Lifestyle

By Sadam Abubakar

I wish I could blow life into words. I wish the words could be woven to assume a shape and posture palpable to human beings.

My recent experience in bed with sickness made me long for words to have the ability to breathe, talk, and describe by themselves certain events that occurred to us in our lives. Some events and situations in our lives are beyond our ability to describe. The words should talk themselves.

The event that sparks my scribbling hand is a disease condition that turned me almost lifeless. It started as something not uncommon but metamorphosed into a thing of mystery and convolutions.

At a particular time of one day, my legs began to appear as if they didn’t belong to me. There was a slight headache and some traces of loss of appetite. These symptoms are common among people with malaria, an endemic disease in our region, especially this time of year. The next thing was the thought of taking P-Alaxin, a particular brand of antimalarial drugs, and some supporting drugs.

Two days later, my disease condition appeared to be getting worse, even though it didn’t cripple me in bed. I rushed to a particular medical lab for diagnosis, and after a rapid test for malaria, it appeared that the malarial parasite was still in my blood, running through my veins. The P-Alaxin drug didn’t kill the parasite in my blood? Maybe I needed to take more for a couple of days. I continued with the medication with P-Alaxin the next day, but to my surprise, the malarial parasite was still in me—perhaps even more active, since the disease succeeded in stagnating me at home for the whole day.

Combining therapeutics to treat a particular disease is arguably one of the best strategies to eliminate a disease that appears intractable. Thus, I received an intramuscular injection of chloroquine, continued with the P-Alaxin, and some supporting drugs. That day was the beginning of more suffering from the disease. I sustained a severe headache, and my body temperature kept alternating between high and low. I also occasionally shivered, and fatigue became my friend. I kept telling myself that today I would beat the malarial parasite in me, considering the combinatorial therapy. Was I right?

After a brief respite from the pain, I felt I could go out to the Masjid to pray Asr. I whispered to myself, no matter what, go and pray—who knows if it would be your last Asr to offer. I crawled to the bathroom, performed my wudu, and headed to the Masjid. I was walking while holding my head, as I could still feel the hammering of the disease in my head. I thought I could surmount that pain, and I kept going. Halfway to the mosque, the pain intensified, and I succumbed to the idea that I could only proceed to the mosque.

I managed to return home. But then another episode of the disease set in. My neck started bending, and my head followed. At some point, I had to ask my wife to straighten my neck to mitigate my pain. Meanwhile, I could feel my teeth gnawing at themselves, and some were abrading. I continued shivering while my wife still tried to cover me with a blanket. The situation escalated. The guy running the best medical lab in our town came. One of the best community health practitioners in our town, who is also my good friend, was summoned. They did what they could and assured things would be alright.

It seemed like they were right, given the temporary relief I had, but then things escalated around Isha prayer time. My mum came and prayed to me profusely. Almost all my family members came and offered their prayers for a speedy recovery, but things appeared to stand still. No progress in my health whatsoever! Finally, they all admitted I should be rushed to Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital (ABUTH).

I already succumbed and felt I was going to die. My beloved brother, Alhaji Garba, shouted that his car should be driven out of the garage and that they should rush me to ABUTH. We started the journey, but before driving out of Soba, it started raining heavily. Musbahu, who was not only my good friend and neighbour, was the driver. He wanted to turn on the long-distance light, but he couldn’t because of confusion. He phoned Alhaji Garba to say the car’s lighting system was faulty. Another car was sent with another driver, and we journeyed to Zaria.

The road from Soba to Zaria is in poor condition. So many potholes on the main road, and the shoulder is no longer in existence in most parts of the road. I was lying with my head on the lap of my wife, in extreme pain. With every bump into an unavoidable pothole on the road, the incessant pain in my head increased. I lost hope. I started whispering Kalimatus Shahada, hoping it would be my last word, since I already knew we couldn’t reach the hospital while I was still alive.

With the pain still sustained, we reached Zaria while it was still raining. Instead of going to ABUTH, some argued that with the urgency of my situation, we should head to a private hospital, and that the bureaucratic process of ABUTH before my treatment could worsen my situation. We headed to Pal Hospital. They quickly examined me while I was telling the doctor I knew I couldn’t make it. The doctor, from my history, suspected immediately that I was suffering from cerebral malaria. He argued that because I was out of Nigeria for a very long time, my immune system might not be robust against malarial parasites, and that worsened my situation.

Alhamdulillah. I am writing this because I survived. After the medication, I finally recovered. But this whole experience has reminded me again that it doesn’t matter our age; we can die anytime. Our health is pretty tenuous, and death is always around the corner. May we live our lives with God consciousness so that we go to paradise in the hereafter.

Sadam Abubakar wrote via sadamabubakarsoba@gmail.com.

By Abubakar Muhammad

Crime is a prominent feature of the city. The mitigation of crime and other social vices is a responsibility that falls not only on the government. The health of society is a responsibility that spans multiple dimensions, from authorities with direct power to families and residents of the community as a whole. The social health of the city is also the work of architects and planners. 

Physical planning is an important factor in influencing the social health of society and its inhabitants. Respected voices in urban planning note how a great urban environment, in terms of design and social services, can enhance people’s quality of life and foster a sense of community. In this piece, I set out to use Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano as a social repair tool and a planning theory for combating crime and other social ills in our society. 

