the balance of power is shifting decisively.

The verifiable data from shipping trackers, strike assessments, and resilience analyses  is clear: Iran is not on the defensive. It is leveraging geography, technology, alliances, and unbreakable national will to hold the world ransom. Tehran is on course to prevail.

Dr Umar Musa Kallah, a writer and community advocate, can be reached via yakubunasirukhalid@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Isah Zng

For many students, gaining admission into a university marks the beginning of a hopeful journey toward a better future. For me, however, gaining admission to study Mass Communication at Bayero University, Kano (BUK) came with a difficult reality: I had no sponsor to support my education.

There was no one to take full responsibility for my expenses, including feeding and other basic needs. Yet despite this challenge, I refused to let my circumstances stop me from pursuing my dream. I held firmly to three principles that guided my journey throughout the university years: faith, hope, and hard work.

When I left home for BUK to begin my studies, I quickly realised that survival would require determination beyond the classroom. I had to find a way to support myself financially while keeping up with my academic responsibilities. Deep down, I knew that no one would suddenly come to rescue me from my situation. If I wanted to succeed, I had to depend on my own efforts.

With that understanding, I made a decision that would define my entire university experience. Every weekend, I would leave the university campus to work as a woodcutter. The job was physically demanding and exhausting, but it became my primary means of survival.

From my first year in university, I maintained this routine of attending lectures and focusing on my studies during the week, then travelling off campus on weekends to cut and process firewood for sale. The work was not easy, but it provided the little income I needed to sustain myself.

Over time, I found additional opportunities to work. During my second year at the university, I started working in two different locations outside BUK. I worked under individuals such as Dan Azumi and Alhaji Aminu Dorayi Babba. Through these jobs, I earned money that helped me meet my basic needs.

The income from the work was modest but meaningful. On average, I earn between ₦3,000 and ₦4,000. On better days, I could earn between ₦10,000 and ₦13,000. That money helped me buy food and other necessities. Sometimes, it even allowed me to support two of my friends who were also struggling to survive in school.

One remarkable thing about the work was its reliability. Whenever I went out to work, I was almost certain that I would return with something to eat. It taught me the dignity of labour and reminded me that no honest work should ever be looked down upon.

Although balancing academic studies with physical labour was challenging, I remained committed to completing my education. Each day of hard work reminded me that the sacrifices I was making were steps toward a brighter future.

Today, Alhamdulillah, I have successfully completed my four-year programme at Bayero University, Kano. My graduation marks the end of one important chapter of my life and the beginning of another phase filled with new responsibilities and aspirations.

Through my story, I want to encourage young people, especially students facing financial hardship, not to lose hope. Many young people today feel discouraged when they encounter difficulties in pursuing their education. However, challenges should not define our limits; instead, they can inspire us to find creative ways to achieve our goals.

There is dignity in every form of honest work. Whether it is cutting wood, farming, trading, or doing any other job, what truly matters is the determination to move forward despite obstacles.

Life is not always easy for people who come from humble backgrounds. But it can still be meaningful and inspiring when we use our difficult situations as opportunities for growth. Hard work, patience, and faith can transform even the toughest circumstances into stepping stones toward success.

My journey from wood-cutting to earning a university degree is a testament to the power of perseverance. It is a reminder that with determination and self-belief, even the most challenging path can lead to success.

Muhammad Isa wrote via isahmuhammad571@gmail.com.

By: Malam Khalid Imam

The appointment of Hajiya Bilkisu Maimaita, undoubtedly one of the finest Kano female technocrats, as the Acting Head of Service, by His Excellency, the Executive Governor of Kano State, Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf, on 10th March, 2026, is both historic and a strategic move in the right direction.

The esteemed Hajiya Bilkisu Maimaita, who hails from Yakasai Quarters in Kano Municipal LGA, is a true doyenne of public service, an astute policy maker, a seasoned public administrator, and a well-trained personnel who has been in active public service for over three decades, and now serving as the Permanent Secretary.

She is quite famed as a respected, tested, and trusted administrator. Maimaita is well known as one of the reliable wheels moving the vehicle of seamless public service sector, having served in different capacities over the decades. Her new appointment as the Acting Head of Service by His Excellency, Governor Yusuf, is indeed a strategic move to entrust the daunting task of ensuring the continuous function of the heart of Kano’s public service to the right hands.

Her trademarks in the service are trust, resilience, assiduity, capability, and reliability. Before her new role as the female Acting Head of Service, she has been serving as the Permanent Secretary, Administration and General Services (AGS) in the Cabinet Office.

No doubt, Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota’s appointment is a confirmation to her unwavering commitment to duty, unmatched experience and exemplary service. Sure, her wealth of experience and proven track record make her an ideal fit for this role.

In another light, Maimota’s appointment is a bold testament to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s commitment to empowering more Kano professional women and recognizing their invaluable contributions to Kano State’s development. And without emphasizing, this shows that the governor values the impact of women in leadership positions and is willing to give them the platform to shine as he dedicates energy in pursuing the realization of his government’s Kano First Agenda.

