Opinion

Nigeria’s political arena has never been short of strong personalities, but few figures have remained as consistently relevant as Nasir El-Rufai. Love him or dislike him, it is difficult to ignore the fact that he has been one of the most consequential actors in Nigeria’s political journey since the return to civil rule in 1999. His recent confrontation with security authorities and the attempt to detain him without clear evidence speak less about law enforcement and more about the anxiety within the ruling establishment.

To understand the current political tension, one must first understand El-Rufai’s place in the system. From his early role in the administration of Olusegun Obasanjo to his strategic alignment in the political transitions that produced Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, Goodluck Jonathan, and later Muhammadu Buhari, El-Rufai has repeatedly demonstrated a rare understanding of how power works in Nigeria. Few politicians can claim to have operated so close to multiple presidencies across different political eras.

His experience is not accidental. As a former Minister of the Federal Capital Territory and later governor of Kaduna State, El-Rufai built a reputation for being both strategic and outspoken. That combination has earned him loyal supporters and fierce critics. Yet even his opponents concede that he understands the inner workings of Nigerian politics better than most of his contemporaries.

What makes the present situation intriguing is the reaction of the current government under President Bola Tinubu. Political watchers note that the administration appears unusually sensitive to El-Rufai’s moves and statements. The attempted arrest at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport in Abuja, which was resisted by supporters who had gathered to welcome him, has only deepened public suspicion that political motivations may be at play.

In any democratic society, the rule of law demands that allegations be backed by evidence. Detaining a prominent political figure without a clear justification risks sending the wrong message to the public. It creates the impression that state institutions are being deployed as political tools rather than impartial guardians of justice. Such actions can weaken public confidence in democracy at a time when many Nigerians are already questioning the direction of the country’s governance.

Beyond the immediate controversy, El-Rufai’s political relevance lies in his networks and influence. In Northern Nigeria, he maintains relationships with traditional leaders, religious authorities, and political elites. His connections with groups such as the Arewa Consultative Forum and his standing among many northern political actors make him a figure whose voice carries weight in national conversations.

This is also why his reported involvement in strengthening the African Democratic Congress has attracted attention. In a political environment where alliances and coalitions often determine electoral outcomes, any figure capable of mobilising political forces across regions automatically becomes a strategic concern for those in power.

El-Rufai himself has long argued that political dominance in Nigeria can be challenged through direct engagement with voters. During a public lecture in Lagos years ago, he pointed out that millions of registered voters often stay away from the polls. His argument was simple. If a politician can mobilise even a fraction of those disengaged citizens, entrenched political structures can be defeated. That message resonates strongly in today’s political climate.

The lesson from his remarks is that Nigerian democracy still holds untapped potential. Electoral participation remains one of the most powerful tools available to citizens. When politicians connect directly with voters rather than relying solely on elite political arrangements, the balance of power can shift dramatically.

The current political drama surrounding El-Rufai, therefore, reflects a deeper struggle within Nigeria’s political system. It is not merely about one individual. It is about the anxiety that emerges whenever established power structures sense the rise of alternative political forces.

Whether one agrees with his politics or not, attempting to silence a figure like El-Rufai through intimidation or questionable legal action does not strengthen democracy. If anything, it elevates his profile and reinforces the perception that he represents a genuine challenge to the status quo.

Nigeria’s democracy should be strong enough to accommodate dissent, criticism, and competition. The country has endured decades of political turbulence and should have learned by now that suppressing political voices rarely solves problems. Open contestation, debate, and accountability are the true pillars of democratic progress.

As the political landscape gradually shifts toward the next electoral cycle, figures like Nasir El-Rufai will continue to shape conversations about leadership, power, and the future of governance in Nigeria. The real question is not whether he will remain relevant. The real question is how Nigeria’s political system will respond to voices that challenge the existing order.

If democracy means anything, it must allow strong political actors to participate freely without fear of intimidation. The strength of a nation’s democracy is measured not by how it treats its friends, but by how it treats its critics.

Interesting time ahead.

Muhammad Umar Shehu wrote from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

By Abubakar Idris 

As promised in an earlier piece with the same title, published by The Daily Reality [Islam and Conservation of Natural Resources (I)], this sequel centres on certain Islamic concepts that promote environmental stewardship and the sustainable use of natural resources. To refresh our minds, the previous article established that Islam recognises humanity as stewards (khulafa, singular khalifa) of the Earth. And as argued, the stewardship is a position that comes with responsibility and accountability (Qur’an 10:14, 33:72, 6:165). 

