Opinion

By Usman Abdullahi Koli, ANIPR

It is difficult to tell the story of a man whose life was not just lived but felt deeply, genuinely, and profoundly. It’s over now, the last file signed, the final handshake exchanged, the door gently closed behind a man whose entire life has been anything but ordinary.

As of May 30, 2025, Dr. Bala Maijama’a Wunti stepped out of public service, quietly bowing out from a remarkable journey that shook boundaries, lifted lives, and left behind a trail of courage, dignity, and truth. I find it not only fitting but necessary to say this: Now that it is done, let this be my tribute.

Much has been said, written, and whispered in admiration since his retirement announcement. But what I pen today is not a replica of what others have offered. This is personal. This is from a heart that was moved years ago when I sat quietly among students of ATBU Bauchi, listening to a man speak not as a bureaucrat, not as a technocrat, but as someone who had walked through fire barefoot and came out not burnt, but better.

He wasn’t speaking to impress. He was telling the truth, raw and unfiltered. He spoke of days when meals were not guaranteed, when dreams seemed laughable in the face of brutal reality. He described the hunger, the worn sandals, the sleepless nights, and how faith became his pillow. I remember that moment clearly. That day, in that humble auditorium, something shifted. It wasn’t just a speech. It was a defining moment for him and for us who listened.

In that moment, I carried three life lessons from Dr. Wunti—ones he never explicitly taught but demonstrated through his life.

First: Prayer is not optional. I have never encountered a man more grounded in submission to the Divine. No matter how tight his schedule, how demanding the office, and how crucial the meeting was, he found time to pause and connect with his Creator. And he did it not out of habit but conviction. It shaped everything about him: his calm, clarity, and confidence.

Second: He never forced what his heart didn’t embrace. Dr. Wunti did not do things just to tick boxes. He left it alone if his soul wasn’t aligned with a cause. This rare integrity gave his actions an unusual depth. Whether leading multi-billion-naira reforms or quietly helping an ailing community clinic, he did so with full acceptance and sincerity.

Third: Compassion wasn’t a virtue for him; it was a reflex. He gave not because he had to, but because he knew what it felt like to need and not have. Every school he built, child he sponsored, borehole he commissioned, and hospital bill he paid came from a heart softened by experience. He remembered. And in remembering, he uplifted.

Born in Bauchi, in a household where survival often came before ambition, Dr. Bala Wunti grew up in the shadows of lack. But he did not let it define him. Instead, he let it refine him. He pushed through school with sheer determination — from Chemistry at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, to earning his MBA in Marketing from ATBU Bauchi, and a Postgraduate Diploma in Management. These were not just academic milestones but small battles won against the odds.

Then came the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). He joined in 1994, and what followed was a remarkable odyssey. From Production Programming Officer to GM Corporate Planning, and eventually MD of the Petroleum Products Marketing Company (PPMC), he did not just fill positions — he transformed them. His work at NAPIMS as Group General Manager changed how Nigeria handled petroleum investments. Projects like Operation White restored sanity to a system many had given up on.

But beyond strategy and structure, he brought the soul into the system. He refused to let numbers dehumanise policy. He saw the downstream sector not as a marketplace but as a lifeline, and he made it work for people, not just profits.

Still, if you asked Dr. Wunti his proudest achievements, he would not point to the boardroom. He would likely tell you about the girl in Dass who got a scholarship and later became a pharmacist, or the widowed mother in Katagum who now has a roof over her head. He would tell you about community boreholes, school renovations, and the youth he mentored who are now leaders in their own right.

He didn’t just serve; he saw. He saw people not as statistics but as stories. And he listened. And when he could, he helped. Quietly. No cameras. No hashtags.

In his family, Dr. Wunti is not the oil executive; he is Abba. A father who sits with his children teaches them not just by advice, but by example. A husband who understands that love is shown in small acts, in presence, in patience. He did not let success steal him away from those who mattered most. He carried them with him.

Now that his chapter in public service closes, many will remember Dr. Wunti for the policies he shaped, the reforms he led, and the titles he bore. But I will remember him for something more enduring: the humanity he never let go of.

Some may chase greatness by building empires. But some, like him, choose to make people. And when people grow, they remember. They speak. They write just like I am doing now.

Dr. Bala Maijama’a Wunti didn’t retire. He simply stepped into another phase of influence that does not require office walls or government files. His impact now lives in the echoes of children’s laughter in classrooms he built, in the gratitude of patients treated in hospitals he supported, and in the hearts of all of us lucky enough to know the kind of man he truly is.

Thank you, sir, for rising and taking many of us along with you.

This is not goodbye. It’s an honour.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via usmankoli31@gmail.com.

