Lifestyle

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman

Some Nigerians with the wrong intention to mock believe that sick individuals, particularly those living with Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) in Africa, especially Nigeria, are now an “endangered species” due to the United States’ withdrawal from the World Health Organization (WHO).

On January 20, 2025, Donald Trump was sworn in as the 47th President of the United States, marking his return to the White House after defeating the Democratic candidate in a fierce election battle. As the world looked on to see how he would start fulfilling his promise to make “America great again,” he wasted no time signing executive orders that sent shockwaves around the globe.

One of his most controversial directives came just days into his presidency: the announcement of the U.S. withdrawal from the WHO, an organization of which it had been a founding member since 1948. This move was not entirely unexpected, as Trump had previously attempted to exit the WHO in 2020 before his decision was overturned by President Joe Biden in 2021.

To the delight of his supporters and the disappointment of his critics, Trump successfully achieved the withdrawal in early 2025. In February, he made further decisions, including cutting funding to certain organizations such as the United States Agency for International Development (USAID).

WHO leadership bemoaned the decision for obvious reasons. According to financing data, the U.S. contributed an estimated $988 million between January and November 2024, marking approximately 14% of WHO’s $6.9 billion budget. The organization further noted that U.S. funding provides the backbone for many large-scale emergency operations to combat diseases globally.

Citing an example, the WHO stated, “U.S. funding covers 95% of the WHO’s tuberculosis program in Europe, along with 60% of the agency’s TB efforts in Africa, the Western Pacific, and headquarters in Geneva.”

The African Union (AU) also expressed deep concern over the development as events continued to unfold. In a statement, AU Commission Chairperson Moussa Faki Mahamat emphasized the crucial role the U.S. has played in shaping global health standards over the past seven decades. He noted that the U.S. was a key supporter in establishing the Africa Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (Africa CDC), which works closely with WHO to tackle global health challenges, including those on the African continent.

This concern, coupled with comments such as those in the opening paragraph of this piece, should not be taken at face value or dismissed as mere press statements. It warrants careful consideration. Although the latter’s comment may be seen as a reaction to unfolding events or an attempt to mock Nigeria and Africa jokingly, more is at stake if the lives of millions of Africans solely depend on that funding.

Dead Aid: Why Aid Is Not Working and How There Is a Better Way for Africa, a 2009 book written by Zambian economist Dambisa Moyo, comes to mind. It earnestly challenged the traditional approach to foreign aid in Africa.

Moyo argues that foreign aid has failed to lift Africa out of poverty and has instead fostered a culture of dependency, corruption, and stagnation. She claims that aid has weakened Africa’s incentive to develop its own economic and political systems. Consequently, it has hindered the growth of Africa’s health sector.

It is a universal truth that no nation can survive in isolation; however, countries should be able to provide for their basic survival needs. The concern raised by the AU may validate Moyo’s hypothesis, as Africa remains dependent on aid from foreign entities like the WHO, despite having a continent-wide centre for disease control.

In 2001, African leaders signed the Abuja Declaration, promising to increase budgetary allocation for health, eradicate HIV/AIDS, and strengthen the health sector through improved infrastructure, human resources, and access to essential medicines.

Two decades later, we are lamenting a single nation’s withdrawal from the WHO because we have failed to uphold the promises we made to ourselves. What will happen if other “powerful” countries choose to leave? Will our already poor health metrics deteriorate? This should serve as a wake-up call.

All hope is not lost, as some progress has been made. In Nigeria, there was a breakthrough in November 2024. Doctors at Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH), in collaboration with the Sickle Cell Foundation, successfully carried out a bone marrow transplant on two patients. This procedure once thought impossible in Nigeria, was described as “a significant step forward in the treatment of sickle cell disease—the first of its kind in West Africa.”

Also, in February 2025, Usmanu Danfodiyo University Teaching Hospital (UDUTH) joined the ranks of medical facilities that have successfully performed kidney transplants.

Nigeria can build upon and enhance these developments, attracting patients from other regions for treatment. This influx will generate revenue and may elevate us to a point where we no longer depend on funding from external organizations.

Nigeria and other African nations can leverage their existing resources to generate revenue while investing further in research to discover cures or treatments for diseases for which we have traditionally relied on palliatives.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja and can be reached at dahirulawal90@gmail.com.

