Opinion

By Muhammad Abubakar Tahir

Jigawa State was created on August 27, 1991, by the administration of General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida. Since then, the state — with its 27 local government areas and Dutse as its capital — has grown remarkably in almost every sector, living up to its nickname: “The New World.”

Anyone familiar with Jigawa today will agree that, among the states created at the same time, it has made more than commendable progress. Its story has been one of consistent development, particularly in modern agriculture, healthcare, environmental sanitation, good governance, and infrastructure.

Over the years, each governor who served the state has left a footprint of meaningful projects. Their efforts deserve gratitude and prayers from the citizens, for together they have turned Jigawa into one of Nigeria’s quiet models of growth.

One of the most visible achievements is in road construction. According to surveys, Jigawa ranks among the top three states with the best road networks in the country. Travelling from Birniwa to Gwaram, one will see how successive governments have invested in quality roads that connect communities, ease transportation, and improve livelihoods.

In agriculture, Jigawa stands tall as a national pillar. About 75 per cent of Nigeria’s exported food products originate from the state — a feat that underscores its central role in sustaining the nation’s economy.

Governor Umar Namadi’s administration, in particular, has deepened support for farmers. By making fertiliser affordable, offering loans, and providing milling machines and rice processing equipment, his government has empowered rural farmers and strengthened food security.

In Hadejia, the rice business has transformed lives. Buyers now flock in from across the country, increasing state revenue and creating employment opportunities. Many youths have become millionaires through rice farming and processing. And it is not just rice — Jigawa also thrives in sesame, hibiscus, millet, and maize, with many of these products being exported internationally.

The state’s lesser-talked-about sectors are also booming. Fish and frog farming, for instance, are creating jobs for youths from both North and South, while contributing to local revenue. My recent investigative work with WikkiTimes highlighted this silent but powerful transformation.

Education has also advanced. The sons and daughters of Jigawa continue to make their mark both nationally and internationally. Governments past and present have invested in schools and supported talented youths to acquire modern skills abroad — laying a foundation of knowledge for future generations.

Governor Namadi has shown particular resolve by announcing plans to recruit 10,000 teachers — a bold initiative that will strengthen the education system.

Progress is also visible in other areas, including electricity, water supply, and street lighting. Towns and villages that were once engulfed in darkness are now well illuminated, symbolising infrastructural renewal.

Jigawa has also remained at the forefront in welfare policies. It was one of the first states to implement the national minimum wage, long before it became mandatory across Nigeria. This pro-worker stance has relieved hardship for civil servants and enhanced productivity.

The state’s reputation for peace and security is not to be overstated. Jigawa remains one of the safest states in the country — a fact that allows visitors to move freely without fear. Governor Namadi has further strengthened this by addressing farmer-herder conflicts, ensuring lasting harmony among communities.

Tourism is another rising potential. The serenity, natural beauty, and hospitality of Jigawa are gradually attracting visitors, opening new doors for cultural and economic growth.

Truly, Jigawa has fulfilled its promise as the “New World.” From humble beginnings, it has become a source of pride not only for its people but also for Nigeria.

May Allah continue to bless Jigawa with peace, progress, and prosperity. Ameen.

Muhammad Abubakar Tahir wrote in from Hadejia, Jigawa State, via abubakarmtahir81@gmail.com.

By Muhamad Mikail

In today’s interconnected and accountability-driven environment, a stakeholder is anyone who has an interest in or influence over an organisation, ranging from employees, customers, investors, and regulators to local communities and advocacy groups. Stakeholder engagement is a strategic process that involves informing, consulting, collaborating with, and responding to these groups to ensure transparency, secure buy-in, manage risks, and incorporate feedback into project planning and execution. According to the International Association for Public Participation (IAP2), stakeholders are those who are “affected by or can affect the outcome of a decision or project,” making their inclusion vital to successful outcomes.

A 2020 McKinsey & Company report found that organisations that engage stakeholders meaningfully tend to perform better across both financial and social metrics, and are 2.3 times more likely to outperform their peers. The World Bank now requires stakeholder engagement in all funded projects, and frameworks like the Global Reporting Initiative (GRI) emphasise stakeholder inclusiveness as a core principle of sustainable reporting. In this context, stakeholder engagement is no longer a courtesy—it is a strategic imperative for organisations seeking long-term relevance, impact, and resilience.

Since it became effective in December 2021, the Nigeria Digital Identification for Development Project has sought to have a proactive and open relationship with its stakeholders, across public and private institutions, ministries, departments and agencies, the media, Front End Enrolment Partners, Non-governmental organisations, Civil Society Organisations, disability clusters and women’s forums. This consistent stakeholder engagement is viewed as being fundamental to the core development objective of the Project, which is “to increase the number of persons with a national identity number issued by a robust and inclusive foundational ID system that guarantees their access to services”. This is to ensure the provision of a verifiable means of identification (NIN) for all Nigerians and legal residents of Nigeria. 

Thus far, the Project has successfully organised stakeholder consultation workshops annually for critical stakeholders in the ID sector across Nigeria. Importantly, these consultations elicited feedback and synergy on areas of collaboration, building on established networks and structures across communities and ward levels. Reports of these consultation workshops have been published in three national dailies, which serve as a means of reporting back to stakeholders on the progress of implementing their recommendations and suggestions. 

It is worthy of immense applause that the Project, through the Ecosystem Coordination Strategic Unit, (ECSU) in manner yet to be replicated in the country and anywhere else in the world supported the then Nigeria Data Protection Bureau headed by Dr Vincent Olatunji, devised a master stroke strategy of engaging critical stakeholders in the digital economy ecosystem, data protection thought-leaders, cybersecurity experts, policy makers, technocrats, NGOs, CSOs, development partners and even politicians in the drive to the drafting, passage of the data protection bill and eventual assent by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu on the 12^th of June 2023 all under one year. This eventually gave rise to what is now known as the Nigeria Data Protection (NDP) Act of 2023, which led to the establishment of the Nigeria Data Protection Commission. 