Going into specifics, this article discusses frameworks that guide the protection, management, and wise use of forests, water bodies, and their derivatives. While modern environmental discourse often searches for new approaches – such for example as; the faulted Holistic Management by Allan Savory, and the now seemingly-promising Assisted Natural Regeneration (ANR) – the principles of Hima (protected areas), Waqf (endowment), and Israf (prohibition of wastefulness) have long been established within Islam as practical measures of conservation for what now counts more than fourteen hundred years. This paper explains.

Say it in Arabic and it’s a new term all together; say its English equivalent and everybody [I can say] knows exactly what it stands for. Hima. A designated protected area in which resource exploitation is restricted or prohibited to ensure sustainability is one of the earliest environmental conservation practices in Islamic civilisation. National Parks or Game Reserves probably came to mind. That, partly, is what it is. 

The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) himself implemented this system, declaring certain lands off-limits for private use to preserve their ecological balance. For example, the Prophet, in his wisdom, restricted access to certain grazing lands for public welfare (Abu Dawud, Hadith 3061). Ibn Taymiyyah (1984) emphasised that Hima reflects the principle of hifz al-mawarid (resource preservation) to ensure that communities use natural resources responsibly. This was not an arbitrary decision; it was an application of the trust (Amana) that mankind was given over the Earth (Qur’an 33:72). 

In some parts of Northern Nigeria, where I know better, similar traditional conservation practices still exist, even if not under the name Hima. After all, this system is not much different from modern-day protected areas or wildlife reserves. Yankari. Sumo. Gashaka-Gumti. Maladumba.

There is an argument that the Prophet preached the conservation of nature because he lived on the desert Arabian Peninsula. Interestingly, however, elements of Hima can be found in Nigeria’s traditional conservation practices, such as the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove, where land and water bodies are protected through customary religious and cultural laws (Adeogun, 2017). Such parallels are only set to reinforce the compatibility of Islamic conservation ethics with indigenous African traditions. And, if you like scientific practices as we know them today. 

Hima may be the leader, but not the only player. There is the concept of Waqf – charitable endowment – which is another major player with a vital role in conservation. Depending on how one chooses to see it, waqf allows individuals or institutions to dedicate land, water sources, or other resources for communal benefit in perpetuity. Historically, Waqf-funded public wells, orchards, and grazing lands have supported sustainable agriculture in Muslim societies (Kahf, 1995). Usman and the Ruman Well. Khalid and his oh-my-God shield. The list is long… 

In Nigeria, the practice of Waqf has been used in various forms, including the Sultan of Sokoto’s endowment initiatives for agricultural development (Abdullahi, 2018). No doubt, a revival of Waqf-based conservation efforts could support modern environmental sustainability programs. Instead of waiting for external interventions from what the Nigerian writer Chimamanda described as a “white kind foreigner”, communities can take responsibility for their environment by dedicating land as protected areas, ensuring it remains useful for generations to come.

Meanwhile, Islam strictly forbids wastefulness under the principle of Israf. The Qur’an warns: “Eat and drink, but do not waste. Indeed, He (Allah) does not love those who waste” (Qur’an 7:31). This principle extends beyond food consumption to all natural resources. The Prophet (PBUH) reinforced this in his teachings, stating: “Do not waste water, even if you are by a flowing river” (Sunan Ibn Majah, Hadith 425).

Modern environmental crises – deforestation, pollution, and climate change – can be linked to excessive resource exploitation and wastefulness. Meanwhile, Islam’s stance on Israf stresses, again and again, the need for moderation, a lesson that remains relevant in contemporary sustainability discourse. In fact, Islam not only encourages conservation – it actively condemns wastefulness. 

As if that were not enough, Islamic economic frameworks such as ‘Ushr and Zakat also contribute to conservation. ‘Ushr, a 10% tithe on agricultural produce, serves as an incentive for sustainable farming, discouraging over-extraction of soil nutrients (Kahf, 1995). Similarly, Zakat – an obligatory charity levied on wealth – can be directed toward environmental protection projects, such as afforestation and water conservation initiatives (Ibn Rushd, 2005).

If properly implemented today, these principles could provide an Islamic framework for addressing environmental challenges. In terms of sustainability, societies can address both environmental and economic challenges by aligning with the Qur’anic injunction: “And do not cause corruption upon the Earth after its reformation” (Qur’an 7:56).

Deducible from the argument presented in this short note, it does not require much argument to establish that Islam not only supports environmental conservation but also provides a structured approach to it. With comprehensive environmental ethics that integrate faith with practical conservation strategies through concepts such as Hima, Waqf, Israf, ‘Ushr, and Zakat, one staggering fact holds: protecting our environment and natural resources is a divine responsibility and not just a Western-imposed modern practice of sustainability. Like the figurative Hausas have it: “Tun kafin ayi daran aka yi kwandi”. 