A big kudos to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf for this right move, which, without denying, is an astounding milestone, showcasing the government’s unwavering dedication to inclusivity and gender equality. Counting on her fabulous experience, Bilkisu Maimota’s leadership in this new role will undoubtedly inspire more women to take on key roles in the state.

Once more, kudos to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf for this strategic move of entrusting in Maimota this task as well as opening windows to Kano professional women to serve their state with distinction. Indeed, Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota’s leadership is sure to propel Kano State’s public service to greater heights.

At this juncture, on behalf of the Yakasai Community, where she hails, I wish her Allah’s continued guidance and success in the service of our dear state. Wishing our Acting Head of Service sound health and prosperity in all her personal endeavours.
Congratulations to our very own reverential Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota, a true doyenne of Kano public service.

Khalid Imam is a Kano-based bilingual writer, educator and a Deputy Director at the Monitoring and Evaluation Unit, Science and Technical Schools Board, Kano, who also serves as the President of Kano Literary Space. He can be reached via: 07075403774 or khalidimam2002@gmail.com

By Abdalla Uba Adamu

My most recent post on the Hausa traditional technologies of cloth-making and weaving raised a very interesting—and very welcome—comment: did I use AI to write the post? The simple answer is no. Now, let me unpack the issue (and while this sentence is not AI-generated, it is definitely AI-syntax!!!).

I have noticed over several weeks postings that are definitely AI by people whose writing I am quite familiar with. You get to notice these things after almost half-century of teaching and supervising student projects and dissertations at all level, and all in the English language. Words that keep popping up in these recent postings include: “ecosystem”, “DNA”, “spine”, “architecture”, “chamber”, “leverage”, “cartography”, “nuance”, “cascade”, and of course, “unpack.” 

Generative AI produces prose in a neat, grammatically correct and often archaic language. When someone is not used to writing in that syntax and they suddenly do, then it is AI at work. And words that don’t belong in normal conversation. For God’s sake, how frequently do you use “ecosystem” or “DNA”? But suddenly they begin to appear in someone’s writing! Even if it is not directly AI, you were subtly influenced by AI Grammar!

Further, AI can produce perfect grammar and spelling, but the content often lacks depth or original insight. Do you see spelling errors or factual mistakes? That’s human, not AI. Do you see polished perfect grammatically error-free narrative? Suspect, but not always, AI, especially if the person is not a seasoned or regular writer.

As I assured my commenter, none of my postings has ever been written by AI, nor will it be. Every word, comma and period are made by me in Ɗorayi Babba, Kano! My writing might seem like AI simply because I use an academic register in my normal writing. In other words, ingantaccen turanci, which the AI machine is not used to seeing in social media posts. AI detectors are guessing probabilities—not identifying authorship. I write very carefully, going over what I write at least three times, checking facts, spelling, context, before I press the send paper airplane icon (I also use my laptop for all postings, to avoid mistakes as much as possible).

Pick any of my writings from, say 2001, dump it in AI, it will tell you it was AI-written. This was before the Generative version of AI became commodified social conversations. Thus, in an academic writing AI will not flag my writing. But it might in social media posting because the AI checker will expect a loose, public-oriented syntax. Look for “human flags” in all my writings. In the post in question, the flag is: “Remove the cloth—and we revert back to our animal origins. Our shame exposed, because we are now aware.” No AI will write that because it is a human thought, expressed by a human. In fact, it even tells you that the human is religious—invoking religious imagery to make a point. AI is religiously, spiritually and politically neutral—except Grok!

The passage refers to the awareness Prophet Adam (AS) of his nakedness after eating the Forbidden Fruit in Paradise. The leaf he used to cover himself is now the clothe the picture glorifies—the civilizational tool which separates us from animals that are naked. That is religious philosophy. No AI can come up with this insight.

So, do I use AI?  Referring of course to Generative AI. Of course! In 2026 any person NOT using AI is in serious trouble in the global knowledge economy, in any sphere. I use the paid version which gives me more features (I will not tell you which AI I use so as not to advertise free for them!).

If I am asked to write a chapter for a book or a journal article, I never use AI for the main prose. I use it only to gather titles of reference materials (and I then fly to the Acibilistan Central Library, using Acibilisian Airways, to borrow copies), and I doubly verify the references are real, not AI-hallucination (I have caught it on one or two occasion, and I “warn” it never to give me what it thinks I want; only what is real). But the prose is mine. Funnily enough, even the AI I used is quietly impressed with the titles of my projects—go over my past publications and you will what I mean—and this was before the Generative AI revolution.

I don’t even use it for my lectures. I may ask for lecture outline—and promptly decline any offer of writing the lecture notes. The reason is that all my lectures are based on my ethnographic field experiences—with actual examples of videos, photos, or experiences shared with my students at all levels.

Other cases where I allow AI to draft something for me might be where I am asked on a short notice to be a keynote speaker. But give me weeks’ notice in advance, I cook my own meal.  Or write reference for someone. When it produces the draft, I go over it and input personal touches. (it will write, “he is a hard worker”, I will write, “he is an excellent co-worker and sociable person whom I have known for over ten years”).