Furthermore, the Project Coordinator of the Project Implementation Unit, Mrs Tito Ejenavi said in a speech delivered at the opening of training for over 7,157 revalidated Front End Enrolment Partners and agents, that the PIU is part and parcel of  NIMC and has supported the National Identity Management Commission in entering several partnerships that have benefited underserved communities, disability clusters and several women forums including taking enrolment to their communities, test of accountability scorecards and assignment of special enrolment agents to enrol persons with disability, drafting and validation of disability policy, inclusion strategies, incentivisation of enrolment partners using the business model and billing solution, aided by the geo-spatial mapping of all communities and cities in Nigeria.  The NIMC is also collaborating with the National Social Safety Net Coordinating Office to enrol the poorest of the poor into the National Social Register and validate the Social Register using the NIN. 

As a result of this engagement and numerous other initiatives, NIN enrolment figures and data have improved by millions each month. From January 2022 when enrolment for the NIN stood at seventy-two million, seven hundred thousand, three hundred and sixty (72, 700, 360) and May 2025, enrolment currently stands at one hundred and nineteen million, six hundred and twenty-three thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine, a whopping addition of forty-six million, nine hundred and ninety-two thousand, eight hundred and sixty-nine. This accounts for a 48.80% increase in the number of people enrolled and issued a National Identification Number, NIN. 

Establishing and maintaining good relationships requires a long-term horizon, involving taking varied steps and making different, far-reaching decisions. The NIMC through the Project Implementation Unit, PIU of the NDID4D Project have invested heavily and strategically in the training and retraining of grievance redress representatives across the 36 states of Nigeria who across all NIMC centres are to serve as the first points of contact for any aggrieved enrolee, enrolment agent or residents of the host communities especially when such situation is tied to enrolment for the NIN or any other services that the NIMC currently offers.  

Concerted Efforts are being made through CSOs and women’s forums, such as the Federation of Muslim Women Association of Nigeria (FOMWAN), to personalise relationships with communities across the federation. This is achieved by building on their already established structures and networks, and working through their employees to create links with local communities and drive inclusion. Grievance redress has taken centre stage with the establishment and expansion of a NIMC 24/7 toll-free line to address grievances from anywhere in the country. The DG/CEO of NIMC, Engr. Abisoye Coker Odusote has been quoted in several official events stating that NIMC takes grievances seriously and will address them in a reliable and timely manner. 

It is worth noting that strategic stakeholder engagement is a key strategy for governments, organisations, and community groups in developing coherent policies and projects. It is our sincere hope that many more sustainable and people-centred reforms will be pursued in the drive to reposition our digital identity ecosystem, thereby helping to enhance the growth of our digital economy.  I therefore call on the National Assembly to expedite the passage of the amendments to the NIMC Act of 2025, as forward-thinking legal reforms like the NIMC Act amendment hold the key to unlocking the limitless benefits of the Fourth Industrial Revolution.

Muhammad Mikail is a Communications Professional and writes from Abuja. He can be reached via muhammadnmikail.mm@gmail.com.

By Suleiman Musa Yahaya Ikara

The scourge of thuggery and phone snatching in Kano State has escalated into a grave crisis, endangering students and residents alike.

Just weeks ago, a Bayero University, Kano (BUK) student fell victim during a routine trip to Dorayi.

The incident added to growing insecurity, leaving residents anxious about their safety and wellbeing, particularly in the metropolis.

The BUK community is still mourning the gruesome killing of a 300-level student, Umar Abdullahi Hafiz, by suspected phone snatchers near his off-campus residence in Dorayi.

His death underscores the brutality of the menace.From Danbare to Kofar Kabuga, Kofar Mata, Zoo Road, Sheka, Dorayi, Rijiyar Lemo, Kurna, and Gwagwarwa, violent attacks have become daily occurrences.

Street ambushes, stabbings, daylight robberies, and mobs armed with axes, stones, and knives have turned once-busy neighborhoods into zones of fear.

The perpetrators, commonly called fadan daba, have shaken public confidence in urban safety.

Media platforms are awash with disturbing videos and images capturing these attacks.

A source from Bayero University, kano said “The incident was so devastating and heartbreaking. As a girl from far away who chose to study in Kano, I ended up being robbed. It makes me feel discouraged.”

Confirming the university’s concern, Director of Public Affairs, Lamara Garba, said investigations and a manhunt were underway in collaboration with security agencies.

Similarly, the immediate past Vice-Chancellor, Prof. Sagir Adamu Abbas, condemned the killing and pledged to work closely with law enforcement to ensure justice.Despite these assurances, the violence persists.

Deep-rooted gang networks quickly replace arrested members, exposing the limits of enforcement alone.

Outrage across Kano has grown as the climate of insecurity signals that no one is truly safe.

The Law and the Crime

Legal experts remind citizens of their rights and the penalties awaiting offenders. Barrister Ibrahim Bako explained: “Section 43 of the Nigerian Constitution guarantees citizens the right to own property. Sections 286 and 287 of the Penal Code define theft and prescribe up to 10 years imprisonment for offenders.”

He added that phone snatchers could be charged with multiple offences, including theft, robbery, extortion, and criminal conspiracy

Root Causes: Drugs and Idleness

The NDLEA has linked the rise of thuggery and phone snatching to drug abuse among youths. In 2024, the Kano Command arrested over 1,345 suspects, seized 8.4 million kilograms of illicit substances, and secured 128 convictions.

Initiatives such as Operation Hana Maye continue to dismantle drug joints and rehabilitate addicts, but the challenge persists.

Searching for SolutionsGovernor Abba Kabir Yusuf has pledged decisive action against sponsors of youth gangs, alongside empowerment and job creation programs.

