Opinion

By Isyaka Laminu Badamasi

It is becoming glaring that the Federal Government is taking Nigerians for granted. A few months back, we were all here condemning the new tax reform introduced by the APC administration led by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, a reform whose implications will be deeply felt by Nigerians, especially the downtrodden.

Though some analysts and experts argue that the new tax reform is the right step, particularly for an economy whose revenue depends almost 70% on crude oil, my little contribution to the debate is not to analyse the reform or weigh its positive and negative impacts on our well-being. Rather, it is to raise a few critical questions arising from my thoughts on the matter at hand.

My concern is specifically about content creators who were engaged to sensitise Nigerians on the new bill—a development that sparked another debate, one that again exposed our disunity as a people and our lack of seriousness about matters of national importance and those inimical to our well-being. Nigerians, especially Northerners, instead of examining the bill and preparing for constructive criticism, began complaining that none of the selected content creators was from the core North. As if having a core Northern content creator in the sensitisation team would somehow change or reduce the taxes that will eventually be imposed on core Northerners.

With or without any sensitisation or awareness campaign, the new tax reform has come to stay. Regardless of how people accept or reject it, it will be implemented as planned. The content creators engaged by the government may not even understand the policy themselves, let alone be able to sensitise the public properly.

For me, therefore, this entire conversation about the “selection of content creators” is unnecessary. To my understanding, it was technically designed to divert Nigerians’ attention. Instead of focusing on constructive criticism of this inhumane policy, we have been pushed into arguing over who should be involved, when, and how—a distraction that does not help an already fragmented country.

Let us not forget that we are in 2025, in the 21st century—111 years as an amalgamated entity and 65 years as an independent nation, with more than two and a half decades of an uninterrupted democratic dispensation. It is high time we appreciate our togetherness despite the odds and chart a path toward unity. This is especially crucial at this moment, when we are facing serious and multidimensional security challenges, particularly here in the North, ravaged by bandits, insurgents, and kidnappers, with pockets of ethnic and religious conflicts here and there. Do we so easily forget that Nigeria was once declared a “country of particular concern” by the US President, Donald Trump?

It is important for policymakers and implementers to avoid introducing issues that, instead of fostering peaceful coexistence, end up dividing us. Meanwhile, those in positions of authority continue siphoning our meagre resources—resources that have failed to address our critical challenges in health, education, security, and other essential sectors.

On the issue of not engaging or selecting content creators from the core North for this “all-important” sensitisation campaign, the situation is both baffling and questionable. It is strange that the PR unit of the FIRS/FGN did not consider the three major languages—Hausa, Igbo, and Yoruba—alongside English, our official language, as part of their information-dissemination strategy. However, it is still not too late to make corrections.

Whatever the reasons may be, Nigerians—regardless of region or religion—should prepare themselves, as the policy will take effect come January 2026.

Isyaka Laminu Badamasi wrote via makwalla82@gmail.com.

By Maryam Shehu

Electricity remains one of the most essential public utilities in Nigeria–central to daily life, small-scale enterprises, and family survival. Yet for residents of Tudun Jukun, Madaci and other communities in Zaria, power has become a source of deepening hardship rather than progress.

For nearly three weeks, Tudun Jukun and several neighbouring communities have been plunged into a persistent blackout, with no meaningful announcement from the Kaduna Electricity Distribution Company (KEDCO) or any government authority. The outage comes on the heels of a controversial and devastating spike in electricity bills that many residents say they were never consulted about and cannot afford.

In October, KEDCO reportedly reclassified the community into Band A, one of the highest electricity tariff categories, despite Tudun Jukun’s socio-economic reality. The community, home to more than 2,000 households, has less than 40 per cent of residents considered middle class, while the majority struggle daily with food insecurity, unstable income, and rising costs of living. Many parents rely on public schools, yet still struggle to provide basic learning materials for their children.

Residents say KEDCO claimed to have engaged community elites before implementing the Band A classification. Shortly after, households were issued bills of ₦10,000—already burdensome for a community where many live below the poverty line.

The situation worsened dramatically in early November, and households received bills as high as ₦115,000, and in some houses, even higher. With residents unable to pay, the community was soon thrown into darkness. Since November 20, 2025, Tudun Jukun has remained without electricity, despite petitions and repeated attempts by concerned people to seek redress.

The power cut has devastated small and micro-businesses that rely on electricity to function. Welders, tailors, food vendors, shop owners, and artisans have seen their livelihoods crumble.

