Opinion

By Abashi Rahab

I read the article titled “End ‘One-Way’ Driving on Lagos-Ibadan Expressway,” published on June 2, 2026, with mixed feelings. The article rightly draws attention to the growing menace of motorists driving against traffic on one of Nigeria’s busiest highways and to the tragic consequences that often follow. The reported death of a dispatch rider is a painful reminder of the dangers associated with this reckless and unlawful practice.

‎I fully agree that one-way driving poses a serious threat to public safety and should be condemned in the strongest terms. No destination is worth risking innocent lives, and all road users have a responsibility to obey traffic regulations designed to protect everyone.

‎However, while the article advocates stricter enforcement and tougher sanctions for offenders, the problem requires a broader and more sustainable response. The persistence of one-way driving despite existing laws suggests that punishment alone may not be enough to eliminate the practice.

‎One factor that deserves attention is the severe traffic congestion that frequently characterises the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway. Although traffic delays do not justify violating the law, they often contribute to the frustration that leads some motorists to make dangerous decisions. Addressing congestion through better road planning and traffic management should therefore form part of the solution.

‎There is also a need for improved road signage, clearer diversions, and better communication regarding alternative routes. Motorists are more likely to comply with traffic regulations when they are provided with safe and practical options.

‎Public awareness campaigns should equally be intensified. While most drivers know that one-way driving is an offence, many may not fully appreciate the devastating consequences it can have. Continuous sensitisation through traditional and digital media can help reinforce responsible driving habits and promote a culture of road safety.

‎Equally important is the consistent and impartial enforcement of traffic laws. Regulations must apply to all road users regardless of status or influence. When some individuals appear to evade sanctions, public confidence in the system is weakened and compliance declines.

‎Government agencies should also embrace modern traffic management technologies, including surveillance cameras, automated monitoring systems, and intelligent traffic control measures. These tools can improve enforcement, enhance traffic flow, and reduce opportunities for dangerous violations.

The article’s recommendation to install anti-one-way devices is commendable and warrants serious consideration. However, such measures should complement broader efforts to address the underlying causes of the problem rather than serve as a standalone solution.

‎Ultimately, ending one-way driving on the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway requires a combination of effective law enforcement, public education, improved infrastructure, better traffic management, and collective responsibility. While offenders must be held accountable, lasting success will depend on giving equal attention to prevention.

‎The loss of even one life due to a preventable traffic violation is one too many. Government agencies, security personnel, transport unions, and motorists must therefore work together to ensure that the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway becomes safer for all who use it.

‎Abashi Rahab is a Strategic Communication student at Yakubu Gowon University, Abuja, and an intern at IMPR. He wrote via ‎abashirahab@gmail.com.

‎By Fatih Lawal-Garu  

‎Across Nigeria today, an allegation can become a death sentence long before any investigation begins. Increasingly, crowds, not courts, decide who lives and who dies. Whether the accusation is theft, blasphemy, kidnapping, or even a perceived cultural offence, many Nigerians are willing to dispense instant “justice,” replacing the rule of law with the rule of the mob.  

‎On December 28, 2025, filmmaker Don Pedro Obaseki was abducted, beaten, stripped naked, and publicly paraded through the streets of Benin City over allegations that he had insulted the Oba of Benin while abroad. He survived the ordeal and later filed a ₦500 million fundamental rights suit, which he withdrew after receiving a public apology. Barely three months later, on March 19, 2026, during the Alue-Do Festival in Ozoro, Delta State, viral videos showed coordinated sexual assaults on women. Large groups of men chased, groped, and tore the clothes of women in broad daylight under the guise of an ancient fertility rite. In Maraban Jos, Kaduna State, an Islamiyya school teacher named Ummulkhair was lynched and burnt alive after being accused of kidnapping a child. Four years earlier, Deborah Samuel Yakubu, a student of Shehu Shagari College of Education in Sokoto, was beaten, stoned, and burnt alive by fellow students over allegations of blasphemy.  

‎These incidents reveal that mob violence is neither regional nor confined to a single grievance. It cuts across Nigeria’s geopolitical zones, religions, cultures, ethnicities, and genders. Crowds arrogate to themselves the powers of the police, the courts, and the executioner without evidence, due process, or regard for human life. Amnesty International documented 555 victims of mob violence between 2012 and 2023, averaging about 55 deaths annually.

A Daily Trust editorial reported that between June and December 2025 alone, 60 people were killed while 20 others were brutally assaulted by mobs. From January 2026 to date, another 27 people have reportedly lost their lives to jungle justice. These victims were not killed by bandits, terrorists, armed robbers, or even security agencies. They were ordinary Nigerians killed by fellow Nigerians over allegations of theft, kidnapping, blasphemy, cultural violations, ethnic prejudice, unverified suspicions, and deliberate mischief.  

‎There was a time when the cry of “thief!” prompted citizens to alert the police. Today, shouts of “Ole,” “gbomo gbomo,” or “barawo” often signal the beginning of a public execution. Within minutes, a crowd gathers, accusations replace evidence, and an alleged offender is beaten, stoned, or burnt alive. The rise of jungle justice reflects a growing loss of confidence in Nigeria’s criminal justice system. Many citizens believe suspects handed over to the police will regain their freedom through bribery, political influence, or endless judicial delays. Although these concerns are genuine, they cannot justify abandoning the law. Ironically, many Nigerians now fear jungle justice almost as much as they fear criminals or even state policing. A misunderstanding or mistaken identity can be enough to trigger a murderous crowd.  

‎Equally disturbing is the erosion of human dignity. Jungle justice has become less about punishing alleged offenders than humiliating them. Victims are stripped naked, tortured, filmed, mocked, and sometimes burnt alive while spectators cheer or record videos. The spectacle suggests that many participants are motivated not merely by anger but by an opportunity to humiliate another human being. Social media has become an accomplice to this violence. Videos of lynchings and public humiliation are often recorded, shared, and circulated within minutes, turning human suffering into entertainment. Rather than provoking outrage, such videos frequently attract applause, jokes, or calls for even harsher punishment, encouraging copycat violence and further normalising mob justice.  