Yet, many argue that this is not enough. Community leaders stress the role of parents, traditional rulers, and residents in guiding young people away from crime.

Zayyana Abdullahi, a community leader stated that “Strengthening community policing, empowering neighborhood vigilantes, improving surveillance, and building trust between residents and law enforcement are critical for restoring safety.”

A Call for Collective ActionThe Kano Police Command, led by SP Abdullahi Haruna Kiyawa, acknowledges the worsening situation and has intensified operations.

Still, durable peace will require more than arrests, it demands holistic action.enforcing the law, tackling drug abuse, empowering youths with skills and jobs, and rebuilding community trust.

The coordinated efforts of government, law enforcement, religious bodies, and civil society must go hand in hand.

Kano’s battle against thuggery and phone snatching is not just a fight against crime,it is a fight for the soul of the city.

By Samaila Suleiman, PhD

“No amount of deconstruction and reconstruction, to turn history on its head, can bury the truth” – Sule Lamido.

Writing a review of Being True to Myself, the autobiography of His Excellency, (Dr) Sule Lamido, is, for me, both an intellectual obligation and a profoundly personal reckoning. As a student of historiography and politics of knowledge production, book reviewing is an integral part of my professional calling. At the same time, as a member of the editorial team of the Sule Lamido Autobiography Project (SLAP), along with my colleagues Dr Nu’uman Habeeb and Mustafa Ibrahim Chinade, I lived with the idea of this book, from its conception to the first manuscript drafts, the final typeset, and its printing and public presentation. 

Book reviewers are traditionally expected to be neutral critiques, assessing works with analytical distance and relying largely on their reading of the text. What I offer here, however, is a deeply personal reflection of a tripartite engagement with the author, the text, the context of its production and the reactions it elicited from readers. This is, therefore, not a conventional book review but an attempt, as one of the editorial consultants for the project, to recount the story of thinking (working) with Sule Lamido in the making of Being True to Myselfitself. 

The Context

I first met Sule Lamido in 2019 when the late Professor Haruna Wakili introduced me, along with Dr. Nu’uman Habeeb and Mustafa Ibrahim Chinade, to serve as editorial consultants for his autobiography project. Our role was to facilitate the production of the text through interviews and other editorial interventions. Before this meeting, my knowledge of Lamido was limited. I knew him only as a former Minister and Governor. What I did not immediately realise was how profoundly the project would impact me as a historiographer, constantly negotiating the epistemological questions of truth, power, and narrative responsibility. 

The first lesson I drew from the project was the discovery of Lamido as an intellectual—an aspect of his persona that is often overshadowed by his public image as a forthright politician. At our inception meeting, I was immediately struck by his brilliance and philosophical acuity—following a lengthy conversation about the focus of the autobiography. My initial perception of Lamido was quickly overturned. Beneath the image of a seasoned politician, I encountered a man of deep philosophical substance, whose politics is rooted in a profound knowledge of history and critical thought. 

Although Lamido is not a career academic, his grasp of political and historical discourse is profound to the extent that some of his academic friends affectionately call him “Professor.”  He is one of the few politicians around who embodies the tradition of first-generation politicians, whose politics are grounded in principles and knowledge.

Over the course of many interviews with the editorial team, Lamido narrated his life story with a precision and wit that often left me marvelling at his hyperthymesia, attention to detail, and critical reasoning. Each time we returned to a topic for clarification, he would recount events with striking consistency, as though he had already internalised the book long before the project began. 

As the project advanced, Lamido took control of the content, style, and narrative flow of his autobiography, insisting on framing his experiences within a broader historical process. Even at the stage of typesetting and design, he remained involved, reviewing passages, fact-checking, and fine-tuning the manuscript. At one point, I jokingly said to him, while the book was already at press: “Your Excellency Sir, bakin alkalmi ya bushe”—implying that no further edits should be made, especially with the launch date approaching.

Some of our most intense editorial discussions went beyond factual accuracy to debates about historical methodology and explanation. When Lamido was advised to moderate some contentious revelations in the manuscript, he posed critical questions around secrecy and privacy in knowledge production, carefully dissecting the distinction between classified and declassified records. I found myself challenged, at times humbled, by his rigour and the depth with which he interrogated established academic assumptions about Nigerian history, politics, and writing. This level of discursive sophistication is rare among people without advanced degrees in historical studies.

There were moments when the manuscript resisted simplification, and we chose to retain its complexities rather than smooth them over, because they were intellectually honest. This demonstrates that a political memoir, at its best, is not merely a legacy-building exercise, as many autobiographies are, but a critical exercise in self-reflection within the context of history. Lamido gave himself that space and, in doing so, gave us the opportunity to reconsider some of our scholarly convictions about the nature of truth, memory, and life writing.

The Text  

Lamido’s distinctive voice is evident throughout Being True to Myself. Those familiar with his discursive signature will immediately recognise his bluntness, candour, and unfiltered expression in the text. 

Unlike many public figures whose autobiographies are primarily shaped by ghostwriters, Lamido maintained a hands-on approach. Each chapter bears his imprint, making the work not only intimate but also a demonstration of authorial agency.

Even the book’s title was not chosen lightly. It was the product of a year-long reflection on what Lamido’s life represents. Ultimately, Being True to Myself was favoured as the narrative’s central theme, mirroring the life of a man of unshakable principles and conscience.  The title comes from a passage where he describes himself as “an independent-minded child, who always stood his ground…not because I felt important, but because I tried to be true to myself.” 

What makes Being True to Myself particularly compelling is its historical nuance and emotional texture. Lamido alternates between humour, vulnerability, and defiance, recounting comical childhood stories, such as his naïve performance during Ramadan tashe, alongside harrowing experiences of persecution and betrayal. His willingness to revisit painful memories, without bitterness but with conviction, creates a text that is both deeply personal and politically insightful. 

