Opinion

By Usman Abdullahi Koli, ANIPR 

Muhammadu Buhari, former President of Nigeria, is no more. For a moment, I felt very shocked and touched. Not because I expected him to live forever, but because I had never honestly imagined a Nigeria without him somewhere in the background watching, guiding, deciding, or simply being present. I asked myself why the end of some lives feels heavier than others. Perhaps it is because those lives were never ordinary. Buhari’s life was one of service, controversy, silence, and symbolism. Now that the chapter is closed, what remains is the long shadow of his presence, a legacy that will be remembered, questioned, and reflected upon for years to come.

Buhari was never a man you could ignore. You were either with him or against him. I, more often than not, stood in opposition. I challenged his approach to national security, criticised his handling of the education system, and voiced strong concerns about his oversight of Nigeria’s crude oil sector and economy. My criticisms were never born out of malice, but out of conviction. I believed, and still do, that our country deserves better. I thought it was our duty to demand it.

Yet, amid my disagreements, I never lost sight of the man behind the decisions. In 2020, during the #EndSARS movement, when the nation was boiling with fear and fury, I felt compelled to offer a different perspective. I wrote an article titled “Calming the Tide: Buhari’s Antidote.” In that piece, I tried to humanise him. I described him as a lanky man, often caught smiling with his teeth in full view, yet known for the signature frown that defined his public image. Something was striking about how he carried himself in his flowing babban-riga, standing tall and firm like the general he once was, even in the calm of civilian leadership.

Buhari’s story began long before he entered Aso Rock. As a young man, he embraced the uncertainties of military life. He rose through the ranks with grit, ultimately becoming a general in the Nigerian Army. He ruled Nigeria first as a military leader and returned, decades later, as a civilian president. His reemergence was not merely a political move; it was deeply personal. He saw his return as a duty to complete a mission he once began in uniform. Whether he succeeded or fell short, Buhari believed in his cause, and that belief fueled his resolve.

He was undeniably a man of sharp edges. His stubborn adherence to principle often came at a cost. He preferred silence when the nation needed clarity and stood firm when compromise was necessary. His integrity, once lauded, became the subject of scrutiny. Some wounds were self-inflicted; others were inherited from the complexities of leadership. Regardless, they will shape how history remembers him.

Despite it all, Buhari remained anchored in a modest way of life. He never sought extravagance. He governed in the way he understood best—that is, through order, discipline, and restraint. These traits, while admired by some, alienated others. Yet, behind that stoic exterior was a man deeply invested in the idea of service, even if the methods failed to reflect the expectations of many.

The end of a life always casts a different light on it. Legacies are never truly complete until the final chapter has been closed. Buhari’s legacy will be debated in homes, classrooms, and political circles for years to come. But today is not for judgment. Today is for remembrance. For the man, not just the president. For the soldier who once stood on the frontline, and for the leader who walked through the dust of Daura into the marble halls of national power.

At over eighty, he still had something to give. Not in speeches or policy, but in presence, in counsel, in memory. Nigeria needs his wisdom, perhaps now more than ever.

I mourn him, not because I always agreed with him, but because I respected the weight of the burden he carried. He did not lead perfectly. But he led. And in many ways, he led with sincerity.

Now he is gone. But his footprints remain on the battlefield, in the ballot box, and in the hearts of those who watched, waited, and sometimes wept. His story is one of contradictions, courage, convictions, and consequences. But above all, it is a Nigerian story.

Rest in peace, General Muhammadu Buhari. The march is over. The bugle has sounded. And history, in all its fullness, will remember you.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via mernoukoli@gmail.com.

By Habib Sani Galadima

In 2021, I attended the wedding dinner of my friend Jamilu Ibrahim Lawan. I was seated close to the front, on a white plastic chair wrapped in gold fabric. Before me, the table was neatly set: a plate of Jollof rice, definitely not Nigerian, soft meat, and chilled drinks.

Then the emcee began his greeting: “Malam Alhaji Dr. Musa, Hajiya Barrister Halima, distinguished guests…” The crowd responded with approving nods. The roll call was not mere protocol. It was a performance of hierarchy, identity, and cultural choreography; compressed into names.

Last week, I was at another gathering with my brother. We both wore beads, but his was longer and more ornate. I casually called him by his marketplace nickname “Ustaz”. Minutes later, someone suggested he should lead the zuhr prayer. I cannot say the title alone earned him that role, but I am certain it tipped the scale. In Hausa society, a name does not just identify, it calibrates power. Every title is weighed by a specific cultural logic.

Whether it is ‘Malam’, ‘Alhaji’, ‘Ustaz’, ‘Engineer’, or ‘Sarki’, each one signals something; scholarship, pilgrimage, class, inheritance, or even self-promotion. To outsiders, they may sound interchangeable. To insiders, they map power, piety, education, and ambition.

Understanding Hausa titles is not about translating words. It is about interpreting what they signify, how they command trust, confer legitimacy, or inflate status.
Ask a Hausa child who taught them how to read Qur’an, and the answer is often the same: “Malam.” But today, that word travels far beyond the Tsangaya.