‎‎The mob is also deeply hypocritical. Petty thieves often help lynch suspected thieves. Political thugs, extortionists, and habitual lawbreakers suddenly become defenders of public morality. Those whose daily lives violate the law frequently present themselves as its most passionate enforcers. Jungle justice, therefore, is often less about justice than the intoxicating feeling of exercising unchecked power. Crowds also create a dangerous sense of anonymity. Individuals who would never assault another person on their own often participate in extreme violence once responsibility is diluted among hundreds of people. Protected by numbers, ordinary people can become willing participants in acts they would otherwise condemn.  

‎This hypocrisy reflects a broader national habit of rationalising wrongdoing. Nigerians often seek excuses for actions they already wish to commit. Ask a Yahoo boy why he engages in cybercrime, and he may invoke colonial exploitation or slavery. Ask a voter why he sells his vote, and he may describe it as his chance to “eat from the national cake.” Ask a supporter of jungle justice why he approves of mob executions, and he will likely argue that the suspect would simply bribe the police and walk free. While these grievances expose genuine institutional failures, they cannot excuse criminality or justify replacing the justice system with mob rule. Corruption in public institutions should inspire reform, not lawlessness.  

‎Fear sustains this culture. Witnesses seldom identify perpetrators because they fear violent reprisals. Authorities, meanwhile, often conduct weak investigations that end without meaningful prosecutions. This silence emboldens future attacks and creates the impression that mob violence carries little or no consequence. The long-term consequences extend beyond the victims themselves. Every lynching weakens confidence in state institutions, deepens public fear, and normalises violence as a legitimate means of resolving disputes. Communities become less trusting, public spaces feel increasingly unsafe, and every stranger becomes vulnerable to suspicion.  

‎Nigeria’s Constitution guarantees the right to life, fair hearing, and protection from cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment. No citizen or crowd possesses the legal authority to arrest, prosecute, convict, and execute another person. The criminal justice system is founded upon the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven beyond a reasonable doubt. It is better that guilty persons occasionally escape punishment than that innocent people are condemned without trial. Nigeria cannot build a just society upon instant punishment and collective vengeance. Restoring public confidence in the police and the judiciary, ensuring swift and impartial justice, prosecuting those responsible for mob violence, and rejecting vigilantism are essential to reversing this dangerous trend.  

‎Until jungle justice is condemned not only in speeches but also through consistent enforcement of the law, the cry of “thief!” will continue to signify not the pursuit of justice, but the beginning of another preventable tragedy. When a crowd becomes judge, jury, and executioner, no Nigerian is truly safe, not even those cheering from the sidelines. 

Fatih Lawal-Garu is a Mass Communication graduate from Bayero University, Kano, and writes at ibnkamilgaru1@gmail.com.

By Abubakar Idris Misau

At first glance, the words “Deserting” and “Desertification” sound almost identical and, taken together, seem to make no sense; ironically, however, especially as intended here, they are the antagonists who jointly tell us what we must do to save life on Earth. Sorry, let me explain.

It was my elementary school Maths teacher who first taught me that multiplying two negative numbers yields a positive result. I had to concede later that this isn’t a conspiracy. If it were, it would never have been corroborated by our English teacher. The two core-subjects’ teachers were staunch enemies [I mean, non-friends]; yet the latter said there’s a similar rule in linguistics and semantics about what is called the “double negatives”.

Since deserting literally means abandoning something, it seems negative. By contrast, desertification, the process by which fertile, productive land becomes arid and desolate, is so dangerous that it no doubt qualifies as another negative. Following the arithmetic-linguistic logic of double negatives, therefore, “deserting”, as used in this piece, becomes an honourable cause. Simply put, deserting desertification does not mean running away from what one needs to care for, but rather abandoning our harmful habits that are turning our green, fertile lands into dry, lifeless deserts. In other words, desertification is a call to action to change how we treat the surface of our dear mother Earth.

Come to think of it, Mother Earth is the only mother whose children are hell-bent on turning her barren, out of greed. We do this by double-dealing, on the one hand with the mother and on the other with her enemies. It seems to me as though we love coming to her in the morning, saying “Oh, Mama, give us today our daily bread”, and then going behind her back and setting the bakery on fire at night! I mean, it’s no different when the so-called most intelligent species, numbering up to 8 billion, dedicates its intellect to deforestation, overgrazing, poor agronomic practices, open-pit mining, and other unsustainable land-use practices that strip land of vegetation, exhaust soil nutrients, and disrupt the water cycle; all while expecting the mother to keep providing us with every ecosystem service as if nothing happened. But it is simply an “inevitable consequence of nature” [to borrow from Prof. Brian Cox] that when we stretch dryland ecosystems to their breaking points, they turn into arid wastelands – read: deserts – or, more appropriately, “sandlands”.

As a matter of fact, whichever way one sees the bad guy, the truth is that Mr Desertification hardly ever acts alone. In the Sahelian ecological region of Northern Nigeria and other regions globally, he almost always works with Madam Earth’s children to damage her reproductive organs. Now, that’s a bad revelation. Meanwhile, the good news is that not all her children are the same. Some good Samaritans have even been working to extinguish the fire, in which case they deserve some support; some conspire against her out of ignorance, in which case they can do with some education; and so on – hence this call to action.

Here, forgive me for introducing the Greek philosopher Aristotle. It was his idea that writers, in fulfilling their duty, should try to structure arguments around the three fundamental pillars [modes] of persuasion, the rhetorical triangle: Ethos, Pathos, and Logos. Ethos concerns the communicator’s credibility; Pathos, the audience’s emotions; and Logos, the logical reasoning contained in the presentation.

Long story short, since this writer is not an authority on the subject in question, he ought not to suggest any social behavioural change straight out of his moro-moro head. He is simply to convey the message of the world’s most credible Who’s Who on the issue: namely, the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification (UNCCD).

According to the UNCCD, humanity destroys about 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 …100 million hectares of productive land every year. The first time I read this, I was shocked. I knew that we cleared up to 10 million hectares of forest land annually, but I didn’t know that we were destroying the rangelands, grasslands, and so on at that rate. For perspective, damaging 100 million hectares of land annually is equivalent to losing the whole of Egypt. Or, better still, destroying the equivalent of four football fields every second. Most probably, this message would make more sense to us if the changes were happening right before our eyes. Imagine two countries playing a game in the ongoing World Cup, only for the stadium to turn into a total desert in a second. The World Cup would likely be asked to give way for an emergency UNCCD Summit.

