Lifestyle

By Hafsah Ja’afar

It is a captivating and insightful book that explores the concept of Ikigai, a Japanese philosophy that translates to ‘reason for being’ written by Hector Garcia and Francesc Miralles. This book delves into the wisdom and practices of the people of Okinawa, one of the world’s blue zones. The people of that region are known for their longevity and well-being.

The authors take readers on a journey to discover the essence of Ikigai, which lies at the intersection of four fundamental elements: What we love, what we are good at, what the world needs, and what we can be rewarded for. Drawing from extensive research and interviews with residents of Okinawa, the authors reveal how living a life driven by Ikigai can bring profound fulfilment and joy.

Through engaging anecdotes and practical guidance, the book offers valuable insights into how to uncover one’s Ikigai and cultivate it in daily life. It explores the importance of finding purpose, maintaining a strong sense of community, adopting a positive mindset, and embracing simple yet meaningful pleasures.

Ikigai provides inspiration and actionable steps to help readers discover and pursue their own Ikigai. It highlights the significance of aligning personal passions with contributing to the greater good, emphasising that a life rooted in meaning and purpose can improve well-being, longevity, and overall happiness.

With its blend of cultural wisdom and contemporary research, Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and happy life guides individuals seeking a more fulfilling and balanced existence. It offers practical tools and profound insights to help readers unlock their inner purpose, embrace the present moment, and lead a life of greater significance and contentment.

One of the surprising things about living in Japan is how active people remain after retirement. Many Japanese people never retire but rather keep doing what they love for as long as they are ‘hale and hearty’. There is no word in Japanese that means “leaving the workforce for good” as it is in English.

According to National Geographic reporter Dan Buettner, having a purpose or reason for being is so fundamental in Japan and the Japanese culture that the word retirement ceases to exist. The art of staying young while growing old is a choice you make; a healthful diet, a strong sense of community, and Ikigai (reason for being) play a significant role in their eternal youth, most especially in Okinawa (the island of eternal youth), one of the blue zones where centenarians the extraordinary human beings live in massive numbers.

Hafsat Ja’afar is a school teacher and wrote from Kano via jaafarhafsat@gmail.com

By Aisha Musa Auyo

My mom and her colleagues were sitting in the famous Faculty of Education train at Bayero University, Kano (BUK), a corridor linking five faculties in the New site before the renovation. A lady walked by, and her ID card fell from her books. They kept calling her attention, but she ignored them. One of them even attempted to run after her while yelling the name they saw on the card, but she cared not to look back. They got annoyed and decided to let her pay for the consequences of her arrogance.

In those days (I don’t know for now), when a student lost a school ID card, they had to bring evidence, such as a police report to get a replacement. If exams are approaching, the student may be given a temporary ID card from the admin before they present the evidence, and a new ID card will be processed for them. This protocol was not an easy one. I’ve gone through it. It was my first time going to the police station.

My mom’s colleagues assumed the girl was doing ‘Yanga’, a typical snobbish attitude of undergraduate ladies. So they planned to throw away the ID card. My mom, being her usual kind person, begged them not to. She collected the card with the intention that she would take it to the lady’s department after work. As she read the name on the card, she identified the surname. We live in the same neighbourhood.

After work, she went to the house and gave them the card, explaining how they kept calling the girl, and she didn’t bother to answer. One of the mothers in the house said, ‘Ai ba za ta amsa ba, tana da matsalar kunne, ba ta ji’. (Meaning she couldn’t answer because she is deaf). Mom was so happy and relieved that she helped and promised to inform her colleagues about the lady’s condition.

If not for our human nature, we are quick to assume a thorough look into the ID card will reveal that the student is from the Department of Special Education. Most of the students in the department are either deaf, blind, or mute, and we are obliged to help them in any way we can. My mom’s colleagues were kind; they could ignore the card when it fell. They attempted to help her. They even called her name and ran after her. What they did wrong is the ‘judging’. They were quick to assume.

But they are only human. We do this all the time—you and I. We are quick to judge and assume. I have been accused of being a snub because I couldn’t recognise some of my relatives, colleagues, or classmates. People did not know that I have been diagnosed with Prosopagnosia, a medico-social disorder characterised by difficulty recognising family members and close friends. (I’ll write extensively on the topic next week, in sha Allah.)