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini

A recent analysis of how medical professionals are spread across Nigeria’s 36 states and the Federal Capital Territory (FCT) has uncovered some striking differences in the number of doctors available to meet the needs of the country’s growing population.

Leading the pack is Lagos, the nation’s bustling commercial center, boasting an impressive 7,385 doctors. Following closely is the FCT with 4,453 doctors, and then Rivers, which has 2,194 doctors.

Other notable states include Enugu with 2,070 doctors, Oyo with 1,996, and Edo with 1,777, all of which highlight the correlation between urbanization and the demand for healthcare services.

These areas tend to attract more healthcare workers, drawn by the opportunities in metropolitan settings.

However, the report also sheds light on a troubling disparity in healthcare professional availability across different states.

While southern and southwestern states generally enjoy a better doctor-to-population ratio, the northern and northeastern regions are facing a significant shortage of medical personnel.

Taraba, situated in northeastern Nigeria, has the fewest doctors, with only 201, which raises serious concerns about the challenges of providing adequate healthcare in that area.

Other states like Yobe (275 doctors), Adamawa (280 doctors), and Kebbi (273 doctors) further illustrate how the distribution of medical staff is heavily tilted towards more urbanized and economically prosperous regions.

Among the states with lower doctor counts, Zamfara (267 doctors), Jigawa (255 doctors), and Gombe (485 doctors) also highlight a significant gap in healthcare access.

This uneven distribution means that many areas in Nigeria, especially in the north and rural regions, are struggling to deliver quality healthcare services to their communities.

In contrast, southern states like Akwa Ibom (888 doctors) and Abia (829 doctors) show a more favorable situation, underscoring the ongoing challenges in achieving equitable healthcare access across the country.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

MashaAllah. As the crescent moon rose to herald Ramadan this year, on this twentieth day of March 2025, a profound stillness has settled over me. The fast silences my body’s clamor, the long nights of prayer elevate my spirit toward the heavens, and my thoughts drift into the boundless expanse of the unseen. This Ramadan, I find myself wrestling with the nature of dimensions—what they signify, how they shape our fleeting lives, and how death might unlock realms beyond our earthly reach. 

The Qur’an unveils glimpses of this mystery: seven heavens layered in divine order, Jannah’s gardens of eternal serenity, Jahannam’s depths watched by stern guardians, and Allah’s timeless, infinite dominion. The number four—etched into our 4D reality and echoed in a hadith debate I explored last week—anchors my reflection, while the nineteen of Surah Al-Muddathir, mirrored in the nineteen letters of *Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim*, stirs my soul. Could death guide us through a cosmic graveyard of stars into these dimensions, as some now ponder in awe?

Let us begin with dimensions as we experience them in this Duniya, this transient abode. We dwell within three spatial dimensions—length, width, and height. A minaret pierces the twilight sky; its shadow stretches wide across the sun-warmed earth, and its foundations sink deep into the soil. Time, the fourth dimension, flows relentlessly forward, a current bearing us from the first whispered adhan of Fajr to the tranquil hush of Isha. 

These four—three of space and one of time—form our 4D reality, a spacetime framework we navigate with every breath and every step we take. Yet science, with its insatiable curiosity, gazes beyond this familiar quartet, proposing extra dimensions—ten, eleven, or perhaps far more—coiled tightly at scales too tiny for our eyes to discern or sprawling across unseen planes our hands cannot grasp. These are not mere directions to wander but subtle layers, bending the forces of gravity, energy, or the very essence of creation in ways that stretch our comprehension.

In 2018, a Northern Nigerian Hausa broadcasting Television Station, Arewa24, in a documentary about space named black hole mutuwaren taurari (Mortuary of Stars), but I preferred mak’abartar taurari—the Graveyard of Stars—as a more evocative term. Here, death is a profound key, a passage to what lies beyond. In this 4D shell, we are tethered—our physical forms bound to the limits of space, our lives measured by the steady march of time. 

The Qur’an, however, assures us that the soul, the ruh, endures beyond this fragile vessel. When we die, might that soul break free, slipping into a fifth dimension, a sixth, or even further—realms where Jannah’s rivers ripple with mercy and Jahannam’s fires blaze with justice, domains veiled from us until Malak al-Mawt, the Angel of Death, carries us across the threshold? 

