Lifestyle

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido, PhD 

It was after a wet Thursday Asr prayer in a quiet neighbourhood of Gombe that Mallam Isa stood up to speak. The small mosque was dimly lit, the air heavy with humidity and the scent of earth. His voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of the message he bore.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “let me ask you: what would happen if today, right now, your heart stopped, and your children became orphans?”

A hush fell. Even the children at the back stopped playing. That question pierced through the hearts like an arrow.

“You pray five times a day, you give Zakah and fast Ramadan, but have you made any plan for the ones you might leave behind?” he continued.

It was not just a rhetorical question. It was a wake-up call.

The Crisis of Orphans in Our Midst

In every corner of Nigeria—especially in the north—there are orphans. They are in the streets, in distant relatives’ homes, in understaffed orphanages, and in classrooms with torn uniforms and hungry eyes. Every funeral of a husband, a father, a provider, often produces not one or two, but sometimes 10, 15 or even 20 orphans. In a society with polygamy and a high birth rate, the multiplication may be frightening.

The silent cries of orphans echo through our communities, a poignant reminder of our collective responsibility. In societies like northern Nigeria, where large families are common and the spectre of loss ever-present, the number of children left without a guiding hand is staggering. 

Losing a parent can mean losing everything: food, shelter, education, and the loving embrace of family. While various efforts exist to care for these vulnerable souls – from individual families to community and religious organisations, and a few dedicated orphanages – a critical challenge remains: the lack of sustainable, reliable funding. This is where the profound and enduring institution of Waqf emerges as a beacon of hope, offering a pathway to a robust and self-sustaining future for orphans.

What do we do with this growing population?

Islam doesn’t leave this to chance. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said:

“I and the one who looks after an orphan will be like this in Paradise,” and he held his two fingers together. (Bukhari)

This Hadith should not be a mere quote for charity posters—it is a divine incentive for action.

The Legacy of Layth b. Sa‘d: A Model for Us

Let us take a lesson from the noble jurist and philanthropist Layth b. Sa‘d, a contemporary of the great Imam Malik. He was not only a scholar of high standing (who was often described as more grounded in fiqh than Malik -Afqah min Malik), but also a man of immense wealth. One of his investment —earning over 70,000 dinars annually (The current Naira equivalent of 70,000 Dinars, based on the pure gold content of those Dinars and today’s market price of gold, is approximately ₦51,188,742,500, ie Fifty-one billion, one hundred and eighty-eight million, seven hundred and forty-two thousand, five hundred Naira). Yet he gave away so much that he didn’t even have zakātable savings. One day, he bought a house, only to discover it had been used as a shelter for orphans. Without hesitation, he declared:

“This house is now a waqf for them. Let it remain a refuge. And I shall endow another waqf whose profits will feed and clothe them.”

Today, we admire his foresight. But more importantly, we must emulate it.

The Missing Link: Waqf as Sustainable Support

Most of our current models for orphan care, although well-meaning, are unsustainable. We rely on inconsistent donations or goodwill that may not last.

But waqf is not a charity of the moment. It is a charity of the generations.

“When a person dies, all their deeds end except three: a continuing charity (Sadaqah Jariyah), beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for them.” (Muslim)

Waqf is Sadaqah Jariyah. And every orphan fed, educated, healed, or empowered through it continues your reward in the grave.

How Do We Build a Waqf for Orphans?

1. Family-Level Waqf

Families should dedicate one house, piece of farmland, or business as a waqf for orphans. It could be residential housing, a school, or a rental property whose income supports orphan welfare.

Imagine if, in every city block, one family donated one apartment to serve as orphan housing or as an investment asset to support orphans.

2. Community-Level Waqf

Mosques, Islamic centres, and community associations should establish orphan waqf portfolios. These can include:

Schools with waqf-run canteens and hostels

Hospitals or clinics with orphan wards funded through waqf

Skills acquisition centres that train orphans for real livelihoods

3. Organisational Waqf

Existing orphanages should stop relying solely on donations. Let them build waqf farms, shops, or event halls. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said:

“The best of people are those who are most beneficial to others.” 

Let’s be beneficial in a lasting way.

You Could Be Next

One chilling truth binds us all: no one knows who will become an orphan next. We plan our lives, but we often forget how fragile life is.

A car crash, a silent heart attack, a violent raid—your child could be orphaned tomorrow. So, build the system you would want them to find.

Would you want your child to sleep under a bridge?