We have recently heard the gruesome murder of an entire family in Kano, first in Tudun Yola and then in Ɗorayi, by the same alleged criminals. Cities are characterised by petty and violent crimes. The job of residents and governments is to implement policies that prevent crime to ensure the safety of inhabitants and the prosperity of the city. Sustainable urbanism involves governments at various levels, as well as city residents. 

I was particularly happy weeks ago when I learned that communities around Dala have mobilised to construct a police station around Kuka Bulukiya cemetery to combat persistent phone snatching that has cost countless lives of innocent passersby. The idea of constructing security outposts in crime hotspots has been a productive strategy for combating crime. It is not only about fighting crime; it also replaces crime with security and constant human presence and activity. It not only prevents crime and protects lives but also brings life and economic activity to beleaguered areas.

My friend once took me to an area of the ancient city to pay my condolences. It was a long time ago I cannot remember the name of the neighbourhood. Those who know Kano intimately can piece together snippets from my narration to figure out the area. I can vaguely say that the area was around Mandawari, Yar Mai-Shinkafi, Gyaranya, Baƙin Ruwa, or Gwauran Dutse. We walked through the alleys after the condolence and appeared at the Aminu Kano Way. 

The neighbourhood has a shelter christened Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano. It is an open pavilion in the heart of the neighbourhood. I was intrigued not only by the discovery but also by the place’s name and social function. This was the first time I had ever heard of the place, or any shelter named Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano in the city. I began to think about the connection between the place and the famed radical politician. 

I did not ask the naming history behind the shelter, but my imagination wagered that this must be the spot where Mallam Aminu Kano hung out with friends and conducted his public life. It must be the local context where he started his political career, a gathering place for the nightly schooling and political organising. My guess was supported by my assumption that the place is located within the ancient city, and not far from his initial dwelling at the Aisami/Sani Mainagge axis. I was intrigued by the place for its great potential to build a community.

The Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is a mini square and public space for the community. It enables the residents to perform social and religious functions. Residents of the neighbourhood, particularly the elderly and retirees, use the pavilion to hang out. The community uses the open space to perform the funeral salat for the deceased. The main street around the space serves as a collector road, receiving people from nearby alleys and neighbourhoods. Thus, the open space becomes vibrant with life. Residents and visitors use the space to park their vehicles. Around the square, activities sprang up: informal people, vendors, and small entrepreneurs set up stalls offering services, various wares, delicacies like tsire and awara, and other household items that cater to the neighbourhood’s hospitality and social needs. The shelter becomes a living room of the community. My reading is that Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is an open space that allows residents to do things that they cannot perform in the narrow alleys of their neighbourhood.

Part II

For this reason, Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano stays with me. I want to suggest an expanded version of this space be built in as many places as possible in the ancient city, its suburbs and major towns across the state. This is based on key spatial ideas for sociability and security of communities and neighbourhoods. 

Ancient cities like Kano had been built around their traditional institutions. The city spread out from the Emir’s Palace, surrounded by other civic buildings such as the court and the central mosque, which eventually formed the city centre. Spreading in a radial pattern, subsequent expansions and settlements of the city and major towns followed the same tradition. All roads lead to the city centre. And the civic centre, or city centre, is almost always located in the vicinity of the traditional ruler’s dwelling. Outside the city, the Maigari’s or Dagaci’s house sat at the centre of the settlements.

The best location for the Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is to look for the ugliest and most dangerous part of the neighbourhood and tear it down to create a large enough open space to build the shelter. This place should be the heartbeat of the area by consolidating basic services in one building: a small local clinic, a school, a library, administrative offices for Mai-unguwa, Dagaci, and security agents, and a conference room for important community meetings and non-partisan civic engagements.

A strong civic component and social life are essential. The idea is to overwhelm crime, blight and unsightly facades. The building can serve as a venue for adult literacy classes, mass education and public orientation centres for social mobilisation and political awareness. As a multipurpose building, the place can host activities such as elections, immunisation campaigns, skills and personal development training for local youth. 

A mosque can be located close to the shelter. Around the mosque, the elderly sit, dine, and eat. It is where they enjoy calm, festive hours by day and night. Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano should be the agora and living room of the community. Clusters of civic buildings, residential and commercial uses can create sociability. This is not new; it is something that needs to be consciously improved upon existing traditions. Several Hausa villages have a santa or tsakar gari, which serves mixed purposes and brings people together. Since the shelter is located near the mosque, it should also serve as an open space for conducting funeral prayers. Commercial activities can be encouraged around the area to provide a more vibrant economic life. In Kano city, many neighbourhoods have ƴar kasuwa within walking distance, allowing residents to make purchases for their daily needs. 

The small clinic located in the centre should offer first-aid services and cater to the health needs of the most vulnerable. It should deliver basic drugs and inexpensive medications, medical advice and other services that might not require a trip to the hospital. Local people with training in medical fields can volunteer to operate the place. They can also request NYSC corps members to be posted there. Funding can come from donations from wealthy residents of the community. People who have retired from active service in various walks of life can participate. Skilled individuals can also ask to set up offices and contribute their services to the community. Community services can serve as a clear benchmark for future political leaders. People can see what potential representatives have contributed to their local communities before they enter politics – what they have done for the people before asking for their votes.  

