Opinion

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido

This week marks a historic milestone for Islamic social finance in Nigeria. For the first time, the Association of Zakat and Waqf Operators in Nigeria (AZAWON) has declared a National Zakat and Waqf Week, running from January 30th to the following weekend. Across the country, more than 70 member organisations are participating through various programmes. The goal is simple but urgent: to educate, enlighten, and reawaken Muslims to the power and relevance of zakat and waqf in today’s world.

In Gombe State, the Zakah and Waqf Foundation is leading a series of activities during the week, including khutbahs, public lectures, zakat disbursement programmes, advocacy visits, and radio and television engagements. One of the key events was an invited guest Friday khutbah I delivered at Fuad Lababidi Mosque, carrying a message many communities desperately need to hear: that zakat and waqf are not just religious rituals but economic systems designed to build strong, self-reliant societies.

A central theme of the sermon was that Islam does not accept poverty as destiny, nor hunger as a permanent condition. Allah says, “Take from their wealth a charity by which you purify them and cause them to grow” (Qur’an 9:103), and He reminds us, “The example of those who spend their wealth in the way of Allah is like a seed that grows seven ears; in every ear are a hundred grains” (Qur’an 2:261). 

The verses above show that giving in Islam is not a loss but rather a source of growth, purification, and multiplication. Islam built a community where the wealthy bear responsibility for the vulnerable, the strong uplift the weak, and wealth circulates rather than remaining locked in a few hands. Two of the greatest tools for achieving this are zakat and waqf.

Many people today see zakat only as short-term relief — food packs, cash support, or emergency help. While these are important, zakat in its full vision is far greater. It is a poverty-reduction system, a wealth-redistribution mechanism, and a tool for economic empowerment. When properly managed, zakat can fund small businesses for the poor, provide tools and equipment for tradespeople, support education and skill development, and help recipients become earners. In other words, zakat is meant to move people from dependency to productivity. 

Globally, experts estimate that billions of dollars in zakat are paid annually by Muslims, and if organised professionally and invested productively, this wealth could significantly reduce poverty across the Muslim world.

If zakat is the fuel of social protection, waqf is the engine of long-term development. Waqf, or Islamic endowment, is a form of continuous charity where an asset is dedicated for the sake of Allah and its benefits are used for the public good. Historically, waqf funded universities and schools, hospitals and clinics, roads, bridges, and water systems, orphan care and social welfare, as well as libraries and centres of knowledge. 

For centuries, Muslim civilisation ran on waqf. In places like the Ottoman Empire, vast portions of public services, including education and healthcare, were financed through endowments rather than government budgets. In many classical Muslim cities, it was possible for a person to be born in a waqf-supported hospital, educated in a waqf-funded school, work in a waqf-funded market, and even be buried using waqf land — all without costing the state.

The Nigerian reality today presents serious challenges: youth unemployment, underfunded schools, poor healthcare access, and widespread poverty. Yet Islam has already placed in our hands the tools to respond. The khutbah stressed that we must stop seeing development as the government’s responsibility alone. Islamic civilisation flourished not only because of governments but also because of community-driven institutions like zakat and waqf.

The message echoed across the nation. In Abuja, Alhabibiyyah Islamic Society, through its Zakat and Waqf Unit, organised a major programme to mark its 5th Zakat and Waqf Day and the 15th Public Zakat Disbursement on 31st January 2026. The event drew national attention, with the National Chairman of AZAWON, Malam Muhammad Lawal Maidoki (represented by Honourable Balarabe Shehu Kakale), delivering the keynote address. A high-level panel discussion followed on the theme “Zakat, Waqf and the New Tax Regime,” where I served as a panellist alongside Taiwo Oyedele, Chairman of the Presidential Fiscal Policy and Tax Reforms Committee (represented), Hajiya Adama of Al-Ikhlas Waqf Trust, Borno, and Barrister Dele Oye, Founder of Dele Oye & Associates. My contribution once again emphasised the strategic developmental and civilisational roles of zakat and waqf, highlighting practical ways these instruments can be used to address our numerous socioeconomic challenges in a structured, sustainable manner.

The implications are clear. Zakat institutions must move toward professional management, proper data systems, and empowerment-based programmes that help beneficiaries start businesses and become self-reliant. Waqf must also evolve beyond its limited perception. Instead of restricting waqf to graveyards and mosques, communities can establish rental properties, shopping complexes, farms and orchards, schools, and clinics with income-generating arms. The profits can then fund education, healthcare, scholarships, and social welfare on a permanent basis. Families can dedicate houses or land as waqf, mosques can initiate community waqf projects, businesspeople can create corporate waqf funds, and professionals can contribute their expertise in management and governance.