“My father is old and serves as a Ladan at a nearby mosque, so my family depends on me for everything,” said Ibrahim, a local welder. “I tried carrying my machines to Hayin Usama, where they had light, but now they also haven’t had power for two days. My clients are collecting their materials without waiting, and things are completely ruined for me.”

Women-led household businesses are also affected. “I used to make ₦3,000 to ₦5,000 daily from soyamilk and zobo,” said Hadiza, a mother and small-scale producer. “That money supported my household, but since the first week of this outage, I’ve had to learn how to survive without income.”

Across the community, youths, artisans, and family breadwinners now face worsening poverty, prolonged idleness, and rising frustration as no tangible explanation or action has been offered by authorities.

Residents are calling on KEDCO, the local government, and all responsible bodies to urgently address the issue. They argue that the prolonged outage and unexplained tariff hikes undermine their rights to dignity and economic participation as protected under Sections 14(2)(b) and 17(3)(a) of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, which obligate the government to ensure the welfare of citizens and provide adequate facilities for their livelihood. They also reference the regulatory duties of electricity distribution companies under the Nigerian Electricity Act and NERC guidelines, which require fair billing, transparency, and continuous service except in cases of officially communicated faults or approved maintenance.

Residents are demanding a transparent review of the billing process, a resolution to the petitions already submitted, and direct engagement with the community’s leaders. They insist that electricity must be restored immediately, alongside compensation or remedial measures for what they describe as an unjust disruption of their rights and livelihoods.

Until then, Tudun Jukun remains in darkness, both literally and economically.

Maryam Shehu writes from Zaria and can be reached at maryamshehu6354@gmail.com.

By Kasim Isa Muhammad

I wish to bring to the attention of the Nigerian public, press freedom advocates, and all relevant authorities the deeply troubling situation that has unfolded since the publication of my recent article. What began as a civic-driven inquiry into the visibility and constituency engagement of an elected representative has now escalated into an issue touching on personal safety, democratic accountability, and the worrying misuse of influence. The unfolding events have created an atmosphere of fear within my family and have underscored the increasing challenges journalists and citizens face when attempting to demand transparency from public officeholders.

On the 4th of December 2025, I authored a piece in the Daily Chronicles newspaper in which I raised questions regarding the whereabouts and activities of the member representing Nangere and Potiskum Federal Constituency, Hon. Fatima Talba. The article responded to concerns from many constituents who felt disconnected from their representative and uncertain about the progress of projects and engagements promised during the last election. My intention was simply to give voice to those concerns in a constructive and democratic manner, drawing attention to matters that are clearly in the public interest.

The article itself did not contain inflammatory language, personal attacks, or unverified allegations. It was essentially a call for dialogue, transparency, and responsiveness, qualities that any functioning democracy expects of its elected officials. I anticipated a clarification or a factual correction or perhaps a simple acknowledgement from her office. I did not expect the irresponsible reaction that followed and which has now placed undue emotional pressure on my family.

According to my parents, shortly after the publication of the article, they began receiving calls and visits from individuals whom they believed to be linked to the Honourable Member. These individuals reportedly expressed displeasure over the content of the piece. My parents informed me that Hon. Fatima Talba was extremely upset and that she allegedly made threatening remarks suggesting she would deal with me in whatever manner she considered appropriate. Hearing this from my parents was both painful and disturbing since they have no connection whatsoever to my professional work.

For two elderly people who have lived quiet and peaceful lives and who have never been involved in political matters, these alleged threats came as a frightening experience. They were confused about why they were being dragged into an issue that concerned my work alone. No parent should be placed in a position where they feel fear simply because their child has chosen to engage in responsible journalism or has raised questions that are fully within the bounds of democratic rights. Their anxiety has been overwhelming and their sense of security has been shaken.

As a journalist, I am fully aware that my work may sometimes provoke disagreement or criticism. Scrutiny is part of the job and public officials have every right to respond to any publication in ways that are lawful, transparent, and civil. What cannot be tolerated is the intimidation or harassment of family members who have no involvement in the matter being discussed. Such behaviour, if confirmed, would suggest an unacceptable misuse of influence and would undermine the principles of free expression that support a democratic society.

It is particularly baffling that instead of addressing the substance of the concerns raised in the article, the alleged reaction appears to have been directed at silencing me through fear. This development raises questions about how some public officials perceive their accountability to the citizens and the press. When a simple inquiry is met with intimidation rather than engagement, it signals a serious departure from democratic norms and creates the risk of authoritarian tendencies taking root in our political culture.