It would not be a bad idea to allow car owners to park their vehicles in and around the shelter. Community-owned assets, such as donated vehicles for transporting the deceased, a power transformer, and water sources like a borehole, can be sited there. The underlying assumption is that communities would actively work to protect their assets and improve their neighborhood. Their commitment or otherwise to safeguarding their assets is clear proof of their collective responsibility, leadership, accountability and readiness for sustainable development. 

The idea is to use Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano to make the targeted area active and vibrant with human activity. The dwelling of the traditional ruler should be sited there to continue to facilitate administrative functions and liaison with various levels of governments for record-keeping, issuing birth certificates and documents, and other civic engagements. The closest idea to this is Ofishin Wakili, which can be upgraded where they already exist. If built with magnificent architecture, places like this can become historic sites that represent the community and its traditions.  

The building should house an office for joint security agencies, including the police and Hisbah. This is where disputes will first be reported. It will enhance coordination and timely reporting of suspicious activities to support early crime prevention. Emphasis is placed on civil matters and on preventing violent crimes. The activities and involvement of the security should be largely civil and minimal. The point is to increase safety through informal supervision. Security agents, the elderly, and small business operators are public figures who keep an eye on the neighbourhood. Retirees and the elderly also fill the void and silence when others are at work or school. They can alert parents – and the security agents – to what is happening in the neighbourhood. Sustainable urbanism can be achieved by densifying social life in hitherto dark corners without militarising the neighbourhood. The refurbishment of the neighbourhood is a valued alternative to blight, providing security through communal social space. Services and buildings can be distributed according to the community’s needs and resources. The purpose is to chase away the thugs from the heart of the community and bring light to the dark corners and crevices. In the process, services are brought closer to the people. Traditional institutions are involved more closely and meaningfully in public service for their immediate communities.

Stakeholders – government, traditional institutions, and community members – should work together to realise the Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano as a state-supported, neighbourhood-funded civic infrastructure across Kano State. Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano should be conceived as a community and family resources centre for the neighbourhood’s residents. It should be designed as a crime-prevention tool through visibility, social life, and shared spaces that strengthen grassroots governance and access to basic services.  It is also an embodiment of the spatial practice of good neighbourliness, the warmth, and the communal character of the Mutumin Kirki society. 

 Abubakar Muhammad is from Kano, Nigeria. 

Author: Aisha Musa Auyo

Number of Pages: 184

Date of Publication: 2025

Publisher: Erkan Publishing-Nigeria

I just finished reading Dr Aisha Musa Auyo’s book, Between Hearts and Homes: Reflections on Faith, Love, and Everyday Life. It sure leaves a lasting impression…

The book feels like a heart-to-heart conversation with someone who has literally ‘lived life’, not just studied it.

What stands out immediately is how relatable it is. The tone used is not from a high or detached pedestal. It’s more like the tone of an older sister, a friend, or that person who tells you the truth whether you’re ready for it or not. From body image and self-awareness, to marriage, motherhood, perfume, clothes, and even shawarma cravings, using your cuisine as a comic relief… Everything feels real-life. It’s so easy to see oneself in the stories.

For example, the shawarma story hits hard. We’ve all said things like “I’ll do it tomorrow” or “next time.” But here, “next time” never came. That simple moment teaches a powerful lesson: don’t delay kindness or small acts of love, because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. That’s something everyone can relate to; whether it’s postponing a visit to a parent, delaying a call to a friend, or putting off saying “I love you.”

It’s also commendable that you used practical examples instead of abstract advice. It doesn’t just say “be kind”, it shows kindness through cooking for someone, helping neighbours, respecting professionals, and being intentional in relationships. It doesn’t just say “take care of yourself”; it talks about specifics, perfume, grooming, clothes, and your living space. Even something as simple as keeping your house smelling nice can be a lesson in self-respect and in creating a pleasant atmosphere. That’s everyday wisdom.

Another strong point is how brutally honest you were at some point without sugarcoating things. For instance, pointing out things like:

Openly talking about body shapes and dressing realistically.

Telling people to stop pretending body realities don’t exist.

Warning couples with an AS genotype to reconsider marriage, not out of cruelty, but out of concern for future pain.

That kind of honesty might make some people uncomfortable, but it’s refreshing. It’s not about trying to be politically correct; it’s about trying to be helpful.

Yet, despite the bluntness, the book still keeps a beautiful balance. It blends faith and daily life while tactfully fusing serious medical topics with soft emotional reflections. It also successfully blended romance with responsibility, self-care with modesty and so on.

If I’m being honest, I never knew that the inability to recognise people was a medical condition with a name (prosopagnosia), but that’s one thing I’ve also learnt from your book.

There were interesting discussions about prosopagnosia, sickle cell disease, parenting, and marriage, alongside perfume tips and fashion advice. That balance makes it feel complete, like life itself.

