Opinion

Your Excellency,

I offer my warmest congratulations on your two-year milestone as the Executive Governor of Jigawa State. Steering the affairs of a diverse and dynamic state is no small feat, and under your leadership, we have indeed witnessed tangible progress. 

May Almighty Allah continue to strengthen your resolve and guide your hands as you navigate public service responsibilities.

In these two years, your administration has recorded remarkable achievements across critical sectors—agriculture, education, infrastructure, security, and healthcare. There is much to commend, from the introduction of bold reforms to the implementation of people-centred policies. 

Notably, your decision to approve a ₦70,000 minimum wage—nearly double the previous figure—has sent a powerful signal of your administration’s commitment to workers’ welfare. This singular act resonates deeply with civil servants across the state, who now have renewed hope in a more dignified standard of living.

Sir, these achievements have not gone unnoticed. Numerous awards and recognitions by reputable organisations are a testament to the strides your government has made. 

Yet, as a concerned citizen and journalist, I feel compelled to highlight areas still yearning for attention, not to diminish your efforts, but to reinforce the voices of everyday Jigawans who earnestly seek your listening ear and urgent intervention.

Our healthcare system, for instance, still bears the scars of neglect, particularly in rural communities. Several hospitals lack basic medical facilities, suffer chronic shortages of essential drugs, and are grossly understaffed. 

During my recent fieldwork, enrollees under the Jigawa State Contributory Healthcare Management Agency (JCHMA) lamented being forced to purchase prescribed medications from private pharmacies due to stockouts in government hospitals.

Even more concerning is the plight of newly recruited nurses and midwives, many of whom are yet to be captured under the new salary structure. Their morale is low, which understandably affects service delivery quality. 

Surely, if we must strengthen healthcare delivery, the welfare of frontline health workers must not be overlooked. In the agricultural sector, where Jigawa’s reputation shines, a widening gap exists between government efforts and grassroots impact. 

According to the National Bureau of Statistics, Jigawa accounts for 75% of Nigeria’s agricultural exports, and nearly 90% of our people depend on farming for their livelihood. Yet, many smallholder farmers, particularly those in remote villages, say they have not received the much-publicised palliatives and support inputs. 

Some have had to rely on exploitative loans from private lenders, only to repay in harvests, leaving them at the mercy of uncertain seasons and fluctuating prices.

I humbly suggest the establishment of community-based monitoring committees, drawn from trusted local stakeholders, to ensure transparent and equitable distribution of agricultural support. The rural populace, whose turnout during elections often determines the course of governance, must not be left behind when dividends are shared.

Your recruitment of over 3,000 teachers and 147 first-class graduates in education is indeed laudable. This has brought renewed energy to our classrooms. However, many more qualified youths remain unemployed, submitting CVs into what seems like an unresponsive system. 

The discovery of 6,348 ghost workers and the savings of over ₦314 million monthly offer a golden opportunity to absorb some deserving graduates. The teacher shortage still looms large. The Nigeria Union of Teachers reported a deficit of 32,000 teachers in Jigawa. 

This is not just a statistic—it is a call to action. If we must invest in our future, we must first empower those who educate the future. Your administration’s empowerment initiatives have also made notable impacts—programs like the mobile kitchen distribution scheme have provided many with a path to self-reliance. 

But the landscape of youth enterprise is vast and diverse. Young people engaged in trades such as phone repairs, tailoring, and tricycle operations have felt excluded. 

To build an inclusive economy, your empowerment programs must evolve to accommodate a broader range of trades and offer skills training as well as access to starter kits or seed capital.

Your Excellency, when hope meets genuine leadership, progress becomes inevitable. The people of Jigawa have shown faith, and now they ask for more inclusion, visibility, and compassion in policy execution. Their plea is not one of criticism, but of partnership. 

They long to be part of the story you are writing for Jigawa—one of transformation, equity, and shared prosperity.

Sincerely yours,

Muhammad Abubakar Tahir,

A concerned Jigawa indigene.

By Ismaila Abdulmumini

Kano, renowned for its rich history, cultural vibrancy, and socio-economic vitality, marked 57 years of statehood a few days ago. A long journey of sacrifices and transformations, usually one at a time, gives Kano the new look we see and admire today. Kano is now carving a new identity as Nigeria’s educational powerhouse, boasting four federal universities, three state-owned institutions, and over five private universities, in addition to state and privately funded colleges and polytechnics. 

Equally, quantifiable challenges and rubble need to be put together to build the Kano of our dreams—the one we revere and would be proud of. The state’s transformation into a learning hub has inadvertently exposed systemic gaps in critical sectors, gaps that demand urgent federal intervention to unlock Kano’s full potential.  