Would you want them to beg for school fees?

Would you want them to eat once every two days?

“None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself.” (Bukhari and Muslim)

Then love orphans as you would love your child.

Every Little Bit Counts: What YOU Can Do

Contribute to a waqf share initiative. You don’t have to give millions. Start with ₦1,000. Drops make oceans.

Educate others about the orphan waqf. Deliver a Friday khutbah, launch a WhatsApp and Facebook campaign, and distribute flyers.

Talk to local Imams, community leaders, and philanthropists. Propose orphan waqf projects.

Use your wasiyyah (will) to declare a portion of your estate as waqf for orphans.

Empower your children to understand this legacy so they can continue the chain.

Let us build an ummah where no orphan is neglected, where no child grows up feeling discarded, where our waqf institutions become sanctuaries of dignity.

Let Gombe, Kano, Lagos, Borno, Zamfara, Sokoto, Osun and every Nigerian state become shining examples of Waqf-Orphan Integration. Let Nigeria offer the world a new orphan care model—rooted in Islam, powered by community, and sustained by waqf.

And let each of us rise, in our small way, to be counted among those who build for the forgotten, the voiceless, the orphaned.

For on the Day of Judgment, it might just be that orphan’s dua that grants you the mercy you seek.

“They ask you what they should spend. Say: Whatever of good you spend must be for parents and kindred and orphans…”

— Qur’an 2:215

Amir Lamido wrote from Gombe via lamidomabudi@gmail.com.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

In a touching act of compassion, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf of Kano State has adopted Hauwa Yusuf (popularly known as Ummi), a 31-year-old woman battling a rare and debilitating illness known as muscular dystrophy.

Ummi, a law graduate of Bayero University Kano (BUK), has been living with the incurable condition for 18 years. Despite her severe physical limitations and financial hardship, she defied the odds to complete her university education. Today, she can barely walk without support.

Social media personality and academic, Dr. Muhsin Ibrahim, who has followed Ummi’s story for two years, revealed that she had previously received some assistance from Air Peace CEO, Allen Onyema, who sponsored a short medical trip to India. However, her condition remained unmanaged until a turning point came on the night of May 18, 2025.

In a desperate bid for help, Ummi reached out to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf via text message. The Governor responded promptly and compassionately. According to Dr. Ibrahim, Governor Abba promised to take full responsibility for her well-being, saying he would do “everything a father would do for a daughter.”

In a symbolic gesture of solidarity, the Governor connected Ummi with his own daughter, also a law student, fostering a personal friendship to provide emotional support. Additionally, he directed that Ummi’s family be provided with adequate food supplies and pledged to make her upcoming Sallah celebration “memorable.”

In a further show of generosity, the Governor ordered that Amina, a lady who has spent years caring for Ummi, be placed on the Government House’s casual staff payroll with immediate effect.

The Governor’s actions have drawn widespread praise, with many Nigerians taking to social media to commend his empathy and swift intervention.

“May Allah make it easy for Ummi and reward Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf handsomely,” Dr. Ibrahim concluded in his heartfelt tribute.

By Oladoja M.O

Adeoye Hussain Chukwuebuka came in glowing, the kind of glow that only pure purpose can give. Fresh from the furnace of medical college, his results bore the scent of brilliance, his stride the rhythm of someone born to heal. His white coat shimmered in the sterile hallway lights, worn not just as a uniform, but as a covenant. His stethoscope draped around his neck like the bronze serpent lifted in the wilderness, signalling a promise of life to those on the brink of death.

He truly came in, not seeking escape or greener pastures. He came with a fire. A fire to serve, to make an impact, to stay.

But then… housemanship happened.

In just two weeks to the new life, Chukwuebuka’s glow began to dim. Not metaphorically, but literally. His cheeks, once full, shrank. His eyes, once bright, dulled. He was fatter before — not just in body, but in dreams. He came with life. The system began to drain it, slowly, ruthlessly.

At first, sleep became a luxury, unaffordable anymore. Then his sanity. Later, his joy.

Adeoye found himself in a loop of exhaustion so grave it warped reality. He would resume by 8 a.m., and wouldn’t see sleep again for 48 hours — not once, not twice, but repeatedly. As soon as he thought he could breathe, just for a minute, a call would come in — “Come to the ward”, “There’s an emergency”, “You’re needed in theatre.” Again. And again… and again.