There’s also humour sprinkled throughout. Lines like “Don’t smell like a flower while the house smells like Daddawa” will make you laugh because it’s so true. Or when you mentioned dressing badly makes you look like Muciya da Zani at home, funny, but the message lands. The humour keeps the book light, even when it’s talking about heavy topics like death, genetics, or emotional struggles. Most importantly, the book carries serious ideas beneath the laughter, which made it more fun to read.

Most of all, you were able to pass key messages like: 

Be intentional in love.

Respect your neighbours, you never know when you’ll need them (the button incident was so scary to read. As a mother, I could relate so well).

Take care of your appearance for yourself and your partner.

Understand medical realities before making lifetime decisions.

Be patient with people who behave differently; they might be dealing with invisible conditions (the ID Card scenario of the lady with hearing impairments was quite touching). The personal stories, motherhood, interactions with neighbours, and dealing with loss make the lessons stick. It wasn’t about boring theory but more about fun and practical experiences.

I could go on and on…

In short, the book teaches without preaching, corrects without insulting, and entertains while educating. It’s funny in places, deep in others, and honest throughout. I laughed at some points and reflected at others. It will even make you start rethinking a few habits.

I just love how it generally reminds you that life is made of small moments, how you dress, how you speak, how you love, how you treat people, and that those small things matter more than we realise.

P.S- Meanwhile, I noticed two pages with small errors: one had a typographical mistake, and another contained a repetition. However, these are mere observations and don’t detract from the book’s powerful messages. A more thorough proofreading in future editions would help polish the work and make the reading experience even smoother.

Overall, these are very minor concerns in such an otherwise thoughtful and impactful book as yours. I look forward to more of this. Kudos and more power to your elbow, Ma’am!

Reviewed by:

Eunice Johnson (Southpaw), a UK-based media broadcaster, musician, actor, media consultant, and public relations expert, wrote via eunicejohnson001@yahoo.com.

By Sabiu Abdullahi

A new global report has revealed that at least half of health facilities in Nigeria lack the capacity to properly treat snakebite envenoming, raising concerns over avoidable deaths and long-term disabilities across the country.

The report was released by the Strike Out Snakebite (SOS) initiative to mark World Neglected Tropical Diseases (NTDs) Day 2026, observed annually on January 30. It identified weak health systems, poor infrastructure and persistent shortages of life-saving antivenom as major drivers of snakebite deaths, particularly in high-burden countries such as Nigeria.

The findings were drawn from a survey involving 904 frontline healthcare workers in Nigeria, Brazil, India, Indonesia and Kenya, countries that account for a significant share of the global snakebite burden.

According to the report, 50 per cent of health workers said their facilities lack full capacity to manage snakebite cases, while 99 per cent reported difficulties administering antivenom, which the World Health Organisation recognises as the only essential treatment for snakebite care.

Nigeria’s situation was described as especially severe, with 98 per cent of surveyed healthcare workers reporting challenges in administering antivenom.

“Nigeria is home to 29 species of snakes, nearly 41 per cent of which are venomous, yet many victims still struggle to access timely medical care,” the report stated.

Healthcare workers surveyed identified urgent needs that include improved access to care, higher-quality antivenom, stronger regulation, expanded training and wider community education to reduce risky behaviour.

The report highlighted “delays in patients arriving at health facilities (57 per cent), poor infrastructure and inadequate equipment (56 per cent), and lack of training and clinical guidelines (42 per cent) as key factors contributing to avoidable deaths and disabilities.”

The findings come amid public outrage over the death of Abuja-based music talent, Ifunanya Nwangene, who reportedly visited two hospitals that could not administer antivenom before she died.

The report further showed that 35 per cent of healthcare workers experience daily shortages of antivenom, while more than 77 per cent reported life-threatening delays in treatment because victims often seek traditional remedies first.

In addition, 44 per cent of respondents said avoidable delays have led to amputations or major surgeries, outcomes that frequently push affected families into deeper poverty.

Snakebite envenoming was described as a disease of inequality, with rural communities, children and agricultural workers most affected due to long distances from well-equipped health facilities.

“Snakebite envenoming kills roughly one person every five minutes worldwide, yet remains severely underreported and underfunded despite being preventable and treatable,” the report said.

Commenting on the findings, Co-Chair of the Global Snakebite Taskforce and Chancellor of the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, Elhadj As Sy, said the data point to a global emergency.

“Snakebite envenoming causes up to 138,000 deaths every year — one person every five minutes — and leaves a further 400,000 with permanent disabilities,” he said.

He questioned why one of the deadliest neglected tropical diseases remains largely ignored by global decision-makers and donors.

“No one should be dying from snakebite envenoming,” he added, while calling for urgent action to end preventable deaths in Nigeria and other vulnerable regions.

Elhadj As Sy also said frontline health workers are fighting the disease within fragile and under-resourced systems.

“Too often, conversations on global health overlook those who shoulder the greatest burden — frontline healthcare workers. This report shines a light on the severe challenges they face. Many solutions exist, but political will and bold commitments from governments, partners and investors are needed to turn the tide on this preventable yet devastating disease,” he said.

The report noted that victims often face long journeys to care, limited infrastructure and scarce, costly antivenom, factors that turn a treatable condition into a medical emergency.