Despite its academic strides, Kano grapples with erratic electricity, which stifles the industries that support its institutions. Students and entrepreneurs alike face daily blackouts, which undermine research, innovation, and productivity. Experts argue that federal investment in renewable energy projects and grid modernisation could ignite industrial growth, creating thousands of jobs while sustaining the educational sector’s momentum. 

Kano’s healthcare system, chronically underfunded and overburdened, struggles to serve its 15 million residents. State-run hospitals lack essential equipment, and medical personnel are stretched thin. Federal input through facility upgrades, increased funding, and partnerships with the private sector could reduce pressure, improve public health outcomes, and attract medical tourism, turning a cost centre into a revenue stream.  

In Kano’s bustling large markets that serve Africa, such as Dawanau’s grains, Kwari’s fabrics, and Singa’s groceries, transactions remain stubbornly analogue. This “brick-and-mortar” mentality, experts say, stifles economic scalability in the twenty-first century. “Digitisation isn’t optional; it’s survival,” argues tech entrepreneur Aisha Musa. Federal grants to build a robust digital ecosystem, e-payment platforms, online marketplaces, and broadband expansion could connect Kano’s markets to global consumers, boosting GDP and curbing youth unemployment.  

Kano’s agricultural landscape is littered with bad, indefatigable innuendo. Farms teem with tomatoes, peppers, and livestock, yet the state imports processed dairy goods. The absence of modern processing facilities leaves farmers vulnerable to waste and price fluctuations. A federal push to establish agro-industrial zones with cold storage and meat-processing plants could transform raw abundance into export-ready products, slashing Nigeria’s $10 billion annual food import bill and strengthening the naira. 

Potholed roads and inefficient rail networks cripple trade, inflating costs and deter investors. Upgrading transport infrastructure, which relies heavily on the federal government, would streamline the movement of goods from farms to ports, link markets to neighbouring countries, and position Kano as a logistics hub. “Better roads mean cheaper goods, happier consumers, and a thriving economy,” notes logistics expert Tunde Okoye.  

The blueprint for Kano’s renaissance is clear: targeted federal investments in energy, healthcare, digitisation, agro-industry, and transport. Such interventions promise to generate employment, diversify revenue streams, reduce import dependency, and fortify Nigeria’s economy. As the state stands at a crossroads, the message to Abuja is unequivocal: Empower Kano, and you empower the nation. Kano’s story does not need to be one of unfulfilled promises. With strategic governance, Africa’s “Centre of Commerce” could reclaim its title, this time, as a beacon of inclusive, 21st-century growth.

Ismaila Abdulmumini wrote via ima2040@outlook.com.

By Malam Aminu Wase

A presidential Muslim-Muslim ticket is not merely a political strategy. It is a catalyst for national instability. In a country like Nigeria, which is still grappling with deep-seated mutual distrust, such a move sends the wrong signal. 

For Nigeria to truly progress, its leadership must reflect the nation’s rich diversity. Only through inclusive governance can we assure every citizen, regardless of faith, ethnicity, or region, that they have a rightful place in the nation’s power structure.

Malam Nasir Ahmed El-Rufai played a pivotal role in promoting the idea of a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket. While this strategy may have been politically calculated, it encouraged religious and ethnic groups to compete for power, rather than unite under a shared national vision that addresses the hardships facing all Nigerians.

Ironically, many of the architects of the Muslim-Muslim ticket are not reaping the benefits of their efforts. The lofty expectations they once championed of inclusion and representation have been dashed. Some have even defected to other political parties, disillusioned by the very system they helped establish.

Nigerians must open their eyes. The struggle among the political elite is not about improving the lives of the masses; it is a scramble for personal gain, to secure privileges for their children, families, and close associates. We must rise above the politics of religion and region and demand leadership representing all Nigerians.

I urge fellow citizens to reject the idea of a Muslim-Muslim ticket in the upcoming election. Let us vote for candidates committed to unifying Nigeria, easing economic hardship, and introducing policies that genuinely impact the lives of ordinary people.

Malam Aminu Wase, Write from Kaduna State. He can be reached via aminusaniusman3@gmail.com.

By Nura Jibo

Whenever I see sure PDP political power losers and their APC bedfellows making historical myths and inaccuracies about their pseudo performance of national economic growth and development, it reminds one of the gospel according to Barnabas.

As a Muslim, I actually believe in the Gospel of Barnabas as a myth rather than a reality. Though his assertions are very true and apt, they are considered among Christians as a non-canonical, pseudodepigraphical gospel attributed to him. They somehow believed Barnabas was a disciple of Jesus who lived in the 14th or 15th century.