I want to emphasize that my article was never intended to harm Hon. Fatima Talba or misrepresent her actions. My aim was to seek clarity regarding her stewardship and visibility as a representative of her constituency. The publication was meant to open a path for conversation and not to close it. The reaction that my parents described has only made the concerns raised in the article more relevant because it suggests a reluctance to engage openly with the issues that matter to the electorate.

Given the seriousness of the situation, I call on civil society organizations, press freedom advocates, human rights groups, and relevant government agencies to pay attention to what has occurred. Any form of intimidation directed at journalists or their families threatens not just individuals but the integrity of public institutions. A society where journalists fear asking questions is a society at risk of silencing truth and discouraging civic participation. The safety of my parents and the preservation of my constitutional rights must be taken seriously.

To Hon. Fatima Talba, I respectfully reiterate that criticism and inquiry are unavoidable parts of public service. If there were concerns about the accuracy or tone of my article, the appropriate response would have been a formal statement, a rebuttal, an interview, or any open engagement that provides clarification. Alleged threats, if they did occur, cannot be considered an acceptable response. They create fear, deepen mistrust, and widen the distance between public officials and the people they represent.

Furthermore, I urge the appropriate security agencies to investigate this matter carefully and impartially. Public office should never become a shield that protects individuals from scrutiny or a tool used to intimidate citizens. The safety of my family and the protection of my right to engage in journalism must not be compromised. If the allegations made by my parents are proven to be accurate, steps must be taken to prevent any recurrence of such conduct by anyone in a position of authority.

In closing, I reaffirm my dedication to the pursuit of truth, public accountability, and responsible journalism. I will not allow fear or intimidation to deter me from raising issues that matter to the public. I believe that democracy grows stronger when difficult questions are asked and weaker when those questions are answered with threats instead of explanations. My commitment remains firm, and my hope is that this incident becomes a reminder that Nigeria must continue to stand against intimidation and for the protection of democratic expression.

Kasim Isa Muhammad wrote in from Yobe State, Nigeria.

By Aliyu Ya’u

His Excellency, Dikko Umar Radda’s position on rural banditry has provoked considerable reactions, with some questioning his resolve to confront bandits rather than seek a peace agreement.

Given that he lacks control over the paramilitary and armed forces present in the state, it is fair to say that he has taken commendable steps by establishing the state’s community policing group and encouraging the civilian population to engage in self-defence. 

I fully empathise with his frustration, especially in light of the constant criticisms and pleas from victims suffering due to the terror of rural banditry. Understandably, his excellency may feel disheartened and powerless to prevent these criminals from continuing their activities. 

Further, everyone, especially the civilian population, would welcome a peace accord in a real conflict situation. In such situations, all parties’ demands are tabled and deliberated, and sustainable solutions are found and implemented. 

However, in the case of an unorganised and unregulated group like rural bandits of the North-western and North-central Nigeria, who wreak havoc daily without reasonable justification. 

The question lies not in the society respecting the peace accord, but in the modalities employed to guide the peace settlement. Another question is whether the peace accord is sustainable, using historical parameters to assess the credibility and reliability of the commitment of the violent party involved. 

Any peace accord between a government, society, and an armed group should be based on disarmament, demobilisation, and reintegration (DDR). 

According to the United Nations Peacekeeping operation unit, DDR is “a process of removing weapons from the hands of members of armed groups, taking these combatants out of their groups and helping them to reintegrate as civilians into society.”

The question is whether the militias or bandits are ready to surrender all their weapons, demobilise from their dens, and reintegrate into the larger society. Unless the government can confirm these terms with the bandits’ leaders, mediators, and sureties, it will not be obligated to build a wall of ash blocks. 

Other questions include, How strong and convincing are the commitments laid down or presented by the militias? How committed is the leadership to the pact? What are the demands? How cogent and soluble are they? Do they have a unified command structure? Is the command structure capable of issuing an effective directive that will be respected by various dens and groups committing heinous bandit crimes? 

These armed groups are often small; in most cases, a group comprises 10 or fewer bandits who act autonomously, unless they need to cooperate against a sedentary enemy community. The absence of a centralised governing body makes it difficult to build an effective peace agreement with the groups. How could a peace accord with hundreds of bandit groups roaming the regions’ thick and interconnected forests that span hundreds of kilometres and access many states be possible? 

