Opinion

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

In a move that has sent shockwaves through Nigeria’s political landscape, former Kaduna State Governor Nasir El-Rufai has officially parted ways with the All Progressives Congress (APC) and pitched his tent with the Social Democratic Party (SDP).

While party defections are common in Nigerian politics, El-Rufai’s departure from the ruling party carries significant political implications that could alter the dynamics leading up to the 2027 elections.

For a man instrumental in the formation of the APC and a staunch ally of former President Muhammadu Buhari, El-Rufai’s departure raises critical questions. Is this a strategic move to remain politically relevant? A protest against President Bola Tinubu’s leadership? Or does it signal widening cracks within the APC that could deepen in the coming years?

El-Rufai’s political journey within the APC has been marked by loyalty, controversy, and influence. As a key figure in the party’s 2015 victory over the PDP, he was regarded as one of the strongest voices in Buhari’s inner circle.

His tenure as Kaduna governor further solidified his image as a reformist, albeit one who often courted controversy. From restructuring Kaduna’s civil service to his hardline stance on security issues, El-Rufai commanded attention. Under Buhari, he wielded significant influence, not just within Kaduna but on the national stage.

Many expected him to secure a prominent role in Tinubu’s government. However, cracks began to show when he was dropped from the ministerial list, allegedly over security concerns flagged by the National Security Adviser.

El-Rufai’s departure from the APC is not a hasty decision; it represents the culmination of increasing frustration. His rejection as a minister was perceived by many as a calculated marginalization, signaling the start of his estrangement from the ruling party’s core decision-making processes. 

Reports suggest he became increasingly disillusioned with Tinubu’s governance style, particularly in handling economic and security challenges. The former governor is known for his bluntness, and sources indicate that his inability to influence policies within the APC played a significant role in his decision.

While his supporters argue that his move to the SDP is based on principle, critics suggest it is driven by personal ambition—positioning himself for a possible political comeback in 2027.

El-Rufai’s choice of the SDP, rather than the PDP or a new political movement, is intriguing. The SDP remains a relatively small force compared to the APC and PDP, raising questions about whether he genuinely believes in the party’s ideology or sees it as a convenient platform to negotiate his future.

Some analysts believe El-Rufai is playing the long game—joining a smaller party now to avoid confrontations with APC heavyweights while testing the waters for potential alliances with other opposition figures ahead of 2027. Others argue that he has limited options, given his strained relationship with Tinubu’s camp and his unlikelihood of returning to the PDP, a party he once fiercely opposed.

Expectedly, the APC has brushed off El-Rufai’s departure, with the Presidency dismissing it as driven by “inordinate ambition.” Kaduna’s APC leadership has also claimed they are unbothered, arguing that his influence has waned significantly since leaving office. 

However, political observers note that El-Rufai’s defection could have ripple effects. While he may not command a nationwide political structure, his ability to shape narratives, especially in northern politics, should not be underestimated. Some opposition figures, including former Senator Shehu Sani, have downplayed his move, arguing that El-Rufai’s political relevance has diminished.

El-Rufai’s defection is not just about one man leaving a party—it reflects deeper tensions within the APC. Since taking power in 2023, Tinubu has had to balance competing interests within the ruling party, from former Buhari loyalists to his own political allies. The cracks within the party are becoming more visible, and if not managed properly, they could deepen before 2027.

For El-Rufai, the road ahead is uncertain. Aligning with the SDP may be a strategic step, but it remains to be seen whether it will translate into real political leverage. Is this the beginning of a broader coalition to challenge APC dominance, or will it end up as another failed defection story in Nigeria’s political history?

One thing is clear—El-Rufai’s move has reignited conversations about Nigeria’s shifting political landscape. Whether it leads to a major realignment or fizzles out as an individual protest remains to be seen.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu, an NYSC serving corps member, writes from the Center for Crisis Communication (CCC) in Abuja.

By AMA Baffa 

The fields of theology and physics go hand in hand in explaining the existence of God and His omnipotence. Theology studies who the divine being—God Almighty—is, His power of creation, and everything He creates. Physics measures everything around us, from the smallest particles to medium-sized ones, up to the heavenly bodies and beyond, which constitute matter. It explores how these elements came about and the general underlying laws of their interactions. 

Whenever God wills to create or transform something in His kingdom, i.e., the universe or multiverse, if it exists, He simply states, “Be, and it is.” The general mechanism He uses, which applies to all His creations, is proportionality and measurement, as emphasized in numerous places in the noble scripture. 

Only what He decides to reveal and when it is revealed is known to mankind. The behavior of the majority of matter in the universe remains a mystery due to its different fundamentals and laws compared to the known matter we belong to, such as dark matter, which may be understood in the future or not at all. Perhaps this is why God says that the creation of the universe is more complex than that of humans.

Whenever there is a breakthrough in physics research, it transforms other areas of knowledge, as Prof. D. J. O’Connor highlighted in his book An Introduction to the Philosophy of Education. He stated, ‘The laws of physics set the framework within which the laws of chemistry may be found. Chemistry establishes a similar framework for biology, and biology does the same for psychology. Similarly, the laws of psychology define the limits within which the specialized sciences of man, such as economics and sociology, can be understood.’