This judging and quick-to-assume syndrome didn’t stop in our offline interaction with others. We brought it online. It’s especially unforgiving if it’s coming from a vendor. I read yesterday a comment from a vendor complaining that she did a voice-over of the price and location of her items, yet some annoying people kept asking her for that information.  

The question here is, what if some of those asking her are deaf? What if they don’t understand the language she used? Of the few thousand friends I have on Facebook, some are deaf. About seven of them have reached out to me. Many others have not. We interact with them, and they comment and react, but we don’t know what they’re battling with. You may also have similar people in your contacts or come across them on other social platforms.

Please, let us be less judgemental; it’s God’s responsibility, not ours.

Please, let us have more compassion.

Please, let us have more patience.

Before we assume, let’s learn the fact.

Before we judge, let’s understand why.

Aisha Musa Auyo is a Doctorate researcher in Educational Psychology, a wife, a mother of three, a Home Maker, a caterer and a parenting/ relationship coach.

By Ahmad Deedat Zakari

The Governor of Kano State, Abba Kabir Yusuf, in the early hours of Friday, flagged off open heart surgery for patients with heart-related diseases.

The Governor flagged off the exercise, which was sponsored by the Saudi Government in partnership with Muslim World League, at the Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital Conference Hall in the State.

During the event, the governor reiterated the commitment of the Kano State Government to partner with any non-governmental organizations and individuals willing to assist in providing training to health personnel and medical care to patients in need of such services.

He said: “We are very much delighted to have you in Kano for this gigantic assistance. Kano state is the most populous state in Nigeria, with over 21 million People. We have the most vulnerable people, downtrodden masses that do not have any means of taking care of their health needs,” said the Governor.

He added that “We will stick to our campaign promises of building general hospitals across the 44 local governments and Primary health care centres across the state and the re-introduce mobile clinics to cater for the people in the rural areas who are in need of medical attention free of charge.”

The head of the medical team from Saudi Arabia, Dr Utman Al-uthman Saad, said the medical team comprised 20 Cardiac surgeons who will perform the surgery and pledged to do their best to achieve the set goals.

By Uzair Adam Imam

A young electrician identified as Alhaji died while repairing faulty cables on electric poles in Niger.

The incident happened on Thursday in Soje B. Area of Minna, Niger State, at around 3pm.

The man was said to have been specialised in preparing home electrical appliances and had died on the spot after being electrocuted.

The residents who spoke to the journalists in the state said that the efforts to save his life were not successful.

However, one of the witnesses, Aliyu Jibrin, stated that “No one knew he was electrocuted on the pole until his lifeless body fell from the top of the pole.”

By Maryam Idris Bappa

Introduction

It was May 2023, and as I surfed the net for ideas on how to spend children’s day with my family, I imagined that my parents had likely not undergone this dilemma. I also realised it had been a decade since I considered myself part of Children’s Day. But, of course, I had once been a child, and I had once been celebrated. This prompted me to take a trip down memory lane to recall my childhood experiences.

The fact is that as of the early 2000s, there was no internet, to begin with. There were hardly any mobile phones in Nigeria or GSM,  as it was referred to back then. So scouting the net for activities was not a practice. Moreover, it was in the mid-2000s that landlines were domestically replaced with the GSM. So any planned activity had to be offline. And the news had to travel within a certain social circle.

News of any fancy activity was restricted to fancy neighbourhood kids who had arranged visits to fancy kids’ fairs, amusement parks and the rest of the hullabaloo typical of the elite social classes in their well-laid-out residences.

As for me, living in a neighbourhood of people from different socio-economic backgrounds meant I had to mingle with what was available. The only place where Children’s Day stimulated jubilee was the Western cultured school I attended outside the neighbourhood. This is because a foreigner co-founded it. The school organised march pasts by carefully selected participants who were expected to participate in school for the parade that day. The rest of us were given leave to remain home as a public holiday.

As one of the children staying home on Children’s Day, I vividly have no recollection of any activity significant to the occasion. Both my parents were working-class citizens who were exempted from the break. Nonetheless, any day off school was never a day wasted. Aside from that, the neighbourhood I grew up in comprised families of different social classes. Some with more exposure than others. That was where my home stood.