In fact, there is no doubting it, the more land we allow to desert encroachment, the more likely we are to go to war with each other. That is why, in 2020, during a UN Security Council meeting to discuss ‘Maintenance of international peace and security: the humanitarian impact of environmental degradation and peace and security’, Ibrahim Thiaw, Executive Secretary of UNCCD, said: “In arid lands, such as in Africa’s Sahel region, violence often erupts over competition for access to depleted land and scarce water resources.” He then went on to outline three factors that are adding fuel to the fire: over-dependence on natural resources by rural dwellers; shrinking resources due to land degradation, drought, and climate change; and high population density.

All of these are self-evident. In Northern Nigeria, the conflict between farmers and herders over scarce natural resources is a vivid case of that. It’s also common knowledge that Lake Chad has lost up to [a staggering] 90% of its surface area since the 1960s, shrinking from 26,000 km² in 1963 to as low as <1,500 km² in 2018 when the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) published the story “Tale of a disappearing lake”. These affect millions of people.

There is no question whatsoever: drylands are the closest bus stops to deserts and are therefore the major victims of desertification. Now, let’s go back to Bonn to collect some statistics from the UNCCD again. Covering up to 41% of the earth’s land surface, mainly in developing countries of Africa and Asia, drylands are home to more than 2 billion people. And because more than 70% and 20% of them are rangelands and grasslands, respectively, half of the world’s livestock and up to 44% of crops are produced from drylands. How essential are they?

Meanwhile, right now, as scientists say, up to 40% of the world’s land is already degraded, directly affecting over 3.2 billion people. Also, land degradation and droughts cost the global community an estimated eye-watering $878 billion every single year. Isn’t that a lot of money to squander on making the earth look like the surface of Mars, huh?! For me, turning the green planet into another red planet is a cold, dry, bitter joke.

As the Roman Philosopher-Emperor Marcus Aurelius put it 18 centuries ago, “You can commit injustice by doing nothing”. Indeed, this is an issue on which neutrality is complicity. It now makes more sense to me what one of my mentors once told me, for which I must quote him verbatim: “Mr Idris”, he said, “you see, doing nothing is such an expensive hobby…” Suffice it to say that if we continue to ignore this crisis, the financial and physical hangover will be brutal. Well, it actually already is.

I don’t want to go into a discussion of the need for governments and big corporations to invest $1 billion a day until 2030 to meet global land restoration targets, which, in fact, is precisely required. I know it might sound like a hefty price tag, but it is actually the ultimate buy-one-get-one-free deal. We know for a fact that for every $1 invested in healthy land, the economic return ranges from $7 to $30. It turns out that, under this realistic assumption, saving the planet is highly profitable.

While not everything can be detailed in an article this short, addressing desertification isn’t rocket science. We know how to do it well enough. The solution simply requires a massive shift. We first need to address deforestation and work toward restoring already degraded lands. Farmers need to switch to smart agricultural methods that protect the soil. If we can save rainwater and give the soil periodic holidays to “fallow”, we definitely can stop the deserts from winning. I tell you all these because I have a modest understanding of the basics. After all, I am a development practitioner who envisioned a climate-resilient, food-secure sub-Saharan Africa and whose work and current focus span sustainable land-use practices, assisted natural regeneration, and agroforestry and livelihood systems in Nigeria.  

In 1994, the UN General Assembly established the UNCCD and declared June 17 as the World Day to Combat Desertification and Drought. Since then, June 17 has been commemorated to raise awareness of solutions to land degradation, drought, and desertification. The theme for this year, 2026, is “Rangeland: Recognise. Respect. Restore.” As this writer presumes we all know what rangelands are, it’s fair to allow relevant MDAs, such as the Ministries of Agriculture, Environment, and Livestock, and initiatives such as the African-led Great Green Wall Initiative, to deliver their mandates in peace. At the same time, we equally do our parts as individuals and as groups.

Therefore, the choice before us is simple, yet likely embarrassing depending on how we manage it. We can either continue on our current path, in which case we will watch our favourite green spaces turn to dust, or we can take a stand today to save life on land. Because if we don’t desert our destructive habits right now, the desert is going to move in and claim our dessert (dessert, not desert). My ancestors would say, “Dabara ta rage wa mai shiga rijiya.”

There I lie.

Abubakar Idris Misau, a Forestry and Wildlife graduate from the University of Maiduguri, writes from Akure, Southwest, Nigeria. He is reachable via email abubakar.consult@gmail.com.

By Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin 

The Federal Government’s decision to reform the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) has been greeted with excitement by some and scepticism by others. After 53 years, many believe the scheme is finally getting the attention it deserves.

For years, corps members have complained about insecurity, poor welfare, irrelevant postings and outdated processes. The newly approved reforms, ranging from technology-driven mobilisation to skills-based deployment and improved orientation camps, suggest that the government is finally listening. That is a good start.

However, the NYSC was never established solely to teach graduates entrepreneurship or job skills. It was established to promote national unity after the civil war, and to a large extent, many would agree that it has contributed to that goal.

Perhaps that is why the government now believes the scheme can be led by civilians rather than the military officers who have overseen it since its inception. But that decision raises an important question.

One of the things that has distinguished the NYSC over the years is discipline. The orderliness in orientation camps and the sense of responsibility expected of corps members have largely been shaped by the scheme’s military leadership. While the military will still provide security, it remains to be seen whether civilian leadership can maintain the same standard.

The bigger challenge, however, is implementation. Nigerians have seen many good policies announced with great excitement, only for little to change in reality. If corps members still face unsafe postings and placements that add little value to their future, then these reforms will remain good ideas on paper. Otherwise, after years in school and a year of national service, they may simply be told to start an akara or kuli-kuli business. Honest work deserves respect, but graduates hope these reforms will create greater opportunities.

So, is the NYSC reforming or deforming?

The answer is not in the policy document. It will be written in the experience of the next corps member who leaves home believing that service to the nation is still worth it.

After all, changing the driver doesn’t automatically make the journey better. What matters is whether the person behind the wheel knows the road.

Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin is a graduate in mass communication from Bayero University, Kano, and can be reached at ibrahimaliyu5023@gmail.com.

By Nura Jibo MRICS

The man, President Barack Hussein Obama, will never cease to amaze me. In 2008, when Obama was campaigning for his presidential bid against John McCain, I was in the Sudan Savanna region of Northern Nigeria, managing a N6 billion redevelopment of the Yankari Animal Game Reserve Holiday Resort and Safari Project in Bauchi State.