The book is divided into eight broad thematic parts, tracing Lamido’s journey from his early life in Bamaina to his career in the Nigerian Railways and Tobacco Company, his involvement with the PRP, his time as foreign minister, and his tenure as governor of Jigawa State. It offers rich commentary on important political events such as the annulment of June 12, his detention under General Sani Abacha, his role in the formation of the PDP, the Obasanjo Presidency, his tenure as Foreign Minister, the Yar’Adua Presidency and how he was succeeded by Goodluck Jonathan, and the intricacies of power, politics and democratic governance in Jigawa state. 

In discussing Nigerian politics, Lamido dons the garb of a political scientist and historian, offering a critical examination of the military’s role in Nigerian politics. He critiques successive regimes, from Buhari’s military rule to IBB’s sophisticated but flawed transition programs, Abacha’s repression, and Abdulsalami’s genuine and successful transitional government, as well as the restoration of democracy. His reflections read as much like political history as autobiography, enriched by his insider perspective. One cannot help but wonder at the contents of his library, given his ability to weave theory and empirical detail with ease. 

The Praise and the Pushback 

Since its launch in May 2025, Being True to Myself has attracted a wide range of reactions, from praise by the media, scholars and statesmen to criticism from political associates, reflecting the complexity of both the author and the book.

At the high-profile launch in Abuja, political heavyweights celebrated the work. President Bola Tinubu, through his minister, commended Lamido as “a bold, consistent, and principled politician whose personal journey mirrors the story of Nigeria’s democratic evolution.” He described the book as a “significant contribution to Nigeria’s political literature,” encouraging other political veterans to document their experiences for posterity. 

The book reviewer, Dr. Iyorchia Ayu, lauded Lamido’s courage, recalling episodes such as the author telling an IGP, “Who are you?” and a military head of state to his face, “You must resign”. 

The book has not been without detractors. Some critics, including Malam Aminu Ibrahim Ringim, a former Chief of Staff to Lamido during his governorship, criticised the memoir as being rife with “self-glorification, misrepresentation and disrespect for the contributions of others.” 

Taken together, these divergent reactions reveal the dual nature of Being True to Myself as both an intimate self-portrait and a contested historical document. 

On the whole, the Sule Lamido Autobiographical Project is an elegant demonstration of how autobiographies can serve as a space for dialogue between politicians and scholars, working as collaborators in the pursuit of truth.

As former President Olusegun Obasanjo writes in the foreword: “No historian or public affairs officer should be without a copy of the book. I enjoyed reading it.” 

Happy 77^th Birthday and best wishes, Sir!

Samaila Suleiman, PhD, wrote from the Department of History, Bayero University, Kano. He can be reached via smlsuleiman@gmail.com.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

About three decades ago, at the beginning of my youthful years, around Bakinruwa, Sabongari, Kaduna, I first encountered the idea of “Qur’an-only” Islam. Shaykh Uthman Dangungu, who had passed through the Izala movement, began to promote it in our neighbourhood mosque near Kasuwan Gwari. He was not the first—Muhammadu Marwa Maitatsine had pushed something similar in Kano State in the 1980s, though in a harsher, less workable form. Since then, my philosophical self has wrestled with such currents—Wahhabism, Shi‘ism, Sufism, Boko Haramism, and more. Each encounter has been a struggle for clarity and stability, for faith, and for cultural continuity in our fragile postcolonial Nigerian modernity.

Now, with Shaykh Yahya Ibrahim Masussuka—my generational peer—reviving the Qur’an-only argument, it seems fitting to reflect again. This time, however, I do not begin from theology alone. I lean on the wear and tear of intellectual toil, and on the reflective gifts of experience—what philosophy, logic, and science have taught me about human beings and the trustworthiness of transmission.

Philosophy has long asked: Can knowledge survive without tradition? Plato, in The Republic, warned that truth severed from the teacher–student chain becomes mere opinion. Aristotle, more grounded, argued that reason itself grows from custom, habit, and inherited practice. If Plato guarded against instability, Aristotle reminded us that even rationality needs a body —a living community —to give it shape.

Modern science adds its own perspective. Research in psychology shows that while humans are prone to bias or fatigue, under structures of accountability and community, they are remarkably capable of fairness and truth-telling. Integrity, in fact, often comes naturally. In other words, people can be trusted, though they must be guided.

The Qur’an itself affirms this. It does not portray humanity as unfit to bear the truth. Instead, it honours our moral agency while calling for systems of verification. “And thus We have made you a just community that you may be witnesses over mankind, and the Messenger a witness over you” (2:143). To be a witness requires the ability to observe, remember, and transmit faithfully. Surah Al-Tawbah (9:122) goes further, encouraging some believers to remain behind, study religion deeply, and teach others. That is nothing less than a Qur’anic endorsement of scholarship—the very task Hadith scholars later undertook.

The Qur’an also acknowledges our dual moral compass— “By the soul and He who proportioned it, and inspired it with its wickedness and righteousness” (91:7–10). Hence, the command in Surah Al-Hujurat (49:6) to verify reports before acting. That balance between trust and scrutiny is the same principle that shaped the science of Hadith.

Even in worldly matters, the Qur’an demonstrates confidence in structured testimony. The long verse of debts in Surah Al-Baqarah (2:282) lays out detailed rules for recording contracts with witnesses. If humans can be entrusted with preserving financial records, surely they can also be tasked with documenting the Prophet’s words—so long as there is a system of accuracy and verification.

This brings us to the heart of the matter. The Qur’an-only stance insists that Hadith is unnecessary. Yet the Qur’an itself says otherwise: “We revealed to you the Reminder so that you may explain to people what was sent down to them” (16:44). The Prophet’s explanatory role is not contained in the Qur’an’s text—it lives in his sayings, actions, and approvals. Surah Al-Ahzab (33:21) refers to him as “an excellent example” for believers. But how would later generations know his example without the Hadith?