Originally from the Arabic ‘mu’allim’, meaning teacher, ‘Malam’ once marked someone rooted in Islamic knowledge, versed in tafsir, guardians of moral clarity, respected in both mosque and marketplace. A ‘Malam’ was more than a scholar. He was a compass.
Now the title is elastic. It applies to schoolteachers, lecturers, civil servants, even radio presenters with confident diction. In classrooms, it confers authority. In markets, it softens tone. Sometimes it is just what you call a man whose name you do not know. And on social media, Malam can shift from respect to ridicule, used to mock someone who parades borrowed wisdom.

This stretch reflects Hausa society’s deep reverence for learning, but also its evolving standards for what counts as knowledge. Malam no longer guarantees scholarship. It signals the appearance of learning, genuine or not.

Still, the word carries weight. It opens doors, commands silence, curates tone. Whether whispered by students or shouted from campaign stages, Malam remains a title that balances between reverence and performance. Between earned wisdom and social display.

Once upon a time, calling someone ‘Alhaji’ or ‘Malam’ was enough. Today, it is Alhaji Engr. (Dr.) Chief Sani, and the wedding card has not even listed his full name yet.
Across Northern Nigeria, title stacking has become a performance of prestige. What began as distinct acknowledgments of religious devotion (Alhaji), scholarly authority (Malam), or traditional office (Waziri, Sarki or Galadima) now mingle with Western academic and professional badges like Pharm., Barr., or Engr. One name carries five honorifics.

How did we go from single titles to full-length prefixes? The answer lies in both competition and code-switching. In a society where jobs are scarce and respect is fiercely guarded, titles become symbolic currency. They signal arrival. They fend off dismissal. A stacked name becomes shorthand for success, even when its credentials are uneven.

But it is more than vanity. Hausa speakers navigate overlapping systems of esteem; Islamic virtue, traditional nobility, colonial bureaucracy, and global credentialism. The title stack tries to contain them all: faith, lineage, modernity, merit, compressed into one string of prefixes.

The cost is semantic overload. At some point, ‘Dr. Alhaji Barr.’ says less about your knowledge than about your insecurity. It clutters public introductions and invites satire, as comedians mimic “Comrade Chief (Dr.) Honourable Mallam Digital Strategist…” to lampoon inflated self-worth.

Still, the inflation persists. Because in a culture where ‘girmamawa’ is armor, each new prefix feels like one more layer of protection.

In Hausa culture, titles matter. But girmamawa (respect) runs deeper.
An old man in a village, never called Alhaji or Malam, may command more silence in a gathering than someone with ten honorifics. Why? Because Hausa society has always known the difference between a name and a reputation.

Titles like Dr., Hajiya, Malam, or Waziri can open doors. They invite polite speech, they soften refusals, they protect ego. But respect is built slowly: through action, humility, and how one treats others when no one is watching.

People admire the man who settles disputes without shouting. The woman who feeds orphans without posting about it. The trader whose word is stronger than a receipt. These are the quiet architects of girmamawa.

The tension is real. A person can be called ‘Alhaji Barrister’ and still be mocked behind their back if they abuse power. On the other hand, someone with no title might be described as ‘mutumin kirki’ (a person of upright character) and be trusted with community secrets or village leadership.

Hausa proverbs capture this wisdom. One says, “A bin da ya fi ado, shi ne hali”, meaning, (character is greater than decoration).

The lesson is simple: titles may impress, but they cannot replace trust.

By Amir Abdulazeez

During the early and mid-months of 2002, I would often visit an uncle (now deceased) who generously provided me with newspapers before he had even read them himself. On one such visit, I picked up a copy of the Daily Trust, a relatively new publication at the time, and while flipping through its pages, I read the delightful news that not only made me happy but also propelled me into a brief career in partisan politics. Retired General Muhammadu Buhari had decided to join democratic politics and announced his entry into the All Nigerian Peoples Party (ANPP).

At the time, the Obasanjo-led administration was widely perceived as underperforming, failing to address Nigeria’s mounting challenges sincerely. The PDP had morphed into a formidable political giant, while the ANPP was weakening steadily; other newly registered parties existed only in the briefcases of their founders.  Buhari’s decision to enter politics at that time represented the single most decisive move that changed the Nigerian democratic landscape over the last 25 years. Youths, pensioners, activists, comrades, veterans and even fence-sitters found a new rallying point, and almost everyone else joined the new messiah.

Although many harboured reservations about Buhari, especially those whose interests had been hurt during his military regime or the post-1999 established elite who saw him as a threat, I was among the countless young Nigerians who adored Buhari to a fault. My admiration for him was so intense that another uncle once felt compelled to caution me. It was just before the 2003 presidential election when he walked into my room, saw a large framed portrait of Buhari on my wall, smiled, and advised me to moderate my obsession.

My love for Buhari began about 30 years ago. The establishment of the Petroleum Trust Fund (PTF) by General Sani Abacha’s administration in 1994 coincided with our early years in secondary school. By the time the Fund was a year old in 1995, the name of Muhammadu Buhari was on the lips of virtually all Nigerians. In my estimation, then, he was the only tangible positive aspect of the Abacha government. In fact, he appeared to be more popular than Abacha himself; a hypothesis that reportedly inspired Obasanjo to scrap the Fund in 1999 to avoid ‘running a government inside a government’.