By Amir Abdulazeez

If we can recall, on 7^th October, 2015, a 19-year-old student, Hassan Mohammed Damagum, sacrificed himself to save others from a suicide bomber who attempted to attack a mosque during the Subh (Dawn) prayer at Buhari Housing Estate in Yobe State. Hassan had sensed that the individual standing next to him was a suicide bomber trying to kill people. The boy was said to have confronted the bomber, who blew both of them off. 

Again, on 25^th January 2017, Yakubu Fannami, another student from Borno State who was just in SS1, died a hero while preventing a suicide bomber from entering the Darrusalam Science and Islamic Academy in Maiduguri. Fannami tackled the female suicide bomber, preventing her from reaching the mosque and detonating her explosives, thus saving the lives of many worshippers.  

To the best of my research, which may be inadequate, neither of the two boys was publicly given significant national recognition. Nigeria’s story is replete with the neglect of brave and heroic citizens who had sacrificed a lot and even laid down their lives to save others. 

Since 1999, Nigeria has always chosen to reward and honour many lazy elites who contributed virtually nothing but became huge beneficiaries of government patronage and corruption. Every President has made it a duty to bestow national honours on his chosen elites as one would do with his personal property.

In line with the routine tradition of his predecessors, President Bola Tinubu used the June 12, 2025, Democracy Day to confer over 100 national honours, some posthumously. As expected, many awardees are members of his administration and personalities very close to him. A section of the awardees list portrays a belated compensation package to a gang of Abacha victims, who actually need justice more than honour.

While people like Prof. Humphrey Nwosu (CON), Prof. Wole Soyinka (GCON), Alhaji Balarabe Musa (CFR), Bishop Matthew Hassan Kukah (CON) and Femi Falana, SAN (CON) truly deserve their awards, it would have been wiser and more balanced to include people like Late Bashir Tofa (Abiola’s NRC opponent), Late Abubakar Rimi and Magaji Abdullahi (two important SDP figures who miraculously delivered Kano, Tofa’s State, to Abiola) and, of course, M.D. Yusufu, the presidential candidate of MDJ, who was Abacha’s sole challenger in his bid to undemocratically transform into a civilian president, among others. Perhaps, they would be remembered by this or another President in the next set of awards, for at this rate, every political household name, dead or alive, may soon have a national honour in Nigeria by 2030.

What exactly is this national honour, and who deserves it? The honouring system was originally envisioned as a prestigious recognition of exceptional service to the nation. It was formally established by the National Honours Act No. 5 of 1964 to inspire patriotism, reward merit, and foster national unity. 

The structure of national honours, divided into two orders (Order of the Federal Republic and Order of the Niger) and eight ranks (GCFR, GCON, CFR, CON, OFR, OON, MFR, MON), was designed to reflect degrees of national impact. However, the system’s proliferation and indiscriminate distribution have undermined these distinctions, often placing true heroes, statesmen and national icons equal or below some presidential sycophants, political loyalists and officeholders, regardless of their performance or public standing. 

The early years of Nigeria’s national honours system reflected its original purpose. Recipients such as Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, Sir Ahmadu Bello, Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Mrs. Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti were honoured for verifiable and transformative contributions. However, over time, the politicisation and personalisation of the awards diminished their integrity, giving way to an annual ritual often characterised by hundreds of questionable awardees whose contributions to the nation are neither tangible nor verifiable. In the past 15 years, things have gotten worse as the selection system itself has been incompetently reduced to a mechanism marred by political patronage, duplication and credibility crises. 

Today, the integrity of this noble initiative is in serious jeopardy, with widespread scepticism about its selection process and relevance. Ideally, recipients should be individuals whose lives exemplify ethical integrity, measurable public impact and selfless service. However, the current trend favours tenure over achievement and proximity to power over merit. Politicians under corruption investigation, individuals with no tangible contributions and business moguls with opaque wealth have all made their way into the honours roll. Prominent Nigerians have rejected national honours in protest. Chinua Achebe, Gani Fawehinmi and Wole Soyinka famously turned down honours, citing corruption, misgovernance and the lack of transparency in the process. Their principled refusals sent powerful messages about the need to restore the system’s credibility. As Achebe aptly put it, ‘a government that fails its people cannot in good conscience bestow honours’.

Numerous scandals have exposed the flaws of the system. In 2022, the conferment of awards to serving ministers during a prolonged ASUU strike and the inclusion of people accused of corruption represented a new low. Even more embarrassing were administrative blunders such as conferring posthumous awards to please certain interests and duplicating awards to the same person under different titles. Meanwhile, countless unsung heroes remain ignored. Rural teachers shaping future generations, healthcare workers battling epidemics without protection and community leaders mediating conflicts receive no recognition. 