Other verses go further: “Whoever obeys the Messenger has obeyed Allah” (4:80); “Whatever the Messenger gives you, take it; and whatever he forbids you, abstain from it” (59:7). These are not time-bound commands. They apply to all Muslims across generations. And they assume access to the Prophet’s guidance—something only Hadith provides.

Seen this way, Hadith is not an intrusion upon the Qur’an but its necessary partner. The Prophet was sent not only to recite but to teach and model. His companions and the generations after them, through discipline and painstaking verification, preserved that model. The Hadith tradition is not perfect—no human endeavour is—but it was forged as a check from within Islamic culture, not imposed from outside. It is part of the Qur’an’s own vision of a community of witnesses.

At its core, then, the debate is not only about scripture but also about how we see human beings. If we assume people are too weak or biased to preserve truth, the Hadith collapses. But if we recognise—as both the Qur’an and science do—that humans, when guided and structured, can be reliable witnesses, Hadith stands on solid ground. The Qur’an-only position misses this deeper point. It mistrusts human agency in a way the Qur’an itself never does.

In Nigeria, where cultural streams converge and clash—Sahelian traditions meeting global influences—the Qur’an-only approach risks severing us from the rich heritage that has sustained Muslim communities through colonialism, civil strife, and modern pressures. My own journey—from that mosque in Kaduna to today—has taught me that certainty lies not in subtraction but in integration: the Qur’an as foundation, illuminated by the Prophet’s Hadith, upheld by our God-given moral agency.

As this debate resurfaces in our time, we would do well to remember: the Qur’an trusts us, commands us, and makes our testimony central to its unfolding. To follow the Qur’an, then, is to follow the Prophet. And to follow the Prophet is impossible without Hadith.

Ultimately, as Surah Al-Baqarah reminds us, we are called to be witnesses. Let us honour that calling by trusting the mechanisms Allah has provided—including Hadith, which brings the Prophet’s example to life for every generation 

BY Nazeer Baba Abdullahi

Imagine holding a Nigerian passport, symbolising pride, identity, and opportunity. However, effective September 1, 2025, the fee doubles from ₦50,000 to ₦100,000 for the 32-page version and from ₦200,000 to ₦ 400,000 for the 64-page version. This isn’t just an administrative change; it breaches the social contract.

Converting a basic identity document into an expensive luxury creates a two-tiered citizenship system, penalising ordinary Nigerians and restricting access to opportunities. A passport is a right of citizenship, like the free National ID and voter’s card, not a privilege for the wealthy. Why should a global identity extend to a commodity? 

The typical justification of ‘cost recovery’ is invalid. Essential state services should be subsidised to ensure equal access, not turned into profit centres at the people’s expense. This is especially true amid Nigeria’s economic struggles with inflation, unemployment, and rising costs. The new ₦100,000 passport costs more than the ₦70,000 minimum wage, making it unaffordable for a civil servant’s monthly salary. When a passport exceeds one month’s earnings, citizenship access is effectively priced out. This isn’t governance, but punishment. Officials say the hike maintains quality and integrity, but Nigerians only want access to a valid ID, not luxury features. Raising fees without service improvements monetises desperation. Nigeria ranks 91st globally in terms of passports, highlighting the need to improve its international standing.

The irony becomes even more glaring when compared with the voter’s card. That document is distributed free of charge, delivered to electoral wards, and made as accessible as possible. The reason is simple: it benefits the political elite by ensuring mass participation in elections. The passport, however, offers no direct political benefit. Instead, it empowers citizens to seek opportunity abroad, to level themselves in mobility and access with the very elite who govern them. Empowerment is seen not as a service to the state, but as a threat. Your vote is free because they need you. Your passport is expensive because they fear you. This is not an accident of policy; it is a deliberate strategy of control. It reveals a government more concerned with revenue extraction than with service to its people. 

A recent pattern shows the government increasing passport fees again after the August 2024 hike, indicating a trend of using vital documents for quick revenue rather than rights. Compared to neighbouring countries, Nigeria’s fees are disproportionately high. For example, a 34-page passport costs approximately ₦80,000 in Kenya, equivalent to a minimum wage of ₦ 15,000, and around ₦46,900 in Nigeria, both of which are less than the Nigerian cost. While Kenyans and Ghanaians with minimum wages can obtain passports in days or weeks, Nigerians face fees that exceed their monthly income, creating a severe financial burden.

The Nigerian passport should never be treated as a luxury item. It is a necessity in a globalised world and a symbol of national identity. To price it beyond the reach of ordinary citizens is to betray the very essence of governance, which is service, dignity, and protection of rights. What kind of nation are we building when we put a price tag on our citizens’ ability to seek a better life? What does patriotism mean if leaders measure it not by how they serve the vulnerable but by how much they can extract from them? Proper governance is not about profit; it is about fairness, opportunity, and respect for citizens.

Nazeer Baba Abdullahi wrote via babanazeer29@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

Kebbi State is no stranger to complex and sophisticated politics. To govern this dynamic state requires more than charisma; it demands deep sociopolitical mastery and a pragmatic grasp of socioeconomic realities. Governor Comrade Dr. Nasir Idris, Kauran Gwandu, has emerged as a leader who embodies both politics and development, weaving them into a single, effective strategy that is rapidly reshaping Kebbi’s political landscape and developmental trajectory.

In a state once defined by fragmented interests and rivalries, Governor Nasir Idris has achieved what many thought impossible: unity. Today, all Kebbi senators, legislators, and major political stakeholders are firmly in the All Progressives Congress (APC). Former governors who once stood on different political lines now speak with one voice. Elections that once tested the party’s strength are now won seamlessly, reflecting a politics of representation, inclusiveness, and acceptability.