These historical myths and inaccuracies are what the so-called PDP and APC elders would wish to present to ordinary Nigerians. Indeed, their misrepresentation of facts is contrary to a detailed account of Barnabas, who, according to his Torgado Siburian theological belief, explained Jesus’ life. This account includes elements that align with Islamic reality and beliefs, such as the denial of Jesus’ crucifixion and a focus on Jesus as a prophet rather than the Son of God. 

Indeed, the PDP/APC elders’ gospel on Nigeria’s political leadership/claim on its progress is nothing but something to be considered a fabrication, as it contradicts the canonical gospels and includes historical conundrums that even the so-called generals in politics that resort to this falsehood amidst public glare cannot provide an answer to!

The PDP presidency under Obasanjo and Jonathan is nothing but a political disaster.

These two presidents presided over Nigeria with impunity and first-class corruption that drained Nigerians and stripped them bare of their dignity in the comity of nations.

Obasanjo shamelessly accused his National Assembly of being a “den of corruption by a gang of unarmed robbers”.

Indeed, Evan Enwerem’s emergence as Obasanjo’s Senate president against Chuba Okadigbo confirmed his corrupt tendencies as a political but not military leader to Nigerians. This remains fresh in our psyches and memories.

The Siemens and KBR bribery scandals, which the FBI investigated, indicted President Obasanjo’s government internationally.

On the other hand, President Jonathan allowed a corrupt Diezani oil ministerial hubris of over N100 billion, alleged to have been collected by Diezani as undue enrichment.

This is not to rule out the role of his wife, Patience, in the $8.4 million and N7.4 billion linked to her by the EFCC under a file suit dubbed FHC/L/CS/620/18.

What the likes of Governors Sule Lamido, Amaechi, Nasiru El-Rufai, Peter Obi, and even VP Atiku Abubakar want to tell Nigerians after being frustrated and pushed to the periphery of power and out of national and global relevance, one hasn’t the vaguest idea.

Please note:

There is no point in alluding to the APC’s leadership under Buhari and Tinubu. Because doing so will not allow us to see the light of day, it is better not to mention the terrible economic harakiri, democratic suicide, and perturbed insecurity that the APC and, by extension, its PDP rivalries have thrown into Nigeria. Recounting APC ordeals is a déjà vu that this writer is not ready to waste more energy delving into.

Happy Eid celebration!

Nura wrote from Shahrazad Homes, 21 Zerifa Aliyev Street, Baku, Azerbaijan.

By Oladoja M.O

A peculiar tragedy defines the Nigerian state—a complete surrender of responsibility by those elected to bear it, a full-blown case of irresponsibility institutionalised at the highest levels. It is as if we are not being led at all. It is as if we are simply being watched, pitied, and narrated to. Our so-called leaders behave like helpless spectators, not as those with the authority to fix the very problems they moan about.

Shamefully, Nigeria lacks leadership. Instead, it has men and women who love the microphone more than the mandate. We are not governed; we are narrated. Commentators rule us.

Just days ago, a State Governor resurfaced with yet another alarming statement: that Boko Haram has infiltrated the government. Again. This is not the first time he has said something like this. Several times, he has come out to decry the killings, to point fingers, to lament the destruction. And every single time, one question keeps hanging in the air. What exactly has he, as the Chief Security Officer of the state, done about it? What has he changed? What systems has he challenged? What heads have rolled under his watch? Where is the real action beyond the endless news appearances and emotional speeches? It is not enough to wear a bulletproof vest and take a stroll in a burned village. That is not leadership. That is performance.

I mean, this individual is not a social media activist. He is not a political analyst. Not a powerless citizen. He is not a sympathiser. He is a sitting governor, for goodness’ sake! He has the resources, influence, and intelligence at his disposal. If all he can do is complain, then he has failed. And that is the bitter truth. Or how did the weight of office shrink to the mere performance of sympathy and public outrage? Because, for all I know, leaders do not just point to problems. They solve them. They don’t weep when the house burns. They command the water. But what we see here is the opposite. 

It is as if holding public office in Nigeria has been reduced to a loud-speaking exercise. The governor speaks. The senators speak. The representatives hold press conferences. Everybody speaks. But nobody leads. They describe problems they were empowered to solve, like detached observers, rather than active change agents. It is nauseating. It is tragic. It is dangerous because this governor is just one symptom of a far deeper rot. 

Nigeria’s leadership structure is littered with voices that echo sorrow and rage without ever lifting a finger to stop the bleeding. The National Assembly, for instance, has become a festival of talkers. Lawmakers who go to the chambers not to legislate, but to lament. Some of them even act as if their job is to criticise the government when in fact, they are the government. You hear them talk on TV and wonder if they were mistakenly sworn into opposition. These are people elected to craft laws, drive policies, and oversee the executive. Instead, they pick microphones and begin to “express worry”, “condemn in strong terms”, and “call on the federal government”, as though they are not the federal government themselves. It is embarrassing. It is pathetic. It is a national disgrace that the loudest voices in power are often the most passive in a country so battered.