Physics offers a faint echo of this possibility: higher dimensions might surround us, omnipresent yet inaccessible, hidden behind a veil that only death can part. Some astronomers link each soul to a star wandering the cosmos; when a person dies, their star might collapse into this graveyard, bearing their ruh along. Could this black hole be a portal, a barzakh, where dimensions unfold beyond our sight?

The Qur’an sketches this vastness with strokes of majesty. “He who created seven heavens in layers,” proclaims Surah Al-Mulk (67:3), urging us to reflect on the nature of these layers. Are they celestial skies arching above our world, glowing in the twilight? Or could they be universes, dimensional planes, each distinct yet interconnected, ascending beyond our perception into a hierarchy only Allah fully comprehends? 

Our 4D reality, with its glittering stars and sprawling earth, might be the “lowest heaven,” as Surah As-Saffat (37:6) suggests, with its adorned lights, while six more heavens rise above, reachable only when death turns the lock. Time, too, bends in Allah’s presence—Surah Al-Ma’arij (70:4) likens a day with Him to fifty thousand years of our earthly counting. In these higher dimensions, time might not flow as we know it; it could stretch into an endless horizon, loop upon itself, or fold into an eternal now—a reality death alone might usher us into.

Yet it is the number four that steadies my wandering mind, a pattern I cannot unsee. Just last week, in *The Eternal Quartet: Understanding the Hadith Debate in Northern Nigeria*, I wrote of a debate stirring Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space—Shaykh Prof. Ibrahim Saeed Ahmad Maqari and Shaykh Prof. Sani Rijiyar Lemo clashing over the degree of certainty in different categories of Hadith rather than dismissing their essence outright. 

I framed the scholars’ dispute through four lenses: reason, belief, doubt, and rejection, a quartet mirrored in Islam’s four legal schools—Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i, Hanbali—and four theological paths—Mu’tazila, Ash’ari, Maturidi, Athari. Maqari, with his Ash’ari and Maliki roots, demands the unshakable certainty of Mutawatir hadiths, those narrated by many, while Rijiyar Lemo, grounded in Athari and Salafi trust, upholds authentic Ahad narrations with strong chains, even if from fewer sources. Four emerged as a complete, balanced square: Maqari’s logic seeking widespread proof, Rijiyar Lemo’s faith in vetted tradition, the doubters’ hesitant questions, the rejectors’ outright dismissal. As I dwell in our 4D spacetime, I see it again—four as our foundation, the root from which higher dimensions might grow, a motif threading through faith, nature, and the human heart.

Then comes a piercing verse—Surah Al-Muddathir (74:30): “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”—“Over it are nineteen.” Nineteen angels guard Jahannam, their number stark and resonant, a mystery that stirs my soul to its core. Are these guardians confined to our 4D frame, or do they stride across dimensions, overseeing a hell that burns beyond our spacetime? This deepens when I count the letters in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—ب س م ا ل ل ه ا ل ر ح م ن ا ل ر ح ي م—nineteen in all, the sacred invocation that opens every surah but one. Could this parallel—nineteen angels, nineteen letters—hint at more, perhaps 19 dimensions woven within or alongside the seven heavens? Science freely posits dimensions; string theory suggests ten or eleven, but the Qur’an’s seven and nineteen numbers carry a divine weight. From our 4D base, the seven heavens might rise as broad realms, each enfolding finer layers, totaling 19—a cosmic framework death unveils, where the nineteen serve as eternal watchmen.

Consider the black hole, this mak’abartar taurari. Could it be barzakh, a liminal space bridging dimensions? Does it cradle Jannah’s tranquility or Jahannam’s torment? Some wonder: might the Day of Judgment spring from this starry graveyard, an event science cannot yet name, where fallen stars—and souls—rise into new dimensions? We perceive only four in this Duniya, but black holes might harbor twelve, as some speculate. Add seven for Jahannam’s planes, and we reach 19—four we know, eight in Barzakh’s depths, seven in Saqar’s fire, guarded by nineteen, as Allah declares, “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”. Last century, scholars like Khalifa Rashad stirred debate with new readings of this verse—could it point to such a cosmic order?

