Opinion

By Kabiru Danladi Lawanti, PhD 

I cannot recall any incident where a vehicle or travellers were targeted simply because they were from Plateau State, in retaliation for the atrocities being committed by these savages.

Please, I challenge anyone to provide a single example—since 1914—where innocent travellers were attacked in Kebbi, Sokoto, Zamfara, Katsina, Niger, Kano, Jigawa, Bauchi, Gombe, Yobe, Adamawa, or Borno simply because they were seen as the “other.” 

Yet, we have countless documented cases from Tinno, Mambilla, Takum, etc., in Taraba; Riyom, Barikin Ladi, Jos, Mangu, etc., in Plateau; Agatu, Makurdi, etc., in Benue; and Gonin Gora, Koi, etc., in Kaduna, where innocent travellers were blocked, maimed, and killed—dismembered and buried or even burned alive—solely because of their identity as “others.”

These are normalised atrocities. The perpetrators are getting away with it because there have been no consequences. Only God knows how many lives have been lost in this manner between 2002 and 2025. 

Many of these crimes are well documented—some even recorded and posted by the criminals themselves, proudly sharing selfies while committing barbaric acts. Remember the Eid day massacre in Jos? Or the genocide in Mambilla? These incidents are documented by security agencies.

Tragically, these criminal gangs enjoy the backing of some politicians and community leaders. Take, for instance, the disturbing justification offered by the Chairman of Mangu Local Government Area regarding the killing of wedding-bound travellers from Zaria. Is that how a leader is supposed to speak?

Even more worrying is how these barbaric acts are celebrated on social media. Look at the screenshot of Kefas Gyang Pam that went viral yesterday, or the posts from a Facebook group in Bokkos openly celebrating the gruesome attack on the innocent Zaria travellers.

These individuals are not ghosts. They are known. And they can be easily traced.

Kabiru Danladi Lawanti, PhD, wrote from Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria.

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

The Nigerian educational system faces a crisis that can no longer be ignored. After years of neglect and outdated policies, the system has effectively collapsed. The curriculum in many public schools and universities is stuck in the past, failing to keep up with global developments and the skills needed in today’s workforce. Students often learn content that no longer applies to current realities, leaving them ill-prepared for the job market or further study.

One of the key problems is the failure to reform the curriculum in a meaningful way. While other countries continuously update their education content to match technological advancements and changing economic needs, Nigeria remains stuck with decades-old textbooks and syllabi. This disconnect creates a significant gap between what students learn and what employers expect, ultimately undermining the country’s ability to compete internationally.

The challenges extend beyond outdated content. Many schools are overcrowded, forcing students into cramped classrooms that are not conducive to learning. Basic facilities such as libraries, laboratories, and lecture halls are either dilapidated or entirely missing in numerous institutions. The lack of adequate infrastructure makes it difficult for students to engage in practical and experimental learning, which is critical to developing critical thinking and innovation.

Equally troubling is the condition of the teaching workforce. Many educators in the system are poorly motivated, largely because of low pay, irregular salaries, and poor working conditions. The absence of incentives and professional development opportunities means many teachers do not perform to their full potential. This creates a cycle where students receive substandard teaching, further reducing the quality of education and widening the skills gap.

Another critical issue is research funding, which is almost non-existent in Nigeria’s public education sector. Research is the backbone of academic and scientific progress, but here, lecturers often have to fund their projects or give up entirely. Without adequate grants, modern labs, or support for collaboration, innovation stalls. This lack of investment in research not only affects universities but also denies the country breakthroughs that could address local and global challenges.

The federal government’s role in this decline cannot be overstated. Despite education being constitutionally a priority, it remains underfunded and undervalued. While political budgets and other sectors receive increased allocations, education’s share continues to shrink. The failure to treat education as a strategic investment has led to a cycle of decay where graduates come out unprepared and schools continue to crumble.