I vividly recall a day in 1995 or 1996 when I accompanied my father to a bookshop. The PTF low-price edition of every book we went to buy was available at a 50% or so discount without any compromise in quality. While paying the money, I could see the smile on my father’s face reflecting deep satisfaction and appreciation for the work of the PTF. That was the first time in my life that I truly felt and understood the direct impact of government on the people. In pharmacies, PTF drugs were sold at subsidised rates. There was no propaganda, rhetoric, cosmetics, or media packaging; the work of Buhari’s PTF was there for everyone to see and touch. I was fortunate as a young lad to join elders on travels across the country from 1995 to 1997. I got tired of seeing the PTF road projects that I once asked: “Why won’t this Buhari return as president to fix Nigeria?”

Muhammadu Buhari, a constant figure in Nigerian political discourse since 1983, is no longer with us. Few anticipated his death, as the brief illness he suffered in London seemed either a rumour or a routine medical trip. Ironically, many of his detractors had “killed” him multiple times in the past; some of them dying before he did. In 2014, former Ekiti State Governor Ayo Fayose ran a notorious advertisement predicting that Buhari wouldn’t last in office for months if elected. Yet he won, served for eight years, and died just months short of turning 83.

Buhari lived a long, dedicated, and enduring life of service and commitment to Nigeria, spanning about six decades in both military and civilian capacities. Save perhaps for Obasanjo, there’s no Nigerian, dead or alive, who matches his array of public portfolios. His personal reputation for discipline, honesty, integrity, and austerity endured throughout his public life. He stood as a symbol of principled and stoic leadership, leaving behind a legacy that will continue to resonate for generations.

Just before his death, the debate of who made him president in 2015 resurfaced with an exchange of tantrums between some pro-Tinubu and pro-Buhari gladiators. While I found the debate outdated, my position remains that Buhari ought to have become president 12 years earlier. For the avoidance of doubt, Muhammadu Buhari did not lose the 2003 presidential elections; it was brutally rigged to return Obasanjo for a second term. That year’s election ranks among the most fraudulent in modern global history. In 2007, the presidential election results were allegedly fabricated, so we can’t even call that an election, let alone determine who won or lost.

Despite my immense love for Buhari, I was left with no choice but to join his critics after 2015. Less than a year in, it became clear that his government lacked the vision and effectiveness many had hoped for. In 2015, I queued until about 10:00 p.m. to vote for him, believing he was Nigeria’s last chance. By 2018, I was disappointed and called for him to serve just one term. I argued then that if he couldn’t lead like Nelson Mandela, he could at least exit like Mandela. By 2021, while in his second term, I was so disillusioned that I openly advocated for his impeachment.

It remains a mystery how our much beloved, tested, and trusted (his campaign slogan in 2003) Buhari failed to meet expectations so short. Some blamed his arrogant and underperforming appointees; others cited a fractured and directionless party. But ultimately, he bore the responsibility. His inability or unwillingness to discipline ineffective ministers eroded his credibility. In 2022, during the eight-month strike by university lecturers, I contacted one of his aides (a relative), who confirmed that it was Buhari’s ministers, not Buhari himself, who opposed paying the lecturers. Another indicator that he wasn’t really in charge. 

In the midst of the storm, Buhari’s administration achieved several landmark milestones in infrastructure, social welfare, and the fight against terrorism. He delivered the elusive Second Niger Bridge, the Lagos-Ibadan and Abuja-Kaduna railways and upgraded numerous critical road networks. His government implemented the Treasury Single Account (TSA), which significantly improved public financial transparency and curbed leakages. Buhari’s war against Boko Haram yielded mixed results but succeeded in reclaiming substantial territory from insurgents. He introduced arguably the largest Social Investment Program in the history of Africa, targeting millions of beneficiaries through initiatives such as N-Power, Trader Moni, Survival Fund, Anchor Borrowers Scheme, and conditional cash transfers.

Nigerians are free to hold divergent views on Buhari. But there should be decency in how we express those views. No one is without flaws; we all have our good and bad sides. One day, we too shall pass, and others will speak of us. Buhari had both triumphs and failings; some reaped benefits, others suffered losses. If you can pray for him, please do. If not, be measured in your words.

The past few days have witnessed a flurry of deaths, a sobering reminder that life is fleeting and death is inevitable. Today’s giants will one day lie lifeless. When Garba Shehu broke the news of Buhari’s death, I immediately made up my mind to put up a tribute. A few minutes after the announcement, I visited his Wikipedia page to verify some information about the general. To my surprise, the information about his death had already been updated: “Muhammadu Buhari (1942-2025)”—so swiftly? I said to myself. Baba is gone. May Allah forgive and grant him Jannatul-Firdaus.

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

There is this thing that has been baffling me for so long. How on earth can someone knowingly take what does not belong to them and claim to be the rightful owner? Be it a car, a motorcycle, money, or anything valuable, how can a person live with that and still have peace of mind? Just wondering. The rising number of fraudsters, armed robbers, and criminals is sending a red alarm through our society. We need to think about this. 