According to some scholars of Qur’anic commentary, the verse that mentions those of God’s servants who possess knowledge and fear Allah refers specifically to the fields of physical science that explain the process of creation.

The universe was created on the principle of duality of existence or opposition, exemplified by the tangible material things understood through science, whose fundamentals lie in mathematics on the one hand, and the ideas comprehended through the liberal arts, whose fundamentals reside in semiotics and language on the other.

Language acts as the vehicle that conveys messages to the brain, enabling contemplation and facilitating logic— the rules of thinking that apply to both natural science and the liberal arts— to be practiced effectively and deeply. The interconnectedness between language and logic cannot be overstated, as they are both extensively employed by theologians and physicists, necessitating significant attention for in-depth understanding.

God is always a step ahead of any description of the laws of nature that science may provide, as He exists in one realm while the universe, as His creation, exists in another. The funniest thing is that when science discovers and describes a phenomenon, it completely removes God from the equation, as if the idea itself, matter, energy, and the processes of their interactions and histories are all self-sufficient without any power behind their existence. 

Yet, they advocate for laws stating that matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only transformed from one form to another. Understanding a mechanism is different from understanding the object’s creator and phenomenon. That being who created them exists beyond their realm, differs from them, and is called God. 

God exists beyond the universe and multiverse and will never be understood through the physical laws of physics and chemistry. The less one understands God, the more ignorant one becomes.

AMA Baffa wrote via amabaffa@yahoo.com.

By Ibrahim Sulaiman (Jama’are)

In circa 1993, my late maternal grandfather, Malam Musa Nagari (d. circa 2017), took me to Malam Idi Nakamaku’s Makarantar allo (a traditional Quranic school) in the Gandun Sarki quarters of Jama’are town, where I was enrolled as a Titibiri (an elementary student). He purchased a new allo (a wooden slate used as a hand-held writing board by students) for me, which I guessed he bought from the Jama’are weekly market. 

Even though they weren’t the same age, I realized that Allaramma Malam Idi and my Malam Musa Nagari were good friends. 

I was already enrolled in Abdulkadir Ahmed Primary School (formerly known as Zango Kanti Primary School). I usually attend the afternoon session at Malam Idi’s school alone with his regular Almajirai (students), most of whom come from nearby and distant towns and villages around Jama’are. 

That was a foundational journey I first had in Islamic studies. 

Sometimes, my maternal grandfather, Malam Musa Nagari, would lead me to school, hand me over to Allaramma, and jokingly say, ‘Ga dalibinka, Dan Izala’ (here is your student, member of Izala). This is because my father had already been a member of Izala (JIBWIS) since the early 1980s. (For an exploration of this statement and the struggle for religious space between Izala and other Sufi groups in Jama’are, see my MA thesis, ‘A History of JIBWIS/Izala in Jama’are, 1986-2015,’ submitted to the Department of History at Bayero University Kano in 2022.)

That was the start of it. Since then, whenever Malam sees me or I pass by him, he calls out, ‘babban dalibi’ (a senior student), even though I stopped attending his school when I was at the Titibiri level. True to form, he asks, ‘ya karatu’ (how’s studies), now referring to conventional education, and concludes with, ‘Allah ya yi albarka’ (may God bless).

As Malam is no longer with us, I will miss his prayers. Whenever I’m in Jama’are, I can hardly pass by Malam without stopping to greet him, and he has always been generous with his usual prayers.

Malam Musa Nagari and Malam Nakamaku have been a school for me. They have been a veritable source of inspiration. 

Malam Nagari, though a grandfather, was a no-nonsense type. We rarely exchanged banter, unlike typical grandparents in a Hausa/Fulani setting like Jama’are. He was a disciplinarian in the real sense of the word. Although we spent a lot of time together at home, on the farm, and in his vocation of building houses, that familiarity did not breach any contempt, as they say. Malam Musa Nagari once told me something I knew was intended to inspire me. ‘Ibrahim, let me tell you. Do you see my farms in their numbers? I only inherited one from my parents…’. This is a way of telling a teenager to ‘be hardworking’!

From Malam Idi Nakamaku, I learned the principle of goodwill. Even though I left his school to probably join Izala Islamiyya, Malam Idi has never stopped considering me his student, referring to me with the term baban dalibi. This has never been a source of concern for him; he simply wants to know how I’m progressing, even at the conventional school level. Malam never ceases to ask such questions; the last time we met was last year during Eid el-Kabir. 

To me, Malam Idi Nakamaku’s life epitomized an enduring commitment to promoting Quranic studies (what a blessed life!). It symbolizes selflessness and service to humanity, along with complete submission to the will of God. I believe Malam Idi Nakamaku embodies the traditional classical eclectic ascetic lifestyle characterized by Zuhd (asceticism or self-denial to achieve Ridhal Allah, meaning God’s pleasure) of early Sufi scholars, which continues to endure into this century.

The demise of Allaramma Malam Idi Nakamaku on March 4, 2025, was a great loss and, indeed, irreparable to the entire Jama’are Emirate. May his soul, along with that of his good friend Malam Musa Nagari, continue to rest in Janna til Firdaus.