His personal life? Hussain could see it walk off him without his approval. Even his relationship that survived the inferno of medical school was broken off simply because there was nothing left of him to give. Not even text messages. Not even voice notes. Nothing. Just like that, a life he already had in play, joyful about, phased off.

Oh! Could he even shake off one of the haunting experiences he forever wished he could have helped with? Adeoye had already been on duty for over 24 hours when an emergency struck. A baby. Not breathing. Even at his lowest point, he could not stand not doing anything to save the situation. His body moved on instinct… he rushed, assessed, and started resuscitation. But five minutes in, the rush wore off. His hands gave up. He couldn’t even lift his arms. His fingers couldn’t form pressure. His own pulse felt faint. And the baby…. The baby slipped away. Left. Not just into death, but into the cracks of a broken system.

And on the report, he had to write the truth — “Could not complete resuscitation due to extreme personal exhaustion.”

That sentence continues to haunt him.

It wasn’t just a failure of strength. It was a failure of structure. And his friends across other hospitals? They were fainting. Collapsing mid-shift. Crying in toilet stalls. Living like machines with rusting gears.

And you would think, with this superhuman sacrifice, the reward would be more than a room could contain.

But no.

The pay was barely enough to survive. But Adeoye said, and meant it — he would take less if it meant he could have a piece of his soul back. If he could breathe. If he could be human. This isn’t about money alone, but about dignity. About survival. About choosing between saving lives and watching his own slip away.

And even if he summons all the strength left in his marrow, there’s still this: no equipment. Oxygen runs out. Monitors don’t beep. Gloves tear. Syringes are blunt. Catheters are scarce. The barest minimum? A luxury. And in that darkness, they still whisper: “Do your best.”

What best? With what tools? With what strength?

Even those who still carry passion like a torch are now shivering in the cold winds of burnout. The system is crushing the very shoulders it leans on.

Why?

The answer is bitter: a workforce too thin to carry a country.

How many doctors are produced yearly? Nowhere near enough. And even among those, only a fraction secure placement for housemanship. Why? Because merit is suffocated by political interference. Only about 20% of placements are based on merit. The rest are claimed by sons of power, daughters of connections, and family friends of politicians. Many brilliant minds, like Adeoye once was, remain stranded, waiting, and wasting.

And yet, those lucky enough to be placed are punished for it. Overworked. Underequipped. Undervalued.

And Adeoye? He really didn’t want to leave. He honestly was determined to stay. He actually wanted to believe. But now? He would give anything to go.

Not for luxury.
Not for pride.
Just to survive.

This is the irony: Nigeria’s housemanship year, which is supposed to be a bridge from classroom to clinic, has become a crucible. Rather than refine, it breaks. Becomes a trapdoor instead of a launchpad. 

And this is not just about Adeoye Hussain Chukwuebuka.
It’s about hundreds. Thousands.
Many of whom came in glowing. Now walking corpses — souls intact, bodies crumbling.

They didn’t want to leave. They really didn’t.
Until housemanship happened.

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

By Uzair Adam

The Federal Government has kicked off a major healthcare initiative in Kano State, offering free emergency medical services to indigent patients—beginning with the accreditation of Dala Orthopaedic Hospital under the National Emergency Medical Service and Ambulance System (NEMSAS).

At the official unveiling on Friday, the hospital’s Chief Medical Director, Dr. Nurudeen Isa, described the move as a significant milestone in the administration’s health agenda.

He noted that the facility would now offer 48 hours of free emergency care to underprivileged patients brought in from any part of the state.

“Today marks a new chapter in emergency healthcare delivery—one where the poor no longer have to suffer or die in silence due to lack of funds,” Dr. Isa said.

Funded through the Federation Account, NEMSAS was established to ensure that Nigerians, particularly the most vulnerable, receive timely and life-saving emergency treatment.

The program targets cases such as road traffic accidents, obstetric complications, snake bites, gunshot wounds, and other urgent conditions.

Dr. Isa revealed that Dala Orthopaedic is the first accredited facility in Kano under this scheme, with more public and private hospitals expected to follow soon.

Representing the Federal Ministry of Health at the event, Dr. Emuren Doubra, Head of Operations at NEMSAS, said the initiative is sustained through a statutory allocation—5% of the Basic Health Care Provision Fund—as mandated by the National Health Act.

“Our goal is to eliminate financial barriers during emergencies. We’re partnering with both private and public hospitals to ensure that poor Nigerians aren’t left stranded when minutes matter most,” he said.