And the tragedy is even louder when we look at the so-called new breed. For instance, Peter Obi has earned some Nigerians’ admiration because they see in him a departure from the past. But in reality, he’s just the same recycled blaming and deflecting game-player. Recently, when asked about the internal crisis tearing through the Labour Party, a party he is seen as the head of, his response was a flat finger-pointing exercise. He explained who caused what and who did what. Zero sense of responsibility. No ownership, nor a plan to fix it. Is it hard to understand that leadership is not explaining the problem but solving it? What are we banking on if someone aspiring to govern 200 million people cannot manage internal party squabbles?

Being soft-spoken and throwing statistics around is not leadership. Nigerians need people who carry the weight of responsibility and act with urgency, not people who are always ready with talking points. 

This country is bleeding. Virtually every region, every sector, every institution is either hoping to set into recovery or picking up the pieces. From poverty to insecurity, from joblessness to healthcare collapse, from fuel inflation to decaying infrastructure, we are a nation gasping for air. And what do our leaders do? They gather at events and in press briefings to express sympathy. They talk. They hold conferences. They issue long tweets. And then they disappear. It is now a full-blown epidemic. Everyone in power wants to talk about the problem. No one wants to be responsible for the solution. They love the headlines. They love the interviews. But they vanish when it is time for hard decisions, bold reforms, and deep accountability.

This is not what leadership looks like. Leadership means bearing the burden of others. It means thinking, planning, executing, sweating, failing, trying again, and never passing the buck. But Nigerian leaders today see power as a shield from responsibility. To them, power is for glory, not for duty. It is for the title, not for toil. And we, the people, must also take some blame. Because time after time, we bring these same people back. We vote them in. We defend them. We hail them. We wash, rinse, and repackage them for another round of useless governance. It is insanity.

A time must come, and it should be now, when Nigerians wake up to the bitter reality that democracy today is mostly a circus—a time when we say it clearly and loudly: enough with all the empty noise. We do not want more commentators, glorified orators, or prophets of doom in positions of power.

We want leadership. Real, practical, accountable leadership.

If you are in the office, your job is not to narrate the problem. Your job is to change it. If you are the governor and your people are being killed, we expect action, not pity. If you are a senator and the economy is crashing, we expect reform, not press conferences. Don’t blame others if you are a party leader and your house is on fire. Fix it. Nigeria can no longer afford leaders who vanish when it matters most. We cannot survive another decade of commentators posing as commanders. The country is on the brink, and what we need now are not voices of complaint, but minds of action and hearts of steel.

Until that happens, let the records reflect it. We are not being led. We are being narrated to. And that is the greatest insult of all.

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

By Sunusi Abubakar Birnin Kudu

Accounting, traditionally seen as the process of recording, summarising, analysing, and reporting financial transactions about individuals, businesses, or other organisations, is currently facing a transformative shift due to technological advancements, especially in Artificial intelligence. AI-powered accounting software has taken over many routine tasks performed by accountants. 

AI now automates core accounting tasks such as categorisation, data entry, and reconciliation. These tools now efficiently deliver real-time financial statements and modern finance metrics. Thus, the shift creates the fear of job displacement and professional irrelevance among accounting students and accountants. This calls for accountants to adapt to those changes and avoid being irrelevant. A study published by Forbes supports these concerns, noting that among the factors that led over $300,000 accountants and auditors to leave their jobs between 2019 and 2021 is a fear of being replaced by automation. 

However, this assertion has a contrary narrative. A recent survey by an automation platform called DataSnipper indicates that auditing/accounting job vacancies rose by 25% in 2024. This was attributed to the high demand for accounting personnel, the retirement of those in practice, and the role of AI in cutting down auditors’ repetitive work. The survey also indicates that 83% of the auditors in the world tend to stay in companies with AI initiatives. 

These findings illustrate a key truth. AI has posed both threats and opportunities to accountants and the accounting profession. However, the determining factor lies in how accountants respond to them. 

Although AI can perform many accounting functions that accountants carry out, it can’t replace the human judgment required to weigh up different variables and make an informed decision. For this reason, accountants might have a respite. However, they need to evolve from being financial reporters to becoming strategic advisors, leveraging financial data analytics (DA) to interpret data, advise their clients, and enhance organisational performance.