My Home

I lived in a few places in my childhood right before teenagerhood. But where my earliest conscious and vivid memories sprouted was from the age of five, when we moved to Gyallesu, Makama Road Zaria. There we lived until I became a decade old.

As mentioned earlier, my neighbourhood, Gyallesu, was a mixed neighbourhood of different socio-economic classes of families.

My home, a semi-detached three-bedroom duplex, comprised four families of similar cultural lineage. Like many post-colonial houses, the design had all rooms opening to living and dining quarters. With an indoor kitchen opening to a backdoor. There were also boys’ quarters of tenants of different ethnic groups, many of whom were students of an  FCE nearby. 

There was also a businesswoman who was very fond of me. As a tiringly interrogative child, I would arrest her time immediately when she returned from a journey and eagerly listened to her travelogues while munching on her gifts. She was good company, and I would spend many times in her single bedroom.

The other rooms that housed male student tenants were off-limits on adult orders. I was allowed only polite hellos, and any long conversation had to happen in the compound, under the vast open sky. The reason, which I assume many of you will know. But that is a different topic.

I also had friends within my compound.  The family we shared a wall with had a daughter roughly my age. We would play together in the mix,  attend Islamiyya, and sort out our differences. She was my best friend, and we would explore the neighbourhood outside the confines of our sizeable green-gated compound.

My Neighbourhood

Outside the compound of my home was a street I was not familiar with the name of. This access road ran abreast of my house to the east and west, joining the FCE and Makama roads.

Therefore, my closest neighbours were those along the same access road, on the same and opposite lane. Most houses there were working-class families whose children attended the same school as mine. We would sometimes go together or return the same. On the opposite lane was a polygamous home, a shop, a pharmacy and other homes. The families there were a bit different from ours. Quite content to keep to themselves.

The heart of Gyallesu was the Makama road, which stood perpendicular to one end of our street and was a tarred road bustling with majorly commercial activities. Along it stood provision stores, pharmacies, tailoring shops and a community school. Naturally, children attending the school would face a certain stigma and sometimes object of whispered ridicule by the more affluent kids. But how could the bullies have understood that those kids enjoyed decent education,  closer proximity and cheaper fees?

An essential presence in Gyallesu stood at the end of Makama Road. It was called the Banadeen gate, a security entrance gate to our neighbourhood. One that would be helpful in incidental unrest when the notorious Shi’a leader, also a resident of our neighbourhood, put up personal defences right at the gate. The Shiite presence would pose an internal threat constantly to the residents, yet a comfort during the external invasion. Moreover, the gate would only admit workers after clear identification, an added security point.

So, the neighbourhood contained most of the basic amenities necessary for daily activities. Moreover, security was good, and education was also an integral factor, for at its borders were the Ahmadu Bello University Kongo and the FCE.

One thing was sure. Gyallesu, in the early 2000s, was a very good neighbourhood with room for everyone. Its secure atmosphere allowed children to mingle freely within its streets. In those times, the best memories of my childhood were engraved.

The Chronicles

The choice of the word ‘Chronicle was indeed intentional. For in a child’s mind, the memories that stand out the most were those with the most adventure and mischief.

To say there were many memories of my childhood in Gyallesu is understated. But in the turbulence of these memories, as they filled my head with the sweet nectar of satisfaction, were memories that would corner a smile on my lips for one reason or another. Few among them were our play territories, Quranic learning school, extra-curricular activities and my earliest personal achievements.

1. Play territories

The first thing you should know about children playing in a neighbourhood is that their guardians always set limits or boundaries. The rush, unfortunately, was on breaking them.

Beyond our approved area of play, we would speedily cycle beyond the approved speed limit considered safe by our parents. This violation did not stop at going beyond approved distances but also to dangerous places.

Remember the water hole Simba and Nala went to after being told strictly by Mufasa not to? Yes, we could take our freshly air-pumped bicycles down dangerously steep slopes to go to a river our parents were likely not aware of its existence, spending hours practising jaw-dropping dares.

Thinking of the imagined thrashing we would get if caught was not worthy of stopping us. So we went anyway.

Children will be children.

2. Quranic learning school.

Mischief can be found everywhere, even in the least likely place. My compound friend and I were no exception.

Off Makama Road, we would take the road to our Islamiyya on foot, happily crunching at our remaining break funds we used to buy local delicacies and eat during lessons, which was, of course, frowned upon by teachers.