In conclusion, reversing the collapse of Nigeria’s education system requires urgent and sustained commitment. It demands updated curricula, better infrastructure, improved teacher welfare, and significantly increased funding for research. Until these steps are taken seriously, Nigeria risks falling further behind as its youth are denied the quality education they need to thrive in a fast-changing world. The country’s future depends on a system that values knowledge, innovation, and real learning, not just ticking boxes on paper.

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

By Muhammad Umar Shehu 

I read with deep shock and sorrow about the gruesome murder of innocent travellers from Basawa in Zaria LGA of Kaduna State. It is heartbreaking and disturbing. 

What is happening to our society? When did we become so heartless that taking a human life no longer moves us? When did we start watching these tragedies unfold without reacting, without speaking, without demanding justice? This is not normal. We are clearly losing our sense of humanity and conscience.

The killing of these travellers is wicked, and it must be condemned in the strongest terms. No matter the excuse, mob action is mob action. Whether it happens in Plateau, Uromi, Kaduna, or anywhere else, it is lawlessness. It is cruel. And it has no place in any society that wants to grow, that wants peace, that wants justice. The moment we begin to justify the unjustifiable, we open the door to more bloodshed and deeper division.

The Federal Government, Plateau and Kaduna State Governments, security agencies, traditional rulers, religious leaders, and all other concerned stakeholders must rise to the occasion. This crime must not go unpunished. It is not enough to issue statements. Action must follow. Those behind this evil must be arrested, investigated properly, and brought to justice. That is the only way this act can serve as a warning to others. We cannot continue to act as if all is well when innocent lives are being wasted with no consequences.

It is painful to admit, but we have become a society where people record killings with their phones instead of stepping in to stop the madness. Where is our sense of community? Where is our compassion? The silence and indifference from many quarters are just as dangerous as the violence itself. We must speak up, we must act, and we must demand better from those who claim to lead and protect us.

The media, civil society, and the public must not let this incident be buried under the weight of the next trending story. These lives mattered, and these families deserve answers. We must keep the pressure on until justice is served. A society that fails to protect the innocent will one day be a danger to everyone, including those who look away.

May the Almighty Allah forgive the victims, grant them eternal peace, and give their families the strength to bear this painful loss. And may we, as a people, wake up before it is too late.

Muhammad Umar Shehu is a writer and social commentator from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

Dear Mr President, 

1. I hope you had a safe return after the visit to Yelwata, Benue State, to assess the killing spree that occurred there last week. While people like Mr Peter Obi and Dele Farotimi criticised your trip as one lacking compassion, I believe your presence there meant something. It is better than not going there. It means you have first-hand knowledge of how defenceless Nigerians are killed, not just in Benue, but across Nigeria, especially in the North. 

2. I write to draw the urgent attention of Your Excellency to a fresh tragedy. This afternoon, several national newspapers reported the killing of 12 Muslim passengers travelling from Zaria to Qua’anpan Local Government Area of Plateau State. They were ambushed in the Manjul community, Mangu Local Government Area, Plateau State. These innocent Muslim travellers were killed, and subsequently burned in the bus conveying them. Nineteen others are now nursing various degrees of injuries.

3. A survivor among the victims of this dastardly act was interviewed, and he remarked that they lost direction. Upon stopping and asking for directions, the locals at Manjul remarked that these are Hausa people and that they should be killed. In their words, as reported, “These are Hausa people, let’s kill them!”. This chilling statement underscores where we are as a country. Anyway, they successfully killed 12 and injured 19. It is in today’s newspapers – Daily Nigerian, Daily Trust, The Daily Reality, Punch Newspapers. 

4. Mr. President, no citizen should be targeted for their ethnicity or religion. Whether in Yelwata or Yorro, Mangu or Malete, Nigerians must be free to travel safely. Nigeria has tolerated this barbarism for too long. If terrorists in the forests remain elusive, those living in communities and attacking travellers should not be. What excuse does the state have when killers who can be easily traced and apprehended go unpunished? This silence by the system sends one loud message: you can kill and walk away. 