Envision it: our 4D reality as the first heaven, rooted in four—length, width, height, and time. Six more heavens ascend, each a dimensional cluster, totaling 19 with Barzakh and Jahannam’s layers. Surah Fussilat (41:12) says each heaven has its command—unique laws across these planes, from fifth to nineteenth. His Kursi (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:255) spans them, the nineteen as sentinels in its scope. The Qur’an says the soul’s end wanders in the space between the dimensions of fire (dread) or peace (natsuwa). Death might thrust us through mak’abartar taurari into these 19, where nineteen angels stand guard.

As Taraweeh’s verses wash over me this Ramadan, I feel four and nineteen entwined. If 19 dimensions veil Jannah, Jahannam, or more, might they host others—angels, jinn, beings unseen? Science puzzles at silence; death might unveil a chorus. In sujood, fasting’s clarity sharpens this: the Qur’an bids us marvel. Whether seven heavens hold 19 dimensions via a starry graveyard, death is our key—a mercy cloaked as an end.

Breaking my fast, dates sweet with Jannah’s echo, I feel tethered to this vastness. Our 4D world—fourfold in dimensions and thought—is a breath, a shadow of Allah’s infinite craft. Ramadan 2025 is my pilgrimage—through hunger, hope, and “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”, mirrored in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—toward a reality where death, from our fourfold root, opens the door to seven heavens, nineteen dimensions, and Allah’s eternal truth. Allah Shine masani.

By Sabiu Abdullahi

The Kano State government has honored Dr. Aminu Magashi Garba for his exceptional contributions to the state’s development.

Dr. Magashi, who serves as the Technical Adviser to the Ministry of Women Affairs, Children and Disabled, as well as the Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs and Poverty Alleviation, is also the Chair of the AMG Foundation.

His efforts have been instrumental in advancing initiatives that support women and other vulnerable groups.

During the International Women’s Day celebration at the Kano State Government House on Monday, March 17, 2025, the Honourable Commissioner for Women Affairs, Children and Disabled, Hajiya Amina Abdullahi Sani, presented him with an Award of Excellence.

The recognition shows his dedication to improving the well-being of Kano State residents, particularly in the areas of health, humanitarian services, and poverty alleviation.

While presenting the award, Hajiya Amina Abdullahi Sani stated:

“Dr. Magashi has decades-long dedication to public service and commitment to improving the lives of Kano’s underserved communities. He led several reforms in the health sector leading to the establishment of so many agencies, notably PHIMA, KHETFUND KUSH, KNCDC to mention but few.”

She further acknowledged his role in shaping policies, saying:

“His strategic insights and leadership were also vital as Chairman of the health transition committee, where he collaborated closely with His Excellency, the Executive Governor of Kano State, Engr Abba Kabir Yusuf to craft a transformative agenda for Kano State’s healthcare.”

Additionally, she presented his contributions to governance:

“He also led the technical committee which supported H.E. Engr. Abba Kabir Yusuf to develop his campaign blueprint in 2022.”

Dr. Magashi’s recognition underscores his commitment to public service and his lasting impact on health and social welfare initiatives in Kano State.

By Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim

Deedee rushed around her room, gathering the necessary materials for her PhD proposal defense, her heart racing as she tried to remember everything. The session was officially set to begin at ten in the morning, as specified by the postgraduate college, but by seven, she was already anxious, determined not to be late for such an important academic event.

Thanks to the relentless morning traffic, Deedee barely arrived at her destination by eight. Clutching her papers tightly and breathing heavily, she sighed in relief—at least she was the first to arrive. Finally, she could set aside the worry of being late. She settled into her seat, absorbing the tranquillity in the environment and the nervous anticipation of her imminent defense.

The clock ticked on. By ten o’clock—the designated time—only a few familiar faces were moving about. It was evident that the college had only just started making arrangements for the venue and other necessary protocols. Deedee stayed patient. Maybe the session would begin by eleven, she thought, but I need to pick up Mukhtar from school by two.

