Opinion

By Abdulgaffar Tukur

The ongoing internal wrangling within our great party, the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), is deeply disheartening—especially at a time when Nigeria desperately needs a united and visionary opposition. As a committed member and believer in our shared democratic values, I speak not out of sentiment, but out of a sense of duty: this is not a time for blames, ego, division or personal ambition.

Nigeria is bleeding. Under the reckless and dictatorial leadership of the APC-led government, headed by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the nation is suffering from severe economic hardship, rampant insecurity, deepening poverty, and increasing political intimidation. Our democracy is under siege—and the people are losing hope.

The PDP must rise above these petty divisions. We must remember who we are and what we once offered this nation—16 years of stability, progress and pride. That legacy is worth defending. It is worth reviving. But to do so, we must become a united and formidable force, focused not on personal ambition, but on national salvation.

It is time we start thinking strategically, patriotically, and selflessly.

Why can’t our leaders rally behind a powerful, unifying ticket—such as His Excellency Dr. Goodluck Jonathan and His Excellency Senator Bala Abdulkadir Mohammed? This is a ticket that could inspire confidence, promote healing and unite Nigerians across board. It is realistic, respectable and widely acceptable.

And to our elder statesman, His Excellency Alhaji Atiku Abubakar—sir, your legacy and lifelong contributions to this party are undeniable. But now is the moment to write your name in gold by becoming the father of a new movement. Step in not as a contender, but as a peacemaker and unifier who helps to rescue Nigeria when it matters most. That act alone could define your legacy more than any presidency ever could.

Let us make no mistake in 2027: this is not just about winning an election—it’s about saving the country. It’s about restoring dignity, good governance and democratic values. It’s about telling the Nigerian people that PDP is still their party—and that we are ready to fight for them once again.

Let us rethink. Let us regroup. And together, let us reclaim the soul of our beloved Nigeria.

Abdulgaffar Tukur is a PDP member; he writes from Kebbi State, Nigeria. He can be reached via:
abdulgaffarkalgo@gmail.com

By Habibu Maaruf Abdu 

The social media in Northern Nigeria was recently abuzz with reports that Kannywood actress Fati Washa allegedly ignored and embarrassed some of her fans. This incident mirrors the infamy of certain Kannywood stars who are generally known for disrespecting their supporters. And that’s truly unfortunate!

Fans are the backbone of every entertainer’s success. Without their support, applause, and attention, there would be no fame, no endorsement deals, and no screen presence. So why do some Kannywood stars treat them with such indifference, even disdain?

Take a look at how global celebrities carry themselves. When Lionel Messi visited a restaurant in Argentina, he didn’t ignore the crowd of fans gathered outside. Despite being with his family, he waved, smiled, and acknowledged their love. 

In Bollywood, big stars like Salman Khan often stop for quick selfies or a simple wave to appreciate their fans. Even Hollywood legends like Keanu Reeves are celebrated not just for their talent but for their humility and approachability.

So, if celebrities from such massive industries, with far greater global fame on a scale Kannywood can only dream of, still find it important to respect their fans, what excuse do the local stars have?

I know for sure that not all Kannywood actors are like that. I met many of the industry’s A-listers, and my interactions with them have been nothing short of respectful. Perhaps it’s because I know how to read the room; when I sense a dismissive attitude, I simply stay away. But I’ve had some memorable encounters worth sharing.

Back in 2012, shortly after graduating from secondary school, a friend of mine wrote a film script. I suggested we visit Shy Plaza in Gadon Kaya, where, at that time, Kannywood filmmakers had a significant presence, to discuss it with a renowned producer. I was familiar with the area, having lived nearby.

We went there full of hope. The producer wasn’t around, so we waited. Then we saw Sadiq Sani Sadiq walk by. We decided not to approach him. But he came over and greeted us. He smiled, shook our hands, and made us feel seen. We were both under 20 at the time, nobodies, really, yet he showed us respect. From that day on, he earned my admiration and loyalty as a fan.

Over the years, my interest in Kannywood deepened. I attended many of their events and premieres. When Filmhouse Cinema opened at ShopRite in Kano, I was a regular attendee. I saw many Kannywood personnel there during movie promotions. Still, I rarely approached anyone—except Falalu Dorayi and Nazifi Asnanic, both of whom responded warmly and even posed for pictures with me.

There was also Aisha Humaira, the recent bride. I once saw her being approached by a young girl at the cinema premises asking for a photo. I was seated nearby when she turned to me and said, “If you don’t mind, please snap us.” I was amazed at her subtle show of humility.

Later, when I gained a bit of recognition as a film reviewer, I made the conscious decision to stop attending premieres, just to avoid being compromised by familiarity with filmmakers. I even turned down invites to special screenings, keeping my professional distance. At festivals and award events, I would often avoid conversations with actors altogether.