5. This is not the first time such horror has unfolded in Plateau State. In 2021, 20 members of the Tijjaniyya sect were killed in Rukuba, Jos, on their way home from a religious event in Bauchi. It is now 4 years. No justice has been served yet. In 2018, General Idris Alkali (rtd), a senior military officer and Chief of Army Administration, was ambushed and killed. His body was thrown into a pond in Dura Du. Suspects were arrested, but 7 years later, justice is being delayed. 

6. These cases remain open wounds. Mr. President, your influence should not stop at sympathy and condolence visits. Nigerians will feel more confident if you direct a full, public, and timely investigation into these recent attacks in Yelwata and Mangu. The perpetrators should be found, prosecuted, and punished—not just for justice but as a deterrent. Otherwise, each incident becomes an invitation for the next mob to strike.

7. Your Excellency, the time to act is now. Nigerians are watching. We can, for once, surprise the world and Nigerians themselves to know that Nigeria is not a jungle where anyone kills at will and goes about their everyday business. Where is the sanctity of life in this country? If the government cannot break this wanton bloodshed, then who will? You can decide to break this bad culture of letting killers get away. You can choose to be different from your predecessors. You can decide to let Nigerians know that this can be curtailed. Let this be the turning point. We have to give justice some opportunity to speak louder than violence. At this time, let us give the killers an opportunity to know that Nigeria is not a lawless country. 

8. Thank you. 

Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel wrote from Zaria, Kaduna State.

By Arita Oluoma Alih

Medical science has evolved significantly over the centuries. One of the most remarkable breakthroughs in this journey is the art and science of surrogacy, a practice where a woman carries a child in utero (in the womb) on behalf of another woman or couple, whose egg and sperm are fertilised in a laboratory to form an embryo before being implanted into the surrogate mother.

The choice to become a surrogate mother is bestowed upon a woman who undergoes the implantation process, a complex journey that undoubtedly results in experiencing discomfort, physical and emotional pain.

Regardless of the outcome, these pains persist as the foetus develops during the nine-month gestation period, which comes with its own set of challenges, including hormonal imbalances and resultant body changes.

Becoming a surrogate mother is not a knee-jerk decision. Financial challenges, especially in developing societies like ours, and sympathy – a woman wanting to help another woman who has been struggling to conceive or whose womb has been certified unfit to carry a child by a medical professional – are often underlying motivations.

Intended parents also do not jump into surrogacy headfirst; they may have tried other means before settling for such a tedious process. Others, however, would opt for it due to tokophobia – the fear of childbirth. For this group, it is a case of better safe than sorry. 

Other phobias that make couples consider surrogacy include the fear of losing the baby inside the womb, medically known as stillbirth; fear of dying during childbirth; fear of excessive weight gain and other bodily and hormonal changes; fear of mom brain; and baby blues, among others. 

With all these factors in mind, it is mind-boggling that a woman should go the extra mile to carry and birth another person’s child, only to be left high and dry without any form of compensation!

On May 26, 2025, the House of Representatives initiated legislative action to prohibit commercial surrogacy in Nigeria and establish a framework to regulate the practice solely for non-commercial, altruistic purposes. This move follows the introduction of “A Bill for an Act to Protect the Health and Well-being of Women, Particularly in Relation to Surrogacy and for Related Matters”.

The provisions in the Bill that stipulate ‘explicit protection against coercion or forced surrogacy arrangements’ and ‘mandating counselling for both surrogate mothers and intended parents’ are highly commendable. This is particularly important given instances where intended parents reject babies based on gender preferences; counselling would help them understand that they must accept the child wholeheartedly, regardless of gender.

Another twist that underscores the importance of counselling is that, in some cases, surrogate mothers have fought for and claimed ownership of the child, despite prior agreements.

Secondly, the “endorsement of only altruistic surrogacy, where no financial profit is involved except for reimbursing medical and pregnancy-related matters” is a point of contention. Surrogate mothers should be fairly compensated financially for their role, based on mutually agreed-upon terms and conditions between both parties.