Where is our sense? How can you feel human after intentionally making someone else suffer by stealing or using power to take what is not yours? Even if you escape in this fleeting world, do you ever think about the hereafter? Honestly, I do not think anyone with a conscience can still feel truly human after that.

In today’s fast-paced society, the pursuit of wealth has become more intense than ever. Young people are under growing pressure to succeed quickly and visibly. Social media has made it worse, constantly showing luxury lifestyles, expensive cars, designer clothes, and dream vacations. Everywhere you look, someone is showing off something new, and this has created a culture where being rich is seen as the only proof of success. With this kind of pressure, it is not surprising that many are tempted to look for shortcuts to riches.

Some youth turn to legal avenues such as starting businesses, learning digital skills, or investing in trades. These are commendable paths that require time, discipline, and consistency. However, others begin to lean toward illegal or dishonest means. Internet fraud, online scams, money rituals, and other shady activities have unfortunately become attractive options for those who want to make it overnight. These choices are dangerous and often come with serious consequences that people do not thoroughly think through until it is too late.

The reality is that there is always a price to pay for fast money, especially when it comes through illegal means. Aside from the risk of arrest, prosecution, and jail time, there is also the emotional burden and shame that follow. Getting caught in criminal activity can destroy your future. It closes doors to real opportunities, stains your reputation, and breaks the trust your family and community have in you. Even if the law does not catch you, people talk. Your name becomes a warning, not an example.

Beyond legal consequences, there is also a personal cost. Living in constant fear of getting caught or exposed takes a toll on your mental health. Many people who appear to be living large are battling anxiety and guilt behind closed doors. They cannot sleep peacefully, they do not feel safe, and deep down, they know that what they are enjoying is temporary. What is the point of having money if you have to keep looking over your shoulder?

It is also important to understand that real wealth takes time to build. There is nothing wrong with starting small. Many successful people started with little, but they stayed consistent. Whether you are learning a skill, starting a side hustle, or working your way through school or a job, what matters is growth. Progress may be slow, but it is real, and over time, it adds up. That kind of wealth gives you confidence and freedom because it was earned the right way.

Young people need to hear this often. There is no shame in taking your time. Not everyone will blow in their twenties, and that is okay. Social media has created false timelines that make people feel like failures if they have not made it early. But life is not a race. Focus on building yourself. Learn, grow, stay curious, and surround yourself with people who push you to do better the right way. Your future should not be built on lies or shortcuts. Let it be built on purpose and with effort.

In the end, it is not just about making money. It is about who you become in the process. Money comes and goes, but your values, your peace of mind, and your name should remain intact. Do not trade your future for temporary pleasure. Stay focused, stay clean, and remember that true success is not just about how much you have but how you earned it.

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

By Bilyamin Abdulmumin, PhD

I didn’t feel very emotional when I first heard about the death of Muhammadu Buhari. Until this morning, when I came across one of his speeches from the 2023 campaign. In that speech, he reflected on his life, the approaching end of his tenure, and his return home. He bade farewell and admonished the congress and the Nigerian people with good leadership, honesty, and trustworthiness. Watching that speech now, occasioned by his passing, felt like listening to a wasiyya, a final will, from one of my dying parents. For the first time, I found my eyes welling up over someone’s death. 

The death of the former president shouldn’t come as a surprise. At 82, he had lived a full, ripe, and by many standards, successful life. Yet many of us were caught unprepared by his passing. He was much in the spotlight, with his move from his Daura residence to a renovated home in Kaduna, and visits from opposition figures, leading to the APC’s restlessness and the immediate response from the then APC chairman, “Habu Na Habu”. 

The last time Buhari was in the news, it was due to rumours that he had slipped into a coma and was in critical condition—claims swiftly denied by Garba Shehu. Like many staunch Buharists, I didn’t take those rumours seriously. After all, we had heard many such baseless reports before.

Two key lessons I’ve taken from Buhari’s leadership: one about Buhari himself, and the second about the general society. For Buhari, integrity and honesty, while essential, are not enough on their own to bring about revolutionary change. I’ve followed transformational leaders like Lee Kuan Yew. Like Buhari, he was tough and sincere. But what set him apart was his well-defined economic philosophy and strategic vision. Buhari, by contrast, appeared to rely heavily on the capacity of his advisers and inner circle. 

For Nigerians, even the much-touted Lee Kuan Yew may still not be enough to deliver the revolutionary change. This is because the mindset and orientation of much of Nigerian society are often at odds with the very change they claim to seek. Many did not fully understand the nature or depth of the “change” being clamoured for in the first place. In contrast, a significant portion of Singaporean society shared in Lee Kuan Yew’s vision—or were at least willing to align themselves with a national revolution. That collective readiness made transformation possible. In Nigeria, however, the societal psyche remains a major barrier to meaningful reform.

History is best understood by future generations. Chairman Mao was once seen as merely a rebel, yet he eventually seized power and reshaped global history. How he was perceived a hundred years ago stands in stark contrast to how he’s viewed today. 