Yet, the college workers—both academic and non-academic—moved about leisurely, their faces showing no awareness of time slipping away. As the hours passed, other students began to trickle in. No one noticed who had arrived first; there was no system in place to ensure that Deedee or any early arrivals would be attended to first. It seemed that the very concept of punctuality was foreign here.

Frustrated, Deedee later lamented, “Can you believe the session didn’t start until two o’clock in the afternoon? That was exactly when I was supposed to pick up Mukhtar from school?”

“I’m really sorry,” I said earnestly. “But this is what we refer to as ‘African time.’ People here often don’t prioritize valuing time.”

“But do you realize what that means!?” Deedee interjected. “It means our defense times were shortened, leaving us little opportunity to express the very ideas we spent sleepless nights preparing. I was caught between trying to present my work convincingly and worrying about my poor son. What could I say to impress the professors? What was Mukhtar doing at that moment? Was he thinking I had forgotten him? These thoughts, combined with exhaustion, drained all the energy I’d built up for the session.”

Sadly, lack of respect for time has become our trademark in Africa—or, let me be specific, in Nigeria, which I know too well. It is bad enough that the general populace disregards time, but it is even more disheartening that this culture thrives in academic environments. 

Ironically, some people deliberately arrive late to events, using it as a display of status. They ensure the crowd has gathered before they waltz in, basking in the admiration of those who foolishly equate tardiness with importance. Even more baffling is that these individuals always have some fools cheer and applaud their ignorance or arrogance.

We must recognize that our choices do not impact us alone. More often than not, they have far-reaching consequences for others. Consider how a single instance of lateness can disrupt the timing of subsequent activities. Life functions like a chain—delaying one link interrupts the entire sequence. If action A is postponed, it affects action Y, and ultimately, there may be no time left for action Z, which could be critical to someone else’s plans.

It is time we erased the shameful phrase “African time” from our vocabulary and our reality. We must recognize that adhering to schedules is an act of responsibility, a way of being our brother’s keeper. Whether as teachers, students, participants, or public speakers, we need to respect the time allocated to us, neither taking more than our share nor wasting what we have.

Yesterday is history, which is why it’s referred to as the past. Tomorrow is a mystery, unknown and unpredictable. But today—this moment—is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present. Use it wisely.

Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim wrote via abubakarmuhammadaminu21@gmail.com.

By Maimuna Katuka Aliyu

Maternal mortality, the death of a woman during pregnancy or childbirth, remains a cruel and devastating reality. Despite advancements in medicine, millions of women, especially in low- and middle-income countries, face preventable deaths due to systemic failures and societal neglect.

Why Mothers Die

Several factors contribute to maternal mortality, often worsened by inadequate healthcare infrastructure and socio-economic challenges:

1. Severe Bleeding: Postpartum hemorrhage is the leading cause, especially in areas without skilled birth attendants.

2. Infections: Poor hygiene and lack of proper care lead to life-threatening infections after childbirth.

3. Pre-eclampsia and Eclampsia: High blood pressure during pregnancy causes fatal complications when untreated.

4. Unsafe Abortions: A significant number of deaths stem from unregulated and unsafe abortion practices.

5. Underlying Health Issues: Chronic conditions like malaria, HIV/AIDS, and anemia exacerbate pregnancy risks.

In rural areas, the situation is even grimmer. Women often avoid hospitals due to cultural taboos, ignorance, or financial constraints. Many endure days of labor at home, resorting to harmful traditional concoctions instead of seeking professional care. Poor infrastructure and untrained healthcare providers further complicate the situation, leaving mothers vulnerable to preventable deaths.

When it comes to Post-natal care, there isn’t any attention given to the mother after birth on what she eats and how she feels. Mostly, women undergo pain and tear of different degrees and suffer in pain.

Most women suffering from Eclampsia that are brought to the hospital who don’t go for antenatal care, health officials won’t know exactly what is wrong with them, so if she’s having headache, they either prescribe bordrex or sudrex in a chemist for you to take, if its malaria, they haven’t run any tests on you too confirm, they’ll prescribe paracetamol for you to take. Before you know it, she doesn’t have any blood in her body. Lastly, she’ll be rushed to the hospital breathing heavily, and before you get donors to supply blood to her, it might be too late.

People tend to give birth without control, good health, or good food to eat, which also makes the uterus suffer a lot.