Another aspect deserving the government’s focus is the scope of Katsina state’s peace accord. What areas will it encompass? Will the armed bandits responsible for heinous crimes in Katsina state prevent others from neighbouring states from crossing into the area to commit banditry? It’s crucial to recognise that we are not dealing with an insurgent group, a separatist movement, or an ideological terror organisation; rather, the state is confronting multiple disorganised criminal entities. 

The focus should be on the following: The state’s primary concern is achieving lasting peace, not a temporary ceasefire. The bandits should establish a reliable leadership structure that is known and accessible, and willing to take full responsibility if they breach the agreement. They should clearly specify what sets their current commitments apart from those made with previous governments. Additionally, they should submit their complaints for the state’s review and assessment. The sureties must first confiscate or disarm the bandits before any peace accord is signed.

Aliyu Yau holds an M.Sc. in Defence and Strategic Studies and is a public policy and conflict analyst based in Kaduna.

Dr Ebenezer Obadare, a Senior Fellow for Africa Studies at the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), recently testified before a joint briefing of the United States Congress on the security crisis in Nigeria. Given CFR’s extraordinary influence on U.S. foreign policy, as its analysts brief the Congress, the State Department, and the White House, the accuracy and balance of Dr Obadare’s testimony matter significantly.

At the briefing, U.S. lawmakers and witnesses made one demand that every responsible Nigerian, Muslim or Christian, would be happy with: that Nigeria must disarm armed militias and prosecute attackers. The renewed commitment we are now seeing from the Nigerian government, including airstrikes against armed militias, the planned police and military recruitment, and the declaration of a national security emergency are all a response to the mounting U.S. pressure. On this point, American engagement has been productive.

However, Dr Obadare went far beyond the reasonable. After acknowledging the recent steps taken by President Tinubu, he nevertheless insisted that “Washington must keep up the pressure.” To him, U.S. leverage should not only be used to combat Boko Haram but to pressure the Nigerian president to abolish Sharia criminal law in twelve northern states and disband Hisbah commissions across the northern region. This framing is problematic on several counts.

First, it portrays Nigeria not as a sovereign state but as a dependent client whose legal and cultural system must be restructured via external coercion. This is not only intellectually careless; it is politically reckless. Nigeria’s constitutional debates, including the place of Sharia within a federal arrangement, cannot be resolved through directives from Washington. These are matters rooted in decades of negotiation, legal precedent, historical realities, and democratic choice. Such complexity cannot be wished away by foreign pressure or reduced to simplistic talking points about religious persecution. Sharia was introduced between 1999 and 2001 through public consultation and mass popular demand by the local citizens in northern Nigeria, who are Muslims. Subsequently, it was formalised and enacted into law by the various State Houses of Assembly.

Second, Obadare’s argument misdiagnoses the root causes of violence in the north. Boko Haram and ISWAP do not derive their ideology from the Sharia systems implemented by northern states since 1999. In fact, Boko Haram explicitly rejects these systems as insufficient, impure, and corrupted by democracy. They consider northern governors apostates precisely because they operate within a secular constitution. The group’s origins lie in violent extremism, socio-economic marginalisation, and the 2009 extrajudicial killing of the group’s founder, Mohammed Yusuf. It has nothing to do with the Sharia framework implemented by the twelve northern states. In fact, Boko Haram rejects and condemns these state Sharia systems as illegitimate, and this is why the majority of their victims are Muslims themselves. 

It is therefore analytically false to imply that Sharia criminal law fuels this insurgency. This narrative does not withstand even a basic historical timeline. The Maitatsine insurgency of the 1970s, whose ideology and violence closely resemble Boko Haram, predated the introduction of Sharia in the early 2000s by decades. To frame Sharia as the catalyst of terrorism is therefore a misreading of history and to locate causality where it does not exist.

Third, the call to disband Hisbah groups ignores their actual function and constitution. Hisbah institutions are state-established moral enforcement agencies regulated by local laws. They are not terrorist actors, militias, or insurgent organisations. They are contrary to Dr Obadare’s claims that they “impose extremist ideology, enforce forced conversions, and operate with near-total impunity.” These assertions either misrepresent the facts to unfairly tarnish their reputation or reflect intellectual laziness that risks misleading American policymakers. In doing so, they also demonise millions of peaceful Nigerian Muslims who regard Sharia as a legitimate component of their cultural and moral identity.

