Lifestyle

By Sabiu Usman

On a Thursday evening, I began to experience symptoms of a fever. I took paracetamol, which temporarily reduced the temperature, but the fever returned more aggressively by nightfall. I spent the entire night shivering and praying for dawn, hoping to visit a nearby pharmacy for further treatment.

By morning, I was too weak to leave the house alone. I contacted a neighbour who often assisted people with basic medications. He came over with some drugs, inserted a cannula into my hand, and administered an injection. After some time, I felt slightly better, just enough to perform my early morning obligatory prayers.

After prayers, I visited my parents for the usual morning greetings. They noticed the cannula in my hand and expressed concern. I explained that I had been battling a fever all night. They offered prayers for my quick recovery and good health.

I returned to my room to rest, but a few hours later, the fever returned. I decided to visit a hospital for a proper diagnosis and treatment. I informed my mother and father, who responded with prayer and support.

Just as I stepped out, NEPA restored electricity, so I went back inside briefly to plug in my phones. Then I picked up my HMO & ATM card, some cash, and headed out. I stopped an Okada taxi motorcycle and climbed. However, midway through the trip, I suddenly felt dizzy and weak. I asked the Okada man to stop so I would not fall off. He parked and waited with me for about 10 minutes. When the dizziness did not subside, he advised me to stop another Okada when I felt better, and he left.

As I sat by the roadside with my head lowered, trying to recover, I heard someone call my name: “Sabiu, what are you doing here?” I looked up and saw a man who seemed to recognise me. I told him I was heading to Doma Hospital, and he offered to give me a ride. Without much thought, I entered his tinted glass car, given my background working in places like banks, I often encountered many people, so I did not find it unusual that he knew me, even though I could not recognise him.

I did not realise the danger until the doors shut behind me. The two men in the back seat immediately pulled me to the centre and forced a long beanie over my head, covering my face. We drove for about 25 minutes. When the cap was finally removed, I found myself in an unfamiliar room with three men surrounding me.

One of them, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, opened a kit, pulled out a syringe, and took my blood. He also forced me to give a saliva sample by pressing my jaw and collected it in a small container. Then he asked for a urine sample. I told him I did not feel the urge, but he insisted. One of the men, a tall, heavy-set individual, struck me twice in the back. The pain and fear triggered an immediate urge, and I had no choice but to comply. I gave the sample.

They offered me food, which I refused. I was scared and confused, still burning with fever. I noticed a wall clock, and it was 11:20 am. They left me locked in the room around noon and did not return with food and water until late that night, around 10:00 pm. Again, I refused to eat.

Later, one of the men sitting beside me was scrolling through what appeared to be my Facebook profile on his phone. I realised he had likely performed a reverse image search using the photo he had taken of me earlier. As he continued scrolling, a call came in from a contact saved as “Dr. Gombe.” He answered briefly, and shortly afterwards, they opened the door to let the doctor in. He appeared again wearing a face mask, this time also with a pair of glasses.

He reviewed some papers and likely test results and told the others that my vitals were fine and the only issue was my fever. He handed me medication I recognised and trusted, so I took it. It relieved the fever, but I remained cautious and continued to reject all food and drinks they offered.

That night, I could not sleep. I was terrified, and I knew something terrible was about to happen.

On Saturday morning, I refused to eat the breakfast they brought. They eventually left, leaving me alone inside the room. Around 9:00 pm, they returned. I overheard a tense conversation between the men and the doctor from behind the door. The doctor confirmed that everything had been arranged for a journey to Kaduna, where a surgery was scheduled for Monday. The driver, whom I had become familiar with by voice, asked about payment and the buyer of the kidney. Suddenly, one of them realised the door had not been entirely shut and might have allowed me to overhear their plans. He quickly pulled it closed and locked it properly.

When I realised they were planning to transport me to Kaduna, surgically remove my kidney, and sell it, a wave of fear surged through me. My heart began to race uncontrollably. I knew, without a doubt, that I had to find a way to escape or I might not live to tell the story.

That night, after they all left with the doctor, I gathered what little strength I had left and began inspecting the room. The doors were solid, and the windows were tightly secured with reinforced burglar-proof bars. Then, as I looked upward, I noticed the ceiling was made of a thin, rubber-like material, not as strong as the rest of the room. I dragged a chair to the centre, climbed onto the headrest, and carefully broke through two ceiling panels. With trembling hands, I pulled myself up into the roof cavity.

Carefully crawling along the ceiling joists, I broke through another panel leading into a different bedroom. I did not stop. I kept crawling, searching for a way out, until I spotted a weak point near the edge of the roof. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed through it, and to my relief, it opened to the outside.