The establishment has reluctantly recognised a few non-elitist Nigerians in the past. The belated honour to Dr. Ameyo Stella Adadevoh (posthumous OON, 2022), whose sacrifice averted an Ebola catastrophe in August 2014, only came after sustained public pressure for about eight years. In August 2018, then President Muhammadu Buhari and the United States Embassy honoured the Bauchi State-born 83-year-old Malam Abubakar Abdullahi, a Muslim Imam in a village in Plateau State. He sheltered and fed 300 Christians for five days to prevent them from being killed in an uprising. The old man ran from one corner to the other, stopping youths who wanted to enter the mosque to get hold of his guests. Eventually, they gave up after realising that the only way to execute their evil plan was to kill the old man. That was how he saved their lives. I am not sure whether the man was given any national honour beyond that presidential acknowledgement.

If we are to continue like this, I will suggest the renaming of the awards to “Special Presidential Honours”.  The National Honours Act, last revised in 2004, offers the President near-total discretion, with little room for public input or institutional checks. With time, it has been turned into a presidential farewell affair as outgoing Presidents routinely populate honours lists upon leaving office to pay back loyalists. Recent attempts at reform, such as the proposed National Honours and Merit Award Commission, represent a step forward but are insufficient on their own. Far-reaching legislative and administrative reforms are needed to restore the honours’ integrity. This includes public nominations, independent vetting panels, open selection criteria and mandatory justification of award decisions. 

A critical reform must also introduce public objections and transparency mechanisms, such as publishing nominee shortlists and designing revocation protocols. Honours should be rescinded from individuals found guilty of crimes or misconduct post-conferment. The system should no longer shield disgraced figures or treat national honours as irrevocable symbols of status, regardless of later behaviour. Furthermore, awards should be capped annually to preserve their exclusivity. Honouring fewer, more deserving Nigerians will increase the prestige of the titles and prevent undeserving awards. Most importantly, the honours system must reconnect with the grassroots. By recognising farmers, nurses, teachers, inventors and humanitarian workers, Nigeria can turn the system into a true tool of national inspiration. 

All these are, by the way, because ordinary Nigerians no longer care about leaders honouring themselves and their cronies. No impoverished Nigerian has the luxury of waiting to be honoured by someone whose honour is questionable himself. All Nigerians are asking for is guaranteed security to farm, stable power supply to produce, quality and affordable education to learn, reliable healthcare to survive and a stable economy to thrive. When they can provide this, they can go on naming and renaming national monuments after their wives and continue with the vicious cycle of self-glorification in the name of national honours.

Twitter/X: @AmirAbdulazeez 

By Sani Surajo Abubakar

Dr. Sani Danjuma was among Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s personal aides appointed on the 16th of June, 2023 as Senior Special Assistant (SSA) Administration I, but later assigned to oversee the portfolio of Principal Private Secretary (PPS) to the governor following the redeployment of the earlier appointment PPS Dr. Faruk Kurawa to (Kano State Agricultural and Rural Development Authority) KNARDA as substantive Managing Director.

Before his first appointment into the administrative circle of the government of Alhaji Abba Kabir Yusuf, he served as a senior lecturer and the Head of the Computer Science Department of the Northwest University, Kano. 

In the intricate web of governance, the role of a Principal Private Secretary to a Governor is often understated yet profoundly impactful. Dr. Sani Danjuma, as the Principal Private Secretary to the Governor of Kano State, exemplifies the qualities of an uncommon gatekeeper. 

His dedication, strategic acumen, and unwavering commitment to public service have made him an indispensable asset to the Kano State Government.

As a pillar of support, Dr. Danjuma’s role extends beyond mere administrative duties. He is the linchpin in the Governor’s office, ensuring seamless communication, efficient coordination, and timely decision-making. 

His expertise in managing complex schedules, facilitating high-level meetings, and advising on strategic matters has been pivotal in the smooth operation of the government.

Dr. Danjuma’s role has contributed to the smooth operation of the government by ensuring that decisions are implemented effectively; his robust coordination between public agencies is leading to more efficient service delivery.

Beyond his administrative responsibilities, Dr. Danjuma serves as a trusted advisor to the Governor, providing informed and innovative insights. His ability to analyse complex issues, foresee potential challenges, and propose effective solutions has earned him the respect and trust of his peers and superiors.

Also, his commitment to public service is evident in his tireless efforts to support the Governor’s initiatives and policies.

He is driven by a passion for contributing to the development of Kano State and improving the lives of its citizens. 

His work ethic and professionalism set a high standard for others in the public service.

What sets Dr. Danjuma apart is his uncommon leadership style, which combines humility with effectiveness. He leads by example, inspiring those around him to strive for excellence. 

Thus, his ability to work collaboratively with various stakeholders, from government officials to community leaders, has been crucial in advancing the Governor’s agenda.

Dr. Sani Danjuma’s role as an uncommon gatekeeper is a testament to his exceptional skills, dedication, and commitment to public service. 

As he continues to serve the people of Kano State in this capacity, his contributions will undoubtedly have a lasting impact on the state’s development. 

His story inspires all who aspire to make a difference through public service.

