Opinion

By Ugochukwu Ugwuanyi

Just like calling someone’s name often makes them look your way, there’s hardly a better way for brands to secure attention than by tying their messaging to human truths. Some of the best conversions happen when businesses step into their customers’ shoes. A story lands when audiences can glaringly see themselves in the narrative through a graphic representation of their lived circumstances. Brands that know what customers are grappling with will always outperform self-centred competitors.

Empathy storytelling targets human connections in public relations by deliberately making stakeholders heroes or protagonists of the plot. It subjects the brand or organisation to playing a supporting role in the lives, struggles, wins, and aspirations of audiences. It’s a strategy that puts the people first in order to win them over. Understanding and embodying the emotions, objections, and motivations behind a potential patronage is what separates the storytelling that gets read from the one that converts.

The best messaging isn’t built around businesses but inspires a dialogue about people, problems, and change. This is what will turn audiences into advocates. A post that engineers 100 genuine discussions is often more valuable than one that reaches 100,000 people and is forgotten the next day. Empathy storytelling is like human-interest journalism that funnels into conversations people actually want to join.

Factoring In the Critical ICP Framework 

ICP stands for Ideal Customer Profile. It involves getting a 360-degree picture of your archetypal audience so you can speak to them with empathy and effectively assuage their pain points. ICP makes for laser-focused messaging so that the writer can turn from a generic, scattered narrative into personalised storytelling that cuts through the noise. When you speak directly to an ICP’s specific problems and goals, your storytelling becomes significantly more persuasive.

The framework guarantees better word choice by enabling the storyteller to ditch corporate-speak and industry jargon, embracing vocabulary and tone that resonate with the reader. Businesses are prone to describing their products in argot, while customers express their problems in simple, emotional terms. The closer your messaging is to your audience’s language, the easier it is for them to feel understood and trust what you’re selling. Before delving into storytelling, the ICP framework should be used to flesh out the following:

Desires: What is the ideal customer’s end goal? What, in specific terms, are they trying to achieve?

Problems and Pain Points: What is standing in their way? Why are current solutions failing them? Taking note of negative 3-star reviews of your competitors on Amazon or Alibaba gets you the exact phrasing that will make your storytelling convert.

Voice of Customer (VoC): Great messaging usually sounds like the customer wrote it themselves. What are the exact words they use to describe their frustrations? You can analyse Amazon reviews, stalk Reddit threads, support tickets and YouTube comments to pull phrases that will make your reader be like, “You’ve got me there!”

Rehashing customers’ vocabulary and phrases is the ultimate hack for high-converting storytelling that feels deeply personalised. Finding and using the exact words people use to describe their problems will make your content land more naturally and relatably.

The Situational Theory of Publics

Empathy storytelling will miss the mark without audience segmentation or stakeholder mapping. Enter the Situational theory, which hypothesises problem recognition, constraint identification, involvement, and information seeking as the four determinants of how people react to an issue or an organisation.

This model helps the storyteller achieve empathy by identifying and segmenting publics, understanding their needs and preferences, so that communication with them can be meaningful. The following is how situational theory segments publics based on their levels of problem recognition and information seeking:

1. Non Publics: Individuals with zero connection to or interest in the issue. They are unlikely to engage with your message.

2. Latent Publics: People who are affected by an issue or an organisation but are unaware of it or do not perceive it as a problem. The opportunity here is to build awareness.

3. Aware Publics: Individuals who are aware of an issue or a business but do not seek information or take action. 4. Active Publics: People who are fully aware, personally invested, and actively discussing, organising, or advocating around the issue.

All of this can be deciphered from community discussions, forums and social media comment sections where patterns can be gleaned when similar questions and objections appear repeatedly. From the derivable insights, you can then use empathy storytelling to either increase the problem recognition of latent publics or reduce the constraint identification of aware publics.

The Bubble Trap: Company Excitement Doesn’t Approximate Audience Attention

Living inside your organisation’s bubble is one of the greatest pitfalls of PR. This is particularly true for complex industries such as tech, medicine, energy and finance. It plays out when an upcoming activity or launch attracts so much enthusiasm and anticipation within that you start feeling as if it’s the same without. That’s assuming that everyone else is as excited as the internal teams. But until the comms team comes to terms with “Why would anyone outside this room care?” they don’t yet have a story.

Probing every idea with an external lens brings fresh perspectives and puts PR tactics on the same page with prospects. Nothing beats having someone explain their frustrations, goals, and buying decisions in their own words. People need to feel heard and believe that the person or organisation communicating with them understands their concerns and values their perspective.

You will communicate with confidence when you come out of your company’s cocoon. Businesses with strong public confidence often enjoy increased customer trust, stronger partnerships, improved media relations, and sustainable brand recognition. A good sense of news judgement can be lost when buried in your own brand for long enough.

Having frequent conversations with people who aren’t in your company but active in the industry as audiences goes a long way in maintaining the filter. Given that PR doesn’t exist to reward effort, if you can’t explain why somebody outside your business should care, journalists won’t bother either. Neither will your customers give a hoot!

AI Must Remain an Assistant, Never the Master Storyteller

The imperative of field findings and human connection in broader storytelling (let alone the empathy variant) means that the crafting of stories and the thought process that goes into it must never be outsourced to a machine. The best stories aren’t stilted, formulaic or templated but are discovered, as has been expounded in the ICP framework and the situational theory of the publics.

If only for the resonance that the Voice of Customers guarantees, organisations can’t rely on automated summaries and other generative artificial intelligence that sounds professional but feels disconnected. AI knows the words but doesn’t know the people. You cannot stop scrolls, let alone convert audiences with banal AI-esque cliches like “Building resilience”, “Creating sustainable change”, “Empowering vulnerable communities”, “Transforming lives through partnerships”, etc.

From a mile away, experienced communicators can spot an AI slop, differentiating between a story that has been lived, listened to and understood – and one that has been generated. An organisation’s reputation is under threat when they rely on a soulless bot for content creation. An AI-generated piece of writing passed off as one’s own is deceitful and chips away at credibility. There are also ethical concerns, as information created by machine learning isn’t always factual. AI-generated images or videos can sometimes make it difficult to distinguish between real and manipulated content.

AI chatbots should therefore be confined to their assistant role, where they help with research, proofreading and polish for brevity, tone and clarity. Machine prompts shouldn’t go beyond transcribing interviews, organising ideas, improving grammatical structure and accelerating content production. A copy, writing, or asset that is nuanced in the attributes of audiences, portrays their concerns and dignity, identifies potential risks, and is ready at the right time would always trump synthesised content. The synthetic can never be as good as the authentic.