President Muhammadu Buhari came, did his part, and has now taken his bow. Time will reveal the full weight of his legacy. Good night, Baba. May your soul rest in Jannatul Firdaus.

By Prof. Abdussamad Umar Jibia

“Fellow countrymen and women. I, Brigadier Sani Abacha of the Nigerian Army, address you this morning on behalf of the Nigerian armed forces. You are all living witnesses to the grave economic predicament….”

That was on the 31st of December 1983. I was a Form Five student at the Government Secondary Technical School,Mashi. But the school was on its first-term vacation. So, I was at home. I was sitting with my father that early morning when someone came in to announce that the Army had overthrown President Shehu Shagari and that “rediyo baya Magana”, meaning the radio was silent. It was after my father sent for his transistor radio that I understood what the man meant. Normal radio programmes were not running. The radio station we listened to those days was mainly Radio Kaduna. Occasionally, we listened to Rima Radio, Sokoto, a Nigerien radio channel and Radio Kano. There was no Katsina State, so no Radio Katsina. No FM. No social media.

The only voice Radio Kaduna was airing was that of Brigadier Sani Abacha with the historical coup speech at regular intervals, filled with military music. Since my father did not go to Makarantar Boko, he asked me to translate, and I did that with the confidence of a final year student ready to take the WAEC examination in five months. Yeah, only WAEC. No NECO. No NABTEB. Nothing else except WAEC. 

But that was not the point. Everyone was anxious to know Shagari’s replacement. It didn’t come immediately. Later in the afternoon, a Yoruba voice (later identified as Tunde Idiagbon) spoke to announce the acceptance of the “voluntary retirement” of service chiefs. While they were still waiting, another General (Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida) spoke; he asked Nigerians to remain calm as they awaited the speech of the new Head of State and Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces. 

The speech did not come until midnight, when many of us were already asleep. The following morning, my father didn’t need me for translation as Radio Kaduna was airing the translated speech of the new Head of State, Major General Muhammadu Buhari. I saw happiness on the faces of the adults. I understood that they were happy because the new Head of State was not another Kaduna Nzegwu or an Aguiyi-Ironsi. 

That was the beginning of the Buhari story. For those of us in secondary schools, nothing changed. Our holiday ended and we went back to our boarding school. In the whole of what is now Katsina state, I knew of only one day secondary school. That was the one in Katsina town, and it was owned by the Government. All the other schools I knew were boarding schools and public schools.

We sat for the WAEC GCE O-level exam and passed with the necessary credits and distinctions. My BUK pre-degree admission came quickly, and it was after I reported and registered that I understood that Buhari had removed the feeding subsidy in tertiary institutions. So, we were on our own.

Buhari was overthrown in August 1985, and that was the beginning of his popularity. Four months after he was overthrown, Nigerian students went on a rampage to protest the IMF loan. It was followed by the unpopular SAP. The more General Babangida introduced new policies, the more popular Major General Buhari became, even though he was in prison. People were tearing Babangida’s pictures and pasting the pictures of Buhari, his prisoner, on their vehicles and business premises.

The interview Buhari gave The News magazine after his release from detention made him even more popular among the elites and demonised Babangida. In the interview, Buhari spoke about the “fifth columnist” in his administration,which was understood to be a veiled reference to Babangida.

Fast forward to 2015, as a democrat, Buhari became the President after three failed attempts. The experiences of Nigerians were bitter, depending on who was involved. To the victims of banditry like us, he was a failure. To university lecturers like me, he destroyed tertiary education. To the Shiites, he was a murderer. To the masses, he is synonymous with hardship.

However, regardless of how you see Buhari, you must admit that he was sincere. He was incorruptible and meant well for Nigeria. Buhari would have been the best president Nigeria had if only he had ensured accountability in his Government.

May Allah have mercy on the soul of Muhammadu Buhari and admit him into the highest level of Firdaus. Amin.

Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia wrote via aujibia@gmail.com.

By Ahmed Abdulkadir

It was with a mix of curiosity and concern that I came across an article published by The Daily Reality on July 12, 2025, titled “How the Lack of Strong Opposition Masks the Government’s Failures in Katsina.” The write-up was emotionally charged, laced with sweeping generalisations and unverified claims against the administration of Governor Dikko Umar Radda. But beyond the passion and provocative headline lies the need for a more measured and fact-based perspective—one grounded in reality rather than rhetoric.

Let us take a closer look at the major allegations raised in the article and critically examine them with verifiable facts and thoughtful context.

The “Failure” of a PhD Holder? A Misplaced Premise

One of the more glaring assertions in the article is the idea that Governor Radda’s possession of a PhD was oversold during his campaign and that his government has since failed to meet expectations. But such a claim is not only simplistic—it is unfair.

Yes, Governor Radda holds a doctorate degree, a fact that underscores his academic pedigree. However, governance is not a matter of titles or certificates—it is about policies, programs, and political will. The proper question should be: What has he done since assuming office in May 2023?

So far, the Radda administration has rolled out programs in agriculture, healthcare, and security reform. For instance, his data-driven community development model now guides the distribution of fertiliser, agro-support, and loans, ensuring that those who truly need support get it. His collaboration with the Bank of Industry for interest-free loans to MSMEs is unprecedented in the state. His administration has also launched the Health Insurance Scheme for Retirees—the first of its kind in Katsina’s history.