I jumped down and instantly heard approaching footsteps. My heart pounded as I dove into a nearby flower bed, pressing my body flat against the ground. A man walked by, sweeping the area with a flashlight. I held my breath, praying he would not see me. Fortunately, he moved on to another part of the compound. When his back was turned, I leapt up, climbed onto a drum near the wall, and scaled it, disappearing into the night as fast as my legs could carry me.

I ran blindly, barefoot, and disoriented. Eventually, I found a road. I tried flagging down cars, but most sped past. Finally, an elderly man stopped. He asked where I was going. I said Nasarawo. He said he was not going that far but would drop me at Jekadafari Roundabout.

He noticed I was barefoot and looked me over suspiciously, probably questioning my mental state, but he said nothing. When we reached Jekadafari, I got down and began walking toward Central Primary School, exhausted and disoriented. Along the way, someone who looked familiar stopped me. Though I could not remember his name, we recognised each other. 

“Sabiu, what happened to you?” he asked, shocked. I did not have the strength to explain. I simply begged, “Please just take me home.” Without hesitation, he helped me onto his motorcycle and rode straight to our house in Nasarawo.

My mother was the only one at home; all of them were out searching for me. I knocked on her door and weakly said, “It’s me.” She opened it, and I collapsed in her arms, crying. She offered me water, which I drank desperately. After two sachets, I passed out from exhaustion and trauma.

My elder brother and his wife, both medical practitioners, had returned by then. They immediately began treating me. I was given injections and placed on intravenous fluids. Their swift care helped stabilise me.

I didn’t wake up until midnight the next day, Sunday. I had slept for more than 24 hours straight. My body had completely shut down from the fever, stress, and trauma.

When I finally regained enough strength to speak, I sat with my mother and narrated everything, from the moment I fell ill to my escape from the traffickers. As I said, her eyes filled with tears. She listened in horror, then pulled me close and wept.

Through her sobs, she kept repeating, “Alhamdulillah. Your prayers and ours worked. Allah protected you.” Today, I am recovering, still feeling aches and pains, but alive. I thank God for giving me the courage and the opportunity to escape.

I share my story to warn the public: organ trafficking is real. These people are organised and patient, and may even know your name or background. They work like professionals, from collecting samples to contacting buyers.

Please be cautious when interacting with strangers, even those who seem familiar. If you ever feel dizzy, disoriented, or experience sudden symptoms after a simple injection, seek professional medical help immediately.

Above all, always let your loved ones know where you are going and don’t move around alone, especially when you are unwell.

May Allah continue to protect us all, ameen.

Sabiu Usman can be reached via sabiuusman12@gmail.com.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

A UK court has sentenced Nigerian health worker Adewale Kudabo to six months in prison for kissing a vulnerable patient in his care, in what the judge described as a “serious abuse of trust.”

Kudabo, who was employed at a care facility in England, was found guilty of engaging in inappropriate and non-consensual physical contact with a patient. The court heard that the victim was emotionally and mentally vulnerable, and unable to provide informed consent.

Presiding Judge Alex Menary said Kudabo’s actions represented “a gross violation of professional boundaries,” and stressed the duty of care owed by healthcare workers to those they serve.

Henry Fernnandez, the prosecutor, said Kudabo was allocated to bathe the patient who was in a lot of pain.

When finished bathing the patient, Kudabo reportedly kissed her on the lips

“The patient was dependent on your care and protection,” Judge Menary said during sentencing. “Instead, you exploited that vulnerability.”

In addition to the prison sentence, Kudabo has been removed from the health care register and is barred from working in the care sector in the future.

By Maryam Ahmad

An Indonesian province is offering cash rewards to men who undergo vasectomy procedures, in a bold effort to slow the country’s rapid population growth, The Star reports.

As part of a government-backed family planning campaign, local health authorities say the initiative aims to promote shared responsibility in reproductive health. Men who voluntarily get the procedure will receive a financial incentive, though the exact amount has not been publicly disclosed.

“We want to raise awareness that family planning is not just a woman’s burden,” a provincial health official told The Star. “Men also have a role to play in managing population growth.”

With over 270 million people, Indonesia is the fourth most populous country in the world. Officials warn that continued population growth could strain resources, from healthcare to education and employment.

While some have praised the initiative as progressive, others have raised concerns about potential social pressure and the need for proper counselling to ensure informed consent. Authorities say all participants will receive thorough medical guidance before proceeding.

The program is currently being rolled out in selected areas and could expand if deemed effective.