This new sense of belonging has left no major stakeholder uninvolved. As one political observer put it: “In Kebbi today, everyone that matters has a seat at the table of decision-making that transforms the lives of the common man.”

That is why analysts argue that the once-ambitious former Minister of Justice and Attorney General of the Federation, Abubakar Malami, may have lost political relevance, with 2027 looking like a closed road for him.

However, politics is only one aspect of Governor Nasir Idris’ multifaceted approach. On the other hand, there is a clear, tangible commitment to socioeconomic transformation that cuts across all 21 local government areas of Kebbi, both rural and urban.

The results in just 20 months are staggering. In education: 1,954 schools have either been built or renovated, with 336 new schools constructed and 1,618 renovated. Teachers now earn wages aligned with national benchmarks, with the state implementing the ₦70,000 minimum wage categories.

On infrastructure, the administration has embarked on massive projects, including the dualization of the Birnin Kebbi–Ambursa Road, the construction of the Birnin Kebbi Ultra-Modern Motor Park, the rehabilitation of Birnin Kebbi city roads and Yauri township roads, the Koko-Mahuta-Dabai Road linking seven LGAs in Kebbi South, bridge repairs on Bunza–Dakingari Road, and culverts along Birnin Kebbi–Makera Road.

Healthcare delivery has seen the renovation of Argungu General Hospital, the rehabilitation of health centres, and the expansion of medical facilities across the state. In public institutions, the government has overseen the construction of the State Ultra-Modern Secretariat in Gwadangaji, the remodelling and furnishing of the Government House, and the expansion of the Pilgrims Welfare Agency. Other key projects include the construction of a fuel dump at Sir Ahmadu Bello International Airport and the dualization of Argungu’s Old Bypass Road.

Governor Nasir Idris has also prioritised building strategic international partnerships. By engaging with donor agencies and development partners, Kebbi is not only attracting new funding but also becoming an integral part of global development conversations.

The “Nasir Idris formula” is clear: politics without rancour, governance without neglect, and development without bias. His administration has combined inclusiveness in politics with an aggressive rollout of life-changing projects, creating a blend of stability and growth.

In Kebbi today, the once-elusive dream of a government that unites political forces while delivering practical, people-centred development is now a reality. With this trajectory, Governor Nasir Idris has not just set the pace for his state; he is redefining what effective governance looks like in Northern Nigeria.

Zayyad I. Muhammad writes from Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Sulaiman Maijama’a

My elder brother’s call – Bello, requesting that I show up at our family house on Sunday morning, August 10th, 2025 – is the most difficult phone call I have ever answered in my life. Immediately, I overheard crying in chorus from the background; I knew what it meant and told my wife that the inevitable we have all been waiting for is here: Baba is no more.

Our father, Alhaji Maijama’a Iliyasu, first fell sick on August 5th, 2023, but later recovered and was taken to go about his business by us (his children). His illness resurfaced on November 24th, 2024; he was bedridden for some weeks at ATBUTH, later discharged and has remained home since then. Seeing his body was not recuperating, yet he was discharged from the hospital, we understood the doctors’ body language and got to a point where we believed that it was terminal. Consequently, whenever I received a phone call from any of my siblings, I picked up with a nervous disposition, fearing what they had to tell me.

On the fateful day, I went home. I found the dead body of our dear father surrounded by my brothers and sisters, uttering “Inna Lillahi Wa Inna Ilaihi Raji’un,” submitting to the will of Allah and crying profusely. I felt that my imagination of how it feels when one loses a father failed me, as I never thought the magnitude of the pain and sense of despair it creates is to that extent. The feeling defies expression. But the crowd of sympathisers trooping to the house and visitors making speeches of eulogy and testimonies of the person our father was were what consoled us the most.

Testimonies of people on earth about the good reputation of a deceased can be a means of his entry into Jannah, as reported in an authentic Hadith, where our beloved Prophet says, “…the believers are the witnesses of Allah on the earth…” That is why it is Islamically encouraged to amplify the virtues of a dead person, but judgment belongs to the Merciful.

An old man who came to sympathise with us stated and emphasised our father’s respect for his parents and elders. The man said he was a living witness that when our father was in active business in Central Market before he relocated his mother to our house, he used to go and check on her three times every single day: in the morning before he went to the market, in the afternoon after Zuhr prayer, and in the evening when he closed. I’m not surprised because my mother always tells me that, in the years he had lived with his mother Innah, his goodness for her could fill the earth.

I personally did not grow up seeing his mother, but I mistook his elder sister for his mother because of the respect he had for her. Even his granddaughters, named after his mother, and his daughters-in-law bearing the name were called “Innah” or “Mamana” and enjoyed special treatment from him.

His closest childhood friend, Alhaji Sule Sarkin Kasuwa, told us that one day in the 1980s, Innah directed our father to go to Kaduna and apprehend a relative who ran away and refused to return home. There was no intelligence report of the man’s whereabouts, no telephone to call, and the man was of no fixed location. However, Baba, out of obedience to his late mother, requested Alhaji Sule to escort him to Kaduna, and they searched all over but could not find him. Our father became deeply concerned that his mother would not be comfortable, but Alhaji Sule assured him that God knows he had complied.

I grew up seeing my father as a very disciplined man with a strict daily schedule. After the dawn prayer, he recited his Warsh copy of the Glorious Qur’an until around 8 a.m., took breakfast, and went shopping in Central Market. Returned home around 6 p.m., went to Bauchi Central Mosque to pray Magrib and waited for Isha, returned home, ate dinner, and listened to the radio before he slept. His philosophy on the education of his children is “Qur’an first.” All of his eighteen children were never enrolled in a Western school until we learned to read the Qur’an alphabetically and possessed reasonable proficiency in reciting the Qur’an when we were around seven years old. I can still see in my mind’s eye the day I was enrolled in primary school in 2004, when I was 8 years old, meeting Malama Safiya and Mrs. Roda as my first primary female teachers.

