Lifestyle

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

By Aisha Musa Auyo

Let me start with this adage: being predictable is boring. The only way to keep attracting your man is by constantly exciting him.

A woman’s unpredictability and mystery can add excitement and intrigue to a relationship, keeping things fresh and engaging. This sense of mystery fosters curiosity and a desire to continually learn more about her, which can help prevent complacency. By maintaining an air of unpredictability, a woman can inspire her partner to stay attentive and actively invested, enhancing emotional and romantic connections.

A classy woman in a relationship exudes respect, grace, and self-confidence. She values herself and her partner, communicates maturely, and maintains her dignity even in challenging situations. Her elegance comes through her kindness, understanding, and ability to express love while setting healthy boundaries. This balance makes her an inspiring and cherished partner.

There are many ways to display charm and sophistication in everyday life.

When it comes to names, choosing affectionate ones for your spouse can depend on the mood, occasion, and shared history. Some days, you can be casual and warm, like “My love,” “Sweetheart,” or “Habibi.” At other times, use respectful titles like “Sir,” “Ranka ya dade,” “Alangubro,” or “Yallabai.”

Use playful nicknames on fun and flirty days (I won’t drop examples here, yauwa). During special moments, use affirming and supportive names like “My Hero” or “My Rock.”

In terms of dressing, if you’re always wearing native wear, surprise him with bum shorts and a spaghetti top. Or try a clingy evening gown or a see-through nightie. Let him know you possess what those Ashawos flaunt, except yours is reserved for his eyes alone.

When styling clothes, try different outfits that give you a new look and poise. We love comfort, but we can still make comfort look sexy and appealing.

Before experimenting with style, know your body type. Know what flatters your figure and what doesn’t. You can’t wear a fitted gown with a big tummy or bum shorts with bow legs. If you’re Qashi da Rai, avoid bubu—it may make you look like Muciya da Zani at home. Yauwa! This isn’t body shaming—it’s being real.

On perfume: know that perfume is the silent language of emotions. A single scent can lift a mood, stir memories, and instantly transform feelings. Use perfume to your advantage at home. It’s a soft weapon of attraction.

Learn to use scents to evoke peace, desire, and comfort. Use different perfumes for the day, night, special occasions, or even just to create a relaxing atmosphere. If you stick to one scent, he might get used to it, and it may lose its effect. Find out which scents he likes and rotate them. Explore English and Arab perfumes, humra, oils, kulaccam, incense, body mist, body milk, body sprays, bath mists—you name it. And remember: your house should smell pleasant too. Don’t smell like a flower while the house smells like Daddawa! Set the tone with your space, then yourself.

Nana Aisha (RA) said:

“I used to perfume the Prophet (peace be upon him) with the best perfume I could find until I saw the shine of the perfume on his head and beard.” (Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 5923)

When it comes to homemaking, we must constantly evolve. If you can’t change furniture often, update your space with small touches: new decor, decluttering, rearranging, or freshening up your environment. Minimal furnishing in small spaces often gives the cleanest look. Keep the house neat and germ-free. Fumigate regularly, burn incense, and use home mists, fresheners, and mopping sprays.

On behaviour—this is tricky, because we can’t be who we are not, but we can improve. If you’re naturally moody, try being more cheerful around your man. A cheerful wife is a huge turn-on. Be the woman he rushes home to. This way, he’ll notice quickly when something is off.

Avoid nagging. Often, a gentle reminder or silence works better than complaints. Be calm when he expects arguments, and then ‘show him shege’ when he least expects it—that’s the art of being unpredictable with a touch of sophistication. But this only works if your man is mature and understanding.

If you have the freedom and mutual understanding in your relationship, playfully surprise him by pretending to be away—perhaps plan a two-day trip, but return after just one. Welcome him with a good meal, a new nightie, and a memorable evening. Or, if he’s open to it, surprise him at work or send a special lunch to brighten his day.

If you always cook continental dishes, try traditional meals sometimes. If you usually serve food plainly, try plating and garnishing. Serve kunun tsamiya instead of a smoothie, or fresh juice instead of fruit salad. Don’t be the woman who only cooks shinkafa da miya and tuwo. Learn, upgrade, and initiate.

For hairstyles, try different braids or updos—ponytails, doughnuts, Kitson GABA, all-back, Calabar styles, etc.- but choose based on your hair type. Don’t insist on a style that doesn’t suit your hair. Most importantly, keep your hair clean and fragrant.

In Oza’s other room, learn to initiate intimacy. Don’t be the boring wife who waits for her husband to make the first move. A wife initiating intimacy strengthens emotional and physical bonds, makes her husband feel desired and valued, and breaks the assumption that one partner must always lead intimacy. It deepens connection, enhances communication, and fosters a more fulfilling relationship.

Also, explore different styles to keep things exciting and mutually satisfying.

If you’re used to black henna, try red or maroon. If you always wear ‘daurin ture ka ga tsiya, switch to turbans or different gele styles.

Sometimes, soften your voice—lower your tone and speak gently when needed. I heard there’s a tone called bedroom voice, right?

If you’re usually strong and independent, try being soft and playful sometimes.

If you’re always asking for money, ease up on small requests, especially when he’s managing big expenses. Surprise him instead with a perfume, shoes, a book, attire, pyjamas, a watch, or a ring. You shouldn’t always be the one expecting gifts. That’s why we say ‘ki nemi kudi, Lantana’.

And to you, Dan Lami or Man Sagir, know that all this charm, sophistication, versatility, and surprise can’t happen if you are too strict, stingy, or overbearing. You must be friendly and generous with your words, smiles, time, emotions, and yes, your wallet. Yauwa.

Lemme stop here….

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 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.