But something remarkable happened recently. It was at a UNICEF function, and thanks to our mentor Malam Habibu Aminu Lawan, I attended alongside Amina Bako and other social media influencers. We were seated right next to Kannywood veterans like Rabi’u Rikadawa, Umma Shehu, Umar M. Sharif, and others.

Because of actors’ reputation for snobbery, we decided to “maintain our steeze,” acting like we didn’t care. Interestingly, we ended up sharing laughs and engaging in light-hearted conversations. I even had an insightful discussion with Rikadawa about his acting prowess and the industry at large.

Therefore, based on my experience, I can confidently say that there are truly humble and grounded personalities in Kannywood, especially among the educated and veteran actors. The problem primarily lies with the naive, up-and-coming actors who mistakenly believe that arrogance equates to importance. And sadly, it doesn’t. It only exposes their insecurity.

In conclusion, Kannywood actors need a serious reality check. Fame is fleeting. The same fans you ignore today can forget you tomorrow. You have to respect your fans. They made you who you are.

Habibu Maaruf Abdu wrote from Kano via habibumaaruf11@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

Adeoye Hussain Chukwuebuka came in glowing, the kind of glow that only pure purpose can give. Fresh from the furnace of medical college, his results bore the scent of brilliance, his stride the rhythm of someone born to heal. His white coat shimmered in the sterile hallway lights, worn not just as a uniform, but as a covenant. His stethoscope draped around his neck like the bronze serpent lifted in the wilderness, signalling a promise of life to those on the brink of death.

He truly came in, not seeking escape or greener pastures. He came with a fire. A fire to serve, to make an impact, to stay.

But then… housemanship happened.

In just two weeks to the new life, Chukwuebuka’s glow began to dim. Not metaphorically, but literally. His cheeks, once full, shrank. His eyes, once bright, dulled. He was fatter before — not just in body, but in dreams. He came with life. The system began to drain it, slowly, ruthlessly.

At first, sleep became a luxury, unaffordable anymore. Then his sanity. Later, his joy.

Adeoye found himself in a loop of exhaustion so grave it warped reality. He would resume by 8 a.m., and wouldn’t see sleep again for 48 hours — not once, not twice, but repeatedly. As soon as he thought he could breathe, just for a minute, a call would come in — “Come to the ward”, “There’s an emergency”, “You’re needed in theatre.” Again. And again… and again.

His personal life? Hussain could see it walk off him without his approval. Even his relationship that survived the inferno of medical school was broken off simply because there was nothing left of him to give. Not even text messages. Not even voice notes. Nothing. Just like that, a life he already had in play, joyful about, phased off.

Oh! Could he even shake off one of the haunting experiences he forever wished he could have helped with? Adeoye had already been on duty for over 24 hours when an emergency struck. A baby. Not breathing. Even at his lowest point, he could not stand not doing anything to save the situation. His body moved on instinct… he rushed, assessed, and started resuscitation. But five minutes in, the rush wore off. His hands gave up. He couldn’t even lift his arms. His fingers couldn’t form pressure. His own pulse felt faint. And the baby…. The baby slipped away. Left. Not just into death, but into the cracks of a broken system.

And on the report, he had to write the truth — “Could not complete resuscitation due to extreme personal exhaustion.”

That sentence continues to haunt him.

It wasn’t just a failure of strength. It was a failure of structure. And his friends across other hospitals? They were fainting. Collapsing mid-shift. Crying in toilet stalls. Living like machines with rusting gears.

And you would think, with this superhuman sacrifice, the reward would be more than a room could contain.

But no.

The pay was barely enough to survive. But Adeoye said, and meant it — he would take less if it meant he could have a piece of his soul back. If he could breathe. If he could be human. This isn’t about money alone, but about dignity. About survival. About choosing between saving lives and watching his own slip away.

And even if he summons all the strength left in his marrow, there’s still this: no equipment. Oxygen runs out. Monitors don’t beep. Gloves tear. Syringes are blunt. Catheters are scarce. The barest minimum? A luxury. And in that darkness, they still whisper: “Do your best.”

What best? With what tools? With what strength?

Even those who still carry passion like a torch are now shivering in the cold winds of burnout. The system is crushing the very shoulders it leans on.

Why?

The answer is bitter: a workforce too thin to carry a country.

How many doctors are produced yearly? Nowhere near enough. And even among those, only a fraction secure placement for housemanship. Why? Because merit is suffocated by political interference. Only about 20% of placements are based on merit. The rest are claimed by sons of power, daughters of connections, and family friends of politicians. Many brilliant minds, like Adeoye once was, remain stranded, waiting, and wasting.