Ibrahim Sulaiman (Jama’are) wrote from Abuja via ibrahimsulaiman193@gmail.com.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

MashaAllah. As the crescent moon rose to herald Ramadan this year, on this twentieth day of March 2025, a profound stillness has settled over me. The fast silences my body’s clamor, the long nights of prayer elevate my spirit toward the heavens, and my thoughts drift into the boundless expanse of the unseen. This Ramadan, I find myself wrestling with the nature of dimensions—what they signify, how they shape our fleeting lives, and how death might unlock realms beyond our earthly reach. 

The Qur’an unveils glimpses of this mystery: seven heavens layered in divine order, Jannah’s gardens of eternal serenity, Jahannam’s depths watched by stern guardians, and Allah’s timeless, infinite dominion. The number four—etched into our 4D reality and echoed in a hadith debate I explored last week—anchors my reflection, while the nineteen of Surah Al-Muddathir, mirrored in the nineteen letters of *Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim*, stirs my soul. Could death guide us through a cosmic graveyard of stars into these dimensions, as some now ponder in awe?

Let us begin with dimensions as we experience them in this Duniya, this transient abode. We dwell within three spatial dimensions—length, width, and height. A minaret pierces the twilight sky; its shadow stretches wide across the sun-warmed earth, and its foundations sink deep into the soil. Time, the fourth dimension, flows relentlessly forward, a current bearing us from the first whispered adhan of Fajr to the tranquil hush of Isha. 

These four—three of space and one of time—form our 4D reality, a spacetime framework we navigate with every breath and every step we take. Yet science, with its insatiable curiosity, gazes beyond this familiar quartet, proposing extra dimensions—ten, eleven, or perhaps far more—coiled tightly at scales too tiny for our eyes to discern or sprawling across unseen planes our hands cannot grasp. These are not mere directions to wander but subtle layers, bending the forces of gravity, energy, or the very essence of creation in ways that stretch our comprehension.

In 2018, a Northern Nigerian Hausa broadcasting Television Station, Arewa24, in a documentary about space named black hole mutuwaren taurari (Mortuary of Stars), but I preferred mak’abartar taurari—the Graveyard of Stars—as a more evocative term. Here, death is a profound key, a passage to what lies beyond. In this 4D shell, we are tethered—our physical forms bound to the limits of space, our lives measured by the steady march of time. 

The Qur’an, however, assures us that the soul, the ruh, endures beyond this fragile vessel. When we die, might that soul break free, slipping into a fifth dimension, a sixth, or even further—realms where Jannah’s rivers ripple with mercy and Jahannam’s fires blaze with justice, domains veiled from us until Malak al-Mawt, the Angel of Death, carries us across the threshold? 

Physics offers a faint echo of this possibility: higher dimensions might surround us, omnipresent yet inaccessible, hidden behind a veil that only death can part. Some astronomers link each soul to a star wandering the cosmos; when a person dies, their star might collapse into this graveyard, bearing their ruh along. Could this black hole be a portal, a barzakh, where dimensions unfold beyond our sight?

The Qur’an sketches this vastness with strokes of majesty. “He who created seven heavens in layers,” proclaims Surah Al-Mulk (67:3), urging us to reflect on the nature of these layers. Are they celestial skies arching above our world, glowing in the twilight? Or could they be universes, dimensional planes, each distinct yet interconnected, ascending beyond our perception into a hierarchy only Allah fully comprehends? 

Our 4D reality, with its glittering stars and sprawling earth, might be the “lowest heaven,” as Surah As-Saffat (37:6) suggests, with its adorned lights, while six more heavens rise above, reachable only when death turns the lock. Time, too, bends in Allah’s presence—Surah Al-Ma’arij (70:4) likens a day with Him to fifty thousand years of our earthly counting. In these higher dimensions, time might not flow as we know it; it could stretch into an endless horizon, loop upon itself, or fold into an eternal now—a reality death alone might usher us into.

Yet it is the number four that steadies my wandering mind, a pattern I cannot unsee. Just last week, in *The Eternal Quartet: Understanding the Hadith Debate in Northern Nigeria*, I wrote of a debate stirring Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space—Shaykh Prof. Ibrahim Saeed Ahmad Maqari and Shaykh Prof. Sani Rijiyar Lemo clashing over the degree of certainty in different categories of Hadith rather than dismissing their essence outright. 

I framed the scholars’ dispute through four lenses: reason, belief, doubt, and rejection, a quartet mirrored in Islam’s four legal schools—Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i, Hanbali—and four theological paths—Mu’tazila, Ash’ari, Maturidi, Athari. Maqari, with his Ash’ari and Maliki roots, demands the unshakable certainty of Mutawatir hadiths, those narrated by many, while Rijiyar Lemo, grounded in Athari and Salafi trust, upholds authentic Ahad narrations with strong chains, even if from fewer sources. Four emerged as a complete, balanced square: Maqari’s logic seeking widespread proof, Rijiyar Lemo’s faith in vetted tradition, the doubters’ hesitant questions, the rejectors’ outright dismissal. As I dwell in our 4D spacetime, I see it again—four as our foundation, the root from which higher dimensions might grow, a motif threading through faith, nature, and the human heart.