Financial data analytics in accounting involves making critical financial decisions for an organisation. It enables accountants to keep track of the overall organisation’s functions. Accountants with DA knowledge can help organisations to make informed decisions. They can assist organisations in maintaining records, budgeting and financial forecasting, and setting targets and projections with high accuracy.

An accountant can use DA to guide company-employee relations by establishing key performance indicators to analyse employees’ overall financial impact on the company. Through AI-driven analytic tools like Zoho and Qlik, accountants can simplify complex financial circumstances into useful information. 

Furthermore, in tax consultancy and advisory services, accountants can use financial data analytics to guide clients through tax planning and compliance. They can also liaise with revenue agencies for efficient revenue collection. Data analytics tools can be harnessed by accountants based on the nature and circumstances of the clients. 

Accountants who transition from ordinary financial data processing to advanced financial data interpretation tend to be more relevant to the accounting profession. Adopting data analytics helps accountants stay relevant in a competitive labour market and improves their professionalism and expertise. 

The accounting profession is no longer limited to classification, summarisation, and reporting. It requires accurate data analysis and informed decisions. AI is an opportunity for accountants, not a deterrent. Accountants shouldn’t resist this development but rather adapt it, harness it, and grow. This is the only way to redefine their relevance in an AI-driven era.

Sunusi Abubakar (ACA in view) wrote this from Arawa B. Akko Local Government, Gombe State.

By Dr. Muhammad Sulaiman Abdullahi

I was riding my electric bike and the engine was in an absolute silence, courtesy of China’s existence on earth, I passed some guys walking by the road side, and suddenly, I overheard one of them screamed out the word “technologia Alaji”, before I took it in, he screamed again, Tesla!

I was internally filled with joy as I was sure he was talking about my little angel, which I didn’t know it would make such an impact on anyone, though the young guy was a millennial. These set of people are fascinated by almost everything today. They find fun even in every sort of trash. The way they take trashes high is so funny and confusing. But my electric bike, though small, is something to attract their whole, I am sure of that.

After I passed, the word “technologia” keeps coming back to me and I just remembered Sarkin Mota, because the young guy mimicked him while screaming the words out.

Sarkin Mota is a Hausa term which can literally be rendered into English as King of Cars or Master of Cars or Owner of Cars or Seller of Cars or all these combined. In this case the guy who is called Sarkin Mota qualifies for all the above mentioned renditions.

I know of Sarkin Mota recently and I am sure he started trending not long ago. The guy was super talented in his unique, unprecedented and unpresidented humorous way of advertising his wares. His style was so tantalizing, timely and it coincides with the needs of the time. Added to this, the Tinubuconomics has angered most Nigerians and made them to think for simple alternatives. Boom… Sarkin Mota emerged with super cars, mostly from China but not in any way affordable by the “Civil Servants”!

The guy started by teasing civil servants whom are mostly today frustrated, angry, hungry and ridiculed from all angles, ranging from their employers, their managers, their community members and even sometimes from within their family structures. Civil servants are in trouble and Sarkin Mota teased them to sell his stuff without remorse identifying with them.

However, Sarkin Mota is sarcastically and truly right. Only some very few privileged civil servants who work in high places can afford the cheapest of his cars today. Others who can afford to purchase cars from him from among the civil servants may do so only with proceeds of corruption, looting or embezzlement. Therefore, the guy is truly right, it is only that too much of everything can be boring as well as hurting. It is not funny to keep banging and punching at one spot, it may end up becoming so fatal and brutal.

In Nigeria there are two types of civil servants today. The extremely poor civil servants and the super-rich civil servants. The extremely poor civil servants are those who work but cannot afford to buy what they need for their lives. They are of various categories. Those who can’t regularly fuel their cars and opt for two days fueling per week or even month. Some have already abandon their cars and opt for their legs. Those who cannot buy a bag of rice to feed their families. Those who are always on credit from the neighboring shop owners as a result of purchase of certain groceries, which they always collect on credit. Those who cannot pay their children school fees. Those who always hide when they see the landlord coming or ignore phone calls to avoid embarrassment. These are even regarded as tier two up, in as much as they eat, even if what they eat is not what they want. There are tier one, top tier, who cannot afford anything. They hardly eat. They barely have any form of enjoyment in Nigeria beside the air they inhale and the sky that covers them from the above. They just live and follow the time. These two categories form the majority of Nigerian civil servants today.

The extremely poor civil servants in Nigeria takes more than 95% of the civil servants’ population. Civil servants are suffering beyond any reasonable doubts. Sarkin Mota was just someone who is frowned at unnecessarily or was only targeted as a scapegoat. His sarcastic nature of dragging the civil servants in the mud was used by NOA to silence him. NOA is also another government agency, which I am pretty sure, harboring extremely poor civil servants who cannot afford to buy Salla rams for their families.