In recognising Dr. Danjuma’s contributions, we acknowledge not just his professional achievements but also his character and the values he upholds. He is indeed an asset to the Governor’s office and a role model for future generations of public servants to emulate.

By highlighting Dr. Danjuma’s qualities and impact, it becomes clear that he is an indispensable tool in the number office in the state, contributing significantly to the state’s development.

His dedication to public service and strategic thinking is one of the tools that make him an exemplary figure in governance. 

Sani is the deputy director of the Public Enlightenment at Kano Government House.

By Arita Oluoma Alih

Anthony de Mello’s book The Prayer of the Frog explores human nature. An excerpt states, “Human beings react, not to reality, but to ideas in their heads.” The writer illustrates this concept with a metaphorical story about a pestilence travelling rapidly to a particular city. 

The pestilence met someone on the way who asked why he was speeding. He replied, “I am going to kill 1,000 lives.” On his way home, he met the same person, who said, “You killed 50,000 lives, not 1,000.” He replied, “I killed 1,000 lives; the rest died of fear.”

This phenomenon expounds how the human mind works. The additional 49,000 died solely due to fear and the thought of being killed, demonstrating the powerful impact of perception on reality. The human mind can be potent and perilous, as people’s thoughts and fears can shape their experiences and outcomes.

As simple as the words ‘self-awareness’ may sound, they hold significance. Just like people will say some statements do not hold water, these have a lot of water. Many folks do not understand what it means to be self-aware. 

Self-awareness shields you from manipulation in today’s complex world. It keeps you alive and conscious, helps maintain spiritual balance, gives you a sense of identity, and enables you to reflect on your personality, allowing you to stand firm in the face of adversity.

While I was reflecting on my personality, including my purpose and fears about not achieving certain things before reaching a certain age and how it may affect my mental health, self-awareness of these concerns led me to plan countermeasures if I don’t achieve them as envisioned.

Before proceeding, self-awareness needs to be understood: what is the self, what is awareness, and what does the compound term self-awareness entail? The self refers to a person’s entirety, encompassing their sense of identity, being, character traits, and individuality, distinguishing them from others. 

On the other hand, awareness is an individual’s capacity for reasoning and knowledge about things, including how to navigate potentially distressing situations; it’s essentially consciousness of mind. Self-awareness is the development of a conscious mind that observes, perceives thoughts, and reflects on its own personality.

I am an advocate of self-awareness because it helps shape lives. It enables one to stand firm on one’s goodwill. It helps self-discovery and ultimately prevents manipulation into doing something against one’s conscience and purpose.

Although an important life tool, many youth do not understand self-awareness and its significance. In a society where immorality is becoming the norm, do youths know how not to allow themselves to be convinced that such acts and other social vices are not the norm in a society that craves growth?

To thrive, we must answer these questions as youth in a Nigeria with over 200 million people, where the national grid is constantly collapsing, where the ASUU is always on strike over wages, where the farmers-herders clash is unending, and where politicians are continually toiling with the masses’ intelligence.  

In all these, self-awareness comes into play through self-interrogation. For example, will I allow myself to be used as a thug for politicians because of some necessities? Your answers and actions reflect your level of consciousness. When ASUU is on strike, you ask yourself, “What do I do with my time?” and so on. 

The power of observation, a component of self-awareness, is often underrated. Pay attention to your surroundings and the people you interact with. Notice their level of self-awareness, openness to learning, and mindset. Surround yourself with positivity, as those lacking these traits often spread negativity, which is not good for either growth or development.

This also takes us back to a story from Anthony de Mello’s The Prayer of the Frog, in which a Viennese surgeon taught his students that a surgeon needs two gifts: freedom from nausea and the power of observation. He demonstrated this by dipping one finger into a foul-smelling fluid and licking another, testing his students’ observation skills. While they passed the first test by showing no nausea, they failed the second by not noticing the surgeon’s trick. This underscores the veracity of observation.

Thus, navigating the murky waters of life, especially for Nigeria’s youthful population, requires one to train their mind and be self-aware because self-awareness begets self-consciousness and self-observation.

Arita Oluoma Alih writes from Abuja and can be reached at aritaarit118@gmail.com.

By Salisu Uba Kofarwambai

The annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election by General Ibrahim Babangida stands as one of the most consequential events in Nigeria’s political history. What began as a tragedy for democracy soon became a powerful weapon of political repositioning for the Yoruba elite, who skillfully leveraged national sympathy to strengthen their grip on Nigeria’s democratic evolution.

This singular incident opened the doors for the Yoruba to produce three heads of state—an achievement that might never have occurred under normal political circumstances. Ironically, this is the same political milestone that the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo, the revered father of Yoruba nationalism, spent his entire life trying to attain but could not.

Sadly, many who ultimately benefited from the June 12 crisis were not even supporters of Chief M.K.O. Abiola during the election. Instead, they emerged later as political opportunists—vultures who hijacked the struggle, turned it into a sectional movement, and weaponized it for political dominance.