It also pointed to preventive measures such as wearing protective footwear, using mosquito nets, carrying torches at night and avoiding snake habitats as steps that could significantly reduce risk in rural areas.

Elhadj urged governments to act decisively.

“As Co-Chair of the GST, my mission is simple: to bring snakebite out of the shadows and demand the attention, action, and resources from the international community. The solutions exist. The deaths are preventable. Frontline healthcare workers have spoken. I invite you to listen. Stand with them,” he said.

Executive Secretary of the African Leaders Malaria Alliance, Joy Phumaphi, also stressed the urgency of action.

“Snakebite envenoming continues to take the lives of vulnerable people despite being preventable. On World NTD Day, ALMA reaffirms our commitment to strengthen prevention and control through advocacy and country-led solutions. Unite. Act. Eliminate NTDs,” she said.

The report called on governments, philanthropists, multilateral agencies and industry stakeholders to increase investment in research, expand access to affordable and quality antivenom, upgrade health infrastructure and integrate snakebite prevention and treatment into national health plans.

SOS warned that snakebite envenoming still receives only a small fraction of the funding required, despite causing up to 138,000 deaths and 400,000 permanent disabilities worldwide each year.

By Mallam Tawfiq

The scaffold that sturdily supports the pillar of success in everything is “unity”, without which we will somberly watch every beautiful thing in our everyday life running into a complete fiasco.

In healthcare settings, unity and peaceful coexistence among healthcare professionals are of paramount importance and a necessity for ensuring the delivery of effective, high-quality healthcare services.

To easily fathom the significance of that, should we reflect and ponder on the biological level of organisation of life? It succinctly and holistically depicted that the degree of unity among various cells leads to the formation of “body tissues”, and that the harmonious agreement among these tissues leads to the formation of “organs”.

Organs, however, organise to form a system, and thus the effective functioning of the respective systems yields a healthy life. Snags created by pathological factors deflect the spirit of harmonious union at different levels of this organisation, resulting in abnormality and disruption of robust, sound well-being.

The milieu of the hospital/healthcare settings comprises various health specialities from different professional backgrounds. This includes Medical Laboratory Science, Medical Radiography, Physiotherapy, Pharmacy, Nursing Science, Dentistry and Medicine, among others. The aims and objectives of each and every profession can only be appraised by rendering its best to the prime concern, and that is the patients.

As interdependent social animals tightly bound by the strong bond of humanity, we must interact, socialise, and, above all, reciprocate love and respect everywhere, be it in worship places, hospitals, banks, medical schools, and so on. The essence of so doing is to set our hearts and souls free from the bondage of emotional malice, attain optimum peace and maintain both physical and emotional well-being within ourselves. Unfortunately, the hostility, ranging from an exaggerated self-compliment and a show of self-worth and superiority to contempt for other professions in the name of rivalry amongst medical students and, to some extent, healthcare professionals, is worrisome and indeed condemnable.

Under whose tutelage in the medical school are students being mischievously taught that the six years of MBBS discipline should make them condescend and disregard other professions from being part of the healthcare system? Or the greater dispersion in the juxtaposition of the tense and heinous atmosphere under the five years of Radiography training with that of Medical Laboratory Science or Nursing renders the significance of the former and the insignificance of the latter. This is absolutely puerility of the highest degree. Each profession is worthwhile, and its ethics are centred on meeting the needs of patients.

Can we patiently have a proper dekko at how the systems of our body unite to execute their functions and maintain an equilibrium conducive to survival? What will happen if, for instance, the neural tissue says it is superior and appears to boss other systems, while the circulatory system, in response, denies it sufficient oxygen to meet its basic metabolic demand? Or what do we think is going to happen when the renal system quarrels with the immune system, whose function serves the body best, and both react so that one can predominate over the other and effectively carry out both the functions concurrently? Will this ever happen!? Capital NO.

Conspicuously, the hospital/healthcare environment is analogous to our biological level of organisation and how bodily systems work.

Togetherness leads to the existence of all sorts of misunderstandings; this is inevitably true, and the ripple effect of us not allying with one another is directed towards our subject of interest, which is the patient, because a medical doctor alone cannot efficiently run a whole hospital, nor can pharmacists or physiotherapists. As such, we need to come close, close enough together, thus respect our differences and welcome each other to specialise in one skill or the other and benefit from each other’s knowledge. Only by doing so can we render our best compassion to our patients.

There is a saying, “united we stand, divided we fall.”

Service to humanity is service to the Lord. May everything we do be solely for the sake of God and to attain the reward of God. Ameen.

Mallam Tawfiq, Physiotherapist, writes from Federal Teaching Hospital, Gombe.

By Dahiru Kasimu Adamu

Every morning at Shantan Old Garage along Western Bypass, hundreds of young men armed with shovels and hoes descend into metre-deep pits, searching for buried treasure. But they are not hunting for gold or ancient artefacts, they are digging for scrap iron.

The abandoned garage, once a bustling hub for roadside mechanics, has become an unlikely source of livelihood for youth aged 15 to 40. As traditional labour opportunities have dwindled, these young scavengers have discovered that the ground beneath the old garage contains valuable iron scraps left behind when the site was operational.