The National Zakat and Waqf Week is therefore more than a ceremonial event; it is a wake-up call. If Muslims in Nigeria pay zakat correctly and channel it productively, establish and manage waqf professionally, and build partnerships between scholars, business leaders, and experts, then by Allah’s permission, we can see reduced poverty, more jobs for youth, better schools and hospitals, and stronger, more dignified communities. 

The revival of zakat and waqf is not just about charity; it is a strategy for economic revival and social stability. As emphasised in the khutbah and in the Abuja panel discussion, empowering the Muslim community will not happen through speeches alone, but through planning, management, transparency, and trust. The tools are already in our hands. The question is whether we will use them.

Amir Lamido, PhD, wrote from Abuja, Nigeria. 

By Garba Sidi

In Nigeria, academic failure is often treated as a life sentence. A poor result can earn a student a damaging label—not serious, not intelligent, or not destined for success. I know this because I lived it. Yet my journey proves that failure, no matter how often it occurs, does not end a person’s future. Giving up does.

After completing SS3, I sat for WAEC, NECO, and JAMB, like millions of Nigerian students whose dreams rest on examination numbers. When my WAEC result was released, I had only three credits—Chemistry, Hausa, and Animal Husbandry. Showing the result to my father was one of the most painful moments of my life. His words, suggesting I might have to repeat SS3, broke my heart. Still, I chose prayer over bitterness.

My JAMB score of 145 further reduced my chances of gaining admission to university. Though ashamed, I showed the result to my father. He advised patience and encouraged me to wait for my NECO result. When NECO came out, I earned seven credits, including English and Mathematics, but failed Physics. At the time, I did not realise how much that single subject would shape my future.

Like many science students, I dreamed of studying Medicine at Bayero University, Kano. I also applied to the College of Education, Gumel, and Hussaini Adamu Polytechnic, Kazaure. With my JAMB score, university admission was impossible. My options narrowed, and disappointment became familiar.

On my uncle’s advice, I enrolled in Remedial Studies at Tafawa Balewa University, Bauchi, hoping to later study Engineering, a course believed to offer better job prospects. I passed the remedial exams and continued attending lectures while preparing for another JAMB. When I failed again, my journey in Bauchi ended abruptly. Without a successful JAMB result, remedial studies could not secure admission.

I returned home discouraged. Applications to the College of Education, Gumel, and Bilyaminu Usman Polytechnic, Hadejia, yielded no results. While friends moved on to universities and colleges, I spent most of 2015 at home, surrounded by self-doubt and silent questions about my worth.

In 2017, I wrote JAMB again and scored 171, meeting the reduced cut-off mark for Sule Lamido University, Kafin Hausa. I was offered admission to study Mathematics and even attended the interview. However, during registration, my admission was withdrawn because I did not have a credit in Physics. It was another painful reminder that failure has consequences—but it does not have to be final.

Once again, family intervention redirected my path. Through my uncle’s connection at the College of Education Gashuwa, affiliated with the University of Maiduguri, I secured admission. I randomly chose Physical Education (PHE), not out of passion, but out of necessity. I was admitted into the preliminary batch with only three weeks left before examinations.

That short period forced a decision: surrender or struggle. I chose to struggle. I attended lectures relentlessly and studied day and night. Of the eight courses I took, I failed only one in my first semester. I cleared it later and completed the programme successfully.

During my studies, I met Haruna Aseeni, a Health Education student. Our friendship began simply—sharing study materials. We stayed connected long after graduation. I later completed my NYSC between July 2023 and June 2024, unsure of what the future held.

Then came a message on a Sunday evening. Haruna informed me that someone was looking for a graduate of Physical Education. A few phone calls later, I was submitting my credentials. After an interview in Dutse, I received an Offer of Appointment as Sports Officer II under the Jigawa State Ministry of Information, Youth, Sports and Culture, and was posted to Hadejia Stadium.

What struck me most was that the opportunity came through someone I once helped academically—not through influence or desperation, but through relationship and character. Even more surprising, my father and uncles later discovered they already knew the official who facilitated the process. Life has a way of connecting efforts in ways we do not expect.

My story is not extraordinary. It is Nigerian. It reflects a system where setbacks are common, opportunities are uneven, and success is rarely linear. But it carries a message young people must hear: failure is not the opposite of success; quitting is.

To students and graduates facing rejection, delay, or disappointment, my advice is simple: do not give up. Respect everyone you meet. Work hard wherever you find yourself. Pray, persevere, and remain humble.

You never know who God will use to change your story.

By Usman Abdullahi Koli

“Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.” Times change, and we change with them. Some years arrive with spectacle, with upheaval that demands attention. Others arrive quietly, insistently, reshaping life before their weight is fully understood. 2025 in Nigeria was of the latter. It did not collapse. It did not triumph. It compelled the nation to confront itself.