Though I reason with NOA especially if what they did is part of their mandate, I still find their misdirection of anger and warning as worthless.

Their letter should have been a dual sharp edge sword which should have called Sarkin Mota to order and drawn the attention of the government on how they reduce civil servants to being ridiculed by the business community. People look at the “branch” instead of digging deep in order to see the root of a problem! Sarkin Mota’s costly sarcastic style was as a result of what the government does, deliberately. Let us assume that Sarkin Mota was disrespectful, something that he debunked, and then would the government that forcibly pushed the civil servants into this sorry state be? Wicked and merciless, simple. There are no two way about this. He who beats you is more wicked than he who only laughs at you from afar.

What worsen Sarkin Mota’s sarcastic videos were the fact that some other Social Media copycats have already taken his style to another level. A ram, which is purportedly priced at one million naira, would be displayed, and after all the grandiose show off, a civil servant who cannot truly buy it will be dragged. Then, you would be surprised as against whom should a civil servant set his face now? This is someone deprived, wickedly and mercilessly, of all enjoyment and now little boys have made him as laughing stock on their empty social media trashes. On this, everyone must commend NOA for stopping this nonsense.

As for Sarkin Mota, I feel he has carved a niche for himself and has been recognized as one of the top dealers even when for sure, there may be many others above him, but yet unknown.

Aliyu Muhammad Sarkin Mota confirmed that his parents are civil servants and that he was not disrespectly and that he was just pulling their legs in an interview he granted to Channels TV. Also, in a new recent video where he displayed a convoy of electric cars, he didn’t mention civil servants again. He still maintained some of his major take always and insignias like technologia Alaji, but he didn’t mentioned civil servant. This is a sign that he had “repented”. Thanks to NOA’s intervention. But a question to NOA, does their intervention make civil servant to afford his cars?

Another take away from the Sarkin Mota’s style is his unique way of speaking English, especially “my buraza”, which makes him unique and original. This takes us to the resounding debate of English as a measure of intelligence. To Sarkin Mota, that isn’t even a topic of discussion, because he has a great command of the English language but he chooses not to sound like a grandchild of Kings Charles. He speaks in a very nice deep and lovely Nigerian accent which even if you don’t like, that doesn’t snatch a dime away from his celebrity status he attained.

Keep going Sarkin Mota! And may we see a day when ordinary primary school teachers can afford to buy the latest brand of cars you brag about, amen!

Muhammad writes from Kano Nigeria, and can be reached via, muhammadunfagge@yahoo.com

By Muhammad Lawal Ibrahim, PhD

Another brilliant mind has died. Another Nigerian professor, Prof. Abubakar Roko, has just been murdered by the state,not by bullets, nor by bandits, but by an unforgiving system, deliberate neglect, and a government that treats its academics like disposable rags. He needed ₦13 million for medical treatment abroad. After over 20 years of service to this so-called nation, he could not raise it. He lay bedridden, helpless, abandoned, and now he is dead. We must stop calling this “natural death.” This was murder by government negligence.

In a country that throws billions at political cronies, gives lawmakers millions in wardrobe allowances, and funds endless pilgrimages and jamborees, a professor had to be paraded online like a beggar, with students scrambling to raise funds just so their teacher might survive. Yet even that was insufficient. The system choked him to death slowly, much like it is doing to thousands of others right now.

Where are the salaries? 

As of this writing, tertiary institution workers are celebrating Sallah (Eid-ul-Adha) without salaries. Go and verify. Civil servants in other sectors have been paid weeks ago. But those who teach your children, those who write your policies, those who keep the soul of the country alive—are being starved like prisoners of war. And when it was reported that over 1,000 lecturers have died under this current administration, bootlickers and sycophants ask, “What killed them?” What killed them? What didn’t?

Sickness, hunger, depression, suicide, systemic poverty, lack of medical care, all wrapped in the evil legacy of Buhari’s betrayal and now Tinubu’s reign of economic terrorism, killed them and are still counting.

Tinubu’s “Renewed Hope” is academic genocide

Let’s not sugarcoat it. What’s happening in Nigeria’s higher education system today is academic genocide. The federal government has effectively declared war on the ivory tower. Salaries are frozen. Promotions are denied. Research is dead. Morale is nonexistent. Students are turning to fraud and crime. Lecturers are dying in silence, many too ashamed to beg for help. But yes, the president has just approved ₦90 billion for Hajj. Where is the justice in this madness?

A rotten elite and a silent society

The ruling class in Nigeria treats lecturers like slaves while flying abroad for their checkups, educating their children overseas, and stealing public funds to build mansions in Dubai. Meanwhile, professors die waiting for ₦13 million. We are ruled by demons in agbadas, celebrated by cowards, and enabled by silence.