“We thank Allah for this opportunity,” said Modi Sanusi, a scavenger in his late twenties. “Just this morning, scavenging materials worth over N125,000 were sold, all from this ground.”

The work is gruelling and dangerous, but profitable. Scavengers can earn between N20,000 and N40,000 daily, depending on their finds—a significant sum in an economy where formal employment remains scarce. Among those who have embraced this unconventional livelihood are former Tsangaya pupils who once begged for food.

Seventeen-year-old Kabiru explained how the earnings have transformed his life: “We earn income, buy food, give some to our parents, and save.”

The phenomenon is not confined to Shantan. Reports indicate that scrap metal collection has become one of Nigeria’s “millennium jobs,” with thousands of youth now reportedly earning substantial incomes from the trade.

But the work comes at a cost. Sharp objects buried in the soil cause frequent injuries, and landslides have resulted in fractures. Muhammad, another scavenger, recalled sustaining a leg fracture when earth collapsed on him. “After I recovered, I came back in the field as I can’t leave this work,” he said.

Health experts have raised alarm about additional risks. Buried iron from old vehicles could be contaminated with lead or other toxic chemicals. Open wounds from injuries risk infection, particularly given the lack of basic first aid facilities at the site.

Despite these hazards, the scavengers remain undeterred. Observers say the phenomenon highlights both the resilience of Nigerian youth and the urgent need for job creation and safety regulations. Advocates call for government intervention through new strategies and laws to regulate the business, as well as leadership within scavenging communities to organise safety campaigns.

For now, the digging continues at Shantan Old Garage. As unemployment persists and metal prices remain attractive, more youth are likely to join the ranks of those turning Sokoto’s buried past into their economic future—one shovelful at a time.

By Oladoja M.O

Nigeria’s new tax law arrives at a moment when questions of domestic resource mobilisation have moved decisively from the margins of fiscal discourse to its centre. The reform is ambitious in both scope and intent. It consolidates previously fragmented statutes, modernises tax administration, strengthens compliance mechanisms, and expands the state’s technical capacity to mobilise revenue in an increasingly constrained macroeconomic environment. 

Read on its own terms, the law represents a serious effort to stabilise public finance and reduce long-standing inefficiencies in the tax system. But tax laws, particularly of this magnitude, should not be mere instruments of collection, but rather reflections of what a state understands taxation to be for. 

When examined from the perspective of national health financing, Nigeria’s new tax law reveals not hostility to health, nor ignorance of its importance, but striking institutional restraint, a deliberate decision to keep taxation largely neutral to the direct financing of public health.

This neutrality is especially significant because it runs counter to the evolving global understanding of domestic resource mobilisation. In contemporary public finance, DRM is no longer conceived simply as the ability of a state to raise revenue, but as its capacity to do so in a manner that deliberately underwrites social protection, safeguards human capital, and reduces long-term economic vulnerability, where health occupies a central place. 

Ill-health is not a random misfortune but a predictable social risk, one that drives household impoverishment, reduces labour productivity, and places sustained pressure on public finances. For this reason, many countries have increasingly integrated health financing into their tax systems, whether through general taxation, earmarked levies, or hybrid arrangements that link tax administration directly to social insurance and prevention financing.

It is against this backdrop that Nigeria’s new tax law must be read. 

The law unquestionably strengthens the means of mobilisation. A unified tax administration framework, enhanced enforcement powers, clearer compliance obligations, and improved data coordination substantially upgrade the state’s fiscal machinery. In theory, this expanded administrative capacity could support innovative approaches to financing social sectors, including health. In practice, however, the law exercises marked caution. Health appears within the tax framework, but only at the margins, and only in forms that preserve the traditional separation between revenue mobilisation and social sector financing.

This pattern becomes evident when examining how health-related elements are treated across the law. Contributions to the national health insurance scheme are recognised as allowable deductions for personal income tax purposes. This recognition is not insignificant; it affirms health insurance contributions as socially legitimate expenditures deserving of fiscal relief. Yet the logic remains passive. The tax system responds only after individuals have already contributed. It does not actively mobilise resources for health, nor does it deploy its collection infrastructure to expand coverage, pool risk, or subsidise access. The fiscal relationship ends at recognition, not generation.

A similar logic governs the treatment of consumption taxes. Essential medicines, pharmaceuticals, and certain medical equipment continue to benefit from favourable VAT treatment. These provisions are defensible on equity grounds, particularly in a system where out-of-pocket spending remains high. But from a financing perspective, their effect is limited. They shield households from additional burden, yet they do not generate fiscal space for the health system. Again, health is insulated from taxation, not financed through it.

The clearest illustration of this restrained approach lies in the treatment of excise duties on tobacco, alcohol, and sugar-sweetened beverages. These taxes are frequently framed as “sin taxes,” ostensibly justified by their potential to alter harmful consumption patterns. In principle, excise taxation is meant to operate through a behavioural channel: higher prices reduce consumption, lower consumption reduces disease burden, and reduced disease burden lowers long-term health expenditure. In Nigeria’s case, however, this logic remains largely theoretical.

First, the excise rates themselves are modest. The levy on sugar-sweetened beverages, for instance, is widely recognised as too low to produce a meaningful price shock that would alter consumption behaviour. Similar concerns apply to alcohol and tobacco, where cultural entrenchment, affordability, and illicit trade further blunt the intended deterrent effect. 