On a Tuesday morning in early January, before any official pronouncement or statistical briefing, the country was already aware of the season’s challenge. At the motor parks, drivers adjusted fares in silence, anticipating rising fuel costs. From Idumota Market in Lagos to Monday Market in Maiduguri and Sabo Gari Market in Kano, traders shifted prices mid-morning, recalibrating their margins as households silently reshuffled meals and transport plans.

Some Nigerians recounted how they had begun rationing electricity at home and combining trips to reduce petrol expenses. Survival, not aspiration, became the framework of daily life. Everyone began to adjust to the sharp inflationary impact of the new economic regime.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu had warned that national renewal would be neither fast nor painless. He described it as a painful surgery necessary to recalibrate the economy for future gains. By midyear, the warning had manifested. Inflation, driven by food and energy prices, persisted relentlessly. The naira existed in a state of limbo, neither collapsing completely nor regaining dignity. Salary-dependent citizens faced daily compromise, while speculators adjusted and profited. Official statistics merely confirmed what citizens already knew: adjustment had become endurance.

Yet governance did not stand still. Revenue mobilisation improved. Leakages narrowed. Subnational governments were compelled to confront fiscal realities rather than maintain dependence on the centre. By April, a comprehensive tax reform framework was unveiled, aiming to redefine who pays, how, and to what effect. Properly implemented, it could stabilise finances for decades. Miscommunicated, it risks deepening mistrust. In public policy, substance alone is never sufficient; legitimacy also requires understanding, transparency, and civic consent.

Security offered evidence of the state’s potential when coordinated and intelligence-driven. Operations across Zamfara, Katsina, and Kaduna disrupted entrenched bandit networks. Camps once considered permanent were dismantled and feared commanders neutralised. The significance was less in propaganda and more in the quiet lesson that impunity is not inevitable. Yet highways remained perilous, rural communities exposed, and kidnappings continued. Fear, while less permanent, had not fully dissipated. Structural justice, inclusion, and local legitimacy remain essential for lasting security.

International and regional developments added further complexity to an already strained year. Statements by the current United States President, Donald Trump, asserting that Christians were being targeted in Nigeria and describing the situation as a Christian genocide, drew strong domestic and international reactions, reopening debates about sovereignty, narrative framing, and the external politicisation of Nigeria’s internal security challenges. Almost simultaneously, a reported missile strike in Sokoto, justified as an operation against the so-called Lakurawa terror group, raised serious questions about intelligence credibility, civilian safety, and the expanding theatre of counterterrorism. Within the subregion, Nigeria’s foreign and security policy faced its own test when Nigerian soldiers en route to Portugal were detained in Burkina Faso, a development that followed closely on the heels of an attempted coup plot in the Benin Republic and Nigeria’s military support for the Cotonou government. Together, these events underscored the fragility of regional trust and the growing cost of instability beyond Nigeria’s borders.

The health sector revealed fragility in stark terms. Nationwide strikes by resident doctors, followed by allied health workers, paralysed tertiary hospitals. Emergency rooms were stretched. Laboratories and pharmacies operated at skeletal capacity. Citizens faced delays, avoidable loss, and mounting uncertainty. Professional sacrifice, not institutional strength, sustained the system. No nation aspiring to seriousness can indefinitely rely on individual endurance while postponing structural repair.

Midyear brought a moment of national reflection with the death of former President Muhammadu Buhari. Flags flew at half-mast. Tributes poured from private citizens, politicians, and international observers alike. Yet beneath the ceremonial mourning lay unresolved questions: the legacy of decisions, the costs of policy, and the gaps left in leadership. History rarely closes neatly. It lingers, asking questions long after the ceremonies end.

Politically, the year matured with quiet intensity. Alliances shifted, ambitions hardened. Northern cities, Kano in particular, became symbolic mirrors of broader anxieties. Silence, rather than violence, became the language of anticipation. Even without a formal declaration, Nigerians understood that political calculation was underway, shaping the landscape for future contests.

Amid pressure, civic life persisted. Humour flourished in the streets, on social media, and in private gatherings. Satire became a language of participation, reminding those in authority that power is both observed and interpreted. In a constrained civic space, laughter and critique became inseparable.

By the year’s close, one conclusion is unavoidable. 2025 was not a season of miracles. It was a season of exposure. Governance demonstrated competence and direction in some areas, while revealing gaps in empathy and communication in others. Citizens displayed resilience, but also impatience and a refusal to be sustained by rhetoric alone. Reform is underway. Its success depends on trust, empathy, and the leaders’ capacity to carry the public along honestly.

Nigeria did not fall. But we keep hope alive that the giant will rise. It confronted itself, and comfort proved in short supply. This confrontation, uncomfortable as it was, may yet lay the foundation for a more serious engagement with the demands of nationhood. Nations rarely change because they are persuaded; they change because they are compelled to see themselves clearly.