Ugochukwu is a branding specialist, storyteller and media trainer who can be reached via nmiringwu@gmail.com.

Dr Auwal Adam Sa’ad

Northern Nigeria stands at a defining moment in its humanitarian and development history. Years of insurgency, armed conflict, banditry, communal violence, and environmental shocks have displaced millions of people from their homes. Women and children bear the greatest burden of this crisis. Many now live in internally displaced persons (IDP) camps or host communities where access to education, healthcare, housing, livelihoods, and economic opportunities remains severely constrained.

For years, humanitarian agencies, governments, charitable organisations, and development partners have provided emergency assistance that has undoubtedly saved lives. Food distribution, temporary shelter, healthcare interventions, and emergency education programmes have prevented an even greater catastrophe.

Yet an uncomfortable reality remains: emergency aid cannot become a permanent development strategy.

Humanitarian assistance addresses immediate needs but seldom creates enduring economic resilience. Once donor funding ends, many beneficiaries remain trapped in poverty and dependence. The cycle of vulnerability simply begins again.

Northern Nigeria therefore requires a financing model that moves beyond relief towards sustainable empowerment. One promising solution lies within the rich heritage of Islamic social finance: the integration of Waqf and Sukuk into a single development instrument known as Waqf Sukuk.

For centuries, Waqf has served as one of Islam’s most powerful institutions for public welfare. Across the Muslim world, endowed assets financed universities, hospitals, roads, water systems, orphanages, and social services that continued serving communities long after their founders had passed away. Waqf created permanent social infrastructure because its assets remained intact while only their benefits were utilised.

Sukuk, meanwhile, have become one of the fastest-growing segments of global Islamic finance. Unlike conventional bonds, Sukuk represent ownership interests in tangible assets or productive ventures that comply with Shariah principles. Today, governments and corporations worldwide use Sukuk to finance infrastructure, transportation, renewable energy, housing, healthcare, and industrial development.

Sukuk, meanwhile, have become one of the fastest-growing segments of global Islamic finance. Unlike conventional bonds, Sukuk represent ownership interests in tangible assets or productive ventures that comply with Shariah principles. Today, governments and corporations worldwide use Sukuk to finance infrastructure, transportation, renewable energy, housing, healthcare, and industrial development. Nigeria’s own experience demonstrates the remarkable market confidence in this ethical financing instrument.

The Federal Government’s Series VII Sovereign Sukuk recorded an unprecedented subscription of over ₦2.205 trillion—an oversubscription of approximately 735 per cent—underscoring the enormous investor appetite for transparent, asset-backed, and socially impactful investments. The combination of this strong investor demand with the enduring social mission of Waqf creates an extraordinary opportunity. The combination of these two institutions creates an extraordinary opportunity.

A Waqf Sukuk mobilises investment capital to establish productive assets that are permanently dedicated to charitable purposes. Instead of distributing donated funds until they are exhausted, the proceeds finance income-generating projects whose revenues continuously support vulnerable populations.For Northern Nigeria, this could fundamentally reshape humanitarian financing.

Rather than repeatedly financing food distribution, Waqf Sukuk could establish agricultural processing facilities owned by Waqf institutions that employ displaced women while generating revenues for education and healthcare programmes.

Instead of constructing temporary shelters that require constant maintenance funding, Waqf Sukuk could finance affordable housing developments whose rental income supports social services.

Vocational training centres, healthcare clinics, women-owned cooperatives, renewable energy projects, irrigation schemes, commercial markets, educational institutions, and microfinance programmes could all become endowed assets whose earnings are perpetually reinvested into community development.This is not charity that ends with consumption.It is charity that continuously reproduces itself.And the economic implications are profound.

Every naira invested through Waqf Sukuk becomes a productive asset capable of generating recurring benefits for decades. Beneficiaries are no longer viewed merely as recipients of aid but as active participants in economic production. Skills development replaces dependency. Enterprise replaces vulnerability. Opportunity replaces uncertainty.

This model also reflects the higher objectives of Islamic law (Maqasid al-Shariah). It protects life by improving healthcare and food security. It preserves intellect through education and vocational training. It safeguards wealth by creating sustainable livelihoods. It protects families through decent housing and social welfare. Above all, it restores human dignity by enabling displaced persons to rebuild their own futures.

The relevance of Waqf Sukuk extends beyond religious ideals. It strongly complements the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, particularly those relating to poverty eradication, quality education, gender equality, decent work, reduced inequalities, sustainable communities, and partnerships for development.Its appeal therefore reaches multiple stakeholders.

For Northern Nigerian society, Waqf Sukuk revives a deeply respected Islamic tradition of community solidarity while adapting it to contemporary development challenges. It demonstrates that Islamic finance is not merely a commercial enterprise but also a powerful instrument for inclusive social transformation.

For wealthy individuals and philanthropists, Waqf Sukuk offers an opportunity to create perpetual charitable impact rather than one-time donations. Their contributions become lasting investments in human development that continue generating rewards both socially and spiritually.

For corporations, participation strengthens corporate social responsibility and environmental, social, and governance (ESG) commitments. Supporting Waqf Sukuk enables businesses to contribute directly to regional stability, workforce development, poverty reduction, and economic inclusion while enhancing their public reputation as responsible corporate citizens.

For investors, Waqf Sukuk represents an ethical investment vehicle backed by tangible assets and measurable social outcomes. The growing global demand for impact investing suggests considerable interest among investors seeking opportunities that combine financial discipline with meaningful developmental impact.

International development partners should likewise recognise the strategic importance of this model. Around the world, humanitarian agencies increasingly acknowledge that aid dependency cannot continue indefinitely. Innovative financing mechanisms are becoming central to sustainable development policy.

Waqf Sukuk offers exactly such an innovation. It complements humanitarian programmes rather than replacing them. Emergency assistance remains indispensable during crises, but Waqf Sukuk creates the permanent institutions that reduce dependence on future aid by building local economic capacity.

Countries such as Malaysia, Indonesia, Türkiye, and several Gulf states have already demonstrated the growing potential of integrating Islamic social finance with national development priorities. Nigeria possesses every ingredient necessary to become Africa’s leading centre for socially oriented Islamic finance.