Then comes a piercing verse—Surah Al-Muddathir (74:30): “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”—“Over it are nineteen.” Nineteen angels guard Jahannam, their number stark and resonant, a mystery that stirs my soul to its core. Are these guardians confined to our 4D frame, or do they stride across dimensions, overseeing a hell that burns beyond our spacetime? This deepens when I count the letters in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—ب س م ا ل ل ه ا ل ر ح م ن ا ل ر ح ي م—nineteen in all, the sacred invocation that opens every surah but one. Could this parallel—nineteen angels, nineteen letters—hint at more, perhaps 19 dimensions woven within or alongside the seven heavens? Science freely posits dimensions; string theory suggests ten or eleven, but the Qur’an’s seven and nineteen numbers carry a divine weight. From our 4D base, the seven heavens might rise as broad realms, each enfolding finer layers, totaling 19—a cosmic framework death unveils, where the nineteen serve as eternal watchmen.

Consider the black hole, this mak’abartar taurari. Could it be barzakh, a liminal space bridging dimensions? Does it cradle Jannah’s tranquility or Jahannam’s torment? Some wonder: might the Day of Judgment spring from this starry graveyard, an event science cannot yet name, where fallen stars—and souls—rise into new dimensions? We perceive only four in this Duniya, but black holes might harbor twelve, as some speculate. Add seven for Jahannam’s planes, and we reach 19—four we know, eight in Barzakh’s depths, seven in Saqar’s fire, guarded by nineteen, as Allah declares, “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”. Last century, scholars like Khalifa Rashad stirred debate with new readings of this verse—could it point to such a cosmic order?

Envision it: our 4D reality as the first heaven, rooted in four—length, width, height, and time. Six more heavens ascend, each a dimensional cluster, totaling 19 with Barzakh and Jahannam’s layers. Surah Fussilat (41:12) says each heaven has its command—unique laws across these planes, from fifth to nineteenth. His Kursi (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:255) spans them, the nineteen as sentinels in its scope. The Qur’an says the soul’s end wanders in the space between the dimensions of fire (dread) or peace (natsuwa). Death might thrust us through mak’abartar taurari into these 19, where nineteen angels stand guard.

As Taraweeh’s verses wash over me this Ramadan, I feel four and nineteen entwined. If 19 dimensions veil Jannah, Jahannam, or more, might they host others—angels, jinn, beings unseen? Science puzzles at silence; death might unveil a chorus. In sujood, fasting’s clarity sharpens this: the Qur’an bids us marvel. Whether seven heavens hold 19 dimensions via a starry graveyard, death is our key—a mercy cloaked as an end.

Breaking my fast, dates sweet with Jannah’s echo, I feel tethered to this vastness. Our 4D world—fourfold in dimensions and thought—is a breath, a shadow of Allah’s infinite craft. Ramadan 2025 is my pilgrimage—through hunger, hope, and “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”, mirrored in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—toward a reality where death, from our fourfold root, opens the door to seven heavens, nineteen dimensions, and Allah’s eternal truth. Allah Shine masani.

By Nasiru Ahmad Sadiq

After diving into Muazu Muazu’s lengthy critique of Sanusi Bature, one cannot help but wonder if the writer is misinformed, harboring personal grudges, or perhaps just following orders from some unseen puppet master. His arguments, filled with half-truths and baseless claims, seem to reveal more of his own biases than they do Sanusi Bature’s role as Director of Press at Kano Government House.

Muazu kicks off his piece with tangled metaphors and quickly spirals into a maze of contradictions. He accuses Bature of dropping the ball on Public Relations, yet he also acknowledges Bature’s impressive 19 years of experience in international development, the private sector, and journalism.

So, which is it, Muazu? Is Bature a rookie as you suggest, or a seasoned expert whose accolades – like being named Spokesman of the Year in 2024 – completely undermine your feeble attempts to belittle him?

The most glaring issue with Muazu’s tirade is the absence of solid evidence. He throws around vague claims that Sanusi Bature “speaks recklessly,” “blocks people from seeing the Governor,” and “corners journalists’ allowances,” but he doesn’t back any of it up. Are these accusations based on real investigations, or just the grumblings of disgruntled folks with personal axes to grind?

It is also worth noting that Muazu leans heavily on anonymous sources. Any credible journalist knows that anonymous claims, especially when lacking factual support, do not hold much weight. Without evidence, these allegations are little more than gossip.

Moreover, much as I respect Muazu’s background in communication, it baffles me how he seemingly misunderstand what Public Relations really entails. He criticizes Bature for not being “passionate” or “convincing” enough – these are subjective opinions that cannot be measured. Yet, despite Muazu’s insinuations, Bature has received widespread acclaim for transforming the Public Relations landscape in Kano State, making it more effective and engaging. His professionalism and knack for breaking down complex government policies into something the public can grasp have earned him praise and respect from various circles.

The personal slant in Muazu’s article is hard to overlook. It feels less like an unbiased analysis and more like a targeted attack aimed at damaging the reputation of a man whose success might have upset some people. When a critic hurls accusations without providing context, exaggerates flaws, and overlooks achievements, it makes you wonder: what is really driving this?