And yet, those lucky enough to be placed are punished for it. Overworked. Underequipped. Undervalued.

And Adeoye? He really didn’t want to leave. He honestly was determined to stay. He actually wanted to believe. But now? He would give anything to go.

Not for luxury.
Not for pride.
Just to survive.

This is the irony: Nigeria’s housemanship year, which is supposed to be a bridge from classroom to clinic, has become a crucible. Rather than refine, it breaks. Becomes a trapdoor instead of a launchpad. 

And this is not just about Adeoye Hussain Chukwuebuka.
It’s about hundreds. Thousands.
Many of whom came in glowing. Now walking corpses — souls intact, bodies crumbling.

They didn’t want to leave. They really didn’t.
Until housemanship happened.

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

By Abbas Datti

I am worried by the increasing broadcast of music videos featuring women in revealing, indecent dressing by the popular Arewa24 television station. In sum, it has reached a tipping point where women featured in music videos are sometimes half-naked, in a provocative, obscene dressing. 

Considering its audience, Arewa24, whose programming is widely accessible to viewers of all ages, must be subjected to public scrutiny for continuously airing content that contradicts the Hausa culture and traditional values of our society.

Many of these music videos not only portray women in revealing clothing but also promote gestures and themes that are inappropriate for family viewing. The consistent exposure to such content, especially during prime time when children and young adults are most likely to be watching, raises serious questions about Arewa TV’s commitment to ethical broadcasting and social responsibility. Most of those video songs are being shown during prime time.

Our society, rich in religious moral character and cultural pride, has always upheld values that protect the dignity and modesty of individuals, particularly women. The portrayal of women in such a demeaning and objectifying manner is not only an affront to Hausa Fulani’s traditions but also sends the wrong message to younger generations.

We call on the National Broadcasting Commission (NBC) and other censorship regulatory bodies to urgently investigate some content being aired by the Arewa TV station. Strict measures should be taken to ensure that all media platforms operate within the boundaries of decency, respect, and cultural sensitivity. 

Furthermore, there is a pressing need for media houses to adopt self-regulation policies and prioritise programming that promotes positive values and Hausa cultural identity. Our religion and cultural heritage must not be compromised in the name of entertainment.

The time to act is now. Authorities must rise to the occasion and safeguard the moral fabric of the Hausa people from further extinction.

Abbas Datti writes from Kano via abbasdatti448@gmail.com.

By Salim Yunusa 

When we were neck deep into planning for KAPFEST 1.0, we decided that we would definitely have a poetry slam. Having seasoned spoken word poets on the team who had participated, judged, or simply watched one made planning for it easier. Everyone knew what to expect and what structure would work. The poetry slam was not going to be a filler—it was going to be a central experience of the festival.

Then came the aspect of naming it. Without hesitating, I suggested we either name it the Aminu Kano Poetry Slam or the Mudi Sipikin Poetry Slam. Both names carried weight. Both men represented distinct traditions of intellectualism, activism, and the power of the word. At the end, we settled for the Mudi Sipikin Poetry Slam. It felt right. It felt timely. It felt necessary.

When I informed my friend Mukhtar that we decided to name a segment of our program after his dad, he was elated. Genuinely elated. We didn’t do it because we wanted sponsorship from the family or anything like that. We didn’t do it because we were friends with the family members. We did it because of what Mudi Sipikin stood for—creative expression, social commentary, economics, science, thought, and literary legacy.

Salim Yunusa is the founder of Poetic Wednesdays Initiative and curates the Kano International Poetry Festival. He writes from Zaria, Nigeria.

He was one of those voices that had shaped public thought and intellectual culture in Arewa for decades. So came to pass the first edition of the Mudi Sipikin Poetry Slam. Young people from different places participated. They competed. They poured their hearts out. They won cash prizes. And they made history.

Two of Mudi Sipikin’s children—Mukhtar Mudi Sipikin and Sani Misbahu Sipikin—were there physically. Mukhtar, in a touching gesture, gifted the winners beautiful textile materials. The SSA to the President also showed up and made generous cash donations. It was a moment of recognition. It was a moment of continuity. It was a moment of reclaiming history.

Then came ZABAFEST. I was pleasantly surprised when they named their poetry slam after Dr. Abubakar Imam, the famous writer and intellectual who lived in Zaria. His name, for those who know, is one of the pillars of early Northern Nigerian literature. The slam segment was electric and greatly thrilled the audience. Two of Dr. Imam’s children were in attendance, and they expressed their appreciation for the gesture. It was not just about honoring their father—it was about honoring an entire generation of thinkers who laid the foundations for what we now call Northern Nigerian literature.