However, successful implementation requires robust policy support. Federal and state governments should establish comprehensive legal frameworks governing Waqf assets, Sukuk issuance, governance standards, transparency, beneficiary protection, auditing, and performance reporting. Regulatory certainty will significantly improve investor confidence.

Tax incentives can encourage private participation. Public-private partnerships can leverage government support with private investment. Islamic financial institutions should develop specialised Waqf Sukuk products tailored to humanitarian and development objectives. Universities and research institutions should contribute through policy research, professional training, and impact assessment. Traditional institutions, religious leaders, and civil society organisations should mobilise public awareness to build trust and acceptance.

Development finance institutions and multilateral organisations can further strengthen the ecosystem through technical assistance, credit enhancement mechanisms, capacity building, and co-financing arrangements.The humanitarian crisis in Northern Nigeria demands solutions that are as enduring as the challenges themselves.

Emergency aid will always have an important place during periods of crisis. But rebuilding societies requires more than relief. It requires institutions that continuously generate hope, opportunity, and economic independence.

Waqf Sukuk represents precisely such an institution. It transforms generosity into productive capital, compassion into sustainable investment, and charity into perpetual empowerment. It reflects both the ethical foundations of Islamic finance and the practical realities of modern development economics.

The displaced women and children of Northern Nigeria deserve more than temporary survival. They deserve access to education, productive employment, dignified housing, quality healthcare, entrepreneurship, and the opportunity to shape their own futures.

Waqf Sukuk offers a pathway towards that future. Its widespread adoption by governments, corporations, investors, philanthropic organisations, Islamic financial institutions, and international development partners could redefine humanitarian financing in Nigeria and establish a model worthy of replication across Africa.

The question is no longer whether we can afford to innovate.It is whether we can afford not to.

Auwal is an associate professor at the Institute of Islamic Banking and Finance, IIUM. He can be reached via: auwal@iium.edu.my.

By Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin 

The Kannywood film industry is more than an entertainment industry. It has become one of the most powerful cultural influences in Northern Nigeria. The stories it tells shape how people think, speak, and sometimes even behave. Characters become role models, and the habits they display often find their way into everyday life.

That is why this is a respectful appeal to directors, producers, and scriptwriters: as you entertain millions, also seize the opportunity to promote simple habits that make our society safer, healthier, and more compassionate.

One of the simplest ways to save lives is also one of the most overlooked. Wearing a seat belt should not depend on the distance being travelled. Whether someone is driving to the market, taking children to school, or travelling across states, everyone in the vehicle, including those in the back seat, should buckle up before the journey begins.

Unfortunately, films often show characters jumping into cars and driving away without fastening their seat belts. This unintentionally sends the message that seat belts are optional. Imagine the opposite: respected characters calmly fastening their seat belts before starting the engine, reminding passengers to do the same. Such scenes require only a few seconds but can influence millions of viewers.

Also, modern driving is increasingly threatened by distracted driving. Many people believe it is harmless to answer a quick call, read a message, or reply to a text while driving. Others assume it is safe to use their phones while waiting at a traffic light.

In reality, distraction can be deadly. Safe driving means the phone stays out of the driver’s hands until the vehicle has been parked safely. Showing heroes who ignore incoming calls while driving or politely tell callers, “I’ll call you back when I’ve stopped,” promotes a powerful message without interrupting the story.

Additionally, food is central to many Kannywood stories. Family meals, celebrations, and traditional gatherings are common scenes. Yet one simple habit is often overlooked: washing hands properly before eating or preparing food.

Handwashing properly remains one of the most effective ways to prevent many infectious diseases. A brief scene showing a family washing their hands before sharing a meal can quietly reinforce a healthy practice that protects entire households.

Mental health is another area where Kannywood can make a real difference. Too often, emotional struggles are portrayed only as spiritual attacks. Faith is important, but so are counselling, medical care, and family support. Showing them together would reflect real life and encourage more understanding.

Furthermore, people living with disabilities deserve to be represented with dignity and authenticity. Too often, disability is used merely as comic relief, a symbol of helplessness, or a tool to evoke pity.

Real life tells a different story. Across Nigeria, people with disabilities are teachers, entrepreneurs, professionals, artists, students, parents, and community leaders. They contribute meaningfully to society and deserve to see themselves represented fairly on screen.

Inclusive storytelling means giving characters with disabilities meaningful roles, realistic ambitions, and complete personalities—not defining them solely by their disabilities.

Social change does not always begin with government policies or public campaigns. Sometimes it begins with everyday habits becoming normal. This is why I hope Kannywood filmmakers become more intentional about the habits they put on screen. The greatest impact may not come from dramatic speeches or moral lectures, but from ordinary characters consistently doing the right thing.

After all, audiences often imitate what they repeatedly see. Sometimes, the lessons we never intended to teach become the ones the world remembers the most.

Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin is a graduate of mass communication from Bayero University, Kano, and can be reached at ibrahimaliyu5023@gmail.com.

By Agabi Charis 

Spain were crowned 2026 FIFA World Cup champions after edging Argentina 1-0 after extra time in a captivating final at New York New Jersey Stadium. Ferran Torres’ decisive strike in the 106th minute settled a tactical battle that showcased Spain’s discipline, defensive resilience and control, handing La Roja their second World Cup title. 

From the opening whistle, Spain looked the more complete side. They dominated possession, limited Argentina’s attacking opportunities and remained composed under pressure. While Lionel Messi and his teammates fought until the very end, Spain’s organisation and patience ultimately proved too much. Simply put, the better team on the night emerged victorious. 

Despite the heartbreak, Lionel Messi’s final World Cup campaign deserves enormous praise. The Argentine captain delivered one of the finest tournaments of his illustrious career, finishing with eight goals and four assists, inspiring Argentina to another World Cup final and reminding the football world why he remains one of the greatest players ever to grace the game. Though the trophy slipped away, his performances will be remembered for years to come. 

Spain’s triumph was reflected in the post-tournament awards. Midfield maestro Rodri was deservedly named the Player of the Tournament (Golden Ball) after orchestrating Spain’s midfield throughout the competition with intelligence, composure and leadership. At the other end of the age spectrum, teenage defender Pau Cubarsí claimed the Young Player of the Tournament award following a sensational campaign that saw Spain concede just one goal throughout the tournament. 