Muazu’s closing question – “Is Sanusi Bature appointed by accident?” – is dripping with sarcasm. The only “accident” here appears to be his article; a regrettable mix of half-formed theories, speculative claims, and thinly veiled bitterness. Maybe Muazu should consider channeling his efforts into more constructive discussions instead of trying to undermine accomplished professionals based on rumors.

Ultimately, time will tell. However, it is unlikely that Muazu’s assertions will hold up. Sanusi Bature continues to be a respected figure whose contributions are enhancing Kano State Government’s global image.

Let us hope that any future critiques, if they arise, are based on facts rather than driven by hidden motives. For now, the unfounded nature of this attack is evident to all thoughtful readers.

Nasiru Ahmad Sadiq is a lecturer in English Department, Aminu Kano College of Legal and Islamic Studies and he can be reached via nasirulhaqqi@gmail.com

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

A wave of emotions swept through the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos, on Tuesday, March 4, as 144 stranded Nigerians returned home from Libya. Some wept as they stepped onto Nigerian soil, clutching their few belongings, while others sighed in relief after months of hardship in the North African country.

The returnees—mostly women and children—arrived aboard a chartered Boeing aircraft at exactly 4:45 p.m. The National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) facilitated their homecoming in collaboration with the International Organization for Migration (IOM) and other key stakeholders. Officials swiftly processed them, ensuring they underwent the necessary procedures for reintegration into society.

Among the returnees were 100 women, 8 men, 26 children, and 10 infants—individuals who had left Nigeria seeking a better future, only to find themselves ensnared in a nightmare. Libya, once viewed as a gateway to Europe, has become a dangerous trap for migrants. Many face forced labor, sexual exploitation, kidnappings, and inhumane detentions, with little hope of escape.

NEMA and its partners have worked tirelessly for years to bring stranded Nigerians home. At the airport, officials from the Nigeria Immigration Service, the National Commission for Refugees, Migrants, and Internally Displaced Persons (NCFRMI), the Department of State Services (DSS), Port Health Services, and the Nigeria Police Force were on the ground to facilitate their return. The returnees underwent biometric registration, medical screening, and psychological counseling before being transported to the Igando IDPs Resettlement Center for reintegration programs.

Yet, for many, homecoming is bittersweet. Aisha, 27, left Nigeria two years ago with dreams of a better life. Instead, she found herself trapped in Libya, forced to work under exploitative conditions just to survive. Holding her two-year-old son close, she said, “I don’t know where to start. I sold everything to travel. Now, I’m back with nothing.”

To help returnees like Aisha, the IOM, in partnership with NEMA and other agencies, provides reintegration support, including vocational training, business grants, and psychosocial counseling. These programs are essential in helping them rebuild their lives and find new opportunities at home.

This latest evacuation is part of an ongoing effort to rescue Nigerians from Libya’s brutal realities. Over the years, thousands have been repatriated, yet the cycle of irregular migration persists. Despite continuous awareness campaigns, human traffickers still lure young Nigerians with false promises of a better life abroad.

Experts argue that while evacuation efforts are commendable, the real solution lies in addressing the root causes of migration—unemployment, poverty, and lack of opportunities. Without viable alternatives at home, many will continue to take desperate risks.

Relief and uncertainty filled the air as the returnees settled into the temporary resettlement center. Some saw their return not as a failure but as a second chance. “I just want to find a way to care for my son,” Aisha said. “I don’t regret coming back. At least I am alive.”

The mission of NEMA and its partners is clear: to help returnees rebuild their lives. But for Nigeria, the bigger challenge remains—creating a future where its youth no longer feel compelled to risk everything for an uncertain journey abroad.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu—an NYSC serving corps member, writes from the Centre for Crisis Communication (CCC) in Abuja.

By Shamsi Ubale Jibril

State of emergency mainly entails the suspension of normal law and order procedures and the introduction of strict controls of the population, usually involving armed forces, so that a crisis or some other factors out of the ordinary can be contained.

Ignoring variations in nomenclature, nations are empowered either by their constitutions or some other national legislations to declare state of emergency when the country or any part thereof is at war, there is breakdown of public order, imminent fear of breakdown of law and order, occurrence or imminent danger of natural disaster or some other danger which clearly constitute a threat to the existence of the Federation.

The Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria 1999 (as amended), as well as its predecessors have clearly laid down the conditions under which state of emergency can be declared, as well as the detailed procedure of the declaration.

By Section 305 of the 1999 Constitution, the President may by instrument published in the official Gazette of the Government of the Federation issue a proclamation of a state of emergency in the Federation or any part thereof, subject to 2/3 majority resolution of the senate and House of Representatives approving such measures.

The President is empowered to make such declaration where:

a.the Federation is at war;

b.the Federation is in imminent danger of invasion or involvement in a state of war;

c.there is actual breakdown of public order and public safety in the Federation or any part thereof to such extent as to require extraordinary measures to restore peace and security;

d. there is a clear and present danger of an actual breakdown of public order and public safety in the Federation or any part thereof requiring extraordinary measures to avert such danger;

e.there is an occurrence or imminent danger, or the occurrence of any disaster or natural calamity, affecting the community or a section of the community in the Federation;

f. there is any other public danger which clearly constitutes a threat to the existence of the Federation; or

g.the President receives a request to do so in accordance with the provisions of subsection (4) of this section.