If there are areas needing improvement, no doubt. But to write off the administration as a “failure” just two years into a four-year mandate without a balanced assessment is more political than logical.

Insecurity: Who Really Bears the Blame?

The article devotes significant attention to the security situation in Katsina State. It laments the rising tide of banditry and communal violence, laying the blame squarely on the state government’s shoulders.

There is no denying the pain and fear that many communities in Katsina face. Attacks in places like Yargoje and Faskari are fresh scars in our collective memory. But to understand the security challenge in Katsina, one must first recognise that it is a national crisis, not a localised failure.

Security in Nigeria is under the exclusive control of the Federal Government. The police, the military, and the intelligence agencies all answer to Abuja. Governors, including Dr. Radda, are often described as “chief security officers” in name only—they command no troops, control no weapons, and fund security operations from limited state budgets.

That said, the Radda administration has not folded its arms. It has recruited and trained community vigilantes, equipped local security outfits, and created a Directorate of Humanitarian and Social Support to cater to victims of banditry and displacement. These interventions may not be silver bullets, but they reflect proactive governance in a highly constrained security architecture.

Education: A Long Road, not a Quick Fix

Another issue raised in the article is the high number of out-of-school children in Katsina. On this point, the critics are absolutely right. Katsina ranks among the states with the highest rates of out-of-school children in Nigeria. But what they failed to mention is that this is not a new problem, nor one created by the Radda administration.

The roots of the educational crisis in Katsina go back decades. Years of underfunding, weak infrastructure, socio-cultural barriers, and insecurity have combined to undermine education in the state. What matters now is what the current government is doing to address it.

Governor Radda has begun the process of improving school enrollment, especially for girls. New schools are being built in underserved areas. He has introduced teacher recruitment and training initiatives. And there are plans underway to integrate Qur’anic education with formal curriculum to bridge the gap between Almajiri and Western education.

Is it enough? Not yet. But progress is being made—step by step.

Opposition Politics: Is There Really a Vacuum?

Perhaps the most politically charged claim in the article is that Katsina suffers from a lack of effective opposition, which allows the government to operate without scrutiny. This is an old and recurring lament in Nigerian politics, especially in states where the ruling party dominates.

Yes, the All Progressives Congress (APC) won the 2023 governorship with a comfortable margin. Yes, the party also secured all three Senate seats and most House of Assembly positions. But to interpret this dominance as the death of opposition politics is disingenuous.

The PDP remains active in Katsina. The SDP fields candidates. Civil society voices are alive and well. In fact, the very article in question—published without censorship—is evidence that dissenting voices are being heard.

If opposition parties are underperforming, the responsibility lies with them to reorganise, re-strategise, and connect meaningfully with the grassroots. Democracy is not sustained by the volume of complaints but by the quality of alternatives.

A Balanced View, not a Biased Verdict

In conclusion, while the concerns raised by Daily Reality are important and deserve public discourse, their presentation lacks balance and fails the test of objectivity. The article reads more like a political broadside than a serious critique of governance. It ignores nuance, omits progress, and assumes malice where complexity exists.

Katsina State, like much of Nigeria, is grappling with real challenges—security, education, healthcare, and youth unemployment. But it is also a place where honest efforts are being made to build a better future. The truth, as always, lies somewhere in the middle, not in the extremes of praise or condemnation.

Governor Radda may not have achieved everything yet, but his administration has not been idle, incompetent, or indifferent. Let us hold him accountable, yes—but let us also be fair, factual, and future-minded in our assessments.

Ahmed Abdulkadir is the Board Chairman of Katsina State Radio and Television Services.

By Muhammad Isyaku Malumfashi

One thing I despise about Katsina’s political realm is the absence of a strong and formidable opposition that will tackle the government’s dormancy and make them very focused and renaissance-like toward their responsibilities by using both envious and constructive criticism against those in power, so that at least the citizens may witness democratic dividends seen in some states.

But for the opposition to hold hands and keep mute without holding those in power accountable for any misfortune is unhealthy, and that’s the reason why we are here. Many citizens have questions about the power, but they are afraid to ask due to threats of arrest or intimidation by those close to the power. Perhaps some would disguise themselves in the name of advice to convince you not to oppose this failed government led by the so-called PhD, but they will not prove to you that what you said about the government is not true.

It’s a good thing to advise one to be cautious and watchful of his tongue, but it’s cowardice to intimidate him with arrest or cite the quibbles of his words without pointing out the error in them. The present Katsina government at all levels has become a failure despite the boasting made about the ‘educational qualification’ of the governor during the campaign and even after in his first year of office.

The governor made it clear that he would work with only ‘educated people’ because he is a PhD holder. His academic position was also used to deceive people into believing that Katsina would have a governor for the first time who had attained such a high level of education, unlike his predecessors, who were only master’s degree and diploma holders. People believed that the highest level of education equates to good governance until Governor Radda spent two years in office with nothing to show, or at least outshine or perform better than his predecessors.