In this, 2025 may yet prove instructive.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via mernoukoli@gmail.com. 

By Dahiru Kasimu Adamu

Ahead of Argungu International fishing and cultural festival which was scheduled to hold from 11 February to 14 February 2025 we take a look of some tourist centers to visit in the ancient town of Kabawan Kanta.

Argungu International fishing and cultural festival is a unique  global event previously celebrates annually, it rooted in the pursuit of peace and unity. This extraordinary event showcases the rich historical legacy of the Kabawan Kanta and preserves the invaluable cultural heritage of the Kabawa people.

More than a festival, Argungu is a world-renowned tourism destination, significantly contributing to the socio-economic development of the town, Kebbi State and Nigeria as a whole.

Most people don’t know that, beside the famous fishing festival, there are so many colorful cultural and traditional activities, which are observed concurrently, during the same period. Some of  these activities which are attached to the festival include, 

1. Traditional Boxing, 
2. Durbar, Horse Racing,
3. Motor Rally,
4. Kabanci Display,
5. The Grand Fishing Competition and many more.

Apart from the series activities of the festival, visitors also would have opportunities to visit historical and tourist centers of the town such as; the famous Kanta Museum.

Kanta Museum, is a Historical and cultural Center, which was the Emirs palace between 1831 and 1940, but it was converted to a Museum in 1942 after the European colonialists built the new Emir Palace in Tudun Wada Area of the ancient town of Argungu during the reign of Muhammed Sani.

Since then, the place has been a tourist center for many years. It showcases the true meaning of diversity with different cultures and histories of the Kabawan Kanta on display. It was named after Muhammed Kanta, who founded the Kebbi Kingdom in 1515. The Museum boasts a collation of historical artifacts and a testament to the ancient architectural beauty of the people.

It has eleven sections and contains historical and cultural elements related to the Kabawa and their history, which include the Royal Palace, then the Cultural section, the people and their religion section, the traditional crafts and the music section, the antiques section, a section dedicated to Surame, the first settlement of the Kabi Kingdom, war equipment, (such as spears, swords, woods, stones, bows and arrows and even drums on display) fishing tools section, amongst others.

Many people, including students from different schools and neighboring countries visit the museum at all times, for different purposes including educational and cultural research, although during the festive season about five to seven hundred people visit the Museum a day.

The Matanfada River

Matanfada river is a very special stage of the famous Argungu Fishing Festival competition. Over five hundreds fishermen storm the river for fishing competition. Visiting the river and the scenario give a deeper appreciation of its cultural and historical importance.

Another river site is the Mala River, which is another significant tributary in the Argungu. It forms part of the fertile river system that feeds the farmlands and fishing grounds of Argungu and its stage of Kabanci display.

The Argungu Bridge:

It is a prominent bridge that crosses the river connecting local governments of Argungu Emirate and also a route to Niger republic. It is a central landmark and a prime viewing spot for spectators during the fishing festival, offering a vantage point over the competitions. If you have a chance to be there during the event, try and climb the bridge!

The Argungu Fadama Land is a vast fadama land, which is nourished by the rivers. It is exceptionally fertile and crucial for agricultural activities, producing crops like rice, vegetables and many others, supporting the local economy of the residents.

The Emir’s Palace: Argungu Emir palace which is also known as Kanta Palace is located at Tudun wada Area of Argungu. The palace is the seat of the Emir of Argungu, the overall constituted authority of the Emirate. The palace also showcases historical and administrative system of government of the Kabawa, and it’s many sections reflecting living heritage of the Kabawan Kanta.

For equestrian culture, the Horse Racing Course roars to life during the festival and NSK Polo Ranch hosts the Polo tournaments and fates illustrating the horse sporting in the region.

There are 7 historical gates in Argungu and all are connected to the history and culture of the town, this gates are; Kofar Maicibi, Sagware, Kofar Tudu, Kofar Mala, Kofar Marina, Kofar Dankoji and Kofar tsohi.

Some of the gates such as Kofar Maichibi, Kofar Tudu had been rehabilitated and they serve as a symbolic of Argungu’s past history, marking and signifying old boundaries and stories of the community, its trade, strength and defense.

All these locations are interconnected elements of Argungu’s geography and culture and they are stages for a major cultural event contributing greatly to the socio-cultural development of Kebbi State and Nigeria at large.

See you there, and you will surely thank me for what you get.

The new series, Bakan Gizo, is unique for departing from the usual Kannywood storytelling. It is much like a thriller, narrated with suspense and tension, while exploring the immoral lifestyle that is rampant among young people today.