Therefore, with climate change and environmental degradation intensifying, the question is whether we will take these lessons seriously or continue to ignore them as environmental crises escalate. Either way, the Qur’an is unequivocal: “Indeed, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves” (Qur’an 13:11).

* Years attached to the cited sources are for the English translations consulted.

Abubakar Idris [Misau], a Forestry and Wildlife graduate from University of Maiduguri, writes from Akure, Ondo State. He can be reached through: abubakaridrismisau@gmail.com | +2349030178211.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu 

On Saturday, March 14, 2026, Dr Muhsin Ibrahim shared a newspaper report with me announcing the passing of Jürgen Habermas. The German philosopher died at the age of ninety-six in Starnberg, an affluent town in Upper Bavaria. Muhsin was well aware of how deeply I had drawn on Habermas’s theory of the structural transformation of the public sphere in my research on Muslim Hausa media cultures. 

His passing marks the end of an era in critical social theory. Habermas’s work on communication, rationality, and society made him one of the most influential philosophers of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, as well as a major intellectual figure in postwar Germany.

Many Africanists did not initially read Habermas directly. Rather, they encountered his ideas through mediated theoretical engagements in the writings of scholars such as Brian Larkin. I myself first became aware of the public–private sphere debate as part of the broader Frankfurt School theoretical repertoire in Larkin’s studies of media culture in northern Nigeria. His work contributed significantly to later “post-public sphere” discussions by demonstrating how Habermasian insights could be adapted to different social, cultural, and technological environments.

Of Habermas’s many publications, the one that proved most decisive for me was The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Originally published in German in 1962 and translated into English by Thomas Burger (with the assistance of Frederick Lawrence) in 1989, it is an extraordinarily dense text. One often needs the guidance of someone already conversant with its arguments to appreciate its analytical elegance. 

I was fortunate to own a copy—purchased for me in the pre-digital era by Gillian Belben, then Director of the British Council in Kano. I read it several times before fully grasping how powerfully it provided a framework for understanding public reactions to Hausa films and the emergence of censorship debates.

Habermas’s study retraces the historical emergence of the bourgeois public sphere as a communicative domain distinct from the state, in which private individuals could assemble to discuss matters of common concern. By analysing the transformations of this sphere, he recovered a concept of enduring importance for social and political theory. In simplified terms, the argument draws attention to differentiated social spaces—those of the home and those of the wider public—and to the ways in which each structures particular forms of discussion and social interaction.

I relied heavily on this analytical distinction when I presented my first international seminar at the Institut für Afrikanistik, University of Cologne, on November 15, 2004. Titled “Enter the Dragon: Shari’a, Popular Culture and Film Censorship in Northern Nigeria,” the seminar explored how Hausa films often rendered visible aspects of domestic life traditionally regarded as private, thereby provoking moral anxieties and regulatory responses. By destabilising the boundary between the two spheres, Hausa cinema helped produce new forms of mediated public debate. A dramatic illustration of this dynamic emerged in the widely discussed Hiyana scandal of 2007, in which a private act became publicly circulated, with far-reaching cultural consequences.

The communicative arena that Habermas conceptualised as the bourgeois public sphere appears today in a historically transformed guise within the networked environments of social media. In Muslim societies such as those of northern Nigeria, digital platforms have intensified the long-standing negotiation between domestic moral order and public cultural expression. 

Conversations once confined to living rooms, mosque courtyards, or informal viewing gatherings now unfold in algorithmically structured yet widely accessible communicative spaces. These interactions do not reproduce Habermas’s ideal of rational-critical debate in any straightforward manner. Rather, they reveal plural, affective, and technologically mediated publics in which questions of religious legitimacy, gendered visibility, and cultural authority are continually contested. Social media, therefore, represent not the revival of the bourgeois public sphere but a new phase in its structural transformation — what might tentatively be described as a “third space.”

The world of critical social theory will undoubtedly feel the loss of Jürgen Habermas. Yet his conceptualisation of the public–private divide will continue to shape scholarly reflections on media, communication, and cultural change for years to come.

Readers interested in further discussions of the public–private debate in Islamic contexts may consult:

Kadivar, Mohsen. 2003. An Introduction to the Public and Private Debate in Islam. Social Research 70 (3): 659–680.

By Professor Abdalla Uba Adamu

The phrase can be read in two ways: the dangers within mentorship, and the danger that mentorship itself may be disappearing.