It is important to recall that the North overwhelmingly voted for Abiola over its own son, Alhaji Bashir Tofa. But following the annulment, the Yoruba intelligentsia cleverly shifted the blame from the military, a national institution, to the North, creating a narrative that painted the region as the villain of democracy. This deflection became a foundation for the Yoruba to assert political superiority, while the North unknowingly fell for the narrative.

In the aftermath, Chief Ernest Shonekan—a Yoruba technocrat—was installed as head of the Interim National Government. Later, in 1999, the North once again conceded power to the South-West, with Chief Olusegun Obasanjo returning as a civilian president. However, Obasanjo’s tenure is remembered by many in the North for economic policies that led to the decline of the region’s industrial capacity. Many northerners believe these policies were deliberate, politically motivated, and economically harmful to the North.

Today, with President Bola Ahmed Tinubu at the helm, the North’s frustration appears to be deepening. Recently, a ₦16 trillion infrastructure project was allocated to the South, while liberal economic policies continue to disproportionately impact northern states, compounding existing inequalities.

This growing sentiment of marginalization was reinforced by President Tinubu’s Democracy Day national address. During the broadcast, a list of recipients of national awards was unveiled to honour those who fought for democracy. Yet, the list revealed a clear bias. While individuals like Professor Wole Soyinka—who went into exile during the military era—were honoured, many who stood their ground and bore the brunt of military repression were ignored.

Where are the names of Abubakar Rimi, Abdulkarim Dayyabu, Sule Lamido, Gani Fawehinmi, and M.D. Yusuf—figures who paid a heavy price for resisting military rule? Most of them were imprisoned under General Abacha and only released after his death. Yet, these sacrifices appear forgotten, excluded from a national recognition that should be inclusive.

Even the institutionalization of June 12 as Nigeria’s Democracy Day under the Buhari administration has continued to project the day as a Yoruba affair—further entrenching the idea that the Yoruba were the sole victims of the annulled election. This skewed narrative continues to sideline other critical voices and regions, especially the North, which was deeply invested in the democratic struggle of the 1990s.

As we mark June 12, the North must soberly reflect on how much has been lost—from the annulment of 1993 to the current political dispensation. The region must also begin to ask tough questions about its place in the national project and how to reclaim a fair share in Nigeria’s democratic future.

June 12 was a national tragedy and should be a national symbol of resilience—not a sectional emblem of victimhood. Until this is fully acknowledged, the spirit of June 12 remains only partially honoured.

Your Excellency,

I offer my warmest congratulations on your two-year milestone as the Executive Governor of Jigawa State. Steering the affairs of a diverse and dynamic state is no small feat, and under your leadership, we have indeed witnessed tangible progress. 

May Almighty Allah continue to strengthen your resolve and guide your hands as you navigate public service responsibilities.

In these two years, your administration has recorded remarkable achievements across critical sectors—agriculture, education, infrastructure, security, and healthcare. There is much to commend, from the introduction of bold reforms to the implementation of people-centred policies. 

Notably, your decision to approve a ₦70,000 minimum wage—nearly double the previous figure—has sent a powerful signal of your administration’s commitment to workers’ welfare. This singular act resonates deeply with civil servants across the state, who now have renewed hope in a more dignified standard of living.

Sir, these achievements have not gone unnoticed. Numerous awards and recognitions by reputable organisations are a testament to the strides your government has made. 

Yet, as a concerned citizen and journalist, I feel compelled to highlight areas still yearning for attention, not to diminish your efforts, but to reinforce the voices of everyday Jigawans who earnestly seek your listening ear and urgent intervention.

Our healthcare system, for instance, still bears the scars of neglect, particularly in rural communities. Several hospitals lack basic medical facilities, suffer chronic shortages of essential drugs, and are grossly understaffed. 

During my recent fieldwork, enrollees under the Jigawa State Contributory Healthcare Management Agency (JCHMA) lamented being forced to purchase prescribed medications from private pharmacies due to stockouts in government hospitals.

Even more concerning is the plight of newly recruited nurses and midwives, many of whom are yet to be captured under the new salary structure. Their morale is low, which understandably affects service delivery quality. 

Surely, if we must strengthen healthcare delivery, the welfare of frontline health workers must not be overlooked. In the agricultural sector, where Jigawa’s reputation shines, a widening gap exists between government efforts and grassroots impact. 

According to the National Bureau of Statistics, Jigawa accounts for 75% of Nigeria’s agricultural exports, and nearly 90% of our people depend on farming for their livelihood. Yet, many smallholder farmers, particularly those in remote villages, say they have not received the much-publicised palliatives and support inputs. 

Some have had to rely on exploitative loans from private lenders, only to repay in harvests, leaving them at the mercy of uncertain seasons and fluctuating prices.