Directed by Kamal S. Akali, the story follows Sharifa (Mommy Gombe), a young woman who leaves her home state, Gombe, to study at Bayero University, Kano. There, she is drawn into a new social circle through her free-spirited friends, Salma (Zahrah Aliyu) and Zee (Bilkisu Abdullahi). She also begins an affair with Abba (Yusuf Saseen), who is deeply in love with her but increasingly possessive.

Sharifa is not content with Abba as her partner. She, therefore, enters a new relationship with Sharif (Isah Adam Feroz Khan), a spoiled brat from a wealthy family. However, things take a violent turn when her two lovers discover each other, leading to Sharif being stabbed in the stomach.

Judging by its genre, which is well-suited for a series film format, Bakan Gizo promises to be a compelling and attention-grabbing production. Viewers are already left in suspense to see how the story unfolds, particularly how Sharif’s wealthy mother, a high-ranking police officer (played by Hauwa Farar Lema) who also sleeps with Abba, will investigate the unfortunate incident that befalls her son.

The series appears to draw stylistic inspiration from Indian cinema. This is unsurprising, given director Kamal S. Akali’s creative history, including adaptations of films like Velayudham (as Kanwar Dubarudu) and Drishyam (as Umar Sanda) for Kannywood audiences.

The narrative revolves around a single storyline with interrelated characters. However, while the characters are well connected, some scenes feel disjointed, making the transition between episodes one and two almost convoluted.

On the other hand, although the performances come across as slightly over-the-top, the stellar cast remains highly effective. Seeing Mommy Gombe and Zahrah Aliyu reunite their chemistry from Gidan Sarauta, alongside the rivalry of Isah Adam (Feroz Khan) and Yusuf Saseen (as seen in Labarina), makes for an enjoyable watch.

Finally, it is too early to pass judgment, but I recommend Bakan Gizo for its fresh storytelling approach in the Kannywood series.

Reviewed by:

By Isah Kamisu Madachi

During the 2025 Ramadan fasting period, schools were shut in some states across northern Nigeria. The decision sparked public outrage, with many Nigerians questioning it. The unanimous reason given by authorities was that the heat had become unbearable in the affected states, necessitating the closure of schools. For many people, that was a reasonable excuse, but beneath it, to a keen observer, lay a policy failure that deserved more attention than it received. Northern Nigeria, particularly the North East and North West, sits within a semi-arid belt bordering the Sahara Desert. It has always been hotter than other parts of the country.

What that school closure quietly revealed was the absence of a national or state heat management policy. Nigeria, of course, has policies for floods, droughts, the energy transition, disaster response, climate and health adaptation. However, heat is largely unmanaged. There is no clear policy framework on how schools, workers, farmers, or low-income households should cope with rising temperatures. As a result, heat is not treated as a public policy emergency.

This is not an attempt to relitigate the school’s closure. Rather, it is an effort to call attention to how rising heat is silently pushing Nigerians deeper into poverty, food insecurity, and worsened health conditions. Heat stress is now not just an environmental concern but a development issue that largely affects productivity, education, health, and household income. Unlike floods, heat is not dramatic; it is as deadly as, or even worse than, floods. It creeps into everyday life, drains energy, reduces earning hours, and increases health risks. 

Evidence globally has established a strong link between extreme heat and poverty, particularly in low-income societies. 

For many outdoor workers, earning a livelihood has become increasingly difficult. In some places, work cannot continue after noon due to extreme heat. Those who push through do so at the expense of their health, suffering dehydration, headaches, and heat exhaustion. The result is lost income and rising healthcare costs, which also consume the little savings they manage to earn under the heat.

The education sector also tells a worrying story. Recently, during a visit to the primary school I attended in Bauchi State, I saw how teachers and pupils were struggling under the suffocating heat. The teacher was drenched in sweat. The pupils were distracted, trying to hand-fan themselves with notebooks. Learning was taking place in form, but not in substance. 

If Nigeria is serious about improving educational outcomes, then heat-resilient classrooms should be available to them. Policies must begin to prioritise basic cooling solutions, such as renewable-powered fans and ventilation systems in public schools.

Another backbone of livelihoods—agriculture—is also under serious threat. Rising temperatures stress crops, exacerbate pest and disease problems, shorten growing seasons, and reduce yields. For smallholder farmers, this condition results in lower incomes and food insecurity. Strengthening climate adaptation plans for agriculture is therefore necessary, particularly in areas most vulnerable to heat and erratic rainfall.

Reducing carbon emissions is central to addressing climate change, and Nigeria has a role to play. Governments, industries, energy companies, and individuals all share responsibility. Lifestyle changes, such as reducing reliance on biomass and fossil fuels when cleaner alternatives are available, matter. Access to solar-powered equipment and off-grid electricity can also significantly reduce emissions and improve living conditions.