As one grows older and accumulates experience, visibility, and a measure of goodwill, public culture often expects a form of “payback.” One of the most valued ways to do this is by mentoring younger colleagues—especially those approaching exit points in their careers. Nowhere is this expectation more pronounced than in academic circles. Yet over the years, I have watched the mentorship process deteriorate from both mentors’ and mentees’ perspectives.

When I began my career, mentees were frequently exploited. They carried out the basic research for their mentors—data gathering, analysis, and preliminary drafting—while the senior scholar ultimately received the credit in subsequent publications. When some mentees later attempted to assert ownership of their intellectual labour by publishing from the same datasets, mentors simply stopped working with them. By then, however, the senior academics had already crossed the Rubicon: they had secured their place in the system and had little incentive to look back.

Being exploited intellectually is not a small matter. In academia, one’s ideas, labour, and reputation are the core of one’s identity. When these are appropriated or manipulated, it feels like a violation — not just of professional ethics, but of dignity. Watching others suffer the same fate, and then seeing the perpetrators continue to flourish without consequence, naturally intensifies the sense of injustice.

A later generation of mentors adopted a more tactical strategy. Mentees were still required to do most of the “dirty work,” often writing up results for papers or book chapters, after which mentors insisted on being listed as joint authors. I objected to this practice on several occasions, arguing that a mentor is institutionally remunerated to support the mentee’s development, not to appropriate the mentee’s intellectual rewards. Yet some mentees willingly entered into such parasitic arrangements, convinced that the mentor’s visibility would enhance their own prospects. Meanwhile, mentors leveraged the mentees’ labour to boost citation counts and online academic metrics—the modern equivalent of academic swagger.

Mentees themselves have not been entirely blameless. Whether within formal institutional settings or in the more fluid spaces of public culture, mentorship ideally enables individuals to reach their potential. Increasingly, however, the relationship is being instrumentalised for economic gain or opportunistic advantage. Recent distressing experiences involving well-known academics [on Facebook and a young man named Ismail Sani] illustrate how goodwill and a willingness to assist can be exploited by outright scams. Such incidents inevitably make potential mentors more cautious, and sometimes less willing, to extend help in the future.

What we are witnessing, therefore, is a shift in expectations from intellectual mentorship to personal patronage. In many of our social environments, the two easily get conflated. Respect for elders, the culture of assistance, and the visibility that comes with academic success can combine to create the assumption that a mentor is also a benefactor. When repeated often enough, the requests begin to feel less like genuine emergencies and more like a pattern of dependence. That can make even a generous person start to withdraw.

Another troubling dimension is the subtle guilt-tripping employed by some would-be mentees. I have received numerous requests to serve as a referee for individuals I scarcely know. We may have met briefly at an event, or they may simply have encountered something I wrote. To them, I appear as a convenient “low-hanging fruit.” Basic courtesy would require prior contact—at the very least, a reminder of the context in which we met. I usually decline such requests. After all, referees are expected to have genuine knowledge of a candidate’s work and character. How can one write an honest assessment based on nothing more than fleeting acquaintance or social-media followership?

Social media has radically transformed access to public figures, rendering them perpetually available. Once a mentoring relationship is established, some mentees interpret access as entitlement. The boundary between guidance and material obligation becomes blurred. Social media makes this worse because it creates intimacy without context — people feel they “know” you, and therefore feel justified in making personal demands. Over time, the mentor begins to anticipate the next request, and the original intellectual purpose of the relationship is quietly eroded.

In the physical, offline world, proximity often enables one to gauge the sincerity of requests for guidance or assistance. The anonymity and immediacy of online interaction, however, have produced what might be called a form of “closed distance”: a space stripped of emotional grammar and contextual obligation. In such a space, panhandling can easily be reframed as a moral claim upon those perceived as accessible or influential.

The cumulative effect is worrying. Mentorship, as a meaningful intellectual and moral relationship, may itself be in danger.

What have your own experiences been?

In governance, performance should naturally translate into greater responsibilities. Since his appointment as Special Adviser on Youth and Sports, Hon. Sani Musa Danja has demonstrated capacity, commitment, and a people-oriented approach that has delivered visible impacts on youth development and sports advancement in Kano State.

Within his first month in office, over 3,000 youths were empowered through food-related initiatives such as Nija Food. This early intervention reflected responsiveness to the economic realities facing young people and set the tone for a tenure driven by action rather than mere rhetoric.

One of Hon. Danja’s most commendable achievements is his grassroots engagement across all 44 Local Government Areas of Kano State. Through open consultations with the youths, he listened to concerns on welfare, unemployment, insecurity, and inclusion. This initiative brought governance closer to the people and helped rebuild trust between the government and youth.