The determination of the existence of any of the above circumstances is left to the President to decide, and he may not face any form of restriction in making the declaration. The only possible limitation is where the National Assembly refuses to approve of the declaration, which is quite inlikely under the current settings.

However, none of the Nigerian Constitutions state the extent of the powers of the Federal Government in administering the affected constituent part (State or Region).

Prior to 2011, the Federal Government after declaring state of emergency, went ahead to displace state government institutions/functionaries of the affected state/region. In 1962, Dr Majekudomi was appointed administrator in the Western Region, while during the President Obasanjo era, General Chris Ali and Tunji Olurin were appointed administrators of Plateau and Ekiti States respectively.

However, in 2011 and 2014 when President Goodluck Jonathan declared state of emergency in some parts of the federation, he departed from this precedent and retained the State Governors and Houses of Assembly. This was criticized as not being far reaching enough.

An opportunity to resolve the dispute as to whether the President could replace state functionaries during state of emergency arose in the Supreme Court in the case of Plateau State of Nigeria & Ano v Attorney General of the Federation (2006) NWLR pt 968 p. 346, but the court avoided pronouncement on this live issue on technical g round.

There is therefore a huge gap on the extent of the powers of the President during period of state of emergency. With its chequared history on state of emergency implementation, the USA passed the National Emergency Act 1976, which clearly provide in detail, how the President could implement State of Emergency.

Nobody is in doubt as to the extent of the President’s power during state of emergency in USA.On the 18th March, 2025, the President of the federal Republic of Nigeria declared a state of emergency in Rivers State suspending the Governor of the State, the Deputy Governor and the State House of Assembly for an initial period of 6 months.

There is no doubt that the President has the power to declare a state of emergency in Rivers state if any of the conditions highlighted above exists. However, in the exercise of this declaration, does the President have the power to suspend a democratically elected governor, deputy governor and a whole house od assembly of a state and replace them with a sole administrator appointed by the President?

It should not be forgotten that section 1 (2) of the Constitution provides:The Federal Republic of Nigeria shall not be governed, nor shall any persons or group of persons take control of the Government of Nigeria or any part thereof, except in accordance with the provisions of this Constitution.In the absence of clear provisions of the Constitution validating the suspensions and how the state can be democratically governed within this period, I am of the firm view that this declaration can challenged in court, and be set aside.

This will put to rest the profound uncertainty in the import and effects of declaration of state of emergency under Nigerian law, and to obviate the tendency using such declaration to score a political goal, no matter how obscure.

Shamsi Ubale Jibril can be reached via danjaji2020@yahoo.com.

By Sa’adatu Aliyu 

Nigeria’s legislative chamber is an embarrassment, with lawmakers handling important matters like a bunch of drunks in a bar. These are the individuals determining our fate, appearing anything but serious. Watching them feels like being strapped to a chair and forced to watch a tedious comedy. It’s a complete nightmare.

Moreover, seeing Senator Natasha walking out of the Senate was disturbing, highlighting the reality of injustice and the flawed Nigerian system that perpetuates sexism and denies women their freedom. The penalty imposed on her is nothing more than a testament to bullying.

As men dominate the floor, as they do in other male-dominated spheres, true justice appears elusive. Most of these men, who see sexism as a normal part of women’s lives, felt it appropriate to gang up against Senator Natasha. This mindset is all too prevalent among African men, who often excel at trivializing sexism. In simple terms, this is a case of toxic patriarchy reinforced—something many women have been tirelessly fighting against for years.

As a literature student who has studied the origins of feminist movements, I’m aware of the struggles women face. However, this issue goes beyond feminism; it’s about truth.

With that in mind, we all know the incident began after Senator Natasha made several claims about being sidelined by the Senate President. She was constantly ignored whenever she attempted to raise a motion concerning the development of Ajakota steel mines. Behind the Senate President’s actions, however, was a backstory. Months ago, a nightclub comment sparked widespread condemnation. After enduring so much, Senator Natasha eventually erupted, leading to the escalation of the issue and further allegedly accusing the President of a history of sexual harassment.

On Natasha’s Outfit 

The Lafaya, as it is referred to in northern Nigeria, is primarily worn by Muslim women and is considered quite decent attire, often worn at traditional events like wedding ceremonies by brides and occasionally during horse-riding festivals. It’s important to remember that Natasha is a Christian woman who has chosen to wear an outfit that not only fits her well but is also attractive and appropriately modest. Yet, the Senate President claims that her chosen fashion is transparent and offensive to his view.

If this is true, how could Natasha make it through the Senate gates if her attire was indeed so exposing and provocative? I believe the Senate has a dress code, and if her Excellency was violating it, she wouldn’t have been allowed to pass through the Senate gate.