And then, just yesterday, the Jos Art and Culture Festival announced that there would be a poetry slam and it would be named after Danmaraya Jos. That news made me deeply happy. Danmaraya Jos was not just a musician. He was a griot. A chronicler. A custodian of memory. And seeing young people take the initiative to immortalize his name within a literary event speaks volumes. It is not about nostalgia. It is about remembering rightly. It is about giving names their due.

During the opening ceremony of the maiden Kano International Poetry Festival in 2024, I emphasized the significance of literary festivals, stating: “Can we have enough festivals? I am thrilled that we are having literary festivals spring up in this part of the country, where we have many unsung literary heroes and heroines. You see, festivals are remarkable opportunities to educate, empower, enlighten, and entertain the public. They are a breath of fresh air, where we reignite the fires of our literary passion, cultivate new friendships and rekindle old ones, and above all, engross ourselves in rich conversations about the arts, culture, music, and poetry.”

This is why naming these events after literary icons goes way beyond immortalizing them. It is a way of preserving their contributions to the literary world. It is a method of introducing their names—and possibly their work—to younger audiences who may never encounter them otherwise. When I curated the poetry exhibition on the life of Alu Ɗan Sidi, I realized how much has been forgotten. For many attendees, it was the first time they were hearing that name, let alone engaging with the literary and scholarly contributions of the emir. But what pleased me most was how that exhibition opened a portal of learning. It sparked appreciation. It generated questions. And it even led to plans for follow-up conversations and more literary and cultural exploration on of our rich literary legacy. That is how preservation begins.

We are in a time where the literary contributions of our ancestors are being neglected or sidelined. Curriculums barely reflect their names. Public discourse often forgets them. Archives are dusty. Monuments are few. So it is refreshing—no, it is necessary—to see young people bringing back these names and personalities to life through poetry, exhibitions, festivals, and critical discussions. This is more than memory work. It is cultural survival. It is literary resistance. It is about stitching our present to our past, so that the future does not forget.

Hopefully, this growing momentum will lead to proper archiving of their works. Hopefully, it will inspire scholars to take interest in their contributions. Hopefully, it will lead to deeper appreciation and appropriate honor for their legacies, in Nigeria and beyond.

Because the names live on. Because we must speak them. Because the griots must never be forgotten.

Accelerating Kano’s Future Through Technology and Innovation

Your Excellency, 

I write to you with profound optimism about the transformative potential of technology and innovation to position Kano State as a beacon of progress in Nigeria and beyond. As Africa’s youth population surges, Kano, rich in culture, commerce, and human capital, is uniquely poised to harness this demographic dividend by embracing technology as a catalyst for economic growth, social equity, and sustainable development.  

Your Excellency, I recognise and commend your commendable efforts and those of the Kano State Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation, under the visionary leadership of the Honourable Commissioner, in laying the groundwork for transformative projects already in the pipeline. The recent establishment of the Kano State Information Technology Development Agency (KASITDA) is a particularly strategic leap forward, signalling the state’s resolve to institutionalise tech-driven growth. These efforts are a critical foundation, and I urge sustained momentum to ensure their timely execution. 

The recommendations outlined herein aim to complement and accelerate these existing plans, providing additional frameworks to attract global partnerships, amplify local talent, and unlock scalable opportunities. By building upon the Ministry’s initiatives and KASITDA’s mandate, Kano can fast-track its rise as a regional leader in technology-driven development.  

Why Technology Matters

Technology is not merely a tool but a foundation for modernisation. It drives efficiency, creates jobs, and bridges gaps in education, healthcare, governance and more. For Kano, where over 60% of the population is under 25, investing in tech equips our youth with skills to compete globally while addressing local challenges like unemployment, agricultural productivity, and access to public services.  

Globally, nations such as Rwanda and India have demonstrated that prioritising tech ecosystems can spur prosperity. Closer home, Lagos’s emergence as a start-up hub highlights the power of deliberate policy and infrastructure. Kano, with its strategic location, historical significance, and entrepreneurial spirit, can surpass these models by tailoring solutions to our unique context.  

A Blueprint for Transformation

To unlock this potential, I propose the following actionable initiatives:  

1. Establish Kano Tech City

Create a dedicated innovation district with co-working spaces, labs, and incubation hubs. Partner with organisations like Google, Alison – Free Empowerment Platform, Microsoft Africa, Altmentor and more to offer training, mentorship, and funding access. This ecosystem will nurture startups in EdTech, AgriTech, FinTech, HealthTech, etc, sectors critical to Kano’s economy.  

2. Revolutionise Education

Integrate digital skills into school curricula. Launch “Kano Code Clubs” and sponsor scholarships for students pursuing careers in STEM fields. Collaborate with Universities to offer advanced degrees in emerging technologies, ensuring a pipeline of skilled talent.  