To strengthen coordination and sustainability, he worked closely with Senior Special Assistants on Youth across the 44 LGAs, fostering cohesive leadership and unified strategies for youth development across the state.

Understanding the strong link between unemployment and insecurity, Hon. Danja adopted a preventive empowerment approach. Over 300 youths previously involved in thuggery and phone snatching were redirected into productive ventures, including popcorn-gurguru production, fast-food services, shawarma preparation, and baking. This intervention not only provided livelihoods but also contributed to crime reduction and social reintegration.

His tenure also saw institutional support for voluntary youth and security organisations, including the Nigerian Boy Scouts and other community-based groups such as the Civilian JTF Kano. Through the provision of working materials and encouragement, discipline, and volunteerism, community service among young people was strengthened.

In addition, a statewide Youth Symposium Day was organised to promote dialogue, leadership, and civic engagement, involving participants from all 44 LGAs. Hon. Danja also paid visits to youth training and skills acquisition centres across the state, encouraging trainees and reassuring them that government support remains within reach (kusa da gwamnati).

Beyond programs, compassion has remained a defining feature of his leadership. Financial assistance was extended to youths facing serious health challenges, including those with spinal cord-related disabilities, demonstrating an inclusive and humane approach to governance.

In sports development, Hon. Danja contributed to the revival of neglected sports such as volleyball, encouraging youth participation and talent development. Administratively, he reorganised and strengthened his office to ensure efficiency, transparency, and effective service delivery.

Currently, his office is coordinating a large-scale youth empowerment initiative under YEIDEP, targeting over 1.2 million youth participants in skills acquisition and entrepreneurship, reflecting executive-level vision and readiness.

Given his performance, statewide reach, and ability to connect with young people, Hon. Sani Musa Danja is well-positioned to deliver even greater impact.

A passionate appeal is therefore made to His Excellency, Engr. Abba Kabir Yusuf, to consider appointing Hon. Sani Musa Danja as the Commissioner for Youth and Sports and nominate him to the Kano State Executive Council. Such a decision would ensure continuity, consolidate gains, and further strengthen Kano State’s youth and sports development agenda.

Shamsuddeen Muazu (AbuMuhd) wrote from Kano State. He can be reached via abumuhdpress@gmail.com.

By Misbahu Muhammad

For decades, the bustling Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market has been more than a commercial hub; it is a community cornerstone, a source of livelihood, and for many, a family heritage. Today, that heritage is under threat as the Tarauni Local Government Council pushes forward a redevelopment plan that has left the very owners of the land feeling sidelined, silenced, and strong-armed.

The council’s vision for a modern market is not, in itself, contentious. Traders and landowners alike acknowledge the need for improved facilities, better sanitation, and enhanced security. The conflict lies not in the what, but in the how.

Landowners and stakeholders are excluded from the planning process. The architectural designs, the project scope, and the financial model were reportedly finalised without their meaningful consultation. The community, whose assets and futures are directly implicated, was reduced to mere spectators in a decision that reshapes their property and prosperity.

“They came with a completed plan and said, ‘This is what we are doing,’” recounted shop owners, whose families have owned plots/shops in the market for five decades “Our suggestions, our concerns about access, shop sizes, or temporary relocation were not entertained. It was presented as a take-it-or-leave-it decree, not a joint venture or partnership.”

The council’s proposed framework is a Joint Venture (JV) arrangement. While JVs can be equitable, landowners report having no alternative models to consider—no option for self-redevelopment through a cooperative society or banks, build-operate-transfer (BOT), no fair buy-out offer, and no room to negotiate the terms of the partnership. The proposed JV terms remain opaque, with fears that they heavily favour the government or its private partners, potentially leaving original owners with diminished stakes and control over their own land.

This singular, non-negotiable pathway has been widely interpreted not as an offer, but as an ultimatum.

The most alarming allegation from the developers is the use of coercive pressure. They claim government officials have insinuated or explicitly stated that failure to consent to the JV could lead to the revocation of their rights or the outright seizure of their land under the guise of “public interest” or “development control.”

“The message is clear: sign on our terms or lose everything. “This isn’t negotiation; it feels like legalised land grabbing. We are being forced to surrender our property rights under threat.” Currently, many landowners are panicking and have started selling their shops at giveaway prices to these rent seekers, willing to go to any lengths to grab the land.

This approach raises significant legal and ethical questions. The Land Use Act, which vests land administration with the state government, mandates due process and equitable treatment. Experts argue that excluding landowners from a process that affects their fundamental proprietary interests may violate principles of fair hearing and natural justice.