Second, there is no publicly available evidence demonstrating that consumption of these products has declined since the introduction or adjustment of excise duties. On the contrary, available market indicators and anecdotal trends suggest that consumption has increased. Crucially, the state does not appear perturbed by this outcome. Higher consumption translates into higher excise revenue, and excise duties, in practice, function as reliable inflows to the general federal pool.

This reveals a deeper truth about how sin taxes are governed in Nigeria. Despite their rhetorical association with public health, excise duties are not treated as health instruments. They are treated as revenue lines. There is no systematic effort to measure behavioural change, no routine publication of consumption data linked to tax policy, and no formal evaluation of health impact. In policy terms, a behavioural instrument that is not measured is indistinguishable from a revenue instrument. 

The absence of evidence of reduced consumption is not merely a data gap; it indicates that behavioural change is not being actively pursued as an objective.

From a health financing perspective, this has serious implications. Excise taxes generate revenue, yet none of that revenue is structurally linked to health financing. No portion is dedicated to prevention programmes, health insurance subsidies, or system strengthening. The public bears the health consequences of continued consumption, rising non-communicable diseases, increasing treatment costs, and productivity losses, while the fiscal gains accrue centrally, unconnected to the sector that absorbs the burden. In effect, Nigeria taxes harm, tolerates its persistence, and finances neither its prevention nor its consequences through the tax system.

This outcome is unlikely to be accidental. The new tax law is too carefully constructed for its silences to be incidental. Rather, it reflects a broader fiscal philosophy that prioritises flexibility, central discretion, and revenue pooling over sector-specific commitments. Earmarking, even in its softer forms, constrains the treasury’s freedom to allocate resources across competing priorities. From a public health financing standpoint, this caution is costly. It leaves health structurally dependent on discretionary budgets, weak insurance enforcement, donor support, and household spending, even as the state’s revenue-collection capacity improves.

The result is a growing asymmetry. Nigeria now possesses an increasingly sophisticated tax apparatus, but lacks a corresponding approach to financing social risk. Revenue mobilisation is advancing, but allocation logic remains largely unchanged. Health remains acknowledged but peripheral, recognised, accommodated, and indirectly supported, yet excluded from the core architecture of taxation.

None of this implies that the new tax law should have transformed itself into a health financing statute. No! Tax laws cannot, and should not, bear the full weight of social policy. But in an era where domestic resource mobilisation is increasingly framed as a means of financing development rather than merely sustaining government, the continued treatment of health as fiscally incidental is striking. The administrative infrastructure now exists to do more than collect revenue efficiently. What is missing is the institutional decision to deploy that capacity deliberately to protect households from the economic consequences of ill-health.

The most important lesson of Nigeria’s new tax law for national health financing, therefore, lies not in what it includes, but in what it leaves unresolved. The law strengthens the state’s ability to mobilise resources, yet remains silent on whether that capacity should be harnessed to address one of the most predictable and economically damaging social risks. As Nigeria deepens its commitment to domestic resource mobilisation, the critical question will not simply be how much revenue can be raised, but how intentionally that revenue is aligned with protecting human capital. A tax system that improves efficiency without strengthening social purpose risks becoming technically impressive but socially thin.

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

By Tahir Mahmood Saleh

Kabeer 2Pac’s rise to online fame began in early 2025, when he started posting highly unconventional videos on his TikTok account. Born Kabiru Isma’il and known online as Kabeer2pac (a name he chose in homage to the late American rapper 2Pac Shakur), he quickly garnered massive attention for performing bizarre, often shocking stunts. His content included immersing himself in stagnant open cesspools and smearing sediment on his body, actions he explained were not signs of madness but deliberate attempts to “trend” and gain visibility online (“ɗaukaka na ke nema”).

The TikTok metrics behind his rise were striking. Within months of posting these videos, Kabeer had amassed millions of views and a large following. One of his most-viewed clips, in which he shook off charcoal dust while wearing a distinctive winter jacket, reached over 51 million views, and at one point, his account had approximately 1.8 million followers and 15.1 million likes. These numbers reflect how quickly his brand took off in an environment where the algorithm rewards shocking or novel content.

Kabeer’s content evolved over time as he experimented with different styles and stunts to maintain attention. After his early cesspool videos gained traction, he shifted to other eye-grabbing visuals, such as having bags of charcoal dust dumped on him, which again drew viral attention. This strategy positioned him as a cultural exemplar of the “attention economy,” in which creators leverage extreme content to secure views, engagement, and, eventually, financial or material rewards.

His fame translated into real-world opportunities, though not without controversy. A notable outcome of his online popularity was an invitation from Gwanki Travels and Tours International Ltd in Kaduna, who publicly offered him a free ticket to perform Umrah (a pilgrimage to Mecca). Kabeer expressed gratitude for achieving the fame he sought and noted that such endorsement was among the factors that drove him to continue his work. However, reactions were mixed: while many fans celebrated his creative drive, some religious leaders and critics warned against harmful behaviour and urged investment in education or trade instead.