However, lifestyle change alone is not the solution. Without coordinated policies that expand access to affordable renewable energy, low-income households will continue to rely on unsustainable energy sources. Heat, energy poverty, and health outcomes are connected, but our existing policies often treat them in isolation.

This is where government responsibility sets in. At the federal and local levels, there must be deliberate investment in renewable energy solutions that directly improve people’s daily lives. Solar mini-grids, clean cooking technologies, and low-cost cooling appliances should be treated as public health and poverty alleviation priorities. If heat can shut down schools, reduce productivity, and worsen health outcomes, then it, by all standards, deserves a higher place in Nigeria’s policy agenda.

Nigeria cannot afford to continue reacting to climate impacts only after damage has been done. Rising heat is shaping how we work, learn, farm, and earn. Ignoring it does not make it disappear. It only deepens inequality and exposes the most vulnerable to greater harm. A country serious about development must begin to treat heat as the policy challenge that it truly is.

Isah Kamisu Madachi is a public policy enthusiast and development practitioner. He writes from Abuja and can be reached via isahkamisumadachi@gmail.com.

Taqdeer (Divine Decree), a 2025 Nigerian Islamic film directed by Ruben Reng, is a captivating tale of love, fate, and cultural heritage. Starring Ibrahim, Sakina, Mustapha, and Zainab as leading characters, this film weaves a narrative that explores the intricacies of human relationships against the backdrop of Nigerian and Hausa traditions.

The film’s plot revolves around themes of destiny, faith, and choices, unfolding a story that keeps viewers engaged. The narrative delves into the lives of its characters, exploring their struggles and triumphs in a way that resonates deeply. 

Watching Taqdeer is a visually immersive experience. The cinematography captures the vibrant essence of Abuja, blending traditional and modern elements harmoniously. The film’s use of Hausa language and Islamic cultural references adds authenticity, making the story feel both personal and universal. The performances by the cast are compelling, bringing depth to their characters.

Taqdeer’s formal techniques, such as its cinematography and sound design, effectively enhance the narrative’s emotional impact. The film’s portrayal of Islamic moral themes and traditions provides a rich context for the story, making it relatable and thought-provoking. The blend of music and story-based sound adds to the film’s atmosphere, drawing viewers into the world it creates.

Analytically, while Taqdeer is strong in many areas, certain scenes linger longer than necessary, which can detract from the story’s overall momentum. Nevertheless, these moments are outweighed by the film’s strength, particularly its moral richness.

In conclusion, Taqdeer is worth watching for its engaging narrative, moral richness, and strong performances. It offers a glimpse into Nigerian Muslim culture and explores universal themes of love and fate, making it a compelling watch for audiences interested in diverse storytelling.  

Reviewed by

Rexford Asamoah Adu

radu@smail.uni-koeln.de

By Harajana Umar Ragada

The offer felt like a golden ticket. A celebrated Nigerian celebrity was hosting a festival and needed a spoken word documentary. For a talented artist in Northern Nigeria, this was the sought-after break, a chance to step into a national spotlight reserved for the chosen few. She believed in her craft, and she said yes.

The project was defined: two videos, one in Hausa, one in English, featuring her voice and her performance. She submitted her fees, a fair reflection of her skill. The project manager’s reassurance was smooth, hinging on the host’s lofty reputation. “Trust the process,” she was told. And so, she did.

She requested an advance to book studio time. A partial payment was made to her, but it was insufficient and did not cover Abuja’s professional studio rates. She dipped into her own resources to make it work. When the video shoot approached, another surprise: she was to supply her own costume due to “budget constraints.” Professional to her core, she invested in the perfect attire, believing her dedication would be honoured.

Then, the turnaround. After she sent the final recordings, she was called upon that the celebrity’s sister would headline the Hausa version. Her role was being reduced to just the English piece. She objected firmly; this was not their agreement, and her payment was still pending. After tense negotiations, a new, fragile deal was struck: she would be credited as a collaborator, and nothing would be posted without her approval.

On a sunny afternoon, they summoned her to the Art and Craft Village for the shoot. When she arrived, she found them already filming the sister. When she reminded them of their terms, the promises flowed anew: payment after filming, glowing accolades, and the full weight of the celebrity’s influence to boost her career. Placing her trust in that stature one more time, she completed the work.

What followed was a masterclass in creative exploitation. They chipped away at her agreed rate, pleading budgetary limitations. They sold her on a future of unlocked doors and dazzling opportunities, convincing her to accept far less, to trade monetary value for the currency of exposure and credit. She acquiesced, hoping the recognition would be worth it.

Months slipped by without the remaining payment. After persistent appeals, another fraction of the sum arrived. Weary, she let it go, choosing peace over a protracted fight.