I humbly suggest the establishment of community-based monitoring committees, drawn from trusted local stakeholders, to ensure transparent and equitable distribution of agricultural support. The rural populace, whose turnout during elections often determines the course of governance, must not be left behind when dividends are shared.

Your recruitment of over 3,000 teachers and 147 first-class graduates in education is indeed laudable. This has brought renewed energy to our classrooms. However, many more qualified youths remain unemployed, submitting CVs into what seems like an unresponsive system. 

The discovery of 6,348 ghost workers and the savings of over ₦314 million monthly offer a golden opportunity to absorb some deserving graduates. The teacher shortage still looms large. The Nigeria Union of Teachers reported a deficit of 32,000 teachers in Jigawa. 

This is not just a statistic—it is a call to action. If we must invest in our future, we must first empower those who educate the future. Your administration’s empowerment initiatives have also made notable impacts—programs like the mobile kitchen distribution scheme have provided many with a path to self-reliance. 

But the landscape of youth enterprise is vast and diverse. Young people engaged in trades such as phone repairs, tailoring, and tricycle operations have felt excluded. 

To build an inclusive economy, your empowerment programs must evolve to accommodate a broader range of trades and offer skills training as well as access to starter kits or seed capital.

Your Excellency, when hope meets genuine leadership, progress becomes inevitable. The people of Jigawa have shown faith, and now they ask for more inclusion, visibility, and compassion in policy execution. Their plea is not one of criticism, but of partnership. 

They long to be part of the story you are writing for Jigawa—one of transformation, equity, and shared prosperity.

Sincerely yours,

Muhammad Abubakar Tahir,

A concerned Jigawa indigene.

By Ismaila Abdulmumini

Kano, renowned for its rich history, cultural vibrancy, and socio-economic vitality, marked 57 years of statehood a few days ago. A long journey of sacrifices and transformations, usually one at a time, gives Kano the new look we see and admire today. Kano is now carving a new identity as Nigeria’s educational powerhouse, boasting four federal universities, three state-owned institutions, and over five private universities, in addition to state and privately funded colleges and polytechnics. 

Equally, quantifiable challenges and rubble need to be put together to build the Kano of our dreams—the one we revere and would be proud of. The state’s transformation into a learning hub has inadvertently exposed systemic gaps in critical sectors, gaps that demand urgent federal intervention to unlock Kano’s full potential.  

Despite its academic strides, Kano grapples with erratic electricity, which stifles the industries that support its institutions. Students and entrepreneurs alike face daily blackouts, which undermine research, innovation, and productivity. Experts argue that federal investment in renewable energy projects and grid modernisation could ignite industrial growth, creating thousands of jobs while sustaining the educational sector’s momentum. 

Kano’s healthcare system, chronically underfunded and overburdened, struggles to serve its 15 million residents. State-run hospitals lack essential equipment, and medical personnel are stretched thin. Federal input through facility upgrades, increased funding, and partnerships with the private sector could reduce pressure, improve public health outcomes, and attract medical tourism, turning a cost centre into a revenue stream.  

In Kano’s bustling large markets that serve Africa, such as Dawanau’s grains, Kwari’s fabrics, and Singa’s groceries, transactions remain stubbornly analogue. This “brick-and-mortar” mentality, experts say, stifles economic scalability in the twenty-first century. “Digitisation isn’t optional; it’s survival,” argues tech entrepreneur Aisha Musa. Federal grants to build a robust digital ecosystem, e-payment platforms, online marketplaces, and broadband expansion could connect Kano’s markets to global consumers, boosting GDP and curbing youth unemployment.  

Kano’s agricultural landscape is littered with bad, indefatigable innuendo. Farms teem with tomatoes, peppers, and livestock, yet the state imports processed dairy goods. The absence of modern processing facilities leaves farmers vulnerable to waste and price fluctuations. A federal push to establish agro-industrial zones with cold storage and meat-processing plants could transform raw abundance into export-ready products, slashing Nigeria’s $10 billion annual food import bill and strengthening the naira. 

Potholed roads and inefficient rail networks cripple trade, inflating costs and deter investors. Upgrading transport infrastructure, which relies heavily on the federal government, would streamline the movement of goods from farms to ports, link markets to neighbouring countries, and position Kano as a logistics hub. “Better roads mean cheaper goods, happier consumers, and a thriving economy,” notes logistics expert Tunde Okoye.  

The blueprint for Kano’s renaissance is clear: targeted federal investments in energy, healthcare, digitisation, agro-industry, and transport. Such interventions promise to generate employment, diversify revenue streams, reduce import dependency, and fortify Nigeria’s economy. As the state stands at a crossroads, the message to Abuja is unequivocal: Empower Kano, and you empower the nation. Kano’s story does not need to be one of unfulfilled promises. With strategic governance, Africa’s “Centre of Commerce” could reclaim its title, this time, as a beacon of inclusive, 21st-century growth.