Finally, Dr Obadare’s testimony, intentionally or not, reinforces a narrative in Washington that sees Nigeria’s crisis primarily through the lens of religious conflict rather than the multi-dimensional reality it is, that is, a mixture of terrorism, banditry, state failure, local grievances, arms proliferation, and climate-driven resource conflicts in the form of farmer-herder crisis. Oversimplification of this serious problem does not aid victims. It distorts U.S. policy and encourages punitive measures that could destabilise fragile communities further and restrict the fundamental rights of millions of Muslims to exercise their faith and adhere to the guidance of Shari’a in their personal and communal lives. 

Nigeria faces serious security challenges amid years of leadership neglect. We genuinely need pressure to put the leaders on their toes, but not the kind rooted in calculated distortion. There is a need for leadership accountability, but not at the expense of Nigeria’s sovereignty. And we need a partnership with the United States in the areas of intelligence gathering, military capabilities and a mutually beneficial partnership. 

The United States should not base its engagement on flawed analyses made by experts such as Dr Ebenezer Obadare, which risk misrepresenting Nigeria’s realities, undermining local institutions, and prescribing solutions that could exacerbate rather than resolve the country’s complex security challenges. Partnering with the Nigerian government enables a tailor-made approach to effectively address these challenges, rather than relying on experts who have long been out of touch with Nigerian realities beyond what they read in media reports.

The Nigerian state must do more, no doubt. But analysts like Dr Obadare must also do better. Nigeria deserves policy analysis grounded in accuracy, proportionality, and respect for the complexities of a plural society; not sweeping prescriptions that collapse constitutional debate into counterterrorism and treat millions of northern Muslims as collateral in the process.

Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel writes from Nigeria and can be reached at caleel2009@gmail.com.

By Abdulsalam Alkali

Claim: 

Opay, a fintech microfinance bank, is deducting money from customer accounts to service COVID-19 Survival Fund loans. This claim has been circulating on social media since the beginning of the week.

Verification Process:

A rough search using the Tor browser and DuckDuckGo search engine found no evidence to support the claim. A deeper search traced the origin of the story to a social media page named “Ibadan Crush TV”, which appears to have been the first to publish it. Furthermore, Opay has used its verified official channels to refute the story, describing it as false, malicious, and fabricated. The company insists all customer accounts and deposits remain safe, intact, and fully accessible.

Findings:

Available data confirms that the circulating news is entirely misleading and false. No deductions for loan servicing have been made from Opay accounts. Opay insists that anyone with a genuine claim should come forward to register a complaint. The story originated from a non-credible source, a page focused on entertainment and lifestyle, not a legitimate news medium.

Verdict:

The claim that it is “fake and misleading” is consistent with the available evidence. There is no public traceable evidence that OPay deducts user funds for servicing any “COVID-19 Survival Fund” loan, and strong official statements from OPay denying both loan services and unauthorised withdrawals.

By Dr Salisu Uba FCIPS

The Chartered Institute of Procurement and Supply (CIPS) has approved a new membership fee structure for Nigeria, allowing procurement professionals to pay in Naira from 1 December 2025. The decision includes a reduction in fees, marking a significant shift for one of the largest professional communities within the institute.

The change follows years of rising financial pressure linked to foreign currency payments, which many practitioners said had limited access to professional qualifications and continuous development.

Local Currency Move Seen as Major Relief

Nigerian members have long argued that payment in foreign currency placed an unnecessary strain on practitioners working in an economy affected by inflation and exchange rate volatility. The shift to Naira is expected to broaden access to certification and support career progression for early and mid-level professionals.

The announcement was delivered by the CIPS Nigeria Country Director, Chukwudi Uche, at the institute’s Port Harcourt symposium in late November. The event brought together industry leaders to discuss supply chain collaboration and tax policy.

A Step with Wider Professional Consequences

CIPS, regarded as the global benchmark for procurement standards, plays a central role in shaping skills, ethics, and governance across the profession. Its qualifications are commonly required for senior roles across the public and private sectors, and its code of conduct is widely used to guide responsible practice.

In Nigeria, CIPS has been instrumental in supporting capacity building, improving transparency, and raising the overall standard of procurement governance. The institute has worked with government agencies, private sector organisations, and development partners to improve processes and strengthen accountability.

Industry experts say the latest decision could encourage greater participation in formal training programmes and increase the number of qualified professionals available to organisations that rely on strong procurement governance.

Procurement’s Role in National Development

Procurement plays a direct role in national development by shaping how public funds are spent and how essential goods and services are delivered. Poor procurement decisions can delay infrastructure, inflate project costs, and weaken accountability. Strong procurement systems support industrial growth, improve public services, and help build competitive local supply chains.