At that time, the 2i/c in my office, Dr Aminu Bashir, was scheduled to visit the United States. He asked me if there was anything that I needed him to buy in America. I humbly requested two (2) books: The Audacity of Hope and Dreams from My Father, both written by Barack Obama.

Indeed, it was a joyous moment for me the very day I laid my hands on the two of Obama’s international bestseller books. 

For those who are not aware of what qualifies a book to be labelled a bestseller, any book that its publishers sell an average of more than 10,000 copies within a week is automatically considered a bestseller under US standards. Obama’s “Audacity of Hope” immediately qualified for the New York Times bestseller list because of its profundity.

Today marks exactly 18 years since Barack Obama made history in the United States of America. And today, which marks the day of another victory with the launch of the Obama Presidential Centre on Juneteenth 2026, is not only a win for the US Democrats and democracy, but also a day when consistency meets sincerity and the ability to reemerge.

Chicago has been home to Obama, his wife Michelle, and their children, Sasha and Malia.

The lessons I learned from the Obamas are not only about courage and conviction but also about inspiring me to rise and do more with my life.

1. Personally, Obama’s personality (behaviours and appearance), as defined in simple psychology, inspired me to write my first book that debuted in 2010, which I sent to him and his wife, Michelle, one copy each-in 2010, via the US Embassy in Nigeria. At that time, my aim was not really to practice quantity surveying as a meal ticket. My dream was to immerse myself in the study of global literature and novels by renowned authors, such as the Russian Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky and the Chinese Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. I sincerely cared less about studying physics and chemistry books because I believed they offered less to humanity, as they contributed more to inflicting havoc on the scientific world via bombs, drones, and missiles. 

I deeply thought that science was never favourable for me. I was quite surprised when I see myself today practicing a segment of it and excelling in quantity surveying at an appreciable speed and awe, because my thinking was to one day appear in a global debate with world leaders such as Barack Obama to discuss the West and Africa and seek an explanation from my Kanoonline super writer friend, Dave McEwan Hill’s candid observation, who averred that: “If we want to keep our best people at home we have to provide a better country for them to operate in. If Nigerian leaders were honest, progressive, and ambitious, they would have rewarded high achievers rather than multibillion-dollar thieves.” McEwan Hill believes that many of our best brains would have stayed at home to build the nation.

However, most of them have gone overseas to be in more satisfying and more remunerative employment in better-run communities.

While I can’t agree with Dave as little as he does, his double-decker challenge was just like the way the Obamas challenged the late McCain and Trump, with his trumpeting of our cosmopolitan world in a George Galloway manner. Indeed, Dave McEwan Hill acknowledged what he described as my impressive contributions that nonetheless read like special pleading to ignite curiosity that the “blacks” are any less intelligent than the “whites. ” To which the question is more complex than that, as he asserted elsewhere that all members of all races function just as well as each other when placed equally in advanced environments. The key question is why some environments get so far ahead of others. 

So far, I have repeatedly featured and succeeded in debating the world at the United Nations Conference of the Parties level for umpteenth times.

2. Hence, anytime I listen to Obama, I come away with something new and extraordinary, not in my professional field, but outside my constituency. For example, before the birth of Obama’s Presidential Centre, I established a 3-hectare tree shelterbelt and two high-powered solar boreholes as a community organiser and climate change advocate in Nigeria. In my shelterbelt, biodiversity has already been restored for the people of Asayaya village across a comprehensive 3-hectare area, with a grant of no less than £70,000 from the BCDA.

3. After succeeding in biodiversity restoration, I looked up to the United States of America to leverage the establishment and registration of a segment of my NGO: the African Climate Change Research Centre (ACCREC), which I affiliated with the UNFCCC Secretariat in Bonn, Germany, as its climate observer organisation for well over sixteen years now. Prof. Bello Makama–an African American Chemist of all time, painstakingly registered ACCREC in New York and became its first US Country Director at SUNY-ERIE, courtesy of following the Obama legacy.

4. Now that Obama has launched his Presidential Centre in Chicago, with Presidents George Bush Jr., Biden, and Clinton in attendance, only God knows what is going on in my mind regarding what I will come up with in a couple of months. I will not digress, but I take a huge lesson from the veracity of Obama’s amazing construction, which cost well over $850 million, with Tod Williams Billie Tsien Architects and Michael Van Valkenburgh Associates as its landscape architects; the centre is designed to receive an average of 1,666 visitors every week. They will enjoy learning, sports, entertainment and music to the zenith.

5. Indeed, anytime I read and watch the Obamas, rest assured I will come up with something new, especially when I reflect on their times as a husband and wife in perfect harmony.

6. The time they spent in Chicago, with Michelle as an Associate Dean and Obama as a professor of law, often reminds me of the days I traversed and visited nearly fifty countries for my international career. I lived in Europe, North Africa, South America, West Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, sharing ideas and presenting my case studies to the international community, my immediate community and African neighbourhoods.

7. Anyone who wants to know more about what I am up to in a couple of days can watch this space for my open letter to President Obama. This letter is certainly going to be different and very unique from the one I wrote and sent to President Donald John Trump at his house in Mar-a-Lago!

By Muhsin Ibrahim

The interview with Professor Tijjani Naniya on Arise News that I shared on Facebook yesterday continues to generate more (wild) reactions. At the time of posting this, more than 1100 comments had been made. This is far more than my previous posts or, generally, above-average social media posts.

Of those comments, many are expletives. I deleted a few, but I chose to leave almost all the subsequent ones, including those containing abuse and insults. Why?

I want people, especially the thoughtful among us, to see who the faces behind the Hausa Zallah agitation are and what many of them represent.

Those comments contradict several core Hausa socio-cultural ideologies codified by scholars such as Kirk-Green (1974), Alhassan et al. (1982), and Adamu (2001). I wonder where those so-called Hausa Zalla folks got them. If they were genuinely “Hausa Zallah”, they should demonstrate the cherished Hausa values.

Equally, go see how erstwhile Hausa “enemies” are defending the Hausa Zallah ideology. Naniya did not blame southeasterners for our growing insecurity or disunity. Rather, he traced the etymology of the term “Hausa-Fulani” to them. This is debatable, but it should be based on knowledge rather than insults.