Despite his meteoric rise, Kabeer himself acknowledged the ephemeral nature of his viral popularity. In later interviews shared online, he said he understood that people might soon tire of his antics as the public constantly seeks fresh content and new personalities. Beyond the sensational stunts, he also sought to diversify his videos by including short comedy skits and dance clips to retain audience interest, a common strategy among creators seeking to build sustainable relevance.

Today, the outcome is telling. There is no consistent content relevance, no major promotion, no formal education leveraged, no lasting sponsorships, no two million followers, just a fading digital footprint. Kabeer2pac’s story is not merely about an individual; it is a cautionary tale.

For Arewa content creators, the lesson is clear: fame without strategy is noise, not power. Visibility alone does not ensure sustainability. Without structure, skill development, personal growth, and long-term planning, viral attention fades as quickly as it arrives. In the digital age, the challenge is not how to trend, but how to remain relevant with dignity, purpose, and value.

Tahir Mahmood Saleh wrote from Kano via tahirmsaleh.seggroup@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam

The Kano State Hospitals Management Board has ordered a comprehensive investigation into the death of a Kano-based housewife, Aishatu Umar, following allegations of medical negligence linked to a surgical procedure carried out at the Abubakar Imam Urology Centre.

The Daily Reality recalls that the incident first came to public attention through a Facebook post by a family member, who alleged that Aishatu died as a result of negligence after undergoing surgery at the specialist hospital.

Aishatu Umar, a mother of five, reportedly died around 1:00 a.m. on Tuesday. In the Facebook post, her brother-in-law, Abubakar Mohammed, said she had fallen ill several months earlier and underwent surgery at the Abubakar Imam Urology Centre in September.

According to him, Aishatu began experiencing persistent and severe abdominal pain shortly after the operation.

He alleged that she returned to the hospital several times to complain about her worsening condition but was repeatedly given pain-relief medication without a clear diagnosis.

Mohammed claimed that it was only two days before her death that medical tests and scans were eventually conducted. The results, he alleged, revealed that a pair of scissors had been left inside her body during the September surgery.

“The woman you see here is Aishatu Umar. She was my sister-in-law. She passed away around 1:00 a.m. She is survived by her husband and five children,” Mohammed wrote in the post.

He added that preparations were underway for a corrective surgery on Tuesday, but Aishatu died before the procedure could be carried out.

Describing the incident as “pure negligence,” he questioned how surgical instruments could be forgotten inside a patient and called on the authorities to investigate the matter.

The family has also appealed to the Kano State Government and relevant health regulatory bodies to probe the circumstances surrounding Aishatu’s death and ensure justice for the deceased.

Reacting to the development, the Public Relations Officer of the Kano State Hospitals Management Board, Samira Suleiman, said the Board’s Executive Secretary, Dr. Mansur Mudi Nagoda, has ordered an immediate and thorough investigation into the alleged incident.

In a statement issued on Tuesday, the Board expressed sympathy with the family and assured the public that the investigation would be transparent, impartial, and professional.

“The Management of the Kano State Hospitals Management Board, under the authority of the Executive Secretary, Dr. Mansur Mudi Nagoda, has taken note of the distressing report concerning the late Aishatu Umar. We extend our deepest condolences to her family and loved ones,” the statement added.

It added that appropriate action would be taken in line with established regulations if any negligence is established, stressing that patient safety remains a top priority and that the Board is committed to upholding high standards of healthcare delivery in Kano State.

By Sabiu Abdullahi

A Kano resident, Aishatu Umar, has reportedly died after what her family described as suspected medical negligence following a surgical procedure carried out at the Abubakar Imam Urology Center in Kano State.

Aishatu, who was married with five children, passed away around 1:00 a.m. on Tuesday, according to a Facebook post by a family member, Abubakar Mohammed.

In the post, Mohammed said Aishatu had fallen ill several months ago and underwent surgery at the specialist hospital in September.

He stated that after the operation, she began to experience persistent and severe abdominal pain.

According to the account, Aishatu reportedly returned to the hospital on several occasions to complain about her condition. Mohammed claimed that during these visits, she was given only pain-relief medication, while the cause of her suffering remained undiagnosed.

He further alleged that medical tests and scans were eventually conducted just two days before her death. The results, he said, revealed that a pair of scissors had been left inside her body during the September surgery.

“The woman you see here is Aishatu Umar. She was a sister in-law to me, She passed away yesterday around 1:00 AM. She is survived by her husband and five children,” Mohammed wrote.

He added: “Just two days ago, tests and scans were finally conducted, revealing that a pair of scissors had been left inside her body during the September operation.”

Mohammed said preparations were being made to carry out a corrective surgery on Tuesday, but Aishatu died before the procedure could take place.

He described the incident as “pure negligence” and called on relevant authorities to investigate the matter.

“Is this not pure negligence? Truly, every soul has its appointed time, but how can professional doctors forget scissors inside a patient?” he wrote.

The family has called on the Kano State Government and health regulatory bodies to investigate the circumstances surrounding the death and take appropriate action, while also demanding justice for the deceased.

As of the time of filing this report, the management of the Abubakar Imam Urology Center and the Kano State Ministry of Health had not issued an official statement on the allegation.