While the bill in itself may be altruistic, it should consider monetary compensation for women who render such a difficult and time-consuming service, thereby providing them with the necessary tools to maintain proper mental and physical well-being after childbirth.

Since the bill seeks to protect the rights of women involved in surrogacy and other parties, the legislators should consider several key factors: What happens if a surrogate mother loses her life? What if a stillbirth occurs? What provisions are made for aftercare? What if the pregnancy leaves the surrogate mother with long-lasting health issues, such as hypertension or diabetes? Addressing these questions will provide balance and add depth to the Bill.

The monetary compensation should be seen as a form of consolation for these surrogate mothers when all is said and done. However, Senator Uchenna Okonkwo, who represents the Idemili North/Idemili South Federal Constituency of Anambra State and sponsored the bill, may have his reasons, which I won’t speculate about. Nevertheless, the bill warrants a second look to make it more comprehensive.

Lastly, it is no news that baby farms are hotbeds for illicit activities, including human trafficking. Criminalising commercial surrogacy might inadvertently fuel these underground enterprises, whereas a more critical look at the bill to include compensating surrogate mothers could nip the problem in the bud.

Arita Oluoma Alih is a student of the International Institute of Journalism. She writes from Abuja and can be reached at aritaarit118@gmail.com.

By Fatima Ishaq Muhammad

Kano, known for its deep Islamic practices and royal traditions, witnessed a historic and uneasy moment during the 2025 Eid-el-Kabir celebrations as two rival Emirs led separate congregational prayers in different parts of the city.

This development demonstrated the woeful crisis over the leadership of the Kano traditional Emirate, which, indeed, remained one of the most powerful traditional institutes in northern Nigeria.

Moreover, on one side was Emir Muhammadu Sanusi II, reinstated in May 2024 by the Kano State Government after being dethroned in 2020. Aminu Ado Bayero was installed as Emir on the other side after Sanusi’s removal. He still maintains that he remains the rightful occupant of the royal seat.

During the Eid celebrations, Emir Sanusi II led prayers at the Kofar Mata Eid Ground, traditionally recognized as the seat of the Emir’s religious leadership.

Meanwhile, Emir Aminu Bayero held his prayers at a different location, with loyalists gathered around him. For the first time in recent memory, Kano experienced two major Eid congregations, each holding up to a divided royal allegiance within the ancient city.

This unprecedented situation did not happen in isolation, but it resulted from the recurring tussle over the Kano Emirate, rooted in politics and personal rivalries.

Sanusi II’s removal in 2020 by the administration of former Governor Abdullahi Ganduje was widely termed as punishment for his massive outspoken criticism of the government.

His reinstatement by the current government of Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf has been challenged in court by Bayero’s supporters, creating legal and political uncertainty over who the legitimate Emir of Kano is.

The split Eid prayers skyrocketed across Kano and beyond, symbolizing the Emirate’s division and disunity of authority.

What should have been a day of religious unity became a visible sign of division in the state’s leadership. Thankfully, no major disturbances were reported, though tensions remain high.

Adding to the complexity of the situation, the traditional Durbar festival, which usually follows the Eid prayers, was banned by the police for security reasons.

The ban disappointed many residents, as the Durbar is integral to Kano’s cultural identity and economic life.

As the legal battles escalate, many residents and observers fear that the division within Kano’s traditional leadership could escalate unless a clear resolution is provided by the courts or through dialogue among key stakeholders.

For now, Kano remains a city with two Emirs, two congregations, and a divided loyalty, awaiting clarity on the future of one of northern Nigeria’s most important royal institutions.

Fatima Ishaq Muhammad via fatimaishaq021@gmail.com.

By Lawan Bukar Maigana

Political drama recently unfolded in Gombe State as tensions escalated between the All Progressives Congress (APC) National Chairman, Dr. Abdullahi Ganduje, the APC National Vice Chairman (Northeast), Comrade Mustapha Salihu, Gombe State Governor Muhammadu Inuwa Yahaya, and Borno State Governor, Prof. Babagana Umara Zulum.  At the heart of the storm were whispers of a plot to replace Vice President Kashim Shettima. But in the eye of that storm stands Shettima himself; silent, composed, and unfazed.