Then the video was live. And as she watched, a cold realisation settled in. Every name was listed in the credits… except hers. Her voice filled the piece, but she had been erased completely. Not a mention, not a link, not a trace. The feeling was a hollow mix of betrayal and devaluation; she had been used and then discarded.

This story is not a solitary lament. It is the shared refrain of countless creatives. Like Abdulmajid Gambo Danbaba, a poet from Katsina, who discovered his deeply personal poem “I am Me,” born of his childhood struggles, and proudly posted it on another man’s Facebook page, claiming it as his own. The confrontation was messy, requiring the threat of legal action to force an apology and a takedown.

These are the everyday hazards in the digital marketplace of ideas, where work is copied, credit is stolen, and promises are broken. So, what can be done?

Navigating the Minefield: Wisdom from the Frontlines

We turned to experts to demystify the path from vulnerability to empowerment.

Dr. Ismail Bala, a renowned poet and critic, frames the issue clearly. He defines creative exploitation as using another’s work without payment or permission, and plagiarism as outright theft of authorship. His advice is twofold: vigilance and formalisation. “Copyright your work,” he urges. “And move beyond handshake deals. Any collaboration needs a legal contract, however simple.”

The consequences, he notes, are both emotional and economic; a loss of confidence and a loss of livelihood. While social media democratizes sharing, it also facilitates this theft. The remedy, he states, is a cultural shift toward fundamental respect, acknowledging sources and compensating creators fairly.

Muhammed Bello Buhari, a digital rights activist, frames this not as a mere commercial issue but as a human right. “Your creativity is your voice. To steal it is to strip you of your agency and dignity,” he explains. International law protects the moral and material interests of creators, but the systems are often skewed toward those with power and lawyers.

He highlights the legal grey zone that creatives must navigate. “The law protects your specific expression, not the general idea. Someone can mimic your style without crossing a legal line, which is why documentation is your greatest weapon.”

Buhari champions the “paper trail.” Your drafts, timestamped files, and email records become irrefutable proof of ownership. “That version history is your shield,” he says.

MB Buhari recommends a practical toolkit for every creator:

1. Document Everything: Create a “receipt culture.” Save early drafts, note creation dates, and follow up verbal agreements with a confirming email or message.

2. Mark Your Territory: Use the copyright symbol (©) on your work. It’s a simple but clear signal of ownership.

3. Have the “Terms” Talk: Before sharing work, state clearly how it can be used. A simple text message can form a basic contract.

4. Leverage Community and Platforms: Use the court of public opinion respectfully but firmly. Know how to issue a DMCA takedown notice on social platforms to remove stolen content.

5. Embrace Simple Contracts: Outline collaboration terms, ownership, and credit in writing. “A contract is a seatbelt for your creativity,” Buhari notes.

6. Seek Strength in Numbers: Join creative associations and leverage pro-bono legal networks. There is power in collective advocacy.

The Northern Star: A Community’s Victory

The most powerful chapter in this story is its conclusion. When the spoken word artist was erased, she did not stay silent. She shared her story. And the Northern creative community erupted. They became her amplifiers, her defenders, and her unyielding support system. Through poems, posts, and shared outrage, they applied a pressure that no individual could. Faced with this unified front, the celebrity apologised.

This is the ultimate blueprint. The fight against exploitation is not a solo journey. It is fought by building a community that values integrity over influence, that champions credit over “exposure,” and that stands as a united front against those who would diminish their peers. It is about transforming individual vulnerability into collective, unshakeable strength.

Harajana Umar Ragada wrote via kharajnah@gmail.com.

By Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia

The year 2023 was a remarkable year in Nigeria’s history. Just like the year 1993, an election was held that generated a win for a Muslim candidate with another Muslim as his running mate.

In both 1993 and 2023, the presidential candidates were warned against choosing a Northern Christian as a running mate. Christians constitute not just a tiny minority in the North, but many of them have also proven to be very bad neighbours in their relations with their Muslim compatriots.

Wherever Christians constitute the majority, they display an unforgivable hate and marginalisation against their Muslim neighbours. A handy example is Plateau state, the home state of the current APC Chairman. The way Muslims are sidelined in Plateau state is enough to show what we should expect if Christians were the majority in Nigeria.

His Excellency Peter Obi was misled into believing that a combination of Igbo and Northern Christians could make him the President, and he moved from one church to another to campaign, only to end up in third place. 

The 2023 election was thus a religious census in disguise that showed the numerical superiority of Muslims over Christians in Nigeria. 

But no sooner had Bola Ahmed Tinubu won the 2023 presidential election than he began to sideline Muslims, the very group that brought him to power, in his appointments. Last year, we saw him personally going to the Vatican with what the state house described as a “bragging right of 62% Christian appointees”. 