The final was also a celebration of football’s global appeal, with cameras frequently cutting to a host of celebrities in attendance. Among those spotted were Beyoncé and Jay-Z, Tom Cruise, Matt Damon and Luciana Damon, Tom Brady, Timothée Chalamet, Dwyane Wade and Gabrielle Union, James Harden, Draymond Green, Rob Gronkowski, Odell Beckham Jr., Lindsey Vonn, Kevin Hart, Julia Garner, Winnie Harlow and tennis star Carlos Alcaraz, while the historic halftime show featured performances from Shakira, Madonna, Justin Bieber, BTS, Burna Boy and Jennifer Hudson. 

The 2026 FIFA World Cup delivered unforgettable moments from start to finish. Spain leave North America as worthy champions, Rodri leaves as the tournament’s outstanding player, Cubarsí announces himself as football’s brightest young defensive talent, and Lionel Messi bows out of World Cup football having once again produced a campaign worthy of his legendary status.

Agabi Chubiyojo Charis is a 300-Level student in Information and Media Studies at Yakubu Gowon University and is currently interning at IMPR. He can be reached via chubicharis@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Mikail

On June 26, 2026, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu signed the National Identity Management Commission (NIMC) Act 2026 into law at the State House in Abuja, before an audience that included the trailblazer DG/CEO of the National Identity Management Commission, NIMC, Engr, Abisoye Coker-Odusote, the Senate President, the Deputy Speaker of the House, the Attorney General, the Minister of Interior, and a World Bank representative. The gathering was deliberately high-profile: the new law closes a 19-year gap in Nigeria’s identity system and reshapes how citizens, businesses, and the government will trust each other online. The Act officially repeals and replaces the NIMC Act of 2007, which had governed Nigeria’s identity system and remained untouched even before smartphones, biometric enrolment, or mobile banking became part of everyday Nigerian life.

For most citizens, the significance of a piece of legislation like this is easy to miss. And very few people will ever read its full text. This new Act 2026 determines how easily a young graduate opens a bank account, how a small trader secures a loan, how a Nigerian abroad renews a passport, and how confidently anyone can prove who they are, online or in person.

Why the Old Law Had to Go

When the original NIMC Act was passed in 2007, Nigeria had no national-scale biometric enrolment infrastructure and no meaningful digital economy to speak of. That changed dramatically over almost the two decades that followed: the National Identification Number (NIN) became mandatory for SIM registration, passport applications, bank account opening, and voter registration. As digital services multiplied, the risks also did. Identity theft, fraudulent NIN registrations, and the phishing of biometric data became live problems that the 2007 framework was never built to address. It had nothing to say about digital credentials, cybersecurity obligations, or how private companies overseeing NIN-linked data should behave. The new Act closes that gap. Thus far, officials and legal analysts point to four structural shifts at the heart of the reform:

NIMC becomes Nigeria’s digital trust authority. The single biggest change is the designation of NIMC as the Root Certification Authority for Nigeria’s National Public Key Infrastructure (PKI) and Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI). In practical terms, NIMC now controls the digital “keys” that make online transactions verifiable and trustworthy. 

“One Person, One Identity” is now the law. The NIN is formally established as Nigeria’s foundational identity credential, with the NIMC empowered to enable secure, interoperable data exchange among government agencies, financial institutions, and private-sector organisations that previously operated on fragmented, disconnected systems.

Data protection gets real teeth. The 2026 Act aligns NIMC’s practices with the Nigeria Data Protection Act (NDPA) and international privacy standards, meaning biometrics, addresses, and linked credentials must now be processed and stored under legally defined rules with NIMC committing to audit enrolment partners and third-party integrators more closely.

Penalties are sharper, and enforcement powers wider. Companies now face fines running into tens of millions of naira, while offences such as impersonation, multiple registration, and unauthorised access to identity data attract custodial sentences. NIMC’s investigative powers now extend to search, seizure, and, subject to judicial authorisation, data decryption.

The Commission’s board has also been reconstituted to include representatives from 14 government institutions, including INEC, the Nigeria Police Force, the DSS, the EFCC, the Central Bank of Nigeria, and the Office of the National Security Adviser. This signals that identity management is now of huge government concern.

The Implications for Identity Development

For nearly twenty years, Nigeria’s identity system evolved in a fragmented manner. NIN requirements were bolted agency by agency, without a unifying legal architecture. The 2026 Act gives that patchwork a single statutory backbone.

ID analysts rank Nigeria among Africa’s most mature digital identity ecosystems, alongside Kenya, Ethiopia, and South Africa. A legally grounded, PKI-backed identity system positions Nigeria for cross-border interoperability at a moment when West African economic integration is deepening, becoming a potential regional asset. The law also explicitly widens access for Nigerians in the diaspora, an acknowledgement that identity is a right and the attendant ID infrastructure needs to follow citizens wherever they live.

What It Means for Nigeria’s Digital Economy

The government have tied the Act directly to Nigeria’s ambition of building a one-trillion-dollar economy, arguing that a trusted, interoperable identity layer is a precondition for the digital services that ambition depends on. When banks, telecoms, insurers, and government agencies can all verify identity against a single authoritative source rather than duplicating know-your-customer processes, transaction costs fall, and fraud becomes harder to commit. Analysts following the reform expect it to strengthen the investment case for fintech expansion, e-commerce, and digital lending. These are sectors that all depend on being able to cheaply and quickly verify that the person on the other end of a transaction is real. Reduced duplication across agencies is also expected to improve the efficiency of public service delivery more broadly, from tax administration to social intervention programmes that need to verify beneficiaries accurately.

What It Means for the Everyday Nigerian and Legal Resident

Easier, wider access to services: With the NIN legally cemented as the reference point for passports, bank accounts, insurance, tax filing, and credit applications, NIMC has stated that citizens, including those in the diaspora, can expect easier and convenient access to identity-linked services, and stronger interoperability means fewer redundant registrations across agencies.

Stronger data protection: For the first time, there is a clear legal obligation governing how a Nigerian’s biometric and personal data must be managed, whether by NIMC itself or by any private company plugging into its verification infrastructure. 

Higher stakes, and higher expectations. The Act’s tougher penalties offer citizens greater protection against identity fraud. Also, to meet with President Tinubu’s directive of enrolling every Nigerian by the end of 2026 means NIMC would need to register more than three million people every month, DG/CEO NIMC said in an interview on Channels TV recently that NIMC is collaborating with partners under the World Bank-supported Nigeria Digital Identification for Development (NDID4D) Project to accelerate nationwide enrolment. This offers real hope of inclusion, particularly for rural and lower-income Nigerians who remain hardest to reach. 