That’s when we realised that a secondary school leaver may do better than a PhD in governance because it’s not about the qualification but fear of God, experience, integrity, and honesty. This administration of a PhD holder has not endangered any sector in Katsina. Take the security issue first, which is the most pressing issue in the state.

During the campaign, the governor made it clear that even if it’ll cost him not constructing a single gutter, he’ll eliminate insecurity in the state. We were happy to hear that and even began to see some desirable steps toward actualising that by distributing ammunition to citizens, launching the Katsina State Security Watch Corps, and arresting and killing many people found sabotaging the fight against insecurity. But what happened along the way?

The emphasis was later shifted to politics; the bold promise of no negotiation with bandits at the weak point was broken, and we saw negotiations made in some local governments when it was apparent that the bandits breached many trusts that had been placed in them by the previous government after the talks, and the insurgency escalated. It’s only during Radda that we’ve seen the worst of banditry, especially in my hometown of Malumfashi.

Initially, they only attacked villages, but later they expanded their attacks to cities. People are no longer safe. The son of our immediate local government chairman has been in bandits’ captivity for months now. My sibling, a sister of the same father and the same mother, was kidnapped in the same area where the ex-chairman lived while in office, and his child was abducted.

Many people inside Malumfashi were kidnapped; some were killed, and some had ransom paid to release them. Even today, I woke up seeing the sad news of the death of a PDP leader in Malumfashi from bandits. It’s under this government that dozens of villages in Malumfashi were evacuated due to banditry, and a whole brigadier general from Tsiga was kidnapped and spent more than 50 days in their hands before gaining freedom after millions were paid to them as ransom.

And a first-position winner from Katsina of the National Qur’anic Competition (Musabaqa) held in Kebbi was also kidnapped with his parents along their way back to Faskari from Katsina, where the governor gave him prizes and gifts, but was not able to ask security to escort him home despite the apparent danger of their town. And the governor made a blatant lie in a video, which I saved for my unborn children to remind them that ‘he’s the one feeding every family whose head is kidnapped in the state.’ This is not just a capital lie but a grievous one.

If you take education, you still have nothing to show. The previous government was paying WAEC and NECO for every student in government schools who passed the qualifying exams. Still, this government of ‘PhDs’ paid only NECO to every student, even if he or she passed both WAEC and NECO last year. Katsina’s NECO result was released late last year, after many schools had concluded their admission processes, and the pass rate was very low. Katsina was ranked among the three lowest-passing states in the NECO exam last year.

The governor employed thousands of teachers and a few from the health sector. I agreed, but he did not tell us how many thousands have retired in every sector every year and how far along the replacement process is. No school will go without seeing a shortage of teachers, and the same goes for clinics.

How long did it take him to implement the 70k minimum wage, and has it been implemented 100%? You’ll hardly see a civil servant who saw an increase of up to 50k in his salary, like in other states. What was the cause of his dispute with the university staff about the minimum wage implementation, and how many times did they reject his low implementation of minimum wage for them?

The tertiary school fees were raised when many students were dropping out due to the high cost of education, even though the governor is now earning more than his predecessor because of the removal of subsidies. His predecessor did not increase the school fees, but PhD did. In his just two years in office, he claims to have spent more on security than the previous government did in 8 years, yet there has been no clear difference between the two governments in their success against banditry in the state.

Only these two crucial areas are sufficient to condemn this Yan Boko government, but the lack of opposition in Katsina is giving the governor the confidence to speak badly about the coalition. 

Coalition/opposition has come to stay in Katsina, and no man born of a woman can stop it.

By Alhassan Hassan Salihu

The shocking surge of thuggery and phone snatching in Kano State has evolved into a grave crisis. This escalating violence threatens the safety, security, and well-being of residents, particularly in the metropolitan areas.  

Despite the overwhelming fear gripping communities, remaining silent is not an option; silence could very well mean becoming the next victim of these ruthless gangs preying on innocent people.

Kano’s Youth Violence

From the streets of Kurna to Dorayi, and Rijiyar Lemo to Gwagwarwa, chilling reports of violence have become commonplace. Street clashes, stabbings, daylight robberies, and innocent lives traumatised by gangs wielding machetes, stones, and knives have turned these areas into unsafe zones. 

The brutality of these gangs is more devastating. Social media platforms are inundated with graphic videos and images depicting these violent incidents. 

Terrified bystanders film young thugs attacking victims who resist having their phones snatched, with many victims bleeding from multiple stab wounds. 

These violent encounters are no longer isolated incidents but part of an alarming pattern that threatens the peace and stability of Kano.

A Personal Near-Miss in Dorayi

Just days ago, a student narrowly avoided becoming a victim during a routine trip from Zoo Road to Dorayi in a commercial tricycle (Keke Napep). 

Two young men suddenly jumped into the vehicle; one sat beside them, the other beside the rider. Despite explaining that it was a private drop-off, one of the youths became aggressive. 

Thankfully, the presence of a nearby police outpost likely deterred any violent intentions. They dropped off at a university gate without incident.

This encounter serves as a sobering reminder that violence can erupt anytime, anywhere. Such an incident was lucky, not guaranteed. For many others, it ends in tragedy.