By Muhammad Abubakar

Former Nigerian Vice President and presidential candidate of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), Atiku Abubakar, has penned a heartfelt tribute to his wife, Titi Abubakar, on the occasion of her 75th birthday.

In a message shared on his social media platform, Atiku reflected on their unconventional journey to marriage. He revealed that the couple tied the knot without their families’ consent, witnessed only by two friends. Despite the odds, their union has endured for over five decades.

“Titi has been a blessing beyond measure to me and our family,” Atiku wrote. “I thank her for being patient with my shortcomings. Patience is a virtue you can never regret.”

He also encouraged couples to embrace patience in their relationships and wished his wife many more years of “bliss and blessings.”

It was a joyous occasion attended by family and friends, including the wife of the former military president, General Sani Abacha, Maryam Abacha.

By Arita Oluoma Alih

Anthony de Mello’s book The Prayer of the Frog explores human nature. An excerpt states, “Human beings react, not to reality, but to ideas in their heads.” The writer illustrates this concept with a metaphorical story about a pestilence travelling rapidly to a particular city. 

The pestilence met someone on the way who asked why he was speeding. He replied, “I am going to kill 1,000 lives.” On his way home, he met the same person, who said, “You killed 50,000 lives, not 1,000.” He replied, “I killed 1,000 lives; the rest died of fear.”

This phenomenon expounds how the human mind works. The additional 49,000 died solely due to fear and the thought of being killed, demonstrating the powerful impact of perception on reality. The human mind can be potent and perilous, as people’s thoughts and fears can shape their experiences and outcomes.

As simple as the words ‘self-awareness’ may sound, they hold significance. Just like people will say some statements do not hold water, these have a lot of water. Many folks do not understand what it means to be self-aware. 

Self-awareness shields you from manipulation in today’s complex world. It keeps you alive and conscious, helps maintain spiritual balance, gives you a sense of identity, and enables you to reflect on your personality, allowing you to stand firm in the face of adversity.

While I was reflecting on my personality, including my purpose and fears about not achieving certain things before reaching a certain age and how it may affect my mental health, self-awareness of these concerns led me to plan countermeasures if I don’t achieve them as envisioned.

Before proceeding, self-awareness needs to be understood: what is the self, what is awareness, and what does the compound term self-awareness entail? The self refers to a person’s entirety, encompassing their sense of identity, being, character traits, and individuality, distinguishing them from others. 

On the other hand, awareness is an individual’s capacity for reasoning and knowledge about things, including how to navigate potentially distressing situations; it’s essentially consciousness of mind. Self-awareness is the development of a conscious mind that observes, perceives thoughts, and reflects on its own personality.

I am an advocate of self-awareness because it helps shape lives. It enables one to stand firm on one’s goodwill. It helps self-discovery and ultimately prevents manipulation into doing something against one’s conscience and purpose.

Although an important life tool, many youth do not understand self-awareness and its significance. In a society where immorality is becoming the norm, do youths know how not to allow themselves to be convinced that such acts and other social vices are not the norm in a society that craves growth?

To thrive, we must answer these questions as youth in a Nigeria with over 200 million people, where the national grid is constantly collapsing, where the ASUU is always on strike over wages, where the farmers-herders clash is unending, and where politicians are continually toiling with the masses’ intelligence.  

In all these, self-awareness comes into play through self-interrogation. For example, will I allow myself to be used as a thug for politicians because of some necessities? Your answers and actions reflect your level of consciousness. When ASUU is on strike, you ask yourself, “What do I do with my time?” and so on. 

The power of observation, a component of self-awareness, is often underrated. Pay attention to your surroundings and the people you interact with. Notice their level of self-awareness, openness to learning, and mindset. Surround yourself with positivity, as those lacking these traits often spread negativity, which is not good for either growth or development.

This also takes us back to a story from Anthony de Mello’s The Prayer of the Frog, in which a Viennese surgeon taught his students that a surgeon needs two gifts: freedom from nausea and the power of observation. He demonstrated this by dipping one finger into a foul-smelling fluid and licking another, testing his students’ observation skills. While they passed the first test by showing no nausea, they failed the second by not noticing the surgeon’s trick. This underscores the veracity of observation.

Thus, navigating the murky waters of life, especially for Nigeria’s youthful population, requires one to train their mind and be self-aware because self-awareness begets self-consciousness and self-observation.

Arita Oluoma Alih writes from Abuja and can be reached at aritaarit118@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

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

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

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

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

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

But here’s the reality in 2025:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clear collaborative frameworks between conventional health professionals.