What’s worse is that many Nigerians have been so brutalised that they now laugh off their own destruction. “Lecturers are always complaining.” Yes, because they are slowly being buried alive.

We will not forgive

To those in power, your days of immunity from truth are over. You will be remembered not as leaders, but as executioners. We will not forgive you for the lives you’ve ruined. Not in death. Not in history. Not in the court of God.

You have destroyed one of the few remaining sectors that held credibility in this country. And for what? Your greed? Your power games? Your bottomless stomachs?

Prof. Roko is dead, and I pray for Allah to accept his good, innocent soul into the highest level in paradise, amin. But this article is not about him alone. It is about every Nigerian academic suffering right now in silence. It is about every student being denied a future. It is about a nation killing its own brain and expecting to survive.

Enough is enough. Let this death be a curse on the conscience of every politician who has contributed to this decay.

Let this be a rallying cry for every Nigerian who still has a soul left.

Muhammad Lawal Ibrahim, PhD, wrote from ABU, Zaria, lawalabusalma@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

How Nigeria’s Traditional Medicine Policy Falters in the Face of a Healthcare Crisis

Traditional medicine remains a lifeline in the heart of Nigeria’s vibrant communities. For millions, the village herbalist is not just a healer but the only accessible one. Yet, despite its ubiquity and potential, traditional medicine in Nigeria remains largely relegated to the fringes of the healthcare system.

Why? Because the one policy that could breathe life into it, the “Traditional Medicine Policy” of 2007, is quite frankly a policy without a pulse.

It exists on paper, yes. But in practice, it drifts in the ether of neglect, underfunding, and governmental lip service. The intent was noble: to recognise, integrate, and regulate traditional and complementary medicine (T&CM) harmoniously with Nigeria’s conventional medical framework. But over 15 years later, the landscape remains fragmented institutions, unrecognised practitioners, and a glaring vacuum of legislation that could bind it all into something functional.

The 2007 policy envisioned institutionalising traditional medicine education, promoting evidence-based practices, and protecting indigenous knowledge. It proposed the development of curricula, collaborations between practitioners and scientists, and most importantly, the integration of traditional health workers into mainstream healthcare delivery.

But here’s the reality in 2025:

Despite repeated attempts to pass the Council for Traditional, Alternative, and Complementary Medicine Practice Bill, there is no functional regulatory council for traditional medicine practitioners.

No constitutionally defined or legally licensed role for herbalists or traditional health workers within Nigeria’s medical profession.

Institutions like NICONMTECH, Ibadan College of Natural Medicine, and African College of Traditional Medicine train thousands annually, but no professional pathway exists to license or employ them formally.

Only National Diplomas or certificates exist; there’s no accredited B.Sc. program, no postgraduate clinical practice recognition, and no universal standard for certification.

The result? A generation of “trained” traditional medicine practitioners with no seat at the healthcare table.

Counting some blessings, Nigeria’s Ministry of Health did establish the Department of Traditional, Complementary & Alternative Medicine in 2018, but its impact has been symbolic at best. NAFDAC mandated herbal product registration and labelling, which doesn’t translate into practitioner recognition or integration. The Natural Medicine Development Agency (NNMDA) was signed into law in 2019 to spearhead research and development, but there is no central governing council, which means that coordination remains chaotic. State governments have made some strides, e.g., Governor Soludo’s Anambra State Herbal Practice Law, but it is an isolated effort with no national backing. Ultimately, it’s like having a beautifully designed ship without a captain or compass.

One might ask, why does this matter more than ever now?

It is no longer breaking news that Nigeria is bleeding professionals. The “Japa” wave has not spared doctors, nurses, or dentists. With over 65% of qualified health workers seeking opportunities abroad, Nigeria’s healthcare system is being hollowed out from within.

To compound this, the country now faces blocked financing from global donors like the U.S., partly due to concerns over poor transparency, suboptimal health data management, and systemic inefficiencies. With this dwindling foreign aid and a crumbling workforce, we should explore every viable alternative, and traditional medicine stands at the crossroads.

But rather than mobilise this ready workforce, we shackle them with policy paralysis, leaving our vast herbal and traditional knowledge base languishing in semi-formal practice, unprotected, unregulated, and unsupported.

Time after time, the National Association of Nigerian Traditional Medicine Practitioners (NANTMP) has repeatedly called on the National Assembly to pass the Traditional, Complementary and Alternative Council of Nigeria (TCACN) Bill. Their plea is simple: recognise, regulate, and give us a voice in the national health discourse. They are not asking for a free ride, but for the years of training at herbal schools, skills acquisition centres, and research institutes across Nigeria to be met with a legitimate path to service.