The road ahead 

The NIMC Act 2026 is, by most independent accounts, a genuinely significant piece of reform. It closes a legal vacuum that persisted across four presidential administrations and a mobile internet revolution, the original drafters of the NIMC Act 2007 never anticipated. But the law itself only creates the scaffolding. The harder work of auditing enrolment partners, enforcing data-breach penalties, and reaching citizens outside the system remains.

Conclusively, I urge the NIMC, critical stakeholders and relevant agencies, organisations, CSOs and players in the ID ecosystem to support the NIMC and ensure the ACT of 2026 ultimately strengthens public trust, serves as a means to encourage nationwide enrolment for the NIN, and ensures the institutions enforcing it are themselves held to account. Ultimately, we must collectively ensure that all intended benefits, services, and access that the Act 2026 brings becomea lived reality for the average Nigerian and legal resident, and not another entry on the country’s lengthy list of good intentions.

Muhammad Mikail is a communications professional and writes from Abuja. He can be reached via muhammadnmikail.mm@gmail.com

Dear Editor,

I write to draw urgent attention to the tragic state of the Kofan Doka and Agoro Bridges—Federal Government Road projects that have become death traps for residents of Zaria Local Government due to prolonged abandonment.

Initiated by former Kaduna State Governor, Nasir El-Rufai, the Kofan Doka cloverleaf bridge, the New Jos Road, and Agoro Bridge were never completed. Today, under Governor Uba Sani, there is still no sign of progress. Even the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Hon Abbas Tajuddeen, who once promised to ensure their continuation, has failed to follow through.

The condition of these bridges represents more than just a construction delay; it symbolises the disconnect between the government and the people.

But this is not just about broken promises. Whenever it rains, the areas become completely impassable. The flooding cuts off entire communities, endangers motorists, and puts schoolchildren and traders at serious risk of drowning or being swept away. We live in constant fear every time the clouds gather.

While our leaders trade political statements, we are left to wade through floodwaters, lose goods, and watch our children risk their lives just to get to school. This is unacceptable.

The Kofan Doka and Agoro bridges are on Trunk-A roads, yet no tier of government—federal, state, or legislative—has taken responsibility.

We are not asking for favours. We are demanding action. Complete the bridge before this rainy season claims a life.

I urge all parties involved, including the Kaduna State Government, the Federal Government, and our representatives in the National Assembly, to prioritise the completion of the Kofan Doka Bridge, the Agoro Bridge, and the New Jos Road. It is time to move beyond rhetoric and deliver concrete results for the people of Zaria Local Government and for Kaduna State at large.

Sincerely,

Yazeed Salisu

salisuyazeed@yahoo.com

By Maimuna Katuka Aliyu

Trachoma is more than an eye infection. It is a quiet destroyer of sight and dignity, affecting millions of vulnerable people around the world—especially in places where clean water is scarce, healthcare is distant, and poverty runs deep.

Caused by the bacterium “Chlamydia trachomatis”, trachoma spreads through direct contact with infected eye or nose secretions, as well as indirectly through contaminated items. In overcrowded communities where basic sanitation is poor, the disease thrives.

But this is not a new threat. Trachoma has haunted humanity for centuries. As far back as 1500 BC, ancient Egyptian scrolls described eye diseases that closely resemble it. In the 19th century, outbreaks became widespread in densely populated areas.

By the 20th century, global efforts to fight it began taking shape, especially with the intervention of the World Health Organization (WHO) and other health bodies. Today, trachoma remains one of the world’s leading causes of preventable blindness.

And the burden it places on affected communities is staggering. For individuals, the disease often begins with repeated infections. Over time, the eyelids turn inward in a condition called trichiasis, causing the lashes to scrape against the cornea.

The result is chronic pain and, eventually, blindness. For families, the impact is just as devastating. When a parent loses their vision, their ability to work and care for their children suffers. When a child goes blind, their education is interrupted, and their future becomes uncertain.

Across entire communities, this loss of productivity and well-being adds up to high economic and social costs. The stigma can be equally painful. In many places, those affected by trachoma are isolated or ridiculed—stripped of confidence and dignity.

But there is hope. Trachoma is preventable. It is also treatable, especially when detected early. And that is why the role of government is so vital.

National and local authorities must lead the fight with robust public health campaigns—promoting hygiene, encouraging regular eye checkups, and ensuring that children grow up with clean faces and clean water.

Clinics must be established in underserved areas, and healthcare workers must be trained to identify and treat the disease effectively. Collaboration is also key. By partnering with international organizations such as the WHO and the Carter Center, governments can access resources, share knowledge, and scale up proven interventions.

Yet governments alone cannot eliminate trachoma. Communities must also rise to the task. We need individuals who speak up—advocating for improved sanitation, better access to care, and education for all.

We need families and neighbours who support those affected instead of shaming them. And we need young people who take the lead in hygiene campaigns, who believe that blindness from trachoma is one injustice we can—and must—end.

The fight against trachoma is a shared responsibility. It is not just about medicine. It is about dignity. It is about giving people the chance to see their children grow, to live and work with pride, and to be seen—not for their illness—but for their worth.

The path to eliminating trachoma is clear. What is needed now is the will to walk it together—governments, communities, and every one of us who believes in a future where no one loses their sight to a disease that should already be history.

By Rabi Ummi Umar

The Nigerian healthcare system is often dismissed because of the unenviable reputation it has built over decades of systemic failure. It is a common refrain across the country that citizens simply do not trust the medical institutions meant to save them.

For those who can afford it, the immediate solution to a serious diagnosis is to board a flight out of the country, seeking medical treatment abroad where systems are functional.

And for the rest of the population, walking into a local hospital is less an exercise in hope and more an act of desperate survival, frequently marred by anxiety about what might happen inside.

Personal encounters with our healthcare infrastructure often leave deep scars. I often find myself silently whispering, ‘I pray nobody has to experience this.’ Sadly, too many Nigerians have stories of facing decaying infrastructure, enduring the dismissive or outright rude attitudes of overworked nurses, or being left unattended in crowded corridors.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking reality is the ubiquitous ‘payment before service’ policy. In moments when a patient is actively battling for their life, a life that is irreplaceable, the administrative unit, or hospital policy, prioritises financial clearance over immediate clinical intervention.

This, in my opinion, is an ethical failure that leaves families helpless and hollows out the core purpose of medicine. It undermines the very principles of the Hippocratic Oath and the Nightingale Pledge that doctors and nurses take before practising.