When the Hausa Zallah staged a protest in Berlin, they displayed pictures of Nnamdi Kanu and called for his release. Why? So, even if Naniya associated the agitation with the Southeast, he might not be wrong. We should dig deeper to find the connection because it exists.

Folks asked for my opinion on all this. I have no problem with people identifying as Hausa, Fulani, or both. Actually, it’s bag governance that is fuelling all this hogwash. Identity politics is not a case in places where people live in peace and property.

In my neighbourhood in Cologne, there is a mosque, a church, and a mandir (a Hindu temple) within shouting distance. I have lived here for five years. I have never witnessed ANY problems between followers of these religions.

For me, we should unite against bandits, terrorists and corrupt politicians. They do not fight for or represent any particular ethnicity, religion or region. They are our real enemies, not your friend, colleague or neighbour who did not choose to be born Hausa, Fulani, Igbo, Yoruba, you name it.

When bandits or terrorists strike, they often do not distinguish between victims. They kidnap or kill them all. When a politician steals our money, it affects our roads, schools, hospitals, and more.

Wake up. Think and do the right thing.

Muhsin Ibrahim can be reached via muhsin2008@gmail.com.

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

Nigeria has become dangerously familiar with the ritual of disaster. The warnings often come early, the forecasts are circulated, vulnerable communities are identified, and officials hold preparedness meetings. Yet when the floods finally arrive, or fire tears through crowded markets, or another preventable emergency pushes families into distress, the country still reacts with the same confusion, urgency and humanitarian panic, as though tragedy appeared without notice.

It is one of the ironies of public life in Nigeria that disasters are rarely taken seriously until they become spectacles. Before then, they exist as predictions, advisories, technical reports, stakeholder meetings and public warnings. Afterwards, they become breaking news, condolence visits, emergency relief, public anger and committee recommendations. Between those two moments lies the real weakness of the system: the stubborn national habit of knowing danger in advance but failing to prepare adequately for it.

This is the difficult terrain in which the National Emergency Management Agency, NEMA, operates. To many Nigerians, the agency is most visible in moments of distress, when flood victims need support, when displaced persons require relief, when fire victims are counting losses, or when communities suddenly discover the meaning of vulnerability. But the true measure of an emergency management institution is not only what it does after a tragedy has occurred. It is also what it can prevent, reduce, coordinate, and anticipate before the situation becomes a national emergency.

That is why the two-year stewardship of Mrs Zubaida Umar as Director General of NEMA deserves a more thoughtful reading than routine anniversary praise. When President Bola Ahmed Tinubu approved her appointment in March 2024, the expectation was not merely that another public officer would occupy another office. The assignment carried the heavier burden of strengthening operational discipline, improving coordination and repositioning the agency toward a more proactive model of emergency management. Two years later, the useful question is not whether disasters have disappeared. They have not. The real question is whether there are signs that the agency is beginning to think differently about its mandate.

Perhaps the most important development under Umar is not the kind that announces itself loudly. It is not found only in relief distribution photographs, ceremonial visits or official statements. It is evident in a gradual institutional shift from reaction to anticipation, from waiting for disaster to happen before mobilising to placing greater emphasis on preparedness, early warning communication, simulation exercises, inter-agency coordination, and community-level sensitisation.

This shift may appear modest to the casual observer, but in Nigeria’s emergency management culture, it is significant. The country’s problem has never been simply the absence of warnings. Flood forecasts are issued. Meteorological advisories are released. Hydrological risks are mapped. Vulnerable states and communities are repeatedly mentioned. Environmental experts warn against blocked drainage and settlements along waterways. Yet the same cycle continues because warnings, in themselves, do not save lives. They only become useful when they are understood, trusted and acted upon.

For years, Nigeria has struggled to convert prediction into preparedness. Communities remain in danger zones long after alerts have been issued. Drainages remain blocked despite annual warnings. Buildings continue to rise where water must naturally pass. Local structures often wait for Abuja. Citizens sometimes treat evacuation advice as government disturbance until water is already at the door. By then, emergency management becomes more expensive, more chaotic and more painful.

It is within this context that NEMA’s renewed attention to grassroots sensitisation becomes important. Across several states, the agency has intensified preparedness campaigns aimed at reducing the gap between forecast and response. One of the more telling examples was the flood preparedness campaign in Ebonyi State, where the engagement moved beyond formal speeches and stakeholder protocols into direct community interaction. Emergency officials went into vulnerable communities, spoke in local languages, distributed safety information, and discussed flood risks, evacuation culture, and prevention measures with residents.

That may look ordinary on paper, but it carries a deeper meaning. A warning trapped inside a technical report is not yet a warning. A forecast discussed only in Abuja has not fully served the woman whose house sits near a riverbank, the farmer whose farmland will be submerged, the school head who must protect pupils, or the local leader whose community may need to move before danger arrives. Disaster communication becomes meaningful only when it reaches ordinary people in the language of their daily reality.

This is one of the most important lessons Nigeria must learn. Preparedness is not achieved by issuing statements alone. It requires translation, persuasion, repetition and trust. It requires taking risk information from conference halls to communities, from policy language to household action, from official alerts to behavioural change. In that sense, public communication is not an accessory to emergency management; it is one of its strongest instruments.

The same logic applies to coordination. Disasters do not respect institutional boundaries. A flood is not only a NEMA issue. It is an environmental issue, an urban planning issue, a housing issue, a public health issue, a food security issue, a security issue and, quite often, a governance issue. When water overruns a community, it affects homes, roads, schools, markets, farmlands, hospitals and livelihoods at the same time. No single institution can carry that burden alone.

This is why the increasing emphasis on multi-sectoral coordination under the current leadership is notable. The agency’s engagements with ministries, departments and agencies, state emergency structures, security agencies, humanitarian partners and technical institutions suggest a clearer understanding that NEMA’s strength lies not in behaving like a lone responder, but in making the wider emergency management ecosystem function better. In a federal system where fragmentation often weakens public response, that coordinating role is not a small matter.

There is also a growing recognition that modern emergency management must be more technical than sentimental. It must be driven by data, monitoring, logistics planning, early warning systems, communication flow and rapid decision-making. This explains the growing relevance of structures such as the National Emergency Operation Centre, which serves as the command-and-coordination infrastructure required for monitoring and responding to serious disasters. Such systems may not excite the public in the way dramatic rescue scenes do, but they are central to the quiet work of preventing confusion before it becomes costly.