Redevelopment must be inclusive and transparent, presenting a single, non-negotiable contract under the implied threat of revocation; crossing that line. It undermines the trust essential to public-private collaboration and sets a dangerous precedent for urban development.

The Tarauni Local Government Chairman has been advocating for a one-for-one shop. This slogan in itself is ill-conceived, as it lacks an appropriate valuation of shops and a compensation mechanism.  He always argued that the redevelopment is “for the greater good of all” and will “transform the area into a modern commercial zone and must be done even after his tenure. 

As tensions rise, the path to a peaceful and prosperous Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market lies in genuine dialogue. Stakeholders are calling for:

1. An immediate halt to the current coercive process.
2. Full, transparent disclosure of the JV terms, partners, and financial projections.
3. The creation of a truly representative committee of landowners to re-negotiate the redevelopment framework.
4. Exploration of multiple development models, allowing landowners to choose the option that best secures their legacy and livelihood.

The soul of Gyaɗi-Gyaɗi Market is its people. Any redevelopment that severs that connection is no development at all. The Tarauni Local Government has an opportunity to correct course—to build not just a new market, but a renewed covenant of trust with the community it serves. The alternative is a legacy of conflict and resentment that no new building can ever hide.

By Isyaka Laminu Badamasi

As Muslims, we are encouraged to support the vulnerable among us during the holy month of Ramadan, as acts of charity during this sacred period are multiplied in reward. Ramadan is a time devoted to ibadah (worship), compassion, and the pursuit of spiritual salvation. Both the Qur’an and the Hadith emphasise the importance of helping those in need, particularly during this blessed month.

Zakat, by its very concept, is an Islamic strategy for poverty alleviation and empowerment. It is designed to enhance economic well-being, improve livelihoods, significantly reduce the number of people living in poverty, and strategically increase the number of economically independent individuals. If this divine system is fully adopted and properly incorporated into our socio-economic structures, it can pave the way for a more prosperous, stable, and secure society. This principle is well supported by Islamic teachings, and more information can be obtained from the Zakat and Endowment Units within Shariah Commissions across Muslim-majority states.

As an observer—and someone who has had the opportunity to relate and work with people who serve as members of committees distributing Ramadan palliatives, Sadaqat, Zakat and other palliative programs —a thought often comes to mind during these exercises. The distribution packages usually target vulnerable individuals such as orphans, widows, persons with disabilities, the elderly, internally displaced persons, and those struggling to survive amid the multidimensional poverty affecting many communities in this part of the world.

While this gesture is noble and commendable, I strongly believe that some of these beneficiaries, with the right support, could become economically self-reliant and eventually leave the long queues for palliative collections—queues that, in some unfortunate cases, have even led to injuries or deaths. We can all remember the stampedes during palliative distributions across the country. 

Considering the hundreds of millions, or even billions, of Naira spent annually on Ramadan palliatives by wealthy individuals, corporate organisations, politicians, and governments — which is commendable and should be sustained — it may be worthwhile to redirect part of these resources, or allocate a specific portion toward empowerment initiatives.

For example, a modest sum of N10,000 or N20,000 can be enough to help some women start small income-generating activities. Interestingly, many of the food packages distributed during Ramadan or other palliative programs are often worth more than that amount. (I am not referring to those sharing cooked food or smaller packages) If such resources or separate allocation were converted into empowerment opportunities, they could promote sustainable development rather than temporary relief through the routine distribution of food items. Many professional entrepreneurs and social workers can attest to the long-term benefits of such an approach.

At Initiatives for Sustainable Development (I4SD), we are preparing to pilot this strategy by supporting a small group of vulnerable women through green-skills economic empowerment programs. Our aim is to create a practical model that Governments, philanthropists, corporate organisations, NGOs, and well-meaning individuals can replicate. We welcome professional support, partnerships, and collaboration to help actualise this vision for a more sustainable future—one filled with dignity, happiness, and social tranquillity.

ALLAH YA karbi ibadun mu, amin.

Isyaka Laminu Badamasi wrote via makwalla82@gmail.com.

By Dr. Umar Musa Kallah

As the US-Israeli war against Iran enters its second week, the initial narrative of a rapid Western triumph has collapsed. What began with coordinated strikes on Iranian leadership and infrastructure has instead unleashed a sophisticated Iranian counter-campaign rooted in decades of preparation, control of global chokepoints, and asymmetric warfare. Verifiable maritime data, energy market reports, and military analyses confirm that Iran is not merely holding ground, it is systematically eroding the economic foundations of American power and its Gulf allies.