A more accessible professional pathway through CIPS is expected to expand the pool of trained experts who can support national development goals. This includes improved contract management, better risk control, and more effective engagement with local suppliers.

Integrity and Expertise Seen as Priorities

With the revised fee structure now in place, I hope to see more organisations and individual practitioners in Nigeria work closely with qualified experts to protect the integrity of procurement systems. Both public and private sector projects rely heavily on competent professionals who understand governance, ethics, and value-for-money. Strengthening professional capability is essential if Nigeria is to reduce waste, improve transparency, and support long-term development.

A Community Achievement

The fee revision is the result of extensive engagement across the Nigerian membership base. The leadership of Ben Farrell and Sam Achampong has been widely acknowledged, along with the contributions of members who have advocated for reform through various channels. The CIPS Nigeria Country Office has also played a central role in pushing for the change.

More information on the revised fees is expected to be released by CIPS in the coming days.

Dr Salisu Uba is a Fellow of the Chartered Institute of Procurement and Supply and the Chief Executive Officer of NatQuest, a leading technology-enabled supply chain company.

By Abubakar Idris

For those whose businesses do not sell within and around the spectrum of the academia, most probably, the term “peer review” never ring a bell; and for that, we start with that. Often used within the scientific community, an article, or any piece of work is said to be peer reviewed when it is subjected to scrutiny of experts in the same field of study before getting published. Thus, experts in the field are the peer(s), while their scrutiny of the work is the review. 1 + 1 = 2. The purposes – as put simply by Kelly et al. (2014) in their ‘Peer Review in Scientific Publication: Benefits, Critiques, & A Survival Guide’ published by The Journal of the International Federation of Clinical Chemistry and Laboratory Medicine (JIFCC) and cited in more than 800 works – are to: check for relevance / importance / contribution in the area, validity of methodology, and novelty / originality of the work; and ensure improvement in the quality of manuscripts worthy of publication. In any case, in this context, the argument is this: anybody who passed through this celebrated academic writing process, if really conducted as should be done, [can] considers themselves as Odogwu of some sort. Uhm, you know… even as I claim to be a [forest] scientist, with a lot of my written works [mainly published under pseudonyms] appearing in both local and international dailies and magazines, to set the record straight, I must, here, confess that, to my credit, there exists NOT a single peer-reviewed publication! Except perhaps if the bar is to be lowered in respect of the few articles I was able to have got published by the International Society of Tropical Foresters (ISTF)– which I know say you no go gree do even as you know the editors are professional foresters.

Anyway, I know that’s unfortunate on my part. Really unfortunate even. And to borrow from the American-sounding accent speaking Ugandan MP, Mr. Atkins Katusabe, whose video recently circulated on social media, “Mr. Speaker, I think this is a disaster.” That said, why is Abubakar writing an article about ‘This Peer Review of a Thing’? Certainly not just to mock himself as having not published any scientific work. A curios mind is already pounding on this thought. Truth is, this write-up is a protest. The background: As is well known, recently, the POTUS, Mr. TACO, and his like-him arrogant ignorant drum beaters told the world a fat lie that paints Nigeria ugly – the accusation of Christian Genocide. Whatever the motive behind the unsubstantiated and impossible claim, while a clear fabrication on all fronts, the powerful man’s words (that include instructing the Pentagon to come with a plan for military intervention to save their created victims in the most populous black nation) threw the big house into a sensational chaos. Mr. K believes 131, Mrs. Ropines 629, Dr. M dreams 450, Miss N thinks 347, and all. As this fire rages, confusion at its fouls-play, as though in response by the insurgents, more organized more intensified attacks and kidnappings were unveiled – dealing some serious blows not just to the national security architecture, but also the country’s very sovereignty. And, no doubt, these troubles are much
more prevalent in the lower-literate, poorer, hotter climate… Northern region (Arewa).
It’s therefore seriously concerning that instead of guiding their younger ones on how to
consciously navigate the complex terrain, some “Arewa intellectuals” chose the path of
misguiding them. Namely, keeping them busy with cheap arguments that are squarely based on
their own personal glory – or lack of it – focused in toto on massaging their egos. Some pseudo
intellectuals, one is tempted to say.
I genuinely don’t understand why a conscious people whose very existence is threatened by all
kinds of terrorist groups and their families receiving a hell-style of beating by the harshest of
known economic realities allow themselves to be consumed by debates around what credential
qualifies one’s social media posts to be read and responded to, or whose comments are too raw,
shallow, extreme, disrespectful, gullible, and intolerant enough for them to “chop block”. I don’t
know what is, if this isn’t, a clear case of reckless joke.
In the seventh scene of Act II of William Shakespeare’s play ‘As You Like It’, a character Jaques
says, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits
and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts” – then goes on to describe the
seven ages of a man’s life, comparing them to the roles an actor plays in a play. True to nature, in
man’s lifecycle, there is an age for play, there is another for recklessness. Truth is almost all the
Arewa intellectuals are supposed to be done with the said phases. Instead of play and
recklessness, we expect wisdom from them.
When the story of Mazi Kanu’s sentence surfaced and dominated the headlines, I wasn’t as
concerned when most of us were distracted – even if not majorly of Arewa, it is such a serious
[in]security issue itself. But the credentials of our “espat”, oh h*ll no, I don’t get it, and I don’t
want to get it. I thought our so called intellectuals know better, but, well, what do I know?!
Quickly, if you don’t mind my obsession with history, allow me to add this: Elsevier’s Publishing
Guideline notes that, as a method of evaluating written work, this practice, fear (sorry, peer)
review, has been in use since ancient Greece. And, it was first explained by a Syrian physician,
Is’haq Ibn Ali Al-Rahwi (854-931 CE), in his book titled The Ethics of Physician. You gerrit? I
don’t gerrit…
May this article be peer reviewed before it got published, amen!