This crisis of confidence in our healthcare system was perfectly articulated at a recent book unveiling I attended at the Yar’Adua Centre in the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja.

The book, Trust Renewal: The Integrity Call for Better Health for All, authored by Dr Abdullahi Jubril Mohammed, offers a resonant critique of our current trajectory. During the launch, he stated an earnest truth too often overlooked: health systems do not succeed merely because of advanced technology or concrete infrastructure. Instead, they succeed or fail along the patient’s path based on a single, invisible metric — trust.

When trust is absent, the entire system fractures. Even when medical facilities receive structural upgrades or well-funded international aid, these interventions fail to achieve their potential because the human connection between provider and patient has been broken.

Patients seek treatment abroad not just for better machines, but because they believe unsafe practices thrive in an environment devoid of accountability, and that the workers within that environment have grown numb to human suffering. To change this narrative, the Nigerian healthcare system must be consciously rebuilt on a foundation of ethical, accountable behaviour.

Renewing this trust requires a collaborative effort from policymakers, healthcare providers, civil society, and patients themselves. Medical institutions must actively promote transparency, especially concerning service delays, and prioritise patient feedback as a tool for institutional growth rather than dismissing it as mere complaining.

Practitioners need to understand that listening to a patient’s experience is just as vital as reading their clinical charts.

Building a better health system requires moving beyond physical structures and investing heavily in the integrity of the care provided. Only when patients feel safe, valued, and heard can we begin to heal the system itself.

Rabi Ummi Umar is a writer in Abuja, and she can be reached via rabiumar058@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

President Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s decision to retain Vice President Kashim Shettima as his running mate for the 2027 presidential election is both a political and strategic calculation. Rather than introducing uncertainty into an already established political partnership, the President has chosen continuity, a decision that reflects the realities of Nigeria’s electoral politics, geopolitical balancing, and coalition-building.

Politics, particularly presidential politics in Nigeria, is rarely driven by sentiment. It is fundamentally about numbers, alliances, regional interests, and electoral strategy. Every major decision is weighed against one overriding objective: securing the broadest possible coalition needed to win an election. Viewed from that perspective, retaining Shettima was arguably the most pragmatic option available to the President.

One of the most immediate advantages of the decision is that it effectively closes the chapter on the controversy surrounding the Muslim-Muslim ticket. Ahead of the 2023 presidential election, the APC’s decision to field two Muslim candidates generated widespread debate, especially among many Christians who expressed concerns about religious inclusion and national balance.

However, after more than three years in office, that issue has largely lost its political intensity. While differing opinions remain, the fears that dominated public discourse during the 2023 campaign have, to a considerable extent, subsided. By retaining Shettima, President Tinubu has denied political opponents the opportunity to revive an issue whose electoral potency has significantly diminished.

Beyond the religious debate lies an even more delicate consideration: Nigeria’s geopolitical balance. Had President Tinubu replaced Shettima with another politician from the North-East, the North-West, the country’s largest voting bloc, could have interpreted the move as another instance in which its political aspirations were overlooked, potentially reigniting debates about equity and representation.

Conversely, choosing a replacement from the North-West would almost certainly have generated discontent in the North-East. Having produced the incumbent Vice President, the region would naturally expect to retain the position. Removing Shettima without any compelling political or governance justification could have alienated key stakeholders and weakened support in a region that remains strategically important to the APC.

Some time ago, a number of individuals campaigned for the selection of a northern Christian as the Vice President, arguing that a Muslim-Christian ticket would be more politically acceptable. While the proposal appealed to those seeking religious balancing, it overlooked the practical realities of Nigerian presidential elections.

For a southern Muslim presidential candidate seeking the presidency, pairing with a northern Christian is not necessarily the most pragmatic electoral formula if the objective is to maximise support across Northern Nigeria. Presidential elections are rarely won on symbolism alone. They are won through careful coalition-building, political structures, regional alliances, and voting strength. In Nigeria, electoral success is driven as much by geopolitical realities and numbers as it is by perception.

President Tinubu has built his political career on strategic calculation rather than emotional decision-making. Over several decades, he has demonstrated an ability to assemble winning political coalitions by focusing on electoral arithmetic, regional dynamics, and long-term political stability. His decision to retain Shettima is consistent with that political philosophy.

There is also the question of continuity. Since assuming office in 2023, Tinubu and Shettima have worked together to lead the administration, build relationships across government, and strengthen the APC’s political structures nationwide. Replacing a sitting Vice President without a compelling reason could have created unnecessary speculation about internal divisions and handed the opposition a fresh political narrative.

By retaining Shettima, President Tinubu has instead projected stability, confidence, and consistency. The decision preserves an established partnership, reassures party supporters, and allows the APC to approach the 2027 election with a united front.

Ultimately, successful presidential campaigns are built not on emotion but on careful political judgment. Difficult decisions are inevitable, but experienced politicians choose the option that minimises political risk while maximising electoral advantage.

Judged against Nigeria’s electoral realities, geopolitical sensitivities, and the imperative of preserving a broad national coalition, President Tinubu’s decision to retain Vice President Kashim Shettima was not only the least controversial choice,it was the most politically strategic.

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

By Mohammed Mohammed Haruna, PhD, mnipr

Every economy has its insiders and its outsiders. The distinction is not always determined by citizenship, geography or even willingness to work. Sometimes, it is drawn quietly by access: access to credit, identity, insurance, knowledge, technology and the institutional pathways through which human effort is converted into economic possibility. Millions may live within an economy, trade within it, labour for it and contribute daily to its survival, yet remain strangely absent from its most productive opportunities. They are present in the marketplace but invisible to formal credit, active in enterprise but largely unknown to the financial system, economically alive but institutionally unseen.

The question, therefore, is no longer merely how large an economy can become, but who gets to participate in its enlargement. Nigeria’s aspiration to build a trillion-dollar economy makes that question particularly urgent. A larger Gross Domestic Product may announce the expansion of national output, but it does not, by itself, tell us how widely economic agency has travelled. Growth can expand while exclusion survives. Wealth can accumulate while opportunity remains fenced. A country can become statistically richer without sufficiently enlarging the economic citizenship of its people.