But the biggest mischief we would put up was finding a reason to race home after lessons. We ensured this by looking for trouble from one person or the other, who clownishly chased us off before my friend’s brother intervened and then threatened to report us back at home. But we would call off his bluff as we thought we also did him a favour by giving him a chance to play the hero of saving us.

We would hide any bruises gained from the ordeal from our parents to prevent further chastise.

3. Extra-Curricular Activities

When I say extracurricular activities, I imagine something productive we would engage in outside school and play.  

For me, this came as a collective effort by the children of my compound to engage in agricultural activities. We all painstakingly participated in planting mangoes and yams for our imagined consumption shortly. But, alas, our dream was to be short-lived as the neighbourhood goat would intervene and eat up our young sprouts, despite our attempts of barbed wire-fencing the young shoots.

This planted anger in our hearts and enacted our intentions for revenge. But, as fate would have it, the accused goat was caught in action. We took turns torturing the goat, which I would not explain. But in the end, it avoided our territory, and we never planted again.

Thinking of the incident brings satisfaction and shame to my now-adult mind. I have learned that the best memories may not always be the strongest but also the worst.

4. Personal Achievements

Above age five, I was beyond being celebrated for milestones. It had to come from something I did in school, at home, or religiously. This memory was from my first attempt at fasting.

At the age of 8, my competitive nature, typical of children, pushed me into attempting 13 hours without food or water.

As a first-timer, the hailing of my siblings and peers got me through the first 10 hours before my biological clock ticked time for protest.

I fought against all pleas and threats to complete the last hour of my fast. Fortunately for me, the Adhan for breaking fast was called just as the silver cup of pap I downed after finishing a plate of Akara touched the table. My mother declared that my fast was valid against the adverse remarks of my disappointed peers.

If you are wondering why I consider this a personal achievement. It is because I think my trial is my most outstanding achievement. The fact that I had not allowed myself to be peer-pressured into my self-prophesied untimely demise was a testament to my strong will and independence.

Conclusion.

Children’s Day may be celebrated differently among different generations. But every childhood is unique per individual.

Now a mother, the childhood I envision for my children is one I hope that someday they remember and cherish the experiences and lessons gained from it.

Happy children’s day to all the children, youth, adults and aged.

Maryam Idris Bappa can be contacted via bappamaryam6@gmail.com.

By Hafsat Ja’afar

Whatever you do, no matter how, no matter what, the mouth that eats salt and pepper must speak ill or otherwise of you to your ears or behind your back. Chin up and do whatever you want anytime, anywhere, with any person of your choice, as long as it is in line with your religion and culture. Wherever you find yourself, your self-esteem and dignity come in handy.

“What will people say?” They won’t stop talking about what doesn’t matter to you anymore. Everybody should bear his father’s name; why take Panadol for someone’s headache?

Your choice of clothing is too modest for my liking. Look elegant, captivating and seductive to show them you’re single and ready to mingle. Wrapping yourself like Shawarma, sandwiching that voluptuous body you have with baggy clothes and a gigantic veil won’t get you a ‘civilised guy’. You’ll be mistaken for a married woman.

These are the dumbest pieces of advice of the century ever. Living life to the fullest mostly comes with a penalty. As social animals, it is evident that we must respect society. But living for the community can be a nightmare sometimes.

During a chat with colleagues, a woman in her mid-forties confessed that she keeps two sets of clothes for every occasion when going out. One is for neighbours, and people of her community (modest wears), and the other set is for the event she’s attending, covered and dazzling in Swarovski, a see-through veil, and expensive jewellery. She can’t get dressed at home, for what people will say.

As a classroom teacher, I was told to stop telling people what I do for a living. Instead, I should refer to myself as a businesswoman. I asked what am I selling then? Just tell them you’re into selling turaren wuta [incense business] and atampa online; that suits you better. You may be looked down upon, and people gossip about you being an ordinary teacher.

Minding your Business 001 should be part of a secondary and tertiary education curriculum. It should be made a core course, not an elective, for people to learn when and how to mingle into the affairs that suit them.

Stop peeping with a 1000-megapixel eye for the mistake of others as your topic of discussion. Sweetheart, keep your eyes off things that are out of your league. Channel your energy towards positivity, not negativity and negative thoughts.