There has been no speech, social media post, or press release. Shettima has not acknowledged the theatrics or addressed the speculations. There is no rebuttal, no outrage, just purposeful silence—a silence that suggests a man far more committed to duty than distractions.

While the speculations make the rounds in political circles, Vice President Shettima’s schedule remains unchanged. In January 2025, he represented Nigeria at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. There, he engaged in high-level sessions on digital trade and investment and co-chaired discussions focused on humanitarian resilience, building international bridges while avoiding the noise of local politics.

He used the global platform to launch the Humanitarian and Resilience Investment Roadmap for Africa, advocating for deeper public-private partnerships across the continent. As always, his approach was less about rhetoric and more about results.

Back home in Maiduguri, Borno State, the Vice President continues to prioritise grassroots development. He commissioned the Expanded National MSME Clinic and Fashion Hub, a project expected to create over 48,000 jobs annually. He also distributed unconditional grants to entrepreneurs and pledged continued support through public-private partnerships to boost local businesses.

Shettima also inaugurated the National Asset Restoration Programme, reinforcing his long-standing commitment to post-insurgency reconstruction in the Northeast.

His record across sectors reflects structural impact. Over 300,000 businesses have been supported, and more than one million jobs have been generated under initiatives he directly oversees. These aren’t political promises; they’re measurable achievements.

At the national level, he chairs the National Council on MSMEs, advocating for innovation, job security, and stronger synergy between the public and private sectors, all under the framework of President Tinubu’s Renewed Hope Agenda.

As a champion of youth empowerment, Shettima spearheads human capital development efforts. He inaugurated the Nigeria Jubilee Programme Steering Committee, designed to train and equip thousands of graduates with marketable skills and workplace readiness.

He has also remained active in strengthening regional cooperation. At the 5th Lake Chad Basin Governors’ Forum in Maiduguri, he emphasised the importance of pairing military security with economic inclusion to secure lasting peace in the subregion.

In every assignment, Shettima has demonstrated sagacious loyalty, not only to his office and the President but also to the people he serves. Amid swirling conversations about his replacement, he has not lost focus. He has doubled down on leadership, service, and delivery.

His calculated silence is a strategy. He understands that emotional outbursts or political mudslinging could deepen divisions within the party. His restraint underscores a higher allegiance to duty, national stability, and unity.

The Vice President’s quiet determination sends a message: true leadership is about resolution, not reaction. In a political landscape often dominated by noise, Shettima has chosen the steady path of substance, letting results, not rumours, define his legacy.

Even as political storms gather, Shettima stays the course. His silence isn’t ignorance or weakness—it is discipline. And with his continued focus on economic development, job creation, and regional security, his work speaks louder than any rebuttal ever could.

Lawan Bukar Maigana is a journalist with PRNigeria and Economic Confidential, headquartered in Abuja. He can be reached via email: Lawanbukarmaigana@gmail.com.

By Sabiu Usman

On a Thursday evening, I began to experience symptoms of a fever. I took paracetamol, which temporarily reduced the temperature, but the fever returned more aggressively by nightfall. I spent the entire night shivering and praying for dawn, hoping to visit a nearby pharmacy for further treatment.

By morning, I was too weak to leave the house alone. I contacted a neighbour who often assisted people with basic medications. He came over with some drugs, inserted a cannula into my hand, and administered an injection. After some time, I felt slightly better, just enough to perform my early morning obligatory prayers.

After prayers, I visited my parents for the usual morning greetings. They noticed the cannula in my hand and expressed concern. I explained that I had been battling a fever all night. They offered prayers for my quick recovery and good health.

I returned to my room to rest, but a few hours later, the fever returned. I decided to visit a hospital for a proper diagnosis and treatment. I informed my mother and father, who responded with prayer and support.