3. Upgrade Infrastructure

Prioritise broadband expansion, especially in rural areas, and deploy solar-powered tech centres to overcome energy challenges. Reliable internet and electricity are non-negotiable for attracting global investors.  

4. Enact Innovation-Friendly Policies

Offer tax breaks for tech start-ups, streamline business registration, and establish a regulatory sandbox for testing solutions. Launch a Kano Innovation Fund to provide grants and venture capital. Some Innovation-Friendly Policies are outlined below;

-Tax Incentives & Financial Support

• 5-Year Tax Holiday: Exempt early-stage start-ups (0–3 years) from corporate income tax, PAYE, and land use charges. 
• Investor Tax Exemptions: Offer 100% capital gains tax relief for investments in Kano-based tech start-ups. 
• R&D Grants: Fund 50% of R&D costs for startups in priority sectors (AgriTech, EduTech, renewable energy).
• Kano Equity Fund: Establish a state-backed venture capital fund to co-invest in high-potential startups, matching private investments 1:1.  

-Ease of Doing Business

• 24-Hour Start-up Licensing: Create a dedicated tech desk at the Kano Investment Agency to fast-track business registration, licenses, and permits. 
• Regulatory Sandbox: Allow start-ups in FinTech, HealthTech, and mobility to test products for 12 months without full regulatory compliance. 
• Land Grants: Allocate subsidised land in Kano Tech City to start-ups and investors who commit to hiring at least 60% local talent.

-Talent & Immigration

• Tech Talent Visa: Partner with the Federal Government to expedite visas for foreign founders, engineers, and investors relocating to Kano. 
• Residency Rebates: Offer 50% discount on residency fees for startups that train and hire 100+ Kano youths annually.  

-Market Access & Growth

• Government Procurement Quota: Mandate 20% of state procurement contracts (e.g., e-governance tools, agri-supply chains) to be awarded to local tech startups.
• Export Incentives: Subsidise Saas (Software-as-a-Service) startups to scale across Africa by covering 30% of their cross-border marketing costs.  

-Investor Confidence & Exit Opportunities

• Investor Matchmaking: Host quarterly pitch sessions connecting startups with angels and global VC networks.
• Acquisition Support: Legal and financial advisory subsidies for startups exiting to foreign or local acquirers.  

-Sector-Specific Boosts

• AgriTech Subsidies: Free state-owned farmland for AgriTech startups piloting IoT-enabled irrigation or crop-monitoring drones.
• AI Ethics Framework: Develop Nigeria’s first state-level AI governance guidelines to attract ethical tech firms and global grants.  

-Long-Term Stability

• 10-Year Policy Guarantee: Legislate a “Kano Innovation Charter” to lock in incentives beyond political cycles, ensuring investor confidence. 
• Kano Tech Ambassadors: Appoint youth innovators as global ambassadors to showcase success stories in international media.  

5. Host Annual Tech Conferences

Showcase Kano’s potential through events like “Kano Innovates,” attracting investors, entrepreneurs, and thinkers. Celebrate local success stories to inspire a culture of innovation.  

Attracting Investment

A thriving tech ecosystem signals stability and opportunity. By cultivating homegrown talent and infrastructure, Kano will attract investors seeking opportunities in untapped markets. Public-private partnerships can further de-risk investments, while success stories will generate organic interest.  

A Call to Legacy

Your Excellency, this vision demands bold leadership. Imagine a Kano where farmers use drones to monitor their crops, artisans sell their products globally via digital platforms, and students use AI to solve community problems. Championing this agenda will secure Kano’s place as a hub of African innovation, creating jobs, reducing poverty, and inspiring generations.  

The time to act is now. Let us collaborate with stakeholders, businesses, educators, and youth to build a Kano that leads, not follows.  

Abubakar Sadiq Umar writes from Kano and can be reached via email at aserdeeq@gmail.com

by Salim Yunusa

In Zaria, the name Danraka means different things to different people. To students of Ahmadu Bello University, it reminds them of a well-known student housing area off campus. To businesspeople, it represents a strong legacy in commerce. For many in Zazzau, it speaks of a house of nobility and respect. But to countless others, it brings to mind one person—Isyaku Danraka, a town planner, businessman, and a man known for his kindness and generosity.

The iDANRAKA Care Foundation is changing how we think about giving. It is not just about donations or handouts – the usual long queues and few kobos to get the town talking. It is about creating real and lasting change in people’s lives. Whether through helping young people learn new skills, supporting sports, or providing training for the future, the foundation is giving hope to those who need it most. Danraka has quietly been given to students, widows, young people, and others in need for years. Today, his good work has grown into a full foundation that has helped more than 5,000 people.