The Four Deadly Delays

Maternal mortality is worsened by four critical delays that often seal a woman’s fate:

1. Delay in Seeking Care: Cultural beliefs, ignorance, and financial struggles hinder timely decisions to seek help.2. Delay in Reaching a Facility: Poor roads, lack of transportation, and distance to hospitals mean many women never make it in time.

3. Delay in Receiving Care: Bureaucratic processes, understaffed hospitals, and unskilled personnel result in deadly delays once women reach healthcare facilities.

4. Delay in Referral: When facilities cannot handle emergencies, referral systems are often inefficient, leading to further loss of life.

Ripple Effects of Maternal Death

The death of a mother devastates families and communities. Children without mothers face a higher risk of malnutrition, poor education, and even death. Economically, families are burdened by healthcare costs and the loss of a primary caregiver.

A Call to Action

Addressing maternal mortality requires collective effort:

1. Healthcare Access: Build well-equipped facilities in rural areas and train more skilled birth attendants.

2. Education: Empower communities with knowledge about maternal health and safe childbirth practices.

3. Family Planning: Provide accessible contraception to prevent unplanned pregnancies and reduce unsafe abortions.

4. Government Intervention: Strengthen healthcare systems, remove financial barriers, and implement maternal health policies.

Last Line

Maternal mortality is more than a health statistic; it is a tragic indictment of societal failure. No woman should die giving life. Tackling the root causes, improving healthcare systems, and fostering awareness can save countless lives. The time to act is now—because every mother matters.

By Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim

Recently, I have been reflecting on public behaviour as I witness it in our local environments—schools, seminars, workshops, and similar gatherings. There is a stark contrast between what I observe here and what I see while watching lectures and discussions in the US, Europe, and other developed regions. The difference is striking, and unfortunately, it does not favour us.

Consider, for example, the simple yet profound act of listening and paying attention. I recently watched a Harvard professor facilitating a mature and highly engaging debate among his students on affirmative action and legacy admissions. What struck me was not only the relevance and depth of the topic but also the respect, composure, and attentiveness of the participants. Each speaker was heard without unnecessary interruption, and ideas were exchanged with mutual understanding—something that even the Nigerian Senate struggles to master.

Now, think about similar gatherings in Nigeria. It’s almost inevitable to hear teachers, speakers, or MCs repeatedly pleading, “Please be quiet!” during lessons or formal sessions. But why is it so hard for us to stay silent? Part of the problem is that many people do not realize that their individual choices matter.

People assume, “My little noise won’t make a difference; others are listening anyway.” But that is precisely the issue. The collective “little noise” from multiple individuals merges into a loud, distracting hum in the hall. If every person makes a conscious decision to remain silent and focused, the entire atmosphere will change. Ironically, those who think they are too insignificant to make an impact often do—but in a negative way. As the saying goes, if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito!

Listening is not just about remaining silent—it is an act of respect and engagement. Your noise doesn’t just disturb serious-minded people around you; it also impacts the speaker’s performance. Non-verbal cues—such as the facial expressions of the audience—are vital to a speaker. A presentation can be either enhanced or ruined by the listeners’ posture, attention, and responsiveness. The energy a speaker receives from the audience directly affects the effectiveness of the session.

Your attention speaks volumes about you. Have you ever noticed how some people form friendships at events without even speaking to one another during the session? Yet, they find themselves drawn together by the positive energy they radiate through their attentiveness. I personally experienced this—I once met a remarkable individual whose rapt attention during a session caught my eye. After the event, I approached him, only to discover that he had also noticed the same attentiveness in me. That silent connection laid the foundation for a lasting friendship. We did not interrupt the session, nor did we disturb others, yet we gained something invaluable.

As a student, recognize that your attention is your most valuable asset. You get the most from your teacher not only by attending class but also by actively listening and fostering an environment where learning can flourish. The saying “attention is not free; it is paid” rings true—you must pay attention to acquire knowledge.

Likewise, as an audience member at any formal gathering, remember that your main purpose is to learn. Learning occurs only when you truly listen. Let us develop the discipline of attentiveness, as it is not only a sign of respect but also a characteristic of highly successful individuals. Public conduct is important, and in this instance, it starts with silence and a receptive ear.