Everybody is entitled to his opinion and the life they choose to live. Make yours a memorable one.

Hafsat Ja’afar wrote from Kano via jaafarhafsat@gmail.com

By Abubakar Suleiman

If you are conversant with the Arewa cyberspace, it will be surprising if you are unaware of the cliché, “Please, hide my identity.” It has gained so much currency (or notoriety) on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. And it is mainly followed up with bad news, especially related to relationships and marriages – cases of incest, infidelity, marriage battery, heartbreaks and others.

People usually send their relationship or marital problems to popular social media pages or handles managed by self-styled marriage counsellors. These counsellors or opinion shapers then subject the problems to the public for solutions while hiding the identity of the sender of these problems.

Surprisingly, these people who found themselves in a toxic relationship or abusive marriage have parents or guardians who married them off to their spouses. Still, they many times seem to bypass them for advice or counselling.

They also rarely approach certified marriage counsellors or therapists for solutions. Therefore, the problem is thrown to the public, and with too many disjointed ideas or solutions, sieving the best solution to the peculiar problem becomes complicated.

Not so fast; how are we even sure these stories or problems are true? What if someone sits in the comfort of their room or basement and concocts these unfounded narratives to make the stories trend? Many people don’t check the logical validity or fallacy of these stories.

Social media gave everyone a platform to air or voice out their views. The problem with the advent of these platforms is not the access to information but rather the processing of information. Many people find it uneasy to check the authenticity of stories or the validity of statistics.

The blowback or unintended consequence of this ‘hide my identity’ trend is that it has made many young people consume many negative stories, thereby fuelling suspicion between both genders. Moreover, stories of successful and happy marriages have been in short supply. Therefore, some young people no longer see marriage as a worthwhile endeavour wherein you invest your patience, energy and prayers.

On the one hand, love movies from Nollywood, Bollywood or Kannywood made young people see marriage or relationship as a perfect bed of roses or land of Eldorado instead of the cocktail of happiness, sadness, compromises and sacrifices that it is.

On the other hand, ‘hide my identity’ stories have increasingly made partners or lovers dine with each other with a very long spoon. Each sees the other as a veiled threat or a potentially dangerous person. These trends have created overnight feminists and misogynists.

The above backdrop does not downplay the effects of abusive or toxic marriages or relationships that appropriate authorities could reasonably address – parents, guardians, certified counsellors or the court. However, young people must be guided on what marriage entails, its prospects and its challenges. They need a direction or triangulation amidst a plethora of negative information and scary marital or relationship stories.

They should also be fed with successful marital examples or stories and the possibility of a happy marriage. And this makes parenting a more difficult task in our contemporary world.

The last time I checked around, we still had more good homes than broken ones. But, unfortunately, the familiar stories of abusive marriages or relationships are just the case of bad news flying more than the good ones.

Check out families around you, your pairs, neighbours, colleagues at the workplace or married classmates. You’ll understand that except for the usual day-to-day challenges in marriage, they are relatively not bad as it is being portrayed. However, we can canvass for improvements, coping mechanisms or detailed exit plans for worst scenarios. Therefore, ‘hide my identity’ stories are many times fabricated stories or isolated cases than the whole.

Abubakar Suleiman wrote from Kaduna and can be contacted via abusuleiman06@gmail.com.

By Ahmad Deedat Zakari

Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital, Zaria has recorded an unprecedented milestone in the North-Western region of Nigeria as the university hospital successfully delivered its first invitro fertilization (IVF) baby.

Professor Adebeyi Adesuyun of the Department of Reproductive Medicine, disclosed this to newsmen on Friday. He said, “A male baby was delivered at 10:53am on May 16 with weight of 3kg.”

The Professor noted the cost implication of the milestone and further disclosed that it was a journey began by ABUTH about twelve years ago.”

Such delivery is costly and not available in the whole of the northwest region. ABUTH is the only public health facility that offers IVF. The journey did not start today; we have been on it for more than 12 years, but paucity of funds in getting the right equipment was our major hindrance,” he said.”

He also disclosed that the hospital has patients on their waiting list to receive the treatment.

By Uzair Adam Imam

A psychiatrist, Dr. Adeoyo Oyewole, said the physical and mental stress journalists are exposed to daily has psychological effect on them that could lead to mental shutdown.