Violence Spreads Beyond Kano

The wave of thuggery and phone snatching extends beyond Kano State. In neighbouring Kaduna, the tragic stabbing of a naval officer, Lieutenant Commander M. Buba, shocked the region. 

While changing a flat tyre in the Kawo area, he was attacked and stabbed in the chest after he refused to surrender his phone. Despite intervention by local vigilantes, he was pronounced dead on arrival at Manaal Hospital.

Authorities have since detained at least 13 suspects and initiated covert operations to dismantle gangs terrorising Kaduna’s streets. Yet the spread of this violence signals a regional issue that calls for coordinated responses beyond the borders of individual states.

 Tragic Loss of a Community Leader

Closer to home, Kano mourned the brutal murder of Alaramma Jabir Lawan Abdullahi, a respected Islamic teacher and tech expert. 

On the evening of May 17, 2025, near Gidan Sarki, he was attacked while travelling in a commercial tricycle amidst heavy traffic. When he resisted attempts to snatch his phone, he was stabbed multiple times by suspected thugs and left to die on the roadside.

This horrific act has ignited outrage across Kano. The fact that a well-known and respected educator could fall victim so brutally sends a clear message: no one is safe in the current climate of violence. 

Arrests Made, Yet Violence Continues

According to the Kano State Police Command, over 200 suspected thugs and phone snatchers have been arrested over the last six months. 

In March 2025 alone, the police paraded over 85 suspects from hotspots such as Kofar Ruwa, Dan’agundi, Zango, and Dorayi. Weapons, stolen phones, and illicit drugs were seized.

Despite these efforts, the menace persists, the gangs’ deep-rooted networks rapidly replenish lost members, highlighting the inadequacy of enforcement alone. 

Underlying socio-economic challenges, including high unemployment, widespread drug abuse, and poor educational opportunities, fuel the cycle of crime and violence.

Steps Taken, But More Must Be Done

The Kano State Government has made commendable strides in tackling this crisis. 

Rehabilitation centres in Kiru and Dorayi, alongside the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency’s (NDLEA) facility for addiction treatment, are important tools in combating the link between substance abuse and violent crime.

However, these centres require urgent expansion and increased funding to meet growing demand. With rising numbers of youths affected by drugs and crime, scaling rehabilitation services is essential, and more compulsory.

Need For Holistic Action

Security agencies cannot rely solely on arrests to solve such enduring crises, which require a community-based approach. 

Strengthening community policing, empowering neighbourhood vigilante groups, improving local surveillance, and fostering trust between residents and law enforcement are critical for restoring safety. Equally important is addressing the root causes of youth involvement in crime. 

The government must urgently invest in job creation schemes, vocational training centres, and youth empowerment initiatives such as sports and cultural programmes. 

Idle youth are more vulnerable to gang recruitment and drug addiction. Productive engagement is the key to prevention. Moreover, effective rehabilitation programmes and mental health support for addicted offenders must be prioritised. Without this, many youths will remain trapped in a vicious cycle of crime and incarceration.

Lastly, the justice system must be reformed to ensure quick and fair prosecution. Many arrested criminals return to the streets quickly due to weak legal follow-up, undermining deterrence and public confidence. Stronger, faster legal processes and appropriate sentencing are necessary to break the cycle, as it was previously demonstrated.

Conclusion

The menace of “fadan daba and phone snatching” in Kano has reached a tipping point. No one is immune, from students and traders to community leaders and law enforcement.

By Muhammad Abubakar 

Professor Abdelghaffar Amoka of the Department of Physics at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, has responded strongly to what he calls a “misinformed and politically biased” opinion by Sunusi Musa, SAN, regarding the state of Nigerian academia.

In a lengthy rejoinder titled “The Impoverished Nigerian Professors and the ‘Unpopular Opinion’ of a Misinformed SAN,” Prof. Amoka criticised Musa for attributing the poverty of Nigerian professors to their alleged lack of productivity and large family sizes. 

Amoka argued that the true cause lies in the systemic neglect and chronic underfunding of the Nigerian education sector, particularly university staff salaries and research funding.

He noted that academic salaries have remained stagnant since 2009, with professors now earning the equivalent of less than $400 per month, a sharp drop from over $3,000 in 2009. He described the situation as a “crime against humanity,” accusing the political class of starving intellectuals while enriching themselves.

Amoka debunked the claim that Nigerian academics are unproductive, citing the international recognition they receive and their contributions to research and student success abroad. 

He further pointed out the lack of sufficient research funding, comparing Nigeria’s meagre investments to the billions spent annually by countries like the US, UK, China, and even smaller nations such as Norway and Malaysia.

The professor further criticised the SAN for bringing personal life choices—such as marriage and family size—into a discussion about national policy failure. He emphasised that productivity in academia depends on conducive working conditions and appropriate incentives.

Amoka ended the piece by urging fellow academics to prioritise their well-being, pursue legitimate side hustles if necessary, and continue doing their best to sustain a struggling system. He warned that the continued devaluation of education poses a threat to the country’s future.

“We are starving the thinkers and feeding those who can’t think. What sort of system are we expecting to create?” he asked.