One of the foundation’s early efforts was the ZYA Phone Repair Project. It trained 150 young people from Zaria and nearby towns in just two months. These young people now have a way to earn a living and help their families. It gave them confidence and a new sense of purpose.

In another inspiring program, 50 young people were chosen from over 800 applicants for a special digital training. They learned to use digital tools, create content, understand artificial intelligence, and find remote jobs. These are life-changing skills that open new doors and build a better future.

The foundation also focuses on those who are often forgotten. People with disabilities are frequently left out of opportunities, but not here. Through the Zaria Para Sports Competition, more than 100 athletes living with disabilities got the chance to play, compete, and be celebrated. These events bring smiles, joy, and a deep sense of belonging. They remind us that everyone matters and deserves a chance to shine.

At the iDANRAKA Football Academy, young boys who dream of playing football professionally are given a real shot. With help from an American agency, scouts from the United States and Dubai came to watch talented players from places like Kano, Maiduguri, and Zaria. For many of these boys, it was their first real chance to be seen and noticed. You could feel the excitement in the air. Dreams suddenly felt possible. I was personally there and witnessed the signing of the MoU. The foundation means business.

Young people are at the heart of everything the foundation does. One of its most powerful programs is the Youth Empowerment Lab. Open to people between 17 and 30 years old, it offers more than just training. It offers hope. It teaches digital skills and shows how to find work online. The foundation even covers transport, meals, internet access, and gives out certificates. I was lucky to speak on a panel during one of the sessions, where we talked about what truly matters in the workplace today. We spoke about creativity, problem-solving, and how real-life experience can be just as important as a university degree. The room was filled with energy and emotion. You could see young people beginning to believe in themselves.

The Zaria Para Sports Competition is now more than a sports event. It is a celebration. Winners receive cash and gifts, but what they take home most is pride. They are seen, respected, and encouraged. These moments lift not just the athletes but their families and communities, too.

In a world where help sometimes feels far away, the iDANRAKA Care Foundation is different. It listens. It understands what people need. It works closely with local communities and offers support that genuinely changes lives. Whether it is a skill to start a small business, a way to earn money online, or a chance to play football, the foundation is lighting the way forward.

The iDANRAKA Care Foundation is not just making a difference. It is spreading hope. From the streets of Zaria to towns across Nigeria, it shows us that when people are given the tools, support, and love they need, there is no limit to what they can achieve.

By Prof. Abdelghaffar Amoka

Breaking news yesterday was that Consultant Psychiatrist Comrade Chris Piwuna has been elected as the new president of the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) for a two-year term. The fact that he is a psychiatrist is unsettling to the political class, who, rather than injecting the necessary funds to improve our education sector, choose to embezzle money they do not need.

The post on the Facebook page of Mahmud Jega, a media aide to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu during the campaign for the 2023 election, is an indication that the news of the newly elected president is unsettling. He said Chris should examine the heads of ASUU members for choosing a strike as an option to make the government perform its responsibility to the university they willingly established and are still establishing. Earlier today, someone was thanking his Senator on Facebook for his bill to establish the Federal University of Agriculture, Kura in Kano State. 

Whose head needs to be checked by a psychiatrist? The one fighting for the survival of public universities or the one who makes all the promises, then gets to the office, but chooses to steal public funds, an amount they can’t spend for the rest of their life. In the 21st century, we have one of the worst education and health sectors. Our people now travel to Ghana, as well as to Niger and Sudan, to study. Hunger is now a pride. One of them recently acknowledged that they are aware we are hungry and referred to it as “Hunger for Change.”

Who should we take to Prof. Piwuna’s psychiatric clinic for a mental health evaluation? As people wonder about the cause of the massive and mindless corruption in the country, as we watch public institutions collapse, they feel that corruption within the political class may be a mental issue. According to Punch of 16th December 2016, the first person who made this recommendation over 30 years ago was Prof. Adeoye Lambo, a famous psychiatrist and a former Vice-Chairman of the World Health Organisation. He was astounded by the level of corruption at the time. 

Well, the corruption was child’s play then compared with what we have now. Mrs. Farida Waziri, the former EFCC boss, was reported to have also recommended psychiatric examination for politicians, citing the reason that the grand corruption we see in our public life is a hackneyed recommendation. So, the psychiatric test recommendation for politicians is not a new call. 

Despite the justification for the strike over the last two years and the members’ vote in a referendum, the ASUU leadership has attempted to apply diplomacy to avoid the strike. That has produced a strike-free 2 years. They have been lobbying and begging for the last 2 years. But what have academics got? Many people can’t afford to fuel their cars to go to work. So, what’s the alternative to the strike? Maybe instead of striking to force the government to fund tertiary institutions they willingly established, we should just manage what we have like that till they are no longer manageable, like our public primary schools? Please educate us on a practical alternative to strike. 