Abubakar Idris, a scientist without any peer reviewed article, is a graduate of Forestry and
Wildlife from University of Maiduguri. He writes from Auchi, Edo State, and can be reached
via email at abubakaridrismisau@gmail.com or on phone through +2349030178211.

By Abdulmajid Abubakar

I often reflect on my earliest memories, and I realize something profound; for those of us under 50 years, there has only ever been one Emir, His Royal Highness, Ahmad Muhammad Sani II. Sa Maza gudu…

His name was not introduced to us; we grew up inside its echo. His presence was not explained; it was part of the air we breathed, part of the identity we inherited as children of Gumel.

I still remember the traditional songs, the Khakaki, Algaita of his praise-singers that rhythmic chant carrying his name through the streets, floating on the harmattan breeze, around Lautai.

We didn’t grasp every word, but we felt the respect in every tone, the pride in every syllable, the joy that rose in our hearts when his name was sung.

Even at that young age, we knew his name meant something noble.Sallar Ghani was our festival of wonder. I still remember how we would rush out during Sallar Ghani, hearts pounding with excitement and anticipation, just to catch a glimpse of, our beloved leader.

And when HRH finally approached us with yan bindiga and lifidi, mounted on his royal horse, adorned in shimmering regalia, surrounded by yan Silke and giant riders from left-right called Giwa, Mai Martaba is more than a leader.

He is the living face of our heritage. A symbol of our home. A reminder that Gumel had a story older than our own memories.To us young boys, it wasn’t “just hawan sallah. It was magical, it was royalty in motion, it was a vision that shaped our dreams and planted in us the desire to grow into worthy sons of the emirate.

As children, whenever someone mentioned “Gumel,” our faces lit up with pride and joy.That name carried warmth; the warmth of belonging. It carried dignity; the dignity of being tied to a people of honor. It carried pride; the kind that sits quietly in the chest but rises whenever someone calls your hometown.We counted down the days to school holidays, not because we wanted to play, but because it meant we were going home, to Gumel, our haven of peace and heritage.

Home to the stories, the elders, the palace aura, and the living history that surrounded his throne, a constant reminder of our rich legacy. Home to the land where his leadership quietly shaped our values and our identity, molding us into compassionate and responsible individuals.

As the years passed, we began to understand what we had only felt as children.His humility, his patience, his devotion to unity and peace, all the qualities we observed from afar became clearer as we grew older.

His leadership has been like a tall, steady tree rooted in the centre of the emirate, never loud, never seeking applause, yet always offering shade, always offering stability, always offering wisdom.Gumel grew under his watch, and so did we.

His reign is not merely part of history; it is part of our childhood, part of our upbringing, part of who we are.He taught us, even without speaking directly to us, that true leadership is service, a selfless devotion to the greater good.

Through his example, we learned that dignity is quiet, that respect is earned, and that honor is lived, not declared.

May Allah continue to strengthen HRH and bless his stewardship over the land we love.