Just as I stepped out, NEPA restored electricity, so I went back inside briefly to plug in my phones. Then I picked up my HMO & ATM card, some cash, and headed out. I stopped an Okada taxi motorcycle and climbed. However, midway through the trip, I suddenly felt dizzy and weak. I asked the Okada man to stop so I would not fall off. He parked and waited with me for about 10 minutes. When the dizziness did not subside, he advised me to stop another Okada when I felt better, and he left.

As I sat by the roadside with my head lowered, trying to recover, I heard someone call my name: “Sabiu, what are you doing here?” I looked up and saw a man who seemed to recognise me. I told him I was heading to Doma Hospital, and he offered to give me a ride. Without much thought, I entered his tinted glass car, given my background working in places like banks, I often encountered many people, so I did not find it unusual that he knew me, even though I could not recognise him.

I did not realise the danger until the doors shut behind me. The two men in the back seat immediately pulled me to the centre and forced a long beanie over my head, covering my face. We drove for about 25 minutes. When the cap was finally removed, I found myself in an unfamiliar room with three men surrounding me.

One of them, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, opened a kit, pulled out a syringe, and took my blood. He also forced me to give a saliva sample by pressing my jaw and collected it in a small container. Then he asked for a urine sample. I told him I did not feel the urge, but he insisted. One of the men, a tall, heavy-set individual, struck me twice in the back. The pain and fear triggered an immediate urge, and I had no choice but to comply. I gave the sample.

They offered me food, which I refused. I was scared and confused, still burning with fever. I noticed a wall clock, and it was 11:20 am. They left me locked in the room around noon and did not return with food and water until late that night, around 10:00 pm. Again, I refused to eat.

Later, one of the men sitting beside me was scrolling through what appeared to be my Facebook profile on his phone. I realised he had likely performed a reverse image search using the photo he had taken of me earlier. As he continued scrolling, a call came in from a contact saved as “Dr. Gombe.” He answered briefly, and shortly afterwards, they opened the door to let the doctor in. He appeared again wearing a face mask, this time also with a pair of glasses.

He reviewed some papers and likely test results and told the others that my vitals were fine and the only issue was my fever. He handed me medication I recognised and trusted, so I took it. It relieved the fever, but I remained cautious and continued to reject all food and drinks they offered.

That night, I could not sleep. I was terrified, and I knew something terrible was about to happen.

On Saturday morning, I refused to eat the breakfast they brought. They eventually left, leaving me alone inside the room. Around 9:00 pm, they returned. I overheard a tense conversation between the men and the doctor from behind the door. The doctor confirmed that everything had been arranged for a journey to Kaduna, where a surgery was scheduled for Monday. The driver, whom I had become familiar with by voice, asked about payment and the buyer of the kidney. Suddenly, one of them realised the door had not been entirely shut and might have allowed me to overhear their plans. He quickly pulled it closed and locked it properly.

When I realised they were planning to transport me to Kaduna, surgically remove my kidney, and sell it, a wave of fear surged through me. My heart began to race uncontrollably. I knew, without a doubt, that I had to find a way to escape or I might not live to tell the story.

That night, after they all left with the doctor, I gathered what little strength I had left and began inspecting the room. The doors were solid, and the windows were tightly secured with reinforced burglar-proof bars. Then, as I looked upward, I noticed the ceiling was made of a thin, rubber-like material, not as strong as the rest of the room. I dragged a chair to the centre, climbed onto the headrest, and carefully broke through two ceiling panels. With trembling hands, I pulled myself up into the roof cavity.

Carefully crawling along the ceiling joists, I broke through another panel leading into a different bedroom. I did not stop. I kept crawling, searching for a way out, until I spotted a weak point near the edge of the roof. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed through it, and to my relief, it opened to the outside.