The program is part of the Renewed Hope Agenda for Health and falls under the broader National Health Sector Renewal and Investment Initiative, led by Coordinating Minister of Health and Social Welfare, Professor Muhammad Ali Pate.

To facilitate prompt response, the initiative includes a fleet of ambulances equipped with medical gear and staffed by professionals, working in collaboration with the Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC) to transport emergency patients from any location in the state.

“These ambulances are mobile emergency units. They begin treatment at the scene and alert hospitals in advance so preparations can start immediately,” said Dr. Doubra.

One of the program’s early beneficiaries, Aliyu Andul, shared his story. After a severe accident, he was advised in hospitals across Enugu and Lagos to undergo leg amputation. But receiving care at Dala Hospital changed everything.

“I was told my leg should be amputated. But when I came here, I got better treatment. I am now recovering—you can see I am standing,” he said, expressing gratitude for the free treatment.

The initiative is expected to scale up across Kano State, setting a new standard for emergency healthcare delivery in Nigeria.

By Oladoja M.O

In recent years, the word “Japa” has become an emblem of escape, a chant of hope, and sadly, a whistle of despair. Particularly in Nigeria’s healthcare sector, the mass exodus of young, vibrant medical professionals has left our system gasping for air. What we face is not just a brain drain—it’s a heart drain. And in the middle of this haemorrhage lies a controversial bill, once proposed by Honourable Ganiyu Abiodun Johnson, now buried under the backlash of public outrage.

But was the bill completely out of line, or was it simply unfinished thinking?

It is no longer news that Nigeria’s doctor-to-patient ratio falls miserably short of the World Health Organisation’s recommendation. Yet what may not be so widely understood is that the stressful, overburdening conditions often cited as a reason to “Japa” are partly the consequences of those who have already left. One person’s departure makes another’s stay unbearable. The domino effect deepens.

While the most effective and lasting solutions lie in long-term efforts—revamping the economy, tackling insecurity, and fixing systemic rot—we must also admit that time is of the essence. The house is on fire, and we need water now, even if the fire truck is on its way.

There’s this question of “can patriotism be stirred in a broken system?”

Critics often point to a profound lack of patriotism among the youth, and it’s not unfounded. But when young Nigerians have watched corruption erode public trust, when they are owed salaries, and when survival is a struggle, can we honestly ask for blind loyalty? Still, the bitter truth remains: if patriotism isn’t growing naturally in this climate, maybe it needs to be carefully engineered, not through coercion, but through incentivised responsibility. 

The original bill proposed tying Nigerian-trained doctors and dentists to a mandatory five-year practice before granting full licensure. It sparked nationwide uproar, accused of being coercive, discriminatory, and even unconstitutional. The medical council body argued that such a condition could only apply to those whose education was publicly funded. And frankly, they had a point.

However, what if the bill didn’t force, but inspired commitment instead? Clearly, the strategy to curb this heartbreaking issue lies between the government and the various governing councils of these professions. After an extensive and wide brainstorming, it is my opinion that the following recommendations should be weighed and given consideration;

Let the Medical and Dental Council adopt a digital licensing model that is highly secure and tamper-proof, implement a differential licensing fee, where those practising within Nigeria pay subsidised rates (e.g., ₦50,000).

In contrast, those seeking international practice pay a premium (e.g., ₦250,000). Substantial penalties for forgeries should be introduced, ranging from travel bans to long-term suspension from practice. Also, full international licensing should probably be accessible only after 5 – 8 years of verified practice in Nigeria, but with allowances for truly and genuinely exceptional circumstances.

Each Local Government Area (LGA) can be mandated to sponsor at least two candidates annually for critical medical professions, especially medicine and nursing. This would ensure that the selection is need-based and done after national admission lists are released to prevent misuse by those already financially capable. Aside from other ongoing state or philanthropic sponsorships, this alone could inject an extra 1,500–2,000 health professionals yearly into the system.

Beyond the Medical Residency Training Fund (MRTF), the government can introduce provisions for payment of residency program fees, subsidies for first and second fellowship exams, partner with international and local equipment companies to provide cutting-edge residency exposure, and full sponsorship for mandatory travel during training with conditions of local practice attached. More importantly, it should be to the core interest of the government to streamline the bureaucracy around MRTF disbursements to reduce frustration and improve compliance.