There is, after all, a difference between economic enlargement and development. An economy may double in size while reproducing substantially the same geography of privilege and exclusion. Development begins when more citizens acquire the tools, knowledge, protection, institutional connections and opportunities through which their latent capacities can become productive economic agency. It is within this tension between economic ambition and economic participation that the public assignment of Dr. Nurudeen Abubakar Zauro, Technical Adviser to the President on Economic and Financial Inclusion in the Office of the Vice President and a leading figure in the Secretariat of the Presidential Committee on Economic and Financial Inclusion (PreCEFI), deserves serious examination.

The temptation in writing about a public officer is often to begin with the individual: his certificates, appointments, conferences, awards and proximity to power. But perhaps the more useful starting point in understanding Zauro is not the man but the idea. That idea is inclusion, and more particularly, the conviction that belonging to an economy should mean more than merely surviving within its territorial boundaries.

The woman selling produce in a rural market, the artisan working from an informal workshop, the smallholder farmer vulnerable to one failed season and the young graduate possessing a viable idea but no pathway to capital are not necessarily unproductive people. Frequently, they are disconnected people. Their exclusion is not always a deficit of effort. It can be a deficit of institutional connection.

The question that appears to have followed Zauro through his academic preparation, training in accounting and finance, years in central banking and digital financial inclusion, and now his assignment within the Presidency is therefore a fundamental development question: how does the formal economy make room for those whose energy sustains commerce but whose circumstances keep them at the margins of capital, technology, insurance and institutional opportunity?

There is a meaningful difference between discovering an idea after receiving an appointment and arriving at an appointment with a question that has already occupied one’s intellectual and professional imagination. In the first case, the office educates the officer. In the second, preparation and opportunity encounter each other. Zauro’s trajectory increasingly appears closer to the latter.

His Central Bank of Nigeria experience is particularly important in understanding this continuity. Central banking in a developing economy offers an unusual window into the contradictions of development. At one level is the economy of policy rates, payment systems, credit aggregates, financial institutions and regulatory architecture. At another is the lived economy of the roadside trader, the smallholder farmer, the young entrepreneur and the woman whose enterprise may be viable but whose economic existence remains inadequately captured by the structures through which formal capital is allocated.

The important policy question is how to connect these two economies, because that is the last-mile problem of development. A financial system can become increasingly sophisticated without becoming sufficiently inclusive. Digital platforms can multiply while digital illiteracy persists. Credit can expand while small enterprises without conventional collateral remain stranded. Citizens may own bank accounts yet remain without meaningful access to affordable credit, pensions, insurance, investment knowledge or protection against shocks capable of erasing years of household progress. To be banked, therefore, is not necessarily to be economically included, and even to be financially included is not automatically to be financially secure.

This distinction is central to any serious assessment of the policy architecture associated with Zauro’s present assignment. The Aso Accord on Economic and Financial Inclusion represents one expression of this wider thinking. Its significance lies in the attempt to broaden the vocabulary of inclusion beyond ownership of a bank account towards finance, digital infrastructure, financial literacy, underserved communities, women, young people, rural populations and small businesses.

The deeper philosophy is important. Financial inclusion, properly understood, is not merely the act of moving more citizens into banking halls or onto digital payment platforms. It is the dismantling of barriers between human capacity and productive opportunity. The female trader already understands inventory. The farmer understands production. The artisan possesses skill. The young graduate may possess an idea. What is often missing is the connective institutional tissue: identity, finance, information, professional networks, insurance, digital competence and the confidence to navigate increasingly complex formal systems.

Financial inclusion, viewed this way, is not charity. It is productivity policy. Every viable enterprise permanently stranded outside formal finance represents potential output unrealised. Every productive woman unable to access appropriate financial services represents foregone economic agency. Every smallholder farmer left without suitable insurance remains one shock away from losing productive assets. Every digitally excluded citizen risks becoming progressively more peripheral to an economy increasingly organised around data, connectivity and electronic transactions.

This is also why PreCEFI should ultimately be judged not by the number of meetings it convenes but by whether it can help solve one of Nigeria’s most persistent governance problems: institutional fragmentation. Nigeria rarely suffers from an absolute absence of institutions. More often, it suffers from insufficient coordination among them. One institution holds identity data. Another regulates payments. Another supervises financial institutions. Different agencies administer social programmes. State governments possess distinct demographic and economic realities. Development partners operate interventions. Private firms possess technology. Professional bodies hold expertise. Yet the excluded citizen experiences the cumulative consequences when these systems fail to connect. The deficit can therefore be a coordination deficit.

PreCEFI’s potential importance lies in its attempt to create an architecture around this fragmentation. Its engagements with subnational governments, federal institutions, financial-sector actors, professional bodies, private organisations and development partners point towards what might be described as institutional orchestration. The effective public officer in a modern developmental state cannot always command results into existence. Important policy outcomes frequently sit across the statutory boundaries of several institutions. Progress therefore requires persuasion, coalition-building, shared ownership, interoperable systems and the patient translation of different institutional languages into common action. It is an administrative craft that often attracts little theatre but can produce consequential outcomes when sustained with discipline.

No serious account of Zauro’s emerging public-service footprint, however, should construct the mythology of the solitary technocrat. Capacity may reside in an individual, but public service remains an institutional enterprise. Ideas require room. Initiative requires confidence. Responsibility requires trust. Innovation within government frequently requires leaders sufficiently confident in their own authority to identify capable people, expose them to responsibility and allow their preparation to be tested against the difficult realities of governance.

It is here that the role of Zauro’s principals becomes indispensable to an honest understanding of his journey. His Excellency, Senator Kashim Shettima, GCON, Vice President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, has provided strategic political leadership for the economic and financial inclusion agenda within the responsibilities entrusted to his Office. Alongside him, Senator Ibrahim Hassan Hadejia, Deputy Chief of Staff to the President in the Office of the Vice President, occupies an important position within the institutional machinery through which complex assignments are coordinated and sustained.

From the guidance, trust, mentorship, counsel and institutional support of these principals, Zauro has evidently benefited immensely. That fact diminishes neither his preparation nor his exertions. It properly contextualises them. One of the least discussed responsibilities of leadership is the identification and deployment of competence. Nations do not progress merely because talented people exist. Every country has intelligent citizens. Progress occurs when systems of leadership can recognise capacity, assign responsibility, provide guidance and create sufficient institutional space for competent people to contribute towards clearly defined public purposes.

Preparation without opportunity can remain dormant, while opportunity without trust can remain constrained. When preparation encounters the confidence of perceptive leadership, however, public service can become a platform for consequential action. The larger framework remains the mandate of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu and the administration’s aspiration for a stronger and much larger Nigerian economy. Yet the expansion of national output creates an unavoidable policy obligation: growth must find citizens, and the statistics must eventually acquire faces.