The Nigerian university system was once a beacon in West Africa. If corruption is the reason why there are not enough funds to make our universities what they used to be, who needs to queue in their Agbada to see a psychiatrist? The people (political class) who have kept the universities in their present state, or the people (ASUU) whose fight over the years gave our universities a semblance of a university? 

Irrespective of our political affiliation, I think we need to set our sentiment and hatred for ASUU aside and sit back to reflect on the state of education. As a former academic, journalist, and associate of the political class, Mahmud Jega should join hands with ASUU to urge the government to take the necessary steps for the education sector. The North is the worst hit, and coincidentally, Mahmoud Jega is from the North. We need public education institutions at all levels that are of high quality for their students. As the immediate past president of ASUU stated during the ASUU NDC in Benin a few days ago, we cannot build a knowledge-based economy without a sound education system.

We can’t continue this way. The status quo is unsustainable. The most powerful weapon against poverty, extremism, and ignorance is not the bullet, but the book. The time to act is now. Nigeria must return to the classroom—rebuild it, empower it, and invest in it—for therein lies the salvation of the nation.

I don’t like strikes, Mahmud Jega doesn’t like strikes, but I was left with no other options aside from a strike. And a strike is the only thing that has kept our universities functional to date. So, can Mahmud propose an alternative that will work even better than a strike? 

The test I think we need to do for ASUU members is to find out why they are fighting very hard to ensure that public universities do not collapse. They could have chosen to be like our refinery workers who watch the collapse of the refineries and earn a fat salary without refining a drop of crude oil. 

In conclusion, no matter the hatred, Mahmud Jega cannot pretend that he does not understand the situation of our educational institutions. I would like to encourage him to utilise his influence and pen to help facilitate an education summit by this government. As Prof Attahiru Jega proposed at ASUU NDC at the University of Benin a few days ago, the stakeholders of the Nigerian project need to meet and discuss the sort of tertiary education system they want and then agree on the funding model. 

Prof. Amoka wrote from Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), Zaria.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

Before the emergence of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration, Nigeria’s security architecture was grappling with deeply entrenched challenges, particularly in the Northwest and Southeast regions. The situation had deteriorated to alarming levels, with criminal elements and secessionist movements establishing a disturbing level of control in certain areas.

In the Northwest, banditry had evolved from sporadic attacks to the full-scale occupation of territories. Vast stretches of land, especially in states like Kaduna, Zamfara, and Niger, fell under the influence of heavily armed groups. The Abuja-Kaduna highway, which was once a vital economic and commuter route, became a perilous stretch, notorious for frequent kidnappings and ambushes. 

The Northwestern security threats extended further, with the Kaduna–Birnin Gwari–Lagos road effectively shut down due to sustained bandit activity. Even commercial life suffered significantly; the Birnin Gwari cattle market, a major hub for livestock trade, was forced to cease operations under the pressure of violence and extortion.

Meanwhile, in the Southeast, the situation was compounded by the secessionist agitation led by the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB). Through fear and coercion, IPOB succeeded in enforcing a weekly sit-at-home directive across several states in the region, paralysing economic activities every Monday. Businesses were shuttered, schools closed, and the freedom of movement was severely curtailed, undermining both governance and development efforts.

This was the grim reality that the Tinubu administration inherited. However, at the heart of the renewed fight against insecurity stands a strategic recalibration: what many now refer to as the “Nuhu Ribadu Formula.” As National Security Adviser, Ribadu brought a fresh, intelligence-driven approach to tackling Nigeria’s security woes. With an emphasis on coordination among security agencies, restoration of public confidence, and targeted offensives against criminal enclaves, his methods have begun yielding tangible results.

While challenges persist, especially in remote and hard-to-reach areas, the difference in tone and trajectory is becoming increasingly evident. The Ribadu-led security strategy has not only focused on reclaiming territory but also on addressing the root causes of unrest, be it poverty, weak governance, or community grievances. It is this multidimensional and proactive approach that may well define Nigeria’s path to lasting peace and stability.

Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, the National Security Adviser, has been pivotal in reshaping Nigeria’s national security framework through a clear and strategic vision built on three foundational pillars.

The first is the carrot-and-stick approach, which balances kinetic (military force) and non-kinetic (dialogue, reconciliation, and development) strategies. This dual-pronged approach acknowledges that not all security threats can be addressed solely through force. By combining targeted military operations with community engagement and deradicalisation efforts, the approach aims to neutralise threats while addressing the root causes of violence.

The second strategy is a shift from rhetoric to action, a deliberate move away from endless briefings and political grandstanding towards concrete, measurable outcomes. Under Ribadu’s watch, security interventions are now judged not by promises, but by performance. The focus is on restoring peace, reclaiming lost territories, and enabling displaced persons to return to their communities.