May He grant Mai Martaba long life, peaceful years, and the fulfillment that comes from a life of service.

And may Gumel remain a haven, a place children still long to return to, a place filled with tradition, unity, and grace, just as it was in my teenage years.

Long live the Emir of Gumel. Allah Ya Ja zamani Mai Martaba Sarkin Gumel, Alhaji (Dr.) Ahmad Muhammad Sani II, (CON)A leader I adored as a child, and honor deeply as a man.

A guardian of our heritage, a symbol of our pride, a presence etched into the memory of every son and daughter who grew up under his gentle shade.

By Mallam Shamsuddeen Suleiman Kibiya

In the long and complex story of Islam in Nigeria, the tension between Salafi reformists and Sufi traditionalists has never been merely a clash of doctrines. It is, more often than we care to admit, a clash of tempers—of the tone one uses, the suspicion one bears, and the verdict one passes on those who practice religion a bit differently. What should have remained a quiet intellectual disagreement has, over time, metamorphosed into an extremism that thrives not on knowledge but on rhetoric.

When Dr Idris Abdulaziz Dutsen Tanshi passed on, the reaction from certain Salafi circles betrayed this peculiar tendency. His admirers saw his death as the painful exit of a righteous man who had lived his life fighting against innovation in religion and straightening the Umma along the path of Tawhid. On the other side, some Sufi-leaning critics responded not with mercy but with long-stored resentment—reminding the public of his “harshness,” his “excessive criticisms,” and his uncompromising, even combative sermons. The atmosphere felt less like the departure of a scholar and more like the settling of old, bitter scores.

And when Shaikh Dahiru Bauchi passed a few days ago, the pattern repeated itself, but this time in reverse. Sufi adherents elevated him beyond scholarship—into sainthood, into miracle, into myth. The outpouring was understandable, but in some corners it crossed into something else: a triumphalism that painted all those who disagreed with his spiritual path as misguided, cold, or spiritually weak. Some Salafi commentators, instead of exercising solemnity, used the moment to revisit old doctrinal disputes—reminding audiences of “bid’ah,” “ghuluw,” and “un-Islamic practices.” Even in death, the walls between both camps seemed eager to echo old hostilities.

What is common to both episodes is that the extremists on either side were saying the same thing without even realising it: that Allah’s mercy is exclusive to their camp; that the Ummah is too big to be shared, but too small to contain disagreement. And this, in its essence, is the extremism of our time—not the extremism of bombs and guns, but the extremism of the tongue.

The Salafi hardliner tends to imagine himself as the last defender of pristine Islam, wielding a vocabulary of denunciation: shirk, bid’ah, dalala, and ghaflah ad infinitum. Every disagreement becomes a deviation, every deviation a threat, and every Sufi becomes a suspect. Meanwhile, the Sufi extremist believes himself to be the custodian of spiritual truth, seeing the Salafi as spiritually blind, stone-hearted literalist, deprived of the inner sweetness of faith and to stretch it even further, an enemy of the beloved prophet SAW himself. Each side constructs a convenient caricature of the other —and then fights that caricature as if it were real.

The danger, however, is that rhetorical extremism does not remain rhetorical over the long run. It shapes communities. It hardens hearts. It turns mosques into enclaves, scholars into partisans and differences into hostilities. What begins as doctrinal rigidity becomes social fragmentation. And what should have been an Ummah becomes a map of feuding camps.

Yet, there is something instructive about how both Dr Idris Abdulaziz and Shaikh Dahiru Bauchi were remembered by their true students—not those who fight for them online, but those who actually sat with them. I mean, their real students, across divides, spoke about their scholarship, humility, discipline, and service. They remembered their knowledge—not their polemics. They recalled their character—not their controversies. This is a reminder that the extremists on both sides, loud as they are, do not represent the whole story.

Nigeria’s Muslim community must now decide what it wishes to inherit from its scholars: the softness of their manners or the sharpness of their debates; their mercy or their anger; their wisdom or their polemics.

To insist that disagreement must lead to division is itself an extremist position. To insist that every scholar must resemble one’s preferred tradition is another. And to pretend that Islam is too fragile to survive multiple approaches is perhaps the greatest of all.

In the end, the Ummah does not collapse because its members disagree. It collapses when disagreement becomes hatred, and hatred finds a pulpit.

May Nigeria’s Muslims learn to argue with knowledge, to differ with dignity, and to remember that Allah, in His infinite mercy, did not create only one path to Him—and certainly not only one temperament.