Simulation exercises also belong to this quieter but more serious side of emergency management. Nigeria has never been poor in policy documents; the problem has often been what happens when real pressure arrives. Preparedness drills help institutions identify their weaknesses before a disaster exposes them. In an emergency, questions that look simple in a meeting can become decisive on the field. Who leads the evacuation? Who communicates verified information? Who coordinates medical response? Who controls movement? Who protects children, women, older persons and persons with disabilities? Who documents needs and prevents duplication? The difference between order and confusion often lies in whether such questions were answered before the crisis.

The increased emphasis on rehearsals, simulations, and preparedness drills, therefore, suggests an agency seeking to move from theoretical to practical readiness. The process may be gradual, but the direction is important. A country that waits for every disaster to teach it the same lesson again has not taken preparedness seriously.

The wider humanitarian environment also makes this change unavoidable. Flooding remains one of Nigeria’s most devastating recurring threats, but it is not the only one. Urban fires, tanker explosions, building collapses, communal displacement, food insecurity, climate shocks and other emergencies have expanded the meaning of vulnerability across the country. A serious emergency management institution can no longer think narrowly or seasonally. It must understand how climate, poverty, infrastructure failure, insecurity, public behaviour and weak local governance combine to create disasters.

This broader thinking is beginning to reflect in NEMA’s engagement with issues such as food security, climate vulnerability and community resilience. That is an important evolution. In today’s Nigeria, food insecurity is not merely an agricultural concern. Floods destroy farms. Conflict displaces farming communities. Climate shocks weaken harvests. Poor roads and insecurity disrupt supply. Once these pressures converge, they become humanitarian problems. Emergency management in the 21st century is therefore not simply about distributing rice, mattresses and blankets after tragedy. It is about understanding risk before it matures into a crisis.

Still, any honest assessment must avoid the temptation of easy celebration. Nigeria’s emergency management architecture remains burdened by serious structural weaknesses. Many state emergency management agencies are still underfunded or poorly equipped. Local emergency management committees are inactive in many places. Urban planning violations continue with impunity. Floodplains are still occupied. Drainage systems remain poor across several cities. Citizens still ignore warnings. State and local authorities too often treat disaster preparedness as a seasonal ritual rather than a governance responsibility.

These are not problems one Director General can solve alone, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise. But leadership matters because it sets institutional tone. It determines whether preparedness becomes a culture or remains a slogan. It influences whether an agency merely reacts to tragedy or begins to organise itself around prevention, anticipation and coordinated readiness. It shapes whether the system waits for sympathy after loss or pushes harder for discipline before loss.

It is not a transformation that should be overstated. Floods have not stopped. Fire outbreaks have not disappeared. Communities still suffer avoidable losses. Operational gaps still exist. But there are visible indications that the agency is increasingly speaking, and slowly institutionalising, the language of preparedness, coordination, public education and anticipatory action. In a country where public institutions often confuse activity with progress, even this shift in emphasis is worth noting.

Some achievements in public service are loud because they are visible. Others are valuable because they prevent losses that the public may never fully count. A community that evacuates early may never become headline news. A market that takes fire safety seriously may never trend online. A state that prepares before floodwater rises may not attract national attention. Yet these quiet outcomes are often the real victories of emergency management.

As Nigeria moves through another season of environmental uncertainty and humanitarian pressure, emergency management must no longer remain an afterthought, activated only after tragedy strikes. State governments must strengthen their emergency agencies. Local governments must revive community response structures. Traditional and religious leaders must help translate warnings into action. Citizens must stop treating risk alerts as routine government grammar. The media must give preparedness the same urgency it gives to disasters.

Two years into Zubaida Umar’s leadership, the agency appears to be attempting something important: the slow rebuilding of a preparedness culture in a country too accustomed to panic after warning signs have been ignored. It is an unfinished journey, certainly. But it is also a meaningful one.

Nigeria may never fully escape disasters. No country does. But stronger institutions can prevent familiar hazards from repeatedly becoming national tragedies. That, ultimately, is the real test of emergency management, and perhaps the quiet significance of the institutional shift now taking place at NEMA.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicated writer based in Abuja.

By Maimuna Katuka Aliyu

Hepatitis, a medical condition characterised by inflammation of the liver, remains one of the most significant yet underestimated public health crises in Nigeria. The liver is a vital organ responsible for essential bodily functions, including detoxifying harmful substances, metabolising nutrients, storing energy, and producing proteins necessary for blood clotting. 

While hepatitis can stem from excessive alcohol consumption, toxin exposure, certain medications, or autoimmune diseases, viral infections represent the most prevalent and dangerous form of the disease both globally and domestically.

There are five primary strains of viral hepatitis: A, B, C, D, and E. Each is triggered by a distinct virus and varies in transmission mode, severity, and treatment options.

Hepatitis A and E are typically waterborne, spreading through contaminated food and water in areas plagued by poor sanitation. Conversely, Hepatitis B, C, and D are bloodborne pathogens. They spread primarily through contact with infected body fluids, unprotected sexual contact, the sharing of sharp objects, unsafe medical procedures, and mother-to-child transmission during childbirth.

The insidious nature of hepatitis lies in its symptoms or lack thereof. Many infected individuals remain entirely asymptomatic during the early stages. When symptoms do surface, they often mimic general illness, such as fever, fatigue, loss of appetite, nausea, abdominal pain, dark urine, and jaundice (the yellowing of the skin and eyes).

According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), viral hepatitis is a leading infectious cause of death worldwide, claiming approximately 1.3 million lives each year. Strains B and C are particularly dangerous because they can progress to chronic, silent infections that gradually destroy the liver over decades, leading to cirrhosis, liver failure, or liver cancer.

In Nigeria, the scale of this silent epidemic is staggering. The Federal Ministry of Health and Social Welfare revealed that more than 20 million Nigerians are living with viral hepatitis, with Hepatitis B affecting roughly 18.2 million people and Hepatitis C affecting about 2.5 million. Hepatitis B stands as the most widespread strain in the country. 

Fortunately, a highly effective vaccine exists. The WHO strongly advocates that all infants receive this vaccine within 24 hours of birth as part of routine childhood immunisation.

For Hepatitis C, there is currently no vaccine, but modern antiviral medications boast a cure rate of over 95 per cent if the infection is detected early. Meanwhile, Hepatitis D presents a unique threat as a “satellite virus” that can only replicate in individuals already infected with Hepatitis B, a co-infection that drastically increases the severity of liver disease.