I jumped down and instantly heard approaching footsteps. My heart pounded as I dove into a nearby flower bed, pressing my body flat against the ground. A man walked by, sweeping the area with a flashlight. I held my breath, praying he would not see me. Fortunately, he moved on to another part of the compound. When his back was turned, I leapt up, climbed onto a drum near the wall, and scaled it, disappearing into the night as fast as my legs could carry me.

I ran blindly, barefoot, and disoriented. Eventually, I found a road. I tried flagging down cars, but most sped past. Finally, an elderly man stopped. He asked where I was going. I said Nasarawo. He said he was not going that far but would drop me at Jekadafari Roundabout.

He noticed I was barefoot and looked me over suspiciously, probably questioning my mental state, but he said nothing. When we reached Jekadafari, I got down and began walking toward Central Primary School, exhausted and disoriented. Along the way, someone who looked familiar stopped me. Though I could not remember his name, we recognised each other. 

“Sabiu, what happened to you?” he asked, shocked. I did not have the strength to explain. I simply begged, “Please just take me home.” Without hesitation, he helped me onto his motorcycle and rode straight to our house in Nasarawo.

My mother was the only one at home; all of them were out searching for me. I knocked on her door and weakly said, “It’s me.” She opened it, and I collapsed in her arms, crying. She offered me water, which I drank desperately. After two sachets, I passed out from exhaustion and trauma.

My elder brother and his wife, both medical practitioners, had returned by then. They immediately began treating me. I was given injections and placed on intravenous fluids. Their swift care helped stabilise me.

I didn’t wake up until midnight the next day, Sunday. I had slept for more than 24 hours straight. My body had completely shut down from the fever, stress, and trauma.

When I finally regained enough strength to speak, I sat with my mother and narrated everything, from the moment I fell ill to my escape from the traffickers. As I said, her eyes filled with tears. She listened in horror, then pulled me close and wept.

Through her sobs, she kept repeating, “Alhamdulillah. Your prayers and ours worked. Allah protected you.” Today, I am recovering, still feeling aches and pains, but alive. I thank God for giving me the courage and the opportunity to escape.

I share my story to warn the public: organ trafficking is real. These people are organised and patient, and may even know your name or background. They work like professionals, from collecting samples to contacting buyers.

Please be cautious when interacting with strangers, even those who seem familiar. If you ever feel dizzy, disoriented, or experience sudden symptoms after a simple injection, seek professional medical help immediately.

Above all, always let your loved ones know where you are going and don’t move around alone, especially when you are unwell.

May Allah continue to protect us all, ameen.

Sabiu Usman can be reached via sabiuusman12@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

Let’s stop sugarcoating it. Nigeria’s leaders have failed the very people they swore to serve. The signs are everywhere. Millions go to bed hungry, communities are under constant threat from bandits and terrorists, and families bury loved ones over avoidable tragedies. The cry from the North to the South is the same: “Where is the government?”

For decades, we have watched politicians campaign with promises and disappear after elections. We have listened to speeches full of hope, only to wake up to worsening hardship. Whether in education, healthcare, security, or the economy, Nigerians are primarily left to fend for themselves in a country that seems to work only for the elite.

Electricity is unstable. Public schools are underfunded. Hospitals lack basic equipment. Roads are death traps. Jobs are scarce. The police often protect the rich while the poor face brutality. The gap between government and the governed has become dangerously wide.

But the failure didn’t start yesterday. It results from years of corruption, mismanagement, and lack of vision. Successive governments, both military and civilian, have chipped away at the country’s foundations while enriching themselves. The civil service, once respected, is now known more for inefficiency and bribery than service delivery.

What’s worse is that people have grown tired. Tired of voting without results. Tired of protesting with no response. Tired of hoping for leaders who never come. This fatigue is dangerous because when people lose faith in the system, they seek alternatives. And that is where chaos begins.

Still, all hope is not lost. The first step is honesty. We need to admit that things are not okay. Then, we must demand better. Louder. Consistently. In unity. Good governance doesn’t happen by chance. It happens when citizens hold leaders accountable during elections and every day after.