But because, clearly, there’s nothing inappropriate about her way of dressing—which is quite respectable for a Christian woman, by the way—it renders the Senate President’s claims unfounded and disrespectful. Instead of focusing on significant issues, he gets distracted by a Senator’s wardrobe choices. It’s ridiculous.

Women as Enablers of Toxic Patriarchal Abuse

Women, particularly those from our mothers’ generation, especially African women, have been indoctrinated into a dangerous culture of acceptance that enables them to tolerate the excesses of men in society and even defend them. This includes women who attempt to justify a man’s sexual misconduct or other behavioral missteps. As a result, a daughter trapped in a bad marriage, where she is a victim of domestic violence, is often advised to endure her situation.

A daughter who’s a rape victim is not just blamed but is asked to never speak of the issue. She is the victim yet bears the shame. “It’s a wrong committed by men. There’s nothing we can do.” That’s what young girls have been taught. And because of this, many women have to live with abusive men, continuing to endure abuse on many fronts because suffering is equated with righteousness. For these women, silence is bravery, and speech is cowardly.

Moreover, among other things, those women who come out to dismiss the allegations leveled against the Senate President unapologetically belong to this school. Another likely reason to smear Natasha’s claims as false and unfounded is the threat she poses to them – women who may be envious of her based on her physical appearance and youthful beauty.

Women are known to size each other up and hold grudges against those they believe possess qualities they lack, and one thing the senator has is beauty. Just based on that, the other women may feel threatened. Therefore, supporting her is out of the question. Yet, this does not surprise me—the silence of the women who were supposed to stand with her; women are often seen as their own worst enemies.

However, while her suspension might appear as a defeat, I commend Senator Natasha for her stoic bravery and refusal to be silenced in the face of injustice. Regardless of the outcome of this case, she has triumphed because she spoke up. Natasha has refused to be that meek daughter, that “good daughter.” She has defied expectations and rejects being labeled as “Mama endurance” in the face of harassment.

And while some women may be saying, “She should have just kept quiet; look where this has landed her,” I want to tell them that it’s better to be in this position, knowing you advocated for yourself and can walk away, than to remain silent in an environment that continues to torment you.

It’s daughters like these that we want to raise – daughters who can look into the eye of injustice and say no, not again. Natasha spoke truth to authority; she fought back. And people may see her action as inappropriate, but we forget that her outburst is as a result of accumulated frustration. She’s the true daughter of “Ane Ebira,” who refused to go mum.

As a member of the same tribe as Her Excellency, Senator Akpoti, I can confidently say that the Ebira people are renowned for their bravery and steadfast fearlessness when faced with provocation. It is not our nature to instigate conflict, but we are never hesitant to confront challenges if it means defending ourselves. We are recognized for standing up for our truth. You cannot bully an Ebira man or woman without them pushing back. “I’m not afraid of you” stems from a legacy of fearless ancestors who never backed down from a fight.

Sa’adatu Aliyu works at DLC Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. She can be contacted at saadatualiyu36@gmail.com. 

By Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim

Deedee rushed around her room, gathering the necessary materials for her PhD proposal defense, her heart racing as she tried to remember everything. The session was officially set to begin at ten in the morning, as specified by the postgraduate college, but by seven, she was already anxious, determined not to be late for such an important academic event.

Thanks to the relentless morning traffic, Deedee barely arrived at her destination by eight. Clutching her papers tightly and breathing heavily, she sighed in relief—at least she was the first to arrive. Finally, she could set aside the worry of being late. She settled into her seat, absorbing the tranquillity in the environment and the nervous anticipation of her imminent defense.

The clock ticked on. By ten o’clock—the designated time—only a few familiar faces were moving about. It was evident that the college had only just started making arrangements for the venue and other necessary protocols. Deedee stayed patient. Maybe the session would begin by eleven, she thought, but I need to pick up Mukhtar from school by two.

Yet, the college workers—both academic and non-academic—moved about leisurely, their faces showing no awareness of time slipping away. As the hours passed, other students began to trickle in. No one noticed who had arrived first; there was no system in place to ensure that Deedee or any early arrivals would be attended to first. It seemed that the very concept of punctuality was foreign here.

Frustrated, Deedee later lamented, “Can you believe the session didn’t start until two o’clock in the afternoon? That was exactly when I was supposed to pick up Mukhtar from school?”

“I’m really sorry,” I said earnestly. “But this is what we refer to as ‘African time.’ People here often don’t prioritize valuing time.”

“But do you realize what that means!?” Deedee interjected. “It means our defense times were shortened, leaving us little opportunity to express the very ideas we spent sleepless nights preparing. I was caught between trying to present my work convincingly and worrying about my poor son. What could I say to impress the professors? What was Mukhtar doing at that moment? Was he thinking I had forgotten him? These thoughts, combined with exhaustion, drained all the energy I’d built up for the session.”

Sadly, lack of respect for time has become our trademark in Africa—or, let me be specific, in Nigeria, which I know too well. It is bad enough that the general populace disregards time, but it is even more disheartening that this culture thrives in academic environments. 

Ironically, some people deliberately arrive late to events, using it as a display of status. They ensure the crowd has gathered before they waltz in, basking in the admiration of those who foolishly equate tardiness with importance. Even more baffling is that these individuals always have some fools cheer and applaud their ignorance or arrogance.