We watched as he appointed a Northern Christian as the SGF. Of course, President Muhammadu Buhari did the same. President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua appointed a Northern Christian to lead the National Assembly. They did not deserve any of these, given their small number. However, Muslims gave them out of magnanimity. Or is it foolishness? They would never do the same if they were in our position. 

Many of us became disappointed when we saw a Northern Christian being chosen to lead the ruling party. This means two of the most important positions at the federal level have been given to Christians from the North Central, a geopolitical zone that is overwhelmingly Muslim. Worse still, our politicians in and outside the ruling party, our emirs and Islamic scholars are silent. When have we become animals who only care about eating food and sleeping with women?

As if that is not enough, speculation is that the President wants to drop his VP and choose a Northern Christian as his running mate in next year’s election. I commend the Honourable Minister of Culture, Hajiya Hannatu Musawa, for publicly telling the truth to Mr President. But it shouldn’t have reached this level. The decision of the President to appoint Northern Christians as SGF, Party Chairman and INEC Chair should have been opposed in the first place.

We are still expecting Mr President to correct the imbalance that favours the very tiny Northern Christians. North Central is predominantly Muslim. The only Christian majority states, where, of course, Muslims have been marginalised, are Plateau and Benue. Niger, Nasarawa, Kogi and Kwara are Muslim states. That Muslims in those states have been left out by Mr President in the above-mentioned strategic appointments is unfortunate.

Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia wrote from the Department of Mechatronics Engineering, Bayero University Kano, via aujibia@gmail.com.

By  Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel

Senator Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso should be competing on the national stage with contemporaries such as Senator Bola Tinubu, Alhaji Atiku Abubakar, and other Class of 1999 political actors. By pedigree, experience, and longevity, Kwankwaso has clearly outgrown Kano politics, and he does not need to prove it again in 2027. However, he appears stuck in state-level politics. 

Kwankwaso is at odds with the two successive Kano governors after him, both of whom are his protégés: Dr Abdullahi Ganduje and the incumbent, Engr Abba Kabir Yusuf. He says they have “betrayed” him. There was a show of electoral force at his residence in Kano this afternoon. A large number of people trooped into his Miller Road residence in what he later called a “solidarity visit”.  

These developments indicate that Senator Kwankwaso is once again positioning himself for state-level dominance rather than advancing a national ambition in 2027. Ideally, Kwankwaso should defeat Governor Abba through a candidate he anoints for #KanoDecides2027. But a deeper question remains: should the 2027 ambition of a politician of Kwankwaso’s stature be focused on unseating a “betraying” godson at the state level, when Kwankwaso’s contemporaries have either honourably retired from politics or are positioning themselves for the presidency? 

Who exactly would Kwankwaso replace Abba with, and what assurance does he have that a newly installed godson would not eventually “betray” him, just as Ganduje and Abba did? At this point, there is little reason to believe the outcome would be different. The current godsons around him are likely to use his influence to rise and then assert their independence once in office. There is no clear indication that they would be more submissive than their two elder political siblings, Ganduje and Abba. How do you keep doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting a different result? 

There is also a genuine political risk. What if Abba Yusuf, like Ganduje before him, survives the onslaught and secures a second term? This is not an endorsement of electoral malpractice, but a recognition of Nigeria’s political realities. Kano’s 2019 gubernatorial election demonstrated how powerful interests can intervene decisively; Dr Ganduje ultimately retained office despite glaring indications that he lost at the polls.

If a similar outcome were to occur in 2027 and Governor Yusuf were to proceed to a second tenure, would that not constitute a second public humiliation for the godfather? What explanation would suffice then? That yet another protégé has matured enough to build political alliances strong enough to neutralise Kwankwaso’s influence? At that point, the narrative shifts decisively: from betrayed mentor to diminishing power broker.

On the other hand, if Senator Kwankwaso succeeds in unseating Governor Yusuf and installing another loyalist, what exactly would he be celebrating at the end of the day? That Kwankwasiyya has simply replaced Kwankwasiyya? That a godfather has prevailed over his own godson? Such victories may satisfy the logic of control, but they do little to expand political influence, strengthen institutions, or advance democratic culture. At best, they amount to an internal power rotation within the same political family, offering no clear gain to the broader society.

Ultimately, this debate goes beyond personalities. Do we really need a political model anchored on godfathers, covenants, and lifelong loyalty to patrons? Has Buhari’s repeated endorsement of anointed candidates meaningfully improved governance or political culture in the North? Has Tinubu’s entrenched godfatherism in the South West translated into measurable social or institutional progress? Until we seriously examine the long-term costs of political baptism, loyalty tests, and patronage politics, it remains difficult to argue that godfatherism is the most viable model for a modern democratic society.

 Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel wrote via caleel2009@gmail.com.