For these health professionals committed to staying, the government can introduce affordable credit schemes for cars and home ownership. This strategy speaks not just of comfort but dignity and hope, ensuring these professionals see a future here. A doctor with a home loan and a dependable car is more likely to stay and build a life.

Relatively, in a bid to arrest some unnecessary uproar from various other professions, the government can broaden the application of similar strategies to other key professions facing mass emigration, like pharmacy, engineering, and IT. Let emphasis be on this is a quick-response initiative and not a substitute for long-term development, and also communicate clearly that staying doesn’t mean stagnation but service with reward.

No one can deny that Nigeria’s system is in a broken state, and no young professionals should be intentionally shackled to that broken system. It is also true that patriotism cannot be forced, but it can be nurtured. These professionals can, however, be valued, supported, and invited into a new contract of service, not as slaves to a nation, but as partners in rebuilding her.

Therefore, before we completely dismiss the Hon. Ganiyu Johnson Bill as modern slavery, perhaps we should ask: did it simply lack the right lens? With the right blend of compassion, policy, and investment, could it become a promise and not a prison?

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

By Saifullahi Attahir

Although not an expert in global health, the future for Nigeria’s healthcare intervention looks bleak.

Over the decades, we have become overly dependent on foreign aid in managing HIV/AIDS, Tuberculosis, Malaria, Maternal mortality, and malnutrition. Looking at it critically, it seems only a few medical conditions are not supported by foreign aid. 

Of course, it’s true that these medications would cost a huge chunk of our budget if left to be funded domestically.

As someone who works and mingles in the lower ranks, I have witnessed many sorrowful occurrences;Nigerians and even healthcare professionals do not contribute to improving the situation every day. 

The gross mismanagement, working solely for the sake of remuneration, and how locals can manipulate thingsto ensure that funding for the Polio and measles vaccine campaign keeps coming is abominable. 

Local community health workers eagerly take what little support is available for the poor victims. I have witnessed dozens of people only interested in switching to public health positions to work with NGOs (Non-Governmental Organisations). Everyone rushes toward the available funding for nurses, doctors, anatomists,  scientists, etc.. 

This is apart from an article I read in 2016 by the legendary Sonala Olumhense about the 2010 report by the Global Fund about crude mismanagement of the fund by several Nigerian agencies regarding the money allocated to fight HIV/AIDS, TB, and Malaria.

Ideally, foreign funding should not be eternal; the country must find a way to sustain the programs.

 Public health is well-versed in public-private partnerships (PPPS) and the design of each primary healthcare program so that locals can sustain it. Since day one, this has raised the issue of affordability, which the US should have taught Nigerians how to develop drugs locally at a cheaper rate, so as not to depend on their markets and pharmaceutical companies.

President Trump has already come, and we should expect and prepare for more shocks rather than continual crying out. This should serve as a wake-up call for our policymakers and the President to find a way out.

It’s unlikely the USAID funding would be reversed. We should have prepared for the rainy days ahead.

Saifullahi Attahir, a 400l Medical student of  Federal University Dutse, wrote via saifullahiattahir93@gmail.com.

As I scrolled through the timeline of Senator Natasha H. Akpoti, her most recent post, titled “Satirical Apology Letter,” sparked confusion and elicited public reactions from her followers and various opinion leaders across Nigeria. Many are left questioning whether it constitutes a genuine apology or if it is merely another provocation in the ongoing feud between her and the President of the Nigerian Senate, Godswill Akpabio.

The senator representing Kogi Central wrote the letter in a manner that satirically questioned her adversary’s integrity and condemned the corrupt aspects of the Nigerian political system, describing it as a matter of mere compliance rather than merit.

Previously, if you can recall, the unrest between the two began in February this year, due to a minor disagreement over a change of seat, which was rejected by the female senator. This disagreement later escalated into allegations of sexual harassment against the Senate President, which Senator Akpabio and his family denied. The discord ultimately resulted in her suspension from the Senate for six months.

As I continued reading the letter, it felt like waking up from a brief slumber regarding the case. While the public believed it was over, Natasha returned with determination and strongly re-emphasized her stance on the issue. She not only criticized her suspension by the Senate under leadership of Akpabio but also offered a sarcastic condemnation of the current system that led to her situation.

Senator Natasha’s Apology Letter rebukes to the status quo. The second paragraph critiques the current happenings in the Senate chamber. Although the sentences are framed as an apology, they are laced with biting sarcasm. Some individuals perceive the letter as an attempt to remain relevant, as she was nearly forgotten after the case was silenced. This sentiment was expressed by several citizens in the comments on her Facebook post.