To combat this burden, the Federal Government has aligned with the WHO global target to eliminate viral hepatitis as a public health threat by 2030. Central to Nigeria’s strategy is Project 365, a nationwide elimination campaign designed to scale up public awareness, screening, and treatment services while integrating hepatitis care directly into primary healthcare systems. 

This initiative is heavily supported by the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (NCDC) through enhanced disease surveillance, outbreak response, and the enforcement of infection control practices across medical facilities.

Ultimately, turning the tide against this hidden killer requires a shift from reactive medicine to proactive prevention. On an individual level, protection involves getting vaccinated against Hepatitis B, avoiding the sharing of personal sharp items, practising safe sex, and demanding screened blood products during transfusions.

With sustained government commitment to expanding affordable diagnostic tools, paired with a public willing to break the silence and get tested, Nigeria can move closer to a future where viral hepatitis is no longer a shadow over national health.

Maimuna Katuka Aliyu can be reached via munat815@gmail.com.

By Haroon Aremu 

In recent days, I have watched a growing wave of messages urging Nigerians to collect their Permanent Voter Cards (PVCs) before the deadline. Everywhere I turned, there were reminders, appeals, and passionate campaigns encouraging citizens to obtain their voter cards and prepare to vote. Some messages urged people to “vote out bad leaders,” while others called on Nigerians to “vote for change” and “take back their country.”

As I read these messages, I found myself reflecting deeply. Rather than joining the chorus immediately, I paused and asked a question that many of us seem reluctant to confront. What makes us so certain that the person we are urging people to vote for today will not become the same person we criticise, condemn, and perhaps even curse tomorrow?

This question is not intended to discourage voting, but is mainly directed to the youth rather than others. Democracy thrives when citizens participate. Every eligible Nigerian should obtain a PVC and exercise their constitutional right to vote. However, voting without deeper reflection may only lead us into a cycle we have repeated for decades.

The reality is that many of the leaders Nigerians complain about today were once celebrated as political messiahs. At one point or another, they were symbols of hope. They made promises that inspired confidence. They convinced millions that they possessed the solutions to the nation’s problems. Their supporters defended them passionately and often believed that once they assumed office, prosperity, security, and development would naturally follow.

Yet, as time passed, many of those same leaders became subjects of disappointment. The expectations that accompanied their emergence gradually gave way to frustration. Citizens who once praised them began to criticise them. 

This pattern raises an uncomfortable but necessary question. Is Nigeria’s problem merely about replacing one leader with another, or is it deeper than that?

Election seasons often resemble a search for a political saviour. Every cycle produces a new candidate who is presented as the answer to the nation’s challenges. Supporters speak about them with almost religious conviction. Opponents are dismissed, while supporters insist that their preferred candidate possesses the vision, courage, and competence needed to rescue the country. However, once the realities of governance emerge, many leaders themselves begin to admit that the challenges they inherited were greater than they anticipated.

How many times have Nigerians heard leaders say, “We didn’t know the situation was this bad”? How many administrations have entered office with grand promises only to later explain why those promises could not be fulfilled? If this pattern keeps repeating itself across different administrations, perhaps the issue is larger than individual politicians.

As an analyst of human behaviour and societal trends, I have come to believe that leadership is often a reflection of the society from which it emerges. We frequently focus on the leaders at the top while ignoring the conduct of the people at the bottom. We condemn corruption in high offices while celebrating dishonesty in everyday life. We criticise politicians for abusing power while remaining silent when similar abuses occur in our communities, workplaces, institutions, and associations.

The truth is that leadership challenges are visible at every level of society. From class captains in schools to community leaders, from local associations to religious organisations, from traditional institutions to political structures, the same tendencies recur. Favouritism, greed, selfishness, abuse of authority, and lack of accountability are not problems exclusive to national leaders. They are societal problems that manifest differently at different levels.

This observation reminds me of a profound principle found in both the Bible and the Qur’an. In the Qur’an, Surah Ar-Ra’d 13:11 states that Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves. Similarly, the Bible in Proverbs 29:2 says

When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice: but when the wicked beareth rule, the people mourn.”

. These teachings suggest that national transformation is not solely dependent on political leadership. It is also connected to the values, character, and behaviour of citizens.

Perhaps this explains why changing leaders alone has not always produced the transformation Nigerians desire. A society cannot continuously reward negative values and expect positive outcomes from those it elects. If selfishness, dishonesty, and corruption become normalised among citizens, it becomes increasingly difficult to expect public officials to behave differently once they attain power.

This does not mean leaders are not important. Leadership matters. Policies matter. Governance matters. Elections matter. However, believing that a single individual can solve every national challenge may be one of the greatest misconceptions in modern politics.

 Some of the world’s most developed countries are struggling with challenges that cannot be solved overnight by a single leader.

Nigeria’s problems are complex. They require visionary leadership, yes, but they also require responsible citizenship, strong institutions, accountability, productivity, innovation, and a cultural shift in how people relate to one another and to the nation.

Therefore, while I fully support the call for Nigerians to obtain their PVCs, I believe the conversation should go beyond voting. The more important question is what happens after the election. Are we willing to demand integrity from ourselves as much as we demand it from politicians? Are we prepared to contribute positively to our communities, workplaces, and institutions?

Most importantly, before passionately campaigning for a candidate, perhaps each of us should ask a simple question: if this person eventually wins and fails to meet expectations, will I become one of those criticising them tomorrow?

If the answer is yes, then perhaps our focus should not be solely on changing leaders. Perhaps it should also be about changing ourselves.

Haroon Aremu Abiodun is a developmental journalist who writes from Abuja and can be reached via exponentumera@gmail.com.

By Saifullahi Attahir

In our class of 76 MBBS students, about 25 are from Jigawa State, while 51 (68 per cent) are from outside the state, which is a common admission criterion at a public federal university in Nigeria. An appreciable proportion of those 68 per cent have transitioned through private education at either nursery, primary, or secondary level.

Even among the 25 students from Jigawa State, another proportion had the privilege of a private education at either the nursery, primary, or secondary level. Among those who attended only public schools, a large share came from the ultra-top 5 public schools in the state: Academy for the Gifted and Talented Bamaina, Science Secondary School Kafin-Hausa and Gumel, Dutse Model International, Government Girls Secondary School Jahun, and Taura.