By Allah, I cannot remember a day that passed without him reciting his Warsh copy of the Qur’an. I never saw him sitting by the roadside, talking ill of others. As strict as his schedule was, he ensured that his children followed suit, never allowing us to enjoy leisure time since childhood. We would be woken up at dawn, sent to “Makarantar Allo“, and returned around 7 a.m. We would then be sent to primary school, returned in the afternoon, and sent to Ismiyya until around Magrib. By the time we finished primary school, we would be sent to learn different skills, and that is why we realised the realities of life early and were relieved of many responsibilities.

Our father exemplified a firm belief in the power of the Qur’an and Dua. Whenever he or any of his children had something profound to pursue, he would sit on his mat, spread out in a slight angle in his room, and spend hours reciting and praying for us. Any act of goodness we did, he prayed for us, all the goodness of this world and the hereafter, until you got tired of answering “ameen”. Until he fell sick, when any of his daughters was about to deliver in her matrimonial home, he would personally inscribe Qur’an verses and send them to wash and consume the water. Regardless of our age, if he gave any of us a certain Qur’an verse or dua as a “lakani” and then asked us to recite it back the next time, and we failed, we would be scolded accordingly. I still have small papers containing his inscriptions.

Now that the crowd of sympathisers has dispersed, my recollection of his prayerful and caring nature sparks a sense of nostalgia in my subconscious mind. I remember that whenever I was late at work, Baba would call to ask why, and whenever I was on the road at night, he would call several times to check on my safety and would never retire to bed until I was home. We will forever miss this. Standing on truthfulness and imposing strict rules on his family were some of the qualities Allah blessed him with. In the house, none of us could dare tell lies on phone calls in his presence, gossip, or insult. If you talked ill of others, he would ask, “Can you say the same if the other person were here?” His family setting was highly regimented and fully localised.

Our father departed this world without owing anybody a Kobo on earth. To us, it is no surprise because we know his philosophy of living within one’s means and never taking credit, no matter how little. When he fell sick, he sent someone to the market to buy him something. When I told the man of his illness, he said, “Allah sarki, baban nan da ba ya cin bashi.” No matter how close to him you were or how many years he spent buying from you, he would never agree to take credit for a single penny. A certain government official once approached him with a form for a loan scheme the government had designed to disburse funds to support businesses. Still, Baba rejected it, saying he preferred to live and die well without a burden. When the news reached us, we tried our best to convince him, telling him, “Irin bashin gwamnati ne da su ke yafewa,” but he insisted on his stance.

Indeed, Allah fulfilled his wish: he lived well, built a solid foundation of discipline for his family, mentored his children to understand life early, stood for righteousness, and, in fervent service to his Creator, eschewed taking any burden of his fellow human beings. Baba passed away peacefully, leaving us full of nostalgia. May Allah be merciful to our beloved father, forgive his shortcomings, shower illumination into his grave, accept his good deeds, and admit him into Jannatul-Firdaus. I’m grateful to all the people who prayed for him, visited us, sent a text message, or called to sympathise with us. I acknowledge and thank you gratefully, once again.

Sulaiman Maijama’a

Manager, Admin & Commercials

Eagle Radio Bauchi.

Mohammad Qaddam Sidq Isa (Daddy) 

The recent revelation that three Nigerians, recently detained by Saudi authorities on allegations of drug trafficking, had been framed by an international drug trafficking syndicate operating at Malam Aminu Kano International Airport (MAKIA) further confirms the persistence of such nefarious activities, bringing to mind a similar scandal in 2019 that nearly cost an innocent woman her life in the Kingdom. 

The syndicate’s modus operandi begins by targeting unsuspecting travellers at MAKIA who appear to have little or no experience in international air travel protocols. 

Exploiting the fact that such travellers rarely turn up at the airport check-in counter with enough luggage to take up their full luggage allowance, if they are even aware of it, the syndicate members covertly tag and check in drug-containing luggage under the travellers’ names.

On arrival in Jeddah or Madinah, the syndicate’s Saudi-based Nigerian accomplices monitor the luggage processing. If the bags make it through undetected, they somehow manage to claim them, sometimes with, and other times without, the traveller’s knowledge or involvement.

However, if the bags are flagged, the accomplices vanish, leaving the unsuspecting travellers to be apprehended and subjected to the Kingdom’s strict judicial system, where drug trafficking can carry the ultimate punishment: public beheading.

Despite Nigerian authorities’ assurances since the 2019 scandal that all structural and operational loopholes exploited by the syndicate had been addressed, the latest incident demonstrates that these measures were insufficient. It also underscores the growing notoriety of the otherwise reputable MAKIA as a hub for international drug trafficking syndicates specialising in framing unsuspecting travellers. 

If organised crime of this sophistication can occur at the relatively less corruption-prone MAKIA, one can only imagine what might be happening at Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos or Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport in Abuja. 

Only Allah knows how many innocent people, framed in this way and too unlucky for their ordeals to be publicised or their innocence to be proven, ended up publicly beheaded in Saudi Arabia. 

Although the Nigerian government has assured that it will leave no stone unturned to secure the exoneration of these innocent Nigerians currently facing drug trafficking charges in Saudi Arabia, it should not take the situation for granted. 

Meanwhile, it should also take decisive action to address this menace at MAKIA and other airports across the country. After all, the few individuals apprehended may represent only a fraction of the culprits, with many others likely still out there.

Mohammad Qaddam Sidq Isa (Daddy) wrote via mohammadsidq@gmail.com.

By Abba Murtala

In Northern Nigeria today—from Kano to Katsina, Kaduna to Abuja, Gombe to Adamawa and beyond—prostitution is being redefined, repackaged, and repurposed in ways our society is yet to grasp or confront fully. Once seen as an explicit, stigmatised trade practised by women living in brothels or in the fringes of urban society, prostitution has now assumed a form that is more discreet, deceptive, and dangerously normalised.