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

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

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

By Muhammad Abubakar

The academic community is mourning the passing of Professor Abubakar Roko, a respected lecturer in the Department of Computer Science, Faculty of Physical and Computing. He died after a period of illness, despite efforts made to secure advanced medical treatment abroad.

Professor Roko had been battling a critical health condition that required specialist care, prompting a crowdfunding campaign to support his medical trip to Cairo, Egypt. The campaign received overwhelming support from colleagues, students, friends, and well-wishers.

Notably, the Governor of Kano State, Engineer Abba Kabir Yusuf, contributed ₦5,000,000 to the cause, a gesture that was widely appreciated by the family and academic community.

In a message announcing his passing, the department expressed deep sorrow and extended heartfelt thanks to everyone who supported him during his time of need. “We are saddened to announce the demise of Professor Abubakar Roko… May Allah SWT reward you abundantly,” the statement read.

Prayers are being offered across the campus and beyond for the repose of his soul. “May Allah bestow His grace on him,” the department added.

Professor Roko is remembered not only for his academic excellence but also for his humility and dedication to the advancement of computer science education in Nigeria.

By The Daily Reality

In what can only be described as a disturbing reflection of neglect, The Daily Reality has uncovered the deplorable state of facilities at the Tashan Babiye Primary Health Care Centre’s Accident and Emergency Unit in Bauchi metropolis.

A visit by our reporter revealed a distressing scene: a tattered, unsanitary sickbed where patients are expected to receive emergency medical care.

The bed, visibly torn and heavily stained, sits in a room with equally grimy walls—conditions that pose serious health risks to the very people the facility is meant to treat.

Despite repeated efforts by our correspondent to speak with the hospital’s management for a comment on the deteriorating condition, no official response was received as of the time of filing this report.

What makes this situation even more shocking is the location of the hospital—situated just a few kilometres from the Bauchi State Government House.

The proximity of such a facility to the seat of power raises urgent questions about the government’s commitment to basic health care delivery in the state.

Tashan Babiye PHC, which has been in operation since 1978, is supposed to offer round-the-clock services, including emergency care.

Yet, the condition of its facilities tells a troubling story of neglect and abandonment.

The image attached to this report, captured by our reporter, shows the exact state of the bed currently in use at the emergency unit.

It is a stark symbol of the decay within a health system that countless Bauchi residents depend on.

Public health experts warn that such conditions not only endanger patients but also demoralize medical staff who work under impossible circumstances.

A patient The Daily Reality spoke with calls on the Bauchi State Ministry of Health and the relevant authorities to immediately address the rot at the Tashan Babiye Primary Health Care Centre—starting with the very bed meant to save lives.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

In 2024, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu granted duty waivers for the importation of key food items such as rice, maize, wheat, sorghum, and others. This decision was intended to tackle soaring food prices and has indeed led to a significant drop in the prices of food commodities.

Yesterday, Friday May 15th 2025, the Chairman of BUA Group, Abdul Samad Rabiu, announced that his company is intensifying efforts to further reduce the prices of rice and other essential commodities. While this gesture may appear patriotic and commendable, it raises critical questions: Is Abdul Samad a farmer? Shouldn’t such statements about food pricing and availability come from actual farmers and those directly involved in food production?

To be fair, the massive and often irrational hoarding of food items by middlemen has created artificial scarcity and price hikes, which may have prompted  the  government intervention and Abdul Samad’s statement . However, these  efforts, though well-intentioned, highlight a deeper, systemic problem that cannot be solved by importation alone. 

The government’s current approach, focused on crashing food prices through imports, is hurting local farmers and ultimately unsustainable.

While reducing food prices is essential for national food security and the wellbeing of ordinary Nigerians, the pathway to achieving this goal must be rooted in empowering local producers. Farmers are the real drivers of food affordability. Without supporting them, any temporary relief brought by food imports will ‘collapse’ the local economy under the weight of neglected domestic agriculture.

President Tinubu should prioritize policies that strengthen local agricultural capacity. This includes granting duty waivers not just for imported food, but more importantly for farm inputs, such as seeds, fertilizers, equipment, and agrochemicals. Supporting local agrochemical manufacturers and agromerchant firms will boost productivity and reduce dependence on foreign inputs.

Moreover, providing farmers with easy access to affordable loans is critical. Many smallholder farmers lack the capital to invest in modern tools or expand their operations. Through targeted financing and robust extension services, the government can unleash the full potential of Nigeria’s agricultural sector. Though many farmers and officials have abused several well-intentioned government incentives for agribusinesses. 

If current policies continue to favor food importation over local production, the consequences could be dire. The economy may suffer, and Nigeria’s food security will become dangerously dependent on foreign nations. This dependency not only undermines national sovereignty but also exposes the country to global agricultural market shocks.