Ismaila Abdulmumini wrote via ima2040@outlook.com.

By Malam Aminu Wase

A presidential Muslim-Muslim ticket is not merely a political strategy. It is a catalyst for national instability. In a country like Nigeria, which is still grappling with deep-seated mutual distrust, such a move sends the wrong signal. 

For Nigeria to truly progress, its leadership must reflect the nation’s rich diversity. Only through inclusive governance can we assure every citizen, regardless of faith, ethnicity, or region, that they have a rightful place in the nation’s power structure.

Malam Nasir Ahmed El-Rufai played a pivotal role in promoting the idea of a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket. While this strategy may have been politically calculated, it encouraged religious and ethnic groups to compete for power, rather than unite under a shared national vision that addresses the hardships facing all Nigerians.

Ironically, many of the architects of the Muslim-Muslim ticket are not reaping the benefits of their efforts. The lofty expectations they once championed of inclusion and representation have been dashed. Some have even defected to other political parties, disillusioned by the very system they helped establish.

Nigerians must open their eyes. The struggle among the political elite is not about improving the lives of the masses; it is a scramble for personal gain, to secure privileges for their children, families, and close associates. We must rise above the politics of religion and region and demand leadership representing all Nigerians.

I urge fellow citizens to reject the idea of a Muslim-Muslim ticket in the upcoming election. Let us vote for candidates committed to unifying Nigeria, easing economic hardship, and introducing policies that genuinely impact the lives of ordinary people.

Malam Aminu Wase, Write from Kaduna State. He can be reached via aminusaniusman3@gmail.com.

By Nura Jibo

Whenever I see sure PDP political power losers and their APC bedfellows making historical myths and inaccuracies about their pseudo performance of national economic growth and development, it reminds one of the gospel according to Barnabas.

As a Muslim, I actually believe in the Gospel of Barnabas as a myth rather than a reality. Though his assertions are very true and apt, they are considered among Christians as a non-canonical, pseudodepigraphical gospel attributed to him. They somehow believed Barnabas was a disciple of Jesus who lived in the 14th or 15th century.

These historical myths and inaccuracies are what the so-called PDP and APC elders would wish to present to ordinary Nigerians. Indeed, their misrepresentation of facts is contrary to a detailed account of Barnabas, who, according to his Torgado Siburian theological belief, explained Jesus’ life. This account includes elements that align with Islamic reality and beliefs, such as the denial of Jesus’ crucifixion and a focus on Jesus as a prophet rather than the Son of God. 

Indeed, the PDP/APC elders’ gospel on Nigeria’s political leadership/claim on its progress is nothing but something to be considered a fabrication, as it contradicts the canonical gospels and includes historical conundrums that even the so-called generals in politics that resort to this falsehood amidst public glare cannot provide an answer to!

The PDP presidency under Obasanjo and Jonathan is nothing but a political disaster.

These two presidents presided over Nigeria with impunity and first-class corruption that drained Nigerians and stripped them bare of their dignity in the comity of nations.

Obasanjo shamelessly accused his National Assembly of being a “den of corruption by a gang of unarmed robbers”.

Indeed, Evan Enwerem’s emergence as Obasanjo’s Senate president against Chuba Okadigbo confirmed his corrupt tendencies as a political but not military leader to Nigerians. This remains fresh in our psyches and memories.

The Siemens and KBR bribery scandals, which the FBI investigated, indicted President Obasanjo’s government internationally.

On the other hand, President Jonathan allowed a corrupt Diezani oil ministerial hubris of over N100 billion, alleged to have been collected by Diezani as undue enrichment.

This is not to rule out the role of his wife, Patience, in the $8.4 million and N7.4 billion linked to her by the EFCC under a file suit dubbed FHC/L/CS/620/18.

What the likes of Governors Sule Lamido, Amaechi, Nasiru El-Rufai, Peter Obi, and even VP Atiku Abubakar want to tell Nigerians after being frustrated and pushed to the periphery of power and out of national and global relevance, one hasn’t the vaguest idea.

Please note:

There is no point in alluding to the APC’s leadership under Buhari and Tinubu. Because doing so will not allow us to see the light of day, it is better not to mention the terrible economic harakiri, democratic suicide, and perturbed insecurity that the APC and, by extension, its PDP rivalries have thrown into Nigeria. Recounting APC ordeals is a déjà vu that this writer is not ready to waste more energy delving into.

Happy Eid celebration!

Nura wrote from Shahrazad Homes, 21 Zerifa Aliyev Street, Baku, Azerbaijan.

By Oladoja M.O

A peculiar tragedy defines the Nigerian state—a complete surrender of responsibility by those elected to bear it, a full-blown case of irresponsibility institutionalised at the highest levels. It is as if we are not being led at all. It is as if we are simply being watched, pitied, and narrated to. Our so-called leaders behave like helpless spectators, not as those with the authority to fix the very problems they moan about.