After all, how do you tell a Nigerian College of Natural Medicine Technology graduate that their diploma is valid, but they are legally invisible? How do you justify decades of policy silence when the country desperately needs all hands on deck?

A living policy evolves with need, responds to gaps, and energises sectors. The 2007 policy is comatose, hanging on by technical documents and departmental charades. What it needs now is:

An active national council to regulate, license, and accredit T&CM practitioners.

Curriculum reform and NUC-approved B.Sc. degrees to professionalise training.

Legal recognition of traditional practitioners under Nigeria’s health law.

Clear collaborative frameworks between conventional health professionals.

Nigeria cannot afford to sideline its heritage medicine when its hospitals are overcrowded, its workforce is thinning, and its people are desperate for healing, wherever it may come from.

We do not need another policy document. What we need is a pulse.

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

By Usman Muhammad Salihu

I never truly grasped the danger of exposing personal information in the digital space until Mr. Yushau Shuaib, my boss and mentor, handed me a book—Born Digital: Understanding the First Generation of Digital Natives by John Palfrey and Urs Gasser. 

It was an eye-opener, full of prescient warnings about the hidden costs of living in a world where our lives are increasingly mediated by technology. Ironically, neither of us imagined that the warnings in that book would soon play out so personally, and so dramatically.

Mr. Shuaib, a respected public relations expert and founder of PRNigeria, participated in Senior Executive Course 47 at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies (NIPSS). On May 2, 2025, he was abruptly suspended from the course. 

His offence? Publishing articles highlighting and supporting President Bola Tinubu’s Digital and Blue Economy reforms. One article, “Understanding the ‘Blue’ in the Blue Economy,” praised the government’s innovative strides in marine resource development. 

Another, “NIPSS Goes Digital,” celebrated the institute’s transition to a paperless administrative system—part of Nigeria’s broader digital transformation agenda. While he did not write or edit the latter, it appeared on his media platform.

In response to his suspension, Mr. Shuaib petitioned the President, citing harassment, cyberbullying, and professional ostracism. He argued that the action was punitive and lacked due process. 

NIPSS, however, insisted he breached institutional policy by publishing materials related to the institute without clearance—a rule they claim he had previously been warned about.

But a chilling twist escalated the matter beyond internal disciplinary lines: PRNigeria’s editorial email account was allegedly compromised. Confidential communications between journalists and their sources, private story drafts, and editorial exchanges were reportedly accessed without consent. 

The intrusion, attributed to officials of the same institute that suspended Mr. Shuaib, raised serious ethical and legal concerns. This was no ordinary data breach. It directly violated professional boundaries, journalistic independence, and Nigeria’s own Cybercrime Act. 

It represented something more insidious than a lapse in judgment—it was, in many ways, a digital form of trespass. The incident sent ripples through the media and security circles. 

If an elite policy institute tasked with grooming Nigeria’s future strategic leaders could be implicated in such an act, what message does that send about our national commitment to digital ethics and the rule of law?

It is precisely the kind of scenario “Born Digital” warns about—a world where our private digital footprints are vulnerable not just to hackers or corporations but also to institutions that should be protecting those rights.

In one haunting passage, the authors write: “Young people who are living their lives mediated by digital technologies will pay a higher price, sometimes down the road, for the way privacy is handled in this converged, hybrid environment… 

“Most young people are extremely likely to leave something behind in cyberspace that will become a lot like a tattoo, something connected to them that they cannot get rid of later in life.”

That line has stayed with me because it is no longer just about young people; it is about all of us. Our identities, habits, preferences, locations, communications, and relationships are all being recorded, stored, and sometimes exploited through what are now known as digital dossiers.

These dossiers are detailed archives of our lives compiled by apps, platforms, websites, and even institutions. They are often created without our consent or awareness. While they promise convenience and personalised experiences, they also have profound risks.

Privacy has become a currency we are forced to spend for access. And increasingly, it is a luxury only a few can afford. The NIPSS breach is a wake-up call. It reveals the fragile boundaries between transparency and intrusion, policy enforcement and personal violation. 

It is a reminder that digital transformation must be matched by ethical responsibility and legal accountability. As a journalist, I have often lived under the illusion of digital safety. 

But as a parent, I now worry for my young daughter and the millions like her growing up in a world where data is your shadow—and sometimes, your shackle. We must do more. We must demand stronger data protection laws, foster a culture of privacy awareness, and hold institutions accountable, no matter how revered. 

Our digital world should not come at the cost of our humanity, dignity, or freedom. The threats are real, the consequences are near, and the time to act is now.