Agriculture remains an important sector of Nigeria’s economy. Farmers contribute roughly 25% to the nation’s GDP. It is also the largest employer of labor, with over 25 million people, about 30.1% of the total workforce engaged in the sector. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), more than 70% of Nigerians participate in agriculture in some form. 

Clearly, supporting local farming is not just about food, it is about livelihoods, national development, and economic stability.

Cheaper food prices are indeed crucial for Nigeria’s survival, but they must be achieved the right way, through robust, self-reliant, and locally-driven food production. Supporting and scaling small, medium large-scale farming across the country will naturally lead to lower prices, eliminate hoarding, increase food exports, and align with the Tinubu administration’s stated “Nigeria First” policy.

Food imports is a short-term fixes, now is the time to shift from to long-term solutions,

by putting farmers at the center of President Tinubu’s government food policies and programs 

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

By Oladoja M.O

In a country where bold promises often fade into political noise, something refreshingly different is happening. A movement that started quietly, with little fanfare, is now humming with purpose, momentum, and an energy that cannot be ignored. The 774 National Health Fellows programme (NHF) initiative, launched a few months ago by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, is not just another government announcement lost in the pages of bureaucracy but a living force, a symbol of action, and a spark rapidly becoming a flame.

At its core, the programme is a strategic investment in youth leadership for health, designed to place one young, vibrant fellow in every local government area across the federation. But what sounded like a brilliant idea on paper has quickly become bigger, bolder, and beautifully human. Under the coordination of the Sector-Wide Approach Secretariat, the NHF initiative is reshaping what grassroots health intervention looks like. 

The young professionals are not just observing the system but are being immersed in it and studying the core concepts of public health, data analytics, and leadership. As of April 30th, it was made public that they had already completed over 73 per cent of their assigned learning modules. That is such a fantastic feat, Signalling that these young Nigerians are hungry to learn, ready to lead, and prepared to deliver.

Beyond the e-learning, every fellow has been paired with an experienced health sector mentor, creating powerful bridges between knowledge and action. Available information showed that over 2,100 structured mentorship engagements have taken place, alongside more than 6,000 follow-up calls to troubleshoot, guide, and refine their experience in real time. This showcases what mentorship with muscle and real grooming looks like.

Moving forward, another exciting phase is here. The Capstone projects. Showing that these fellows are not just learning and listening. They are launching. They are mapping the real health challenges in their communities and crafting innovative, locally tailored solutions. This is outlined as far from the usual cut-and-paste interventions. Indeed, these are not just symbolic gestures. Rather, seeds of lasting change. A blueprint for the kind of youth engagement that works, and not just a flash in the pan.

Much credit must go to the Honourable Minister of Health, Professor Muhammad Ali Pate, who has done more than supervise. He has inspired. With every update, he speaks with authority and visible passion for the possibilities this programme unlocks. His hands-on leadership reminds us that good governance is not about policies alone, but people. Not about titles, but tangible results. The collaboration with local government leaders, traditional rulers, and State Commissioners for Health has ensured the programme’s success. Together, they have ensured that the fellows are not strangers in their host communities. They have been welcomed, embraced, and empowered to act. Their presence has been described as transformative, and rightly so.

As we hail progress so far, a big focus on sustainability must be the centre of thought. The NHF programme must not end as a one-time experiment. It must become institutionalised. The structure is already in place. The model is working. The results are rolling in. The political and budgetary will to scale this from pilot to permanent remains. The impact of new cohorts of fellows being trained yearly would be tremendous. The ripple effect of turning these 774 fellows into thousands over the next decade will be epic. Nigeria would not just be training health professionals. It would generate problem solvers, data warriors, and service-driven leaders. 

More importantly, the data collected by these fellows across LGAs must be treated as a goldmine. All the information must be analysed, shared, and applied to shape more innovative and targeted policies, responsive budgeting, and real-time decision-making. As time goes on and more capstone projects unfold, we will witness a subtle but decisive shift in our health governance story. 

When young people are not just beneficiaries of change, but creators of it, the shift cannot be undervalued. When they are not just consulted, but trusted. When they are not just inspired, but given the steering wheel.

Even though Nigeria’s health system still has other challenges, even though the journey is long, this initiative is proof that with the right strategy and the right people, progress will not just be a possibility in the abstract. It will become a happening event—something visible, something contagious.

Renewed Hope in Motion is not just a slogan but a movement. A youth-led revolution quietly takes shape in every LGA, one fellow at a time. It is the sound of a country remembering how to believe again. 

And best of all, it is only just getting started.

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