In my opinion, the letter exemplifies passive-aggressive diplomacy. Senator Akpoti Uduaghan claims to apologize for her “failure to recognize that legislative success… is apparently not earned through merit, but through the ancient art of compliance.” The implication is clear: the political arena, particularly in Nigeria, is not a space where competence and the will of the people necessarily dictate success. Instead, it is a realm governed by deference to the powerful and the perpetuation of unwritten rules that demand personal loyalty over professional integrity.

Some people believe that the female senator wants to settle the case, but she is concerned about how the public will react. A direct apology could raise questions from the public, especially from those who have supported her from the beginning. They may ask whether she was sincere in her allegations or if she intended to tarnish Akpabio’s reputation. Nevertheless, what is truly remarkable about this piece is how it is presented as a ‘satirical apology letter.’ Instead of directly admitting fault, it takes a different approach.

The senator ridicules the notion that her refusal to engage in patronage or political favoritism warrants an apology. She frames her decision to decline the “requests” of influential figures in the Senate not as a betrayal, but as a badge of honor—a testament to her commitment to her mandate and her constituents, rather than a subservient compliance with behind-the-scenes negotiations.

The letter’s central message is encapsulated in its bitter, mocking phrase: “Please find it in your magnanimous heart… to forgive this stubborn woman who mistakenly believed that her seat in the Senate was earned through elections, not erections.” The wordplay here is both clever and sarcastic, implying that political power in Nigeria is often not merely a matter of democratic legitimacy, but rather the outcome of personal ambition, ego, and, at times, quite literally, the ability to manipulate others through unseen means.

As stated in the letter, the bold assertion regarding the nature of power and politics is undeniably risky. However, it is this very willingness to challenge complacent norms that renders Senator Akpoti Uduaghan’s letter so impactful. In a world where political leaders often issue insincere apologies when faced with allegations of corruption or incompetence, her letter serves as a powerful reminder of the fierce independence and self-respect that are frequently compromised in the quest for political survival.

Moreover, the satire is not directed at a single individual; rather, it serves as a broader condemnation of the system that perpetuates this toxic political culture. Akpoti Uduaghan critiques not only Akpabio’s conduct but also the institutional framework that enables the manipulation of power, allowing it to be transferred based on personal alliances rather than merit. The reference to “quid pro quo” arrangements and the necessity for private, off-the-record negotiations highlights a system in which transparency and accountability are frequently overshadowed by more secretive and, at times, questionable practices.

The final line, “Unafraid, Unbought, and Unbroken,” serves as both a declaration of defiance and a reminder that some individuals in the political arena remain unyielding against the forces that seek to undermine genuine progress. It is a call for a return to integrity and for leaders who are willing to challenge the status quo, regardless of the cost.

I believe that Senator Natasha should not surrender; however, considering how the system operates in Nigeria, it is crucial to find ways to ensure that the conflict does not negatively impact her constituents. Given that she and Senator Godswill Akpabio were good friends in the past, it would be beneficial to seek reconciliation, even though the damage has already been inflicted on Akpabio’s part.

Naziru Muhammad writes from the Department of Mass Communication at Abubakar Tatari Ali Polytechnic in Bauchi.
ajiyanwaka@gmail.com

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

A grieving husband has alleged gross negligence and unprofessional conduct at Jummai Babangida Aliyu Maternal and Neonatal Hospital, Minna, following the death of his wife, Ramatu, after a surgical procedure on April 24, 2025.

UB Shehu, who shared a detailed account of the events leading up to his wife’s death, claimed that his wife was the last of nine patients to undergo surgery that day. During the procedure, an unstable power supply reportedly forced staff to switch from the main source to a smaller backup generator, which Shehu emphasized was not a diesel-powered unit but a basic household generator.

According to Shehu, Ramatu showed signs of critical distress immediately after surgery. While other patients were reportedly stable, his wife began bleeding excessively due to a drainage bag not being properly attached — a task he claimed the attending nurse was unqualified to perform.

“She told me she didn’t know how to plug the bag,” Shehu stated, expressing frustration that a doctor did not attend to the situation until five hours later. Even then, she only gave brief instructions without examining the patient.

Shehu described a harrowing night in which his wife’s condition worsened, alleging that she was repeatedly denied water and food and that his pleas for medical assistance were ignored or delayed. As her condition deteriorated, he said senior nurses refused to help, citing departmental responsibilities.