The closure of the Strait of Hormuz stands as Iran’s most potent immediate weapon. Since Iran’s declaration and attacks on transiting vessels in early March 2026, shipping traffic has effectively halted, with oil and LNG flows, representing roughly 20% of global trade is severely disrupted. Global crude prices have spiked, insurance markets have pulled coverage, and Asian importers face acute shortages. This is no bluff: tanker tracking and satellite imagery show near-total cessation of commercial traffic, directly strangling revenues for US-aligned Gulf states.

Tehran has complemented this blockade with hundreds of ballistic missiles and drones targeting US military installations and infrastructure across Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia. Strikes have damaged communication systems, radar sites, and air bases, including the US Fifth Fleet headquarters and Al Udeid Air Base. The cost asymmetry is telling: cheap Iranian drones and missiles exhaust multimillion-dollar Western interceptors at a pace that cannot be sustained indefinitely.

Iran has also struck desalination plants and power infrastructure critical to Gulf freshwater supplies. With over 90% of drinking water in several Gulf nations dependent on energy-intensive desalination, these targeted hits are creating humanitarian pressure and accelerating economic paralysis. By weaponizing both energy exports and water security, Tehran is holding civilian populations and regional economies hostage.

This economic siege directly undermines the Gulf sovereign wealth funds that have bankrolled much of America’s AI boom. Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund and Abu Dhabi’s Mubadala have channeled tens of billions into US tech, data centers, and AI ventures. With oil revenues frozen, airspace closed, and infrastructure under fire, these funds are already curtailing new commitments to American projects. The resulting capital drought threatens Silicon Valley valuations and risks triggering a broader stock-market correction, a strategic blow at the heart of US technological supremacy.

None of this is improvised. Iran has spent decades building precisely this capacity: an estimated pre-war arsenal of thousands of ballistic missiles, mass-produced drones, and resilient proxy networks designed for attrition warfare. Its high-ranking scientists and engineers have indigenously advanced these systems through reverse-engineering and innovation, often drawing on historical technological exchanges. Battle-hardened IRGC commanders , seasoned warlords operating with decentralized command, coordinate the response, while a population of over 90 million, tempered by generations of sanctions and pressure, demonstrates profound civilizational resilience and refusal to surrender easily.

This internal steel is coupled with broader strategic depth from longstanding partnerships. Russia, China, North Korea, and Pakistan have provided diplomatic condemnation of the US-Israeli aggression, alongside decades of technological collaboration in missiles, drones, and defense systems that now equip Iran to endure. While direct military intervention has been limited, these ties  combined with Iran’s own preparations will ensure sustained resistance that outlasts Western political will and munitions stockpiles.

The world now faces Tehran’s calculated endgame: choking global energy arteries, disrupting vital water supplies, and redirecting Gulf capital away from American innovation. Every day of blockade, every intercepted drone salvo, and every sign of Iranian societal cohesion deepens the strain on Washington and its partners. Iran did not stumble into this conflict; it prepared for it across a lifetime of strategic patience. As oil prices climb, water crises intensify, AI investments falter, and resilient Iranian forces continue to dictate the tempo, the balance of power is shifting decisively.

The verifiable data from shipping trackers, strike assessments, and resilience analyses  is clear: Iran is not on the defensive. It is leveraging geography, technology, alliances, and unbreakable national will to hold the world ransom. Tehran is on course to prevail.

Dr Umar Musa Kallah, a writer and community advocate, can be reached via yakubunasirukhalid@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Isah Zng

For many students, gaining admission into a university marks the beginning of a hopeful journey toward a better future. For me, however, gaining admission to study Mass Communication at Bayero University, Kano (BUK) came with a difficult reality: I had no sponsor to support my education.

There was no one to take full responsibility for my expenses, including feeding and other basic needs. Yet despite this challenge, I refused to let my circumstances stop me from pursuing my dream. I held firmly to three principles that guided my journey throughout the university years: faith, hope, and hard work.

When I left home for BUK to begin my studies, I quickly realised that survival would require determination beyond the classroom. I had to find a way to support myself financially while keeping up with my academic responsibilities. Deep down, I knew that no one would suddenly come to rescue me from my situation. If I wanted to succeed, I had to depend on my own efforts.

With that understanding, I made a decision that would define my entire university experience. Every weekend, I would leave the university campus to work as a woodcutter. The job was physically demanding and exhausting, but it became my primary means of survival.

From my first year in university, I maintained this routine of attending lectures and focusing on my studies during the week, then travelling off campus on weekends to cut and process firewood for sale. The work was not easy, but it provided the little income I needed to sustain myself.