Nigeria is not poor. Nigerians are not lazy. The failure lies in a leadership that treats public service like a private business. Until that changes, the suffering will continue. But if the people find their voice and use it, we may turn this broken system into something that works for all.

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

By Lawan Bukar Maigana

At a birthday lecture titled “Weaponisation of Poverty as a Means of Underdevelopment: A Case Study of Nigeria,” organised in honour of former Governor Rotimi Amaechi at the Continental Hotel in Abuja, the Emir of Kano, Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, bitterly complained about the unprecedented hardship Nigerians face today. 

According to him, the inflation and poverty gripping the nation are the direct consequences of loving to rule over people rather than loving them through developing favourable policies. That’s what I understand from his statement. But isn’t the fuel subsidy removal connected mainly to the realities he pointed out? 

Many might forget, or conveniently overlook, that this same Sanusi Lamido Sanusi has been one of the strongest advocates for removing fuel subsidies since 2012. Years ago, I heard him proudly state on BBC Hausa that he had repeatedly advised President Muhammadu Buhari to remove subsidies and shut down Nigeria’s borders. 

Respectfully, Buhari granted only one of his two wishes—closing the borders while leaving fuel subsidies intact. The subsidies lingered for years, postponed amid fears of political backlash.

Under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the fuel subsidy has finally been removed. The impact on ordinary Nigerians has been brutal—prices for fuel and essential commodities have surged, sending inflation into uncharted territory. People are being hunted by hunger and economic hardship like never before.

In this context, I believe Sanusi’s recent criticisms miss the mark. If anyone deserves celebration, it is President Tinubu,who dares to implement what Sanusi himself recommended years ago. Blaming Tinubu alone, even though Sanusi didn’t mention his name, for the hardship is unfair because he and other elite policymakers never offered concrete solutions or mitigating measures to cushion the blow on the poor when pushing for subsidy removal.

It is important to remind Nigerians that the blame for this economic situation is shared, not the fault of any one individual or administration. As the former Governor of the Apex Bank, Sanusi is part of the problem he now publicly laments. He advocated for the policy without proposing corresponding safety nets or economic reforms to soften the impact. The failure to plan has cost Nigerians dearly.

At the Abuja event, Sanusi asked a question that cut to the heart of leadership in Nigeria: “Do we as leaders truly love Nigerians, or do we just like ruling over them?” The answer is painfully obvious: too many leaders are interested in power for power’s sake. They seek to rule over the masses rather than serve them by crafting policies that uplift the poor.

This question should prompt serious reflection. If policymakers want to see genuine progress, they must remember that leadership is more than advising harsh policies; it is about standing with the people during the painful transitions these policies cause. It is about preparing the ground and providing support systems before asking citizens to bear the burden of economic reforms.

Nigeria’s elites, including Sanusi, need to own their history, yesterday. They must remember their past advocacies and be willing to share responsibility when those policies create hardship. It is easy to blame the current government for long-advocated but poorly planned decisions. It is far harder to admit one’s role in the consequences.

The harsh reality is that many elites conveniently forget their yesterday—the positions they took and the policies they championed. When those policies are finally implemented, and Nigerians bear the consequences, those same elites criticise the outcomes as if they had no hand in shaping them.

The lesson here is clear: policymaking in Nigeria must be holistic. It must consider not only economic theories but also social realities. Removing subsidies may be necessary, but without effective mitigation strategies, it becomes a weapon of poverty, inflicting untold suffering on the most vulnerable.

So, as Nigerians struggle with inflation and hardship, we should remember the true colours of our elites. They must be held accountable—not only for the policies they recommend but also for the human cost of those policies.

Lastly, I ask again: Should those who recommend harsh policies also bear part of the responsibility for their outcomes? The answer is a resounding yes. True leadership demands not just bold ideas but also the courage to accept the consequences and work tirelessly to protect the people.

Lawan Bukar Maigana is a journalist, humanitarian, Pan-Africanist, and social commentator. He’s known as Ibn Maigana on Facebook.