Reform cannot remain indefinitely at the level of macroeconomic abstraction. Its social and political legitimacy must ultimately be encountered in opportunity, enterprise, jobs, resilience and the expanded ability of citizens to participate productively in economic life. This is where the work of inclusion meets the broader presidential mandate. The President provides the national reform and development direction. The Vice President provides strategic leadership across responsibilities entrusted to his Office. The Deputy Chief of Staff supports the coordination required to move complex assignments through government. Technical officers such as Zauro are given specialised responsibilities through which aspects of the larger ambition may acquire operational form. The technical officer does not work outside the national blueprint. He works within it.

Several initiatives associated with the present inclusion agenda illuminate the thinking behind this work. The ambition to train millions of Nigerians in financial inclusion and literacy, including through collaboration with professional bodies, rests on an important development premise: capacity is infrastructure. Infrastructure, in the conventional imagination, is concrete, steel, electricity, rail and fibre. These are indispensable, but there is another infrastructure without which physical and technological investments may yield far less than their potential. That infrastructure is human competence.

A sophisticated financial system has limited developmental reach when millions lack the knowledge and confidence required to navigate it. A digital platform is only as inclusive as the ability of its intended users to understand and use it safely. Credit availability means little to a potential entrepreneur who cannot formalise, structure or communicate the economics of an enterprise. A road connects places, while knowledge connects people to possibilities. Both are infrastructures of development.

The same logic applies to women’s economic participation. Initiatives such as She’s Included should not be understood as exercises in benevolence. Women’s economic inclusion is economic arithmetic. A society cannot constrain the productive capacity of a substantial proportion of its population and still expect to optimise national output. The exclusion of women from finance, skills, networks and capital represents foregone enterprise, weakened household resilience and diminished national productivity.

Effective inclusion, however, also requires recognising that uniformity is not equity. A female micro-entrepreneur operating informally, carrying disproportionate care responsibilities and possessing little conventional collateral does not encounter the financial system from the same starting position as a salaried professional. Giving both the same product and declaring the system inclusive is to confuse sameness with fairness. The test of a gender-responsive inclusion agenda is therefore not how many women attend an event or open an account, but whether more women acquire durable economic agency.

That distinction brings us to the most important part of the discussion: the next frontier. The work associated with Zauro and PreCEFI may have established a compelling architecture of intention, but public policy eventually encounters its hardest question after the communiqués, accords, committees, partnerships and launches have been completed. The question is what actually changed.

For the present inclusion agenda to mature into a durable national institution, and for Zauro himself to become even more effective in the assignment entrusted to him, the next phase should move decisively from policy mobilisation towards an independently measurable architecture of outcomes.

The first requirement is a public inclusion scorecard. Nigeria should be able to see, at regular intervals and preferably at state and local levels, not merely how many citizens possess accounts but how many actively save, obtain responsible credit, hold insurance, use digital financial services safely, build viable enterprises and demonstrate improved financial resilience. What gets announced attracts attention, but what gets measured attracts accountability.

The second requirement is to move from counting beneficiaries to tracking developmental journeys. Training millions of people may be impressive as an output, but the more consequential questions arise afterwards. How many acquired demonstrable competence? How many formalised enterprises? How many accessed appropriate finance? How many increased revenue, created employment or improved household resilience? Public policy should not confuse reach with impact.

The third requirement is an independent evaluation mechanism. PreCEFI and its partners should periodically invite credible universities, research institutions and independent evaluators to assess major interventions against published baselines and targets. The purpose would not be to embarrass government but to protect policy from the dangers of self-congratulation. Serious institutions learn in public, and strong policy leadership should be confident enough to allow evidence to confirm success, identify weaknesses and guide correction.

The fourth requirement is a stronger subnational delivery architecture. Exclusion is experienced locally even when policy is designed nationally. The constraints confronting a woman entrepreneur in Lagos may differ substantially from those facing a farmer in Kebbi, a trader in Aba or a pastoral community in Adamawa. A national strategy therefore needs state-level delivery compacts, locally disaggregated data and measurable responsibilities for implementation partners. Abuja can coordinate inclusion, but it cannot manufacture every last mile.

The fifth requirement is deeper integration of Nigeria’s emerging digital public infrastructure. Identity, payments and appropriately governed data-sharing systems should increasingly work together so that citizens do not repeatedly prove their existence to disconnected institutions. Interoperability, however, must be accompanied by strong privacy, cybersecurity, consumer protection and accessible grievance-redress mechanisms. The excluded citizen should not be invited into the digital economy only to become the easiest victim within it.

The sixth requirement is the creation of a permanent citizen feedback architecture. The people for whom inclusion policies are designed should have structured mechanisms for reporting what works, what excludes them and where products or programmes fail. Policy elites often understand systems from the perspective of those who design them, while citizens experience them from the point at which they break down. That knowledge is itself valuable data and should be systematically incorporated into programme design and evaluation.

The seventh requirement is institutional permanence. The ultimate test of PreCEFI will be whether its work becomes embedded deeply enough in national and subnational systems to survive individual officeholders and political transitions. Personality may mobilise an agenda, but institutions must preserve it. The strongest legacy Zauro and his colleagues can build would therefore not merely be a collection of successful programmes, but an inclusion architecture capable of sustaining itself beyond the tenure of any particular administration or public officer.

These are not arguments against Zauro’s work. They are arguments for its maturation. Indeed, avoiding hagiography requires acknowledging that the significance of a public officer lies not in being beyond criticism but in being capable of converting scrutiny into better public outcomes. For Zauro, this may be the deeper meaning of the trust reposed in him by his principals. Trust in public service is not a decoration. It is a debt payable in results.

Gratitude to President Tinubu for the national mandate within which the assignment finds its purpose, to Vice President Shettima for the guidance, mentorship, confidence and strategic leadership that have given Zauro’s preparation room for expression, and to Senator Hadejia for the counsel, institutional support and coordination surrounding the assignment should not merely be matters of protocol. They are part of the moral story of opportunity.

The greatest tribute to confidence, however, is not repeated acknowledgement. It is the work that makes the trust count. It is ensuring that the privilege of serving close to the centre of power is converted into value for people who may never enter the gates of the Presidential Villa, never sit at a policy roundtable and never know the names of those designing the frameworks that shape their economic lives.

Those citizens include the woman seeking capital to enlarge h