Shamefully, Nigeria lacks leadership. Instead, it has men and women who love the microphone more than the mandate. We are not governed; we are narrated. Commentators rule us.

Just days ago, a State Governor resurfaced with yet another alarming statement: that Boko Haram has infiltrated the government. Again. This is not the first time he has said something like this. Several times, he has come out to decry the killings, to point fingers, to lament the destruction. And every single time, one question keeps hanging in the air. What exactly has he, as the Chief Security Officer of the state, done about it? What has he changed? What systems has he challenged? What heads have rolled under his watch? Where is the real action beyond the endless news appearances and emotional speeches? It is not enough to wear a bulletproof vest and take a stroll in a burned village. That is not leadership. That is performance.

I mean, this individual is not a social media activist. He is not a political analyst. Not a powerless citizen. He is not a sympathiser. He is a sitting governor, for goodness’ sake! He has the resources, influence, and intelligence at his disposal. If all he can do is complain, then he has failed. And that is the bitter truth. Or how did the weight of office shrink to the mere performance of sympathy and public outrage? Because, for all I know, leaders do not just point to problems. They solve them. They don’t weep when the house burns. They command the water. But what we see here is the opposite. 

It is as if holding public office in Nigeria has been reduced to a loud-speaking exercise. The governor speaks. The senators speak. The representatives hold press conferences. Everybody speaks. But nobody leads. They describe problems they were empowered to solve, like detached observers, rather than active change agents. It is nauseating. It is tragic. It is dangerous because this governor is just one symptom of a far deeper rot. 

Nigeria’s leadership structure is littered with voices that echo sorrow and rage without ever lifting a finger to stop the bleeding. The National Assembly, for instance, has become a festival of talkers. Lawmakers who go to the chambers not to legislate, but to lament. Some of them even act as if their job is to criticise the government when in fact, they are the government. You hear them talk on TV and wonder if they were mistakenly sworn into opposition. These are people elected to craft laws, drive policies, and oversee the executive. Instead, they pick microphones and begin to “express worry”, “condemn in strong terms”, and “call on the federal government”, as though they are not the federal government themselves. It is embarrassing. It is pathetic. It is a national disgrace that the loudest voices in power are often the most passive in a country so battered.

And the tragedy is even louder when we look at the so-called new breed. For instance, Peter Obi has earned some Nigerians’ admiration because they see in him a departure from the past. But in reality, he’s just the same recycled blaming and deflecting game-player. Recently, when asked about the internal crisis tearing through the Labour Party, a party he is seen as the head of, his response was a flat finger-pointing exercise. He explained who caused what and who did what. Zero sense of responsibility. No ownership, nor a plan to fix it. Is it hard to understand that leadership is not explaining the problem but solving it? What are we banking on if someone aspiring to govern 200 million people cannot manage internal party squabbles?

Being soft-spoken and throwing statistics around is not leadership. Nigerians need people who carry the weight of responsibility and act with urgency, not people who are always ready with talking points. 

This country is bleeding. Virtually every region, every sector, every institution is either hoping to set into recovery or picking up the pieces. From poverty to insecurity, from joblessness to healthcare collapse, from fuel inflation to decaying infrastructure, we are a nation gasping for air. And what do our leaders do? They gather at events and in press briefings to express sympathy. They talk. They hold conferences. They issue long tweets. And then they disappear. It is now a full-blown epidemic. Everyone in power wants to talk about the problem. No one wants to be responsible for the solution. They love the headlines. They love the interviews. But they vanish when it is time for hard decisions, bold reforms, and deep accountability.

This is not what leadership looks like. Leadership means bearing the burden of others. It means thinking, planning, executing, sweating, failing, trying again, and never passing the buck. But Nigerian leaders today see power as a shield from responsibility. To them, power is for glory, not for duty. It is for the title, not for toil. And we, the people, must also take some blame. Because time after time, we bring these same people back. We vote them in. We defend them. We hail them. We wash, rinse, and repackage them for another round of useless governance. It is insanity.

A time must come, and it should be now, when Nigerians wake up to the bitter reality that democracy today is mostly a circus—a time when we say it clearly and loudly: enough with all the empty noise. We do not want more commentators, glorified orators, or prophets of doom in positions of power.

We want leadership. Real, practical, accountable leadership.

If you are in the office, your job is not to narrate the problem. Your job is to change it. If you are the governor and your people are being killed, we expect action, not pity. If you are a senator and the economy is crashing, we expect reform, not press conferences. Don’t blame others if you are a party leader and your house is on fire. Fix it. Nigeria can no longer afford leaders who vanish when it matters most. We cannot survive another decade of commentators posing as commanders. The country is on the brink, and what we need now are not voices of complaint, but minds of action and hearts of steel.

Until that happens, let the records reflect it. We are not being led. We are being narrated to. And that is the greatest insult of all.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com