By 7:04 a.m., his wife began gasping for air. Despite his cries for help, Shehu said the ward lacked oxygen, prompting a rushed transfer to the ICU, where attempts to administer oxygen reportedly failed due to ill-fitting equipment. Ramatu was pronounced dead at 7:24 a.m.

The hospital has yet to respond to the allegations. The account has sparked conversations online about healthcare standards and the need for reform in patient care practices across public hospitals in Nigeria.

By Aisha M Auyo

Marriage is a huge opportunity to earn good deeds. By adjusting your intention, everything you do for your spouse can be an act of worship. It is that simple.

Seek to please Allah and be intentional. Every single thing you do with and for your spouse can be a form of worship when Ihsan is your motivation, and your heart is engaged in the remembrance of Allah in some way.

And by default, when good things become a habit, your good deeds are habitually earned too, insha’Allah.

From time to time, make a specific intention and say, “Oh Allah, I am doing this for my spouse only for Your sake and to earn Your pleasure.” You’ll feel the difference. A mundane task gets supercharged!

Umar ibn Al-Khattab reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said:

“Verily, deeds are only with intentions. Verily, every person will have only what they intended. Whoever emigrated to Allah and His Messenger, then his emigration is for Allah and His Messenger. Whoever emigrated to get something in the world or to marry a woman, then his emigration is for whatever he emigrated for.” (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 54, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1907).

This hadith and post are especially important for my fellow women… wives… If all the good and extra things you do for your man are just so he wouldn’t marry another woman, know that your reward stops there. And he may marry other wives if that’s in his Qadr.

It might work if you’re being obedient, respectful, kind, and many other good things, just so you’d be his favourite among his wives, but know that the reward may stop there.

Let’s always remember that this world is only temporary… Our permanent abode is the aakhira. I am not in any way saying you should stop whatever you’re doing. In fact, I suggest we always try to improve, increase, and upgrade… 

Just be conscious of your intentions and be deliberate in whatever you do. Doing so, we will have double reward… here and in the hereafter, in sha Allah.

Aisha Musa Auyo is a doctoral researcher in Educational Psychology. A wife, a mother, a homemaker, a caterer, a parenting, and relationship coach. She can be reached via aishamuauyo@live.co.uk.

By Uzair Adam 

The Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT), Nyesom Wike, has ordered a full crackdown on unregistered hospitals and quack medical personnel operating within the territory.

The minister’s media aide, Lere Olayinka, disclosed this in a statement on Saturday, following the death of a pregnant woman at a private facility in Durumi, Abuja, after undergoing a caesarean section.

According to the statement, Wike warned that anyone found operating an illegal health facility or working in an unregistered hospital would be arrested and prosecuted.

He described the incident as regrettable, especially given that vulnerable groups, including pregnant women, are eligible for free registration under the Federal Capital Territory Health Insurance Scheme (FHIS). 

He noted that despite this opportunity, many pregnant women were still patronising unlicensed and unsafe facilities.

“In the FCT, vulnerable persons, including pregnant women, enjoy free enrollment into the FHIS, granting them free access to services covered under the basic minimum health package through primary healthcare centres,” he said.

Olayinka added that, in support of the federal government’s ‘Renewed Hope Agenda’ and the FCT Administration’s zero tolerance for maternal mortality, several hospitals—including Gwarinpa, Nyanya, Abaji, and Kuje General Hospitals—have been designated as comprehensive emergency obstetric and neonatal care centres, offering free cesarean sections.

He urged pregnant women to utilise these government services instead of risking their lives by seeking care from quacks and unregistered facilities.

The statement also recalled that on Friday, 35-year-old Chekwube Chinagorom was brought dead to the Asokoro District Hospital after a caesarean section at the unregistered facility in Durumi. 

Although the baby survived and was referred for further care at the Asokoro hospital, the incident raised alarm over the activities of illegal operators.

The Private Health Establishments Registration and Monitoring Committee (PHERMC) investigated and confirmed that the hospital was unregistered. 

Only one staff member, Mr. Simon Godiya, a junior community health extension worker, was found on duty during an inspection.

Godiya informed officials that Murtala Jumma performed the surgery alongside another unidentified person. Efforts to reach Jumma have so far been unsuccessful.

The PHERMC team, accompanied by police officers from the Durumi Divisional Headquarters, subsequently handed over the case to the police for further investigation.