We must recognize that our choices do not impact us alone. More often than not, they have far-reaching consequences for others. Consider how a single instance of lateness can disrupt the timing of subsequent activities. Life functions like a chain—delaying one link interrupts the entire sequence. If action A is postponed, it affects action Y, and ultimately, there may be no time left for action Z, which could be critical to someone else’s plans.

It is time we erased the shameful phrase “African time” from our vocabulary and our reality. We must recognize that adhering to schedules is an act of responsibility, a way of being our brother’s keeper. Whether as teachers, students, participants, or public speakers, we need to respect the time allocated to us, neither taking more than our share nor wasting what we have.

Yesterday is history, which is why it’s referred to as the past. Tomorrow is a mystery, unknown and unpredictable. But today—this moment—is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present. Use it wisely.

Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim wrote via abubakarmuhammadaminu21@gmail.com.

By As-sayyidul Arafat Abdulrazaq 

The War Against Drug Abuse (WADA) in Nigeria, led by the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA), is a vigorous effort to combat a problem that has been undermining the country’s social fabric. Launched on June 26, 2021, under the Buhari administration, it focuses not only on apprehending drug dealers—although there is a significant emphasis on that—but also on a comprehensive strategy to reduce both the supply and demand for illicit drugs through enforcement, education, and community action.

Nigeria’s drug problem is severe. Cannabis, codeine, tramadol, and methamphetamine (locally known as “ice” or “mkpuru mmiri”) are widespread, particularly among young people. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), cannabis leads the list, followed by opioids and cough syrups containing codeine. This is not merely a health crisis; it also fuels crime, cultism, and insurgency, as groups like Boko Haram are reportedly financing their operations through drug trafficking.

WADA’s strategy divides into two lanes. On the supply side, the NDLEA’s Offensive Action, which began in January 2021, has been relentless. Under Brig. Gen. Buba Marwa’s leadership, the agency has achieved significant victories: over 57,792 arrests, 10,572 convictions, and more than 10 million kilograms of drugs seized since he took charge. 

The demand side is where WADA’s heart is on the demand side: prevention through awareness. They’ve rolled out sensitization campaigns in schools, mosques, churches, markets, and workplaces nationwide and given lectures at places like Maku Grammar School in Oyo or Jama’atu Islamiyya in Kogi State.

How did they do it? Through grassroots hustle and smart partnerships. NDLEA’s 36 state commands collaborated with local leaders, traditional rulers, youth groups, and the Association of Local Governments of Nigeria (ALGON) to host talks and rallies. The “Save Our Families” campaign in 2024 distributed drug test kits to parents to prevent the drug abuse crisis from affecting homes.

The results are clear. By mid-2024, over 13,000 people will have received counseling or rehab, a significant increase from just 599 in 2020, with 8,129 individuals receiving assistance last year alone, according to LEADERSHIP on February 25. This reflects individuals choosing change because they’ve heard the message. In Imo State, after a talk in 2024 at Owerri-Aba Primary, teachers began to look for warning signs. 

In Kaduna State, a February 24 event prompted residents to pledge for drug-free neighborhoods, resulting in a significant increase in calls to NDLEA’s helpline by early 2025. In Kano, where Brig. Gen. Buba Marwa highlighted 1.07 millionusers during the launch of a sensitization campaign against drug abuse, domestic violence, and the illicit drug trade organized by the National Orientation Agency (NOA) in Kaduna, Marwa discussed Almajiri children, aiming to reduce the number of young people that dealers can target, which could decrease crimes such as gang fights and theft.

This year, WADA’s sensitization efforts are making a significant impact in schools and communities. Lectures were held at the Federal Cooperative College in Ibadan on February 20, warning students about the dangers of drugs. Additionally, there is an ongoing initiative in the FCT with new area commands in Kwali and Kuje aimed at spreading the message further. They are maintaining the momentum from 2024, during which they reached over 1.8 million people alone.

But it is not all solved. Drugs still flow, and poverty keeps some trapped. However, with over 10 million kilos seized,including 25 tons destroyed in Kogi this week, the NDLEA combines this effort with outreach to make a difference. WADA’s success lies not only in the drugs they intercept; it’s also in the minds they influence. This fight demonstrates that Nigeria can push back step by step, with a plan that is working.

Looking ahead, the NDLEA could strengthen its capabilities by adopting modern technology. Currently, the NDLEA relies significantly on human intelligence and physical operations. Their officers, including the elite Strike Force established in 2021, carry out raids, patrols, and manual inspections at airports, seaports, borders, and highways. However, these efforts, while effective, are basic compared to what will be available in 2025. 

Traffickers are adapting by hiding drugs in compressors, duvets, and even soap bars, as seen in recent busts. Drones, for instance, are not widely mentioned in their operations, yet they could scour remote cannabis farms or stash points along the border. Digital tracking, AI, and data analytics to map online drug deals or shipping patterns seem to be underutilized.

As-Sayyidul Arafat Abdulrazaq is a Corp member at the Center for Crisis Communication and can be reached at as.sayyid21@gmail.com.