Abubakar wrote from Katsina via abubakarmuhammadaminu21@gmail.com.

By Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim

Life is so fluid. What once seemed overwhelming, embarrassing, or deeply significant often appears trivial with time. As we move forward in life, we begin to see past experiences in a different light, realising that our worries were not as permanent as they seemed.

As individuals, we evolve our understanding, emotional strength, and ability to handle challenges. Situations that once troubled us may later become sources of amusement because we have outgrown them. This shift in perception is a sign of personal development and an indication that hardships do not last forever.

Time itself plays a crucial role in shaping how we interpret past experiences. Pain and hardship, no matter how intense, tend to fade as new experiences replace them. Reflecting on past struggles with a sense of humour proves that time has a healing effect and that difficult moments are only temporary.

When we understand this concept, we can approach life with more ease and patience. If we can recognise that today’s problems may seem small in the future, we will be less burdened by stress and anxiety. Instead of worrying excessively, we can develop a lighter approach to life, embracing challenges with confidence and optimism.

I recently gave a talk (a book review) about worry and anxiety. One powerful insight I gained from the session is that challenges are not only inevitable but also an integral part of life. A great way to avoid devastation from calamities is to be emotionally prepared for them. 

Imagine two people walking toward a corner—one is aware that there is a dog ahead, while the other is not. When the dog suddenly barks, the informed person remains calm, anticipating the encounter, while the uninformed one may panic and even stumble into another danger.

This is how mental preparedness can help us navigate life’s uncertainties more easily. By acknowledging that challenges are a natural part of our journey, we diminish their power to destabilize us, allowing us to confront difficulties with confidence, adaptability, and flexibility.

Take life easy; the way you laugh at yesterday today is how you’ll laugh at today tomorrow!

Abubakar wrote from Katsina via abubakarmuhammadaminu21@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam

The Kebbi State Government has confirmed the death of 26 people following a suspected outbreak of cerebrospinal meningitis in three local government areas—Aliero, Gwandu, and Jega.

Addressing journalists in Birnin Kebbi on Tuesday, the Commissioner for Health, Alhaji Musa Ismaila, said the outbreak had led to an unusual rise in cases, with symptoms including fever, severe headache, neck stiffness, stomach pain, vomiting, diarrhea, and sensitivity to light.

“In week seven, we recorded a surge in cases, prompting investigations. A total of 248 suspected cases were identified, and 11 samples were sent to the National Reference Laboratory in Abuja for confirmation. While two samples—one from Jega and another from Gwandu—tested negative, results for nine others are still pending,” he said.

The commissioner provided a breakdown of fatalities, stating that Gwandu recorded 15 deaths, Jega had six, Aliero reported four, while one person died in Argungu.

He further disclosed that advocacy efforts had been carried out in collaboration with the World Health Organization (WHO), Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), and the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF).

To contain the outbreak, the state government has allocated N30 million for the purchase of drugs and other medical supplies. Isolation centers have been set up in the affected areas, and essential medical commodities have been distributed to support treatment efforts.

Ismaila urged the public to adhere to health guidelines and report any suspected cases to the nearest health facility for prompt intervention.

By Uzair Adam

The federal government has announced plans to integrate 28,000 health workers into Nigeria’s healthcare system after their salaries were blocked by a policy under U.S. President Donald Trump.

Coordinating Minister of Health and Social Welfare, Muhammad Pate, disclosed this during an interview on Channels Television, noting Nigeria’s commitment to reducing reliance on foreign aid.

Pate acknowledged the significant support of the U.S. government in Nigeria’s health sector, particularly in combating HIV, Tuberculosis, and Malaria.

However, he stressed that Nigeria aims to take full ownership of its healthcare system. “There are health workers, 28,000 of them, who have been paid through U.S. government support.

While we appreciate this, these workers are Nigerians, and we must transition them into our system,” he said.

Trump had issued an executive order that paused funding for HIV treatment in developing countries, affecting the operations of the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) and the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR).

Despite the funding suspension, the U.S. government later approved a waiver allowing continued treatment for people living with HIV.

Meanwhile, the Federal Executive Council (FEC) recently allocated N4.5 billion for HIV treatment packs to support affected Nigerians.