The new face of prostitution no longer resides in dingy motels or poorly lit street corners. She may very well be your neighbour’s daughter or your daughter, your cousin, your niece, or even your girlfriend (wives, too, have been reported). She lives at home, speaks decently, dresses modestly in public, attends school or has a small job, and blends perfectly into her conservative community. Yet, she is actively engaged in transactional sex.

This new wave of commercial sex work is cloaked in deception. Unlike the “traditional” prostitutes who often migrated far from their family homes to avoid shame and suspicion, these girls remain within the comfort of their homes. The family remains unsuspecting; society remains blind. They are not seen as sex workers, and they don’t identify as such. But the reality is, they sell their bodies to men—usually for money, phones, rent, trips, and more.

Who Are the Clients?

They are not their peers. Young men, even those with questionable morals, typically frown at paying for sex, especially with women their own age, especially since there is the looming risk of exposure. The real clients, therefore, are middle-aged and elderly men—the “uncles.” These men, often above 50, use their financial power to exploit vulnerable young girls. Many are married, influential, and sometimes respected members of the community. They book hotels, arrange flights, and fund the lavish lifestyles of these girls, all in exchange for sexual gratification.

They are the shameless engines driving this trade, creating demand and sustaining the illusion. They are the reason a girl from a struggling family can suddenly afford the latest iPhone, expensive clothes, designer handbags, and weekend trips to Lagos, Abuja or Dubai.

How Does It Happen?

It starts with a desire—often triggered by poverty, peer pressure, or social media fantasies. The girl feels a pressing need for money, attention, and a lifestyle far beyond her family’s means. She may resist menial jobs or honest work, not because she is lazy, but because those options won’t fetch her the quick cash she believes she deserves.

Then comes the network. A friend introduces her to someone. A “pimp”—male or female—slides into her DM. The network is simple but effective—a few conversations, a meeting, a test run. Then the money starts flowing. Once she gains footing, she establishes a base of loyal clients—uncles who can be called upon for any service, at any time, for the right price.

Her life becomes a web of deception. School hours, “friend visits,” or supposed job responsibilities become covers for interstate flights, secret hotel bookings, and clandestine transactions. The richest among them reportedly offer services like anal sex, which are in high demand by some of these predators.

Who Are These Girls?

They are typically from low-income or struggling homes. They reject being categorised as “poor” in public, and they will go to great lengths to appear middle-class or affluent. Many of their families are unaware. In some extreme cases, parents even give silent consent, as long as the money keeps flowing home.

Their greatest assets? Physical beauty, curvy figures, and the naivety that predators exploit. These girls have no business with brothels or street corners. They have gone digital. They operate through WhatsApp groups, TikTok algorithms, and private Facebook pages. With just a few clicks, they are matched with high-paying clients—sometimes in entirely different states.

Why Poverty Is Not an Excuse

Many will point fingers at poverty. But we must be careful not to romanticise or rationalise prostitution as a legitimate response to hardship. Poverty is real, yes—but so is integrity. There are girls in the same communities who, despite hunger and hardship, have chosen honest paths. They work as waitresses, hairdressers, salesgirls, and tutors. They manage small businesses, survive on tight budgets, and still hold their heads high.

Prostitution, especially in this form, is not a product of poverty alone—it is often a product of greed, laziness, entitlement, and a corrupt value system. The growing belief that one must “look rich” or “live big” regardless of how the money is made is at the core of this moral collapse.

Religious warnings are being ignored. Even when confronted, some girls say, “Allah will forgive.” But repentance requires remorse and a firm commitment to change—not a continuous indulgence in sin while hiding behind religious phrases.

The Role of Social Media

Social media is a major culprit. The platforms intended to connect and educate have become virtual marketplaces for the flesh trade. TikTok glorifies vanity, consumerism, and “soft life” narratives. WhatsApp becomes the digital brothel where clients and sex workers finalise deals. Facebook hosts secret groups where sex work is promoted in coded language.

The constant bombardment of luxury lifestyles, body flaunting, and materialism fosters insecurity and desperation among impressionable girls. The result? An endless race to fake perfection—even if it means trading dignity for money.

The Damaging Effects

 • On Families: Many families remain oblivious, and by the time they discover the truth, the damage is irreversible. Reputations are destroyed. Trust is lost.

 • On Society: The normalisation of secret prostitution threatens the very foundation of our cultural and moral values. When immorality becomes invisible, it becomes unstoppable.

 • On Marriages: This trend contributes to rising distrust in relationships and marriages. Husbands are becoming suspicious, wives are growing insecure, and divorce rates are climbing.

 • On Public Health: Increased sexual activity with multiple partners, often without protection, raises the risk of STDs, including HIV/AIDS. Yet, this danger is seldom discussed.

 • On Religion: The erosion of fear of Allah and the disregard for Islamic teachings show how deep this problem runs.

Critical Questions We Must Ask

 • How did we get here?

 • Who failed our girls—parents, clerics, or the government?

 • Why is society silent?

 • What kind of men are sleeping with girls young enough to be their granddaughters?

 • Will we allow another generation to grow up in a society that calls evil “smartness” and shamelessness “hustle”?

Final Warning

This is not a rant. It is a wake-up call. What we are witnessing is not just immorality—it is moral suicide. If we continue to ignore this, we risk raising a generation that believes fornication is business, pimps are mentors, and prostitution is hustle.

Let the uncles be warned: your lust is destroying the daughters of the land. Let the girls know: no amount of iPhones or Dubai trips will cleanse the burden of shame you’re carrying. And let the parents rise: your silence is no longer innocent—it is complicity.

May Allah guide us all, amin.

Abba Murtala, FCH DK, wrote from Gombe via abbamurtala8@gmail.com.