These ultra-top public schools have an entirely different educational model and standards. Entry requires a special Common Entrance Examination. They were referred to as Science Board Schools, a replica of the two famous Dawaki’s (Dawakin Kudu/Dawakin Tofa). Their standards were levelled with those of the private schools, with special tutors rotated amongst themselves and better living conditions enabling study.

From this survey, you can conclude the role that private schools played in producing the right candidates for high-demand university courses in Nigeria, like Medicine, Engineering, and Law, where public schools are no longer capable of filling the gap. If you were not fortunate enough to be from those private or model public schools, your chances of scaling through to read high-demand courses are very low.

In such exotic professions, people coming from my type of public secondary school (Government College Birninkudu) are the 1 per cent. Even for that 1 per cent chance, I had to spend more than 7 years reconstructing and rediscovering, and finally, with God’s assistance, I got a chance. It’s very difficult to get direct admission right from secondary school. This is not just my story, but the story of thousands from those types of public institutions.

In my graduation year 2009, out of a population of more than 1,000 students, only 2 got admission to read MBBS, and less than 15 got direct university admission that year. Not more than 30 have got into professional courses like Engineering, Accounting, Quantity Surveying, Pharmacy, Software Engineering, or Law to date.

The question is: what is the fate of other students from more than a hundred other public secondary schools who were not fortunate enough to secure admission into the top universities across the country? They ended up giving up studying or taking courses that do not directly contribute to their individual or national economic growth.

This trend is similar in 2009 as in 2026, and similar across the entire country. Students ended up studying courses they neither willingly chose nor enjoyed. The end result is a waste of talent, for there is no way you can be outstanding in any work or field that you lack passion for. The fault was not entirely theirs, for they love to study, but were either bereft of the orientation, skills, and adequate knowledge to compete amongst their peers from private schools during university entrance examinations.

The difference lies not just in the disparity in financing efforts but in the commitment rendered. Some public schools receive more funding than many private institutions, including for staff salaries, overhead, and staffing levels. But still, that will not amount to any significant change. The majority of the ruling class have their children in private schools, so it’s easy to understand the lack of commitment.

The system barely rewards excellence. Hardworking and brilliant teachers who further their studies to earn a Master’s or PhD never return; instead, they search for other high-paying jobs. These were automatically replaced by less deserving teachers or teachers without the same energy and enthusiasm, hence the continuous drop in teaching standards.

Most of those students are hardworking and willing to escape the poverty surrounding them. But hard work is not enough here; they need a compass, direction, and tools, which were mostly absent or inadequate in those public-run facilities.

The cancer is not just in secondary school education. The problems of our tertiary institutions are mostly their failure to translate the knowledge imparted into direct national development. Some institutions are more consumers than producers. Graduates should be equipped with the right skills to become productive members of their societies.

Graduates ending up taking jobs that even their peers who have not attended any college were not doing is quite frightening. That only leads to a more derogatory view of the system and the ongoing boycott and out-of-school population.

So many courses are now obsolete and have no relevance to the fast-changing world labour market. Even the so-called professional courses are now taught in such an old-fashioned manner that, immediately after graduation, students lose their relevance and become confused.

The courses should be taught in a way that reflects the current situation of the world. We should move with technology. We need to move fast to keep up with this dynamic generation. While paper and pencils are still relevant to us, the world has long moved on to Artificial Intelligence (AI), wireless, cloud computing, virtual reality, and genomics.

I still wonder why universities as large as Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria; University of Lagos; University of Ibadan; and University of Nigeria, Nsukka, with large student populations and billions in government allocations, are still spending millions to generate electricity despite having established faculties of engineering, renowned professors, and brilliant students.

We produce thousands of graduates in Agriculture, some with first-class grades, but rest assured, any GMO crops with high yield potential seen in this country must have come from either Brazil, Argentina, Thailand, China, or the US.

This is a story of first-generation universities, let alone the third-generation universities, state-owned colleges, and polytechnics.

We should have a national priority, as in India, where the majority of students pursue degrees in Engineering, Computer Science, or Medicine/Pharmacy. That’s the only way to rapid economic growth. Subsidies, stipends, and scholarships should be attached to those courses to attract youth.

In Nigeria, we should prioritise Engineering, Computer Science, and Agriculture more than Medicine and Law degrees. Production and creativity are the only solutions to our poverty and alarming population growth. I’m not advocating a total boycott of other courses, but there must be a target in which a large number of candidates are required to read certain disciplines.

The reason I prioritise Engineering over Medicine is the entitlement mentality many Nigerians have, who end up studying medical courses just for the ready-made job opportunity, without the passion or vision to contribute to national development.

Producing more doctors may not guarantee a rise in national gross domestic product (GDP), but surely a country with more productive engineers will see increased production, lower unemployment, lower crime rates, greater well-being, less malnutrition, and even fewer diseases.

China and Russia are living examples of the wonders engineering can do for a country. I’m not promoting any profession over another; I’m talking about national economic growth, numbers, and productivity index.

Some parts of this country already understand this crucial reality. Looking at the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) results for the past 5 years, the top-scoring candidates with scores above 320 from the South West and South East of this country were mostly from private schools. The most striking fact was that 95 per cent were applying to read Software Engineering or Mechatronics at the University of Lagos or the University of Ibadan, not the usual MBBS or Pharmacy. That’s the future now!

The most devastating fact is that Arewa (Northern Nigeria) is still battling out-of-school children. Even those in school are better off not being there, for the majority of the students memorised more names of Hausa movie actresses and season films than the Chemistry Periodic Table or quadratic equations!

However, when the poverty index spots us, we start shouting marginalisation and all sorts of victimisation excuses. You can’t grow while continually shifting blame or expecting a change from outside yourself. We need rigorous introspection.

It’s not all without hope. Some examples highlight the feasibility of improving the system. States like Yobe will produce wonders in the next 25 years.

 Their consistently sound educational policies have already begun to yield positive outcomes. Other willing states in the country, especially in the North, should copy similar approaches. Their approach to sponsoring brilliant young minds to prestigious colleges and other key interventions is quite rewarding in the long term.

Saifullahi Attahir is the President of the National Association of Jigawa State Medical Students (NAJIMS), the National Body. He writes from Federal University Dutse, wrote via saifullahiattahir93@gmail.com.