Over time, I found additional opportunities to work. During my second year at the university, I started working in two different locations outside BUK. I worked under individuals such as Dan Azumi and Alhaji Aminu Dorayi Babba. Through these jobs, I earned money that helped me meet my basic needs.

The income from the work was modest but meaningful. On average, I earn between ₦3,000 and ₦4,000. On better days, I could earn between ₦10,000 and ₦13,000. That money helped me buy food and other necessities. Sometimes, it even allowed me to support two of my friends who were also struggling to survive in school.

One remarkable thing about the work was its reliability. Whenever I went out to work, I was almost certain that I would return with something to eat. It taught me the dignity of labour and reminded me that no honest work should ever be looked down upon.

Although balancing academic studies with physical labour was challenging, I remained committed to completing my education. Each day of hard work reminded me that the sacrifices I was making were steps toward a brighter future.

Today, Alhamdulillah, I have successfully completed my four-year programme at Bayero University, Kano. My graduation marks the end of one important chapter of my life and the beginning of another phase filled with new responsibilities and aspirations.

Through my story, I want to encourage young people, especially students facing financial hardship, not to lose hope. Many young people today feel discouraged when they encounter difficulties in pursuing their education. However, challenges should not define our limits; instead, they can inspire us to find creative ways to achieve our goals.

There is dignity in every form of honest work. Whether it is cutting wood, farming, trading, or doing any other job, what truly matters is the determination to move forward despite obstacles.

Life is not always easy for people who come from humble backgrounds. But it can still be meaningful and inspiring when we use our difficult situations as opportunities for growth. Hard work, patience, and faith can transform even the toughest circumstances into stepping stones toward success.

My journey from wood-cutting to earning a university degree is a testament to the power of perseverance. It is a reminder that with determination and self-belief, even the most challenging path can lead to success.

Muhammad Isa wrote via isahmuhammad571@gmail.com.

By: Malam Khalid Imam

The appointment of Hajiya Bilkisu Maimaita, undoubtedly one of the finest Kano female technocrats, as the Acting Head of Service, by His Excellency, the Executive Governor of Kano State, Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf, on 10th March, 2026, is both historic and a strategic move in the right direction.

The esteemed Hajiya Bilkisu Maimaita, who hails from Yakasai Quarters in Kano Municipal LGA, is a true doyenne of public service, an astute policy maker, a seasoned public administrator, and a well-trained personnel who has been in active public service for over three decades, and now serving as the Permanent Secretary.

She is quite famed as a respected, tested, and trusted administrator. Maimaita is well known as one of the reliable wheels moving the vehicle of seamless public service sector, having served in different capacities over the decades. Her new appointment as the Acting Head of Service by His Excellency, Governor Yusuf, is indeed a strategic move to entrust the daunting task of ensuring the continuous function of the heart of Kano’s public service to the right hands.

Her trademarks in the service are trust, resilience, assiduity, capability, and reliability. Before her new role as the female Acting Head of Service, she has been serving as the Permanent Secretary, Administration and General Services (AGS) in the Cabinet Office.

No doubt, Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota’s appointment is a confirmation to her unwavering commitment to duty, unmatched experience and exemplary service. Sure, her wealth of experience and proven track record make her an ideal fit for this role.

In another light, Maimota’s appointment is a bold testament to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s commitment to empowering more Kano professional women and recognizing their invaluable contributions to Kano State’s development. And without emphasizing, this shows that the governor values the impact of women in leadership positions and is willing to give them the platform to shine as he dedicates energy in pursuing the realization of his government’s Kano First Agenda.

A big kudos to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf for this right move, which, without denying, is an astounding milestone, showcasing the government’s unwavering dedication to inclusivity and gender equality. Counting on her fabulous experience, Bilkisu Maimota’s leadership in this new role will undoubtedly inspire more women to take on key roles in the state.

Once more, kudos to Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf for this strategic move of entrusting in Maimota this task as well as opening windows to Kano professional women to serve their state with distinction. Indeed, Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota’s leadership is sure to propel Kano State’s public service to greater heights.

At this juncture, on behalf of the Yakasai Community, where she hails, I wish her Allah’s continued guidance and success in the service of our dear state. Wishing our Acting Head of Service sound health and prosperity in all her personal endeavours.
Congratulations to our very own reverential Hajiya Bilkisu Maimota, a true doyenne of Kano public service.

Khalid Imam is a Kano-based bilingual writer, educator and a Deputy Director at the Monitoring and Evaluation Unit, Science and Technical Schools Board, Kano, who also serves as the President of Kano Literary Space. He can be reached via: 07075403774 or khalidimam2002@gmail.com