The doctor said the pressure used to create a mental disequilibrium which manifests psychologically and phphysically.

Dr. Oyewole, who is a consultant at the Ladoke Akintola University Teaching Hospital, also added that lack of proper stress management killed journalists discreetly.

He made this shocking revelation on Monday at a seminar organised by Fountain University for practising journalists and final year Mass Communication students of the institution.

The seminar was themed: Effect of Poor Stress Management among Nigerian Journalists on Mental Health Productivity, at its campus, Osogbo.

The doctor further stated that Nigerian journalists carry Nigeria on their shoulders at a mental cost, and struggle daily to gather information in spite of humiliating cultural and bureaucratic bottlenecks.

He added, “There is a need for journalists to be proactive in managing time, value relationships and posses the will to break through barriers to achieve daily goals.

“Financial freedom is also essential. No journalists should be underpaid in discharging their responsibility as a professional in order to meet their daily demands both personally and as a family.

“A journalist must be able to meet his daily diet and supplement demand to be physically and mentally ready for the rigours of the job”, he said.

By Hafsat Ja’afar

When are you getting hitched? Are you still single? When are we meeting our in-law or the Mr Right? You’re just choosy, aren’t you? So hurry up and get married! All these questions are uncalled for. Seriously people!

Do you need to go that extreme in asking people unanswerable questions who do not know the unseen?  It’s driven people nuts, and it needs to stop. Believe it or not, delayed marriage is a trendy issue not only within our society but also a universal issue due to the changes in our modern times.

Marriage delays in Northern Nigeria may result from the following;

Nature: Some are destined to stay single up to old age, while some are afflicted with natural diseases, which, no matter how much they want or try to get married, they cannot.

Tradition: Every family has its norms, values,  and principles. Some think their children must reach a certain age or level of education before marrying them off.  The issue of trousseau is a major setback too. These principles sometimes hurt the life of the people involved.

Illiteracy: This is another side of the coin, as some of the established youths consider marriage a burden, so they prefer private/commercial affairs. To them, getting married is like inviting old age while the “I’m Still Young” slogan still rings in their heads.

Expectation: This plays a significant role as the backbone of the marriage delay, as both parties expect luxury and goodies before marriage. The gents are looking for capacitated in-laws, and the ladies are waiting to marry into an influential family. However, this might take years for some to achieve.

Financial Instability: Due to unemployment, underemployment, inflation, cashless policy and other financial crises we all know about, some people run away from marriage.

Societal pressure on why and when you’re getting married has led many into failed and toxic marriages, which they later regret. Due to such pressure, someone I know married a man who gave his terms and conditions on splitting the bills 50-50.

As a classroom teacher, she was to handle school fees, medication, and other things. In the end, the marriage broke down because, according to the husband, she’s not complying and not making ends meet. She’s now a divorcee with two kids.

A friend-turned-sister married a man she doesn’t love, but he loves her dearly. For years their matrimony was nothing to write home about with four kids. She made his life and family a living hell to escape the marriage. She finally succeeded, taking her kids along with her and denying him custody of them.

Someone also told me it’s better to bear the title of Mrs in an abusive marriage than to stay single while time is against us. I was shocked beyond words for her to say this. She desperately needs a husband, someone to call her own.

Another one got married to a tricycle driver out of desperation, though he’s an NCE holder with no job, and she’s a graduate with a job. The interference of friends and relatives in their marital life led to serious malice between the two families. The couple used to spend weeks on no-speaking terms. All the love and sacrifices made for each other vanished, and the blame game became the order of the day. Sessions of reconciliation took place with no positive results. Finally, they went their separate ways and found peace and tranquillity, as they say.

The hustle and bustle of life is an essential element that paves the way for critical and creative thinking, mainly if a person engages him /herself in business, studying, working, and what have you. No matter how small it is, it fades away. Whatever is bothering an individual gives room for greater achievements in life.

As the saying goes, ‘it’s better to wait long than to marry wrong’. To avoid jumping into an erroneous affair, you must pray and choose wisely to avoid unforeseen circumstances.

Hafsat Ja’afar read BA (Ed) English at Bayero University, Kano. She wrote from Kano via jaafarhafsat@gmail.com.