One ongoing case where I use the AI is in editing my autobiography, and I find it tremendously useful at that. I have written more than 90% of the book, given it to human editors to correct, mainly article misplacement, grammar etc. Once I subscribed to the paid version of my AI, I send it the previous chapters (which, unwisely, were written in Third Person, but that’s a story for another day). It converted everything to the First Person POV I asked it to. Then it smoothened sentences, polished passages, but, and I warned it right from the beginning, did not add anything. I always use it in editorial mode. Save me lots of money from human editors (and time chasing them for return)! It has an often irritating tendency to lead you to a rabbit hole, but I always claw my way out of it. So, my Prompts tell it to be Editorial, not Authorial. It is a nice relationship that keeps the integrity of my words, and saves me a lot of money in paying human editors to edit the work.

I am happy that people are beginning to notice the increasing rise—and use— of Generative AI, even trying to pinpoint it. This is good. Equally happy that some AI tools are capable of answering Prompts in the Hausa language—thus opening up the Hausaphone world to the global knowledge economy.

Now, I ask you. Do you use Generative AI? In what ways. Are you happy with it, or do you feel you are surrendering your intellect to a machine? Or are you Die Mensch-Maschine (ask your AI to translate that!)?

Abdalla Uba Adamu
Department of Information and Media Studies
Faculty of Communication
Bayero University Kano
March 10, 2026

The recent exchange between Daniel Bwala and Mehdi Hasan on Al Jazeera’s Head to Head programme has sparked widespread debate across Nigeria’s political and media space. The interview, which quickly went viral on social media, has been interpreted by many observers as a revealing moment at the intersection of political communication, accountability, and international journalistic standards.

Appearances on global platforms such as Al Jazeera are rarely routine engagements. Programmes like Head to Head are built on a tradition of rigorous questioning, where political figures are expected to defend their arguments under intense scrutiny. For journalists such as Hasan, whose interviewing style is known for its directness, the objective is not merely to host a conversation but to interrogate claims with evidence, previous statements, and policy records.

It is within this context that Bwala’s performance, a media aide to Bola Ahmed Tinubu, has attracted considerable commentary. Some analysts argue that the controversy surrounding the interview reflects a broader challenge faced by many political spokespersons when transitioning from domestic media environments to global broadcast platforms. International interviews of this nature often demand a high level of preparation, particularly when the subject has an extensive public record that can be referenced during questioning.

One of the most notable aspects of the interview involved the presentation of Bwala’s earlier criticisms of Tinubu during the period leading to the 2023 Nigerian presidential election. Before aligning with the current administration, Bwala had publicly expressed views that were sharply critical of the president and his political movement. During the interview, those earlier remarks were revisited and contrasted with his present role as a defender of the government’s policies.

In professional journalism, such lines of questioning are neither unusual nor inappropriate. Public figures frequently encounter questions about their previous positions, particularly when those positions appear to contradict their current stance. The purpose is not necessarily to embarrass the interviewee, but to test the consistency and credibility of their arguments.

Following the broadcast, Bwala reportedly stated in subsequent media interviews that he felt “ambushed,” suggesting he had not anticipated extensive questioning about his past remarks on Tinubu. That explanation, however, has generated further discussion among media commentators. Critics maintain that any appearance on a programme known for its confrontational format should reasonably come with the expectation that past public statements may be scrutinised.

Beyond the immediate personalities involved, the episode highlights an important issue in Nigeria’s political communication culture. Many public officials are accustomed to interview formats within the local media environment, where questioning can sometimes be less adversarial and more conversational. While this approach may foster cordial interactions between journalists and political actors, it can also create a degree of unpreparedness when officials engage with international media institutions that operate under different professional expectations.

Global news networks often emphasise adversarial journalism as a way of ensuring accountability. Interviewers are expected to challenge power, confront inconsistencies and demand evidence for political claims. Within that framework, the intensity of the Hasan–Bwala exchange was largely consistent with established international broadcasting practices.

There is also a broader dimension to consider. When government representatives appear on international media platforms, their performance inevitably shapes perceptions of their country’s governance and political culture. Such appearances, therefore, carry implications that extend beyond individual reputations, touching on issues of national image and diplomatic communication.

Nevertheless, the controversy surrounding the interview also offers a useful moment for reflection. Nigeria’s democratic system benefits from open engagement with the media, both domestically and internationally. In an era where information circulates instantly across borders, political communicators must recognise that past statements remain accessible and can resurface at any moment.

Ultimately, the Bwala–Hasan interview serves as a reminder of an enduring reality in public life: political narratives are constantly subject to scrutiny. In the digital age, where every speech, interview or social media post becomes part of a permanent archive, consistency and preparation are essential tools for anyone representing government policy.

Whether one views the exchange as a difficult interview, a tactical misstep, or simply the normal workings of adversarial journalism, it reinforces the importance of accountability in democratic discourse. When political actors face rigorous questioning, the process may be uncomfortable, but it remains central to the role that journalism plays in holding power to account.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicate writer based in Abuja.