Third is the promotion of synergy and intelligence sharing among security agencies. Previously plagued by inter-agency rivalry and fragmented operations, Nigeria’s security forces are now operating with improved coordination. Through unified command structures and shared intelligence platforms, responses have become faster, more precise, and increasingly proactive.

These strategies have already begun to yield visible results. The recent resurgence of attacks in Plateau and Benue States, as well as isolated Boko Haram assaults on soft targets in Borno and Adamawa, were swiftly countered using the same framework. Rapid deployment of forces, community-based intelligence, and coordinated operations prevented escalation and restored calm.

Still, the road to full recovery is a gradual one. While the machinery of state security has been retooled, the average citizen may not immediately perceive these gains. Part of the challenge lies in the persistence of outdated or unverified reports in some sections of the media, which can paint a distorted picture of the current realities. Nevertheless, those on the ground, especially in previously hard-hit areas, are beginning to sense a shift.

The “Nuhu Ribadu Formula” is proving to be more than just a tactical adjustment; it is an evolving doctrine that prioritises effectiveness, accountability, and collaboration. With sustained implementation and public support, it could well become the blueprint for enduring peace in Nigeria.

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

By Isah Dahiru

There’s a Hausa proverb that says, “Wanda ya saci akuya, ya saci itacenta”—he who steals a goat has already stolen the rope tied to it. But who would have imagined that the sacred grounds of a mosque, a space where hearts are purified and souls are recharged, could become fertile ground for what I now call “holy heists”?

Last Friday, I attended Jumu’ah prayers like any regular seeker of divine mercy, looking forward to the serenity of the sermon and perhaps a gentle breeze under the neem tree afterwards. You know, that kind of spiritual therapy that reboots your inner battery. 

The Imam began passionately, with what I can only describe as a verbal balm for troubled marriages. He waxed poetic about marital life, reminding us brothers that a man’s greatness is not measured by how many goats he owns, but how gently he treats the mother of his children.

He quoted the Prophet (SAW), emphasising kindness, loyalty, and romance—even after ten years of eating her over-salted tuwo. He reminded us that he who denies affection at home may end up seeking counsel from side mirrors—and by side mirrors, I mean side chicks. It was a sermon of gold, and I had already drafted a mental apology letter to my wife (with a footnote asking for fried fish for dinner).

Then came the second khutbah—and brothers and sisters, the tone changed like NEPA light.

What followed was no longer spiritual nourishment—it was a full-blown security bulletin. The Imam, now resembling a mosque-based CNN anchor, solemnly announced the spike in theft within the mosque premises. Shoes, phones, even umbrellas—yes, umbrellas in dry season—had become an endangered species in the hands of holy day hustlers.

I blinked twice. “Wallahi, this must be fiction.”

Apparently not. The Imam cited examples. Men who had arrived barefoot left in polished Clarks. Samsung devices evaporated during sujud. One man reportedly came out of the toilet to find that not only had his shoes vanished, but so had his ablution kettle. “An saci butar alwala!” someone muttered beside me.

My friend Musa Kalim, ever the idea machine, leaned in and whispered, “Wallahi Isah, the mosque should invest in designer shoes with trackers inside. Give them out before prayer. Anyone who deviates from coming to mosque without shoes to going home with a shoe—bing! The alarm goes off. ‘Thou shalt not misstep.’”

Another friend, Engr. After I narrated the ordeal and my frustration to him, Aminu offered another way to tackle the situation. Honestly, I laughed so hard I almost missed the supplication after the prayer had ended. But knowing that Aminu wasn’t joking made me return to my senses. This is the same man who once suggested using goats to deliver medicine in rural villages, and almost got a grant for it from Melinda and Gates Foundation.

I imagined it immediately:
“Mosque Sole Security (MSS): Track Your Blessings from Sole to Soul.”
A startup powered by shame and GPS.

But there’s a deeper sadness here. When the masallaci, the house of Allah, becomes the hunting ground for pickpockets, it signals a spiritual recession. It’s no longer just a pair of stolen shoes—it’s a metaphor for the theft of morals, the robbery of conscience, and the hijacking of trust.

There’s a popular Yoruba saying, “Ti ile ba n bajẹ, a fi ti ile ni nko,” meaning, “When a home begins to decay, it starts from the inside.” And truly, if criminals now comfortably perform ablution before proceeding to commit theft, then we must urgently recalibrate our moral compass.

Let’s consider the ridiculousness: someone prays beside you, says “Ameen” with gusto, maybe even sheds a tear during supplication—and minutes later, he’s making off with your Bata sandals like a post-prayer souvenir. What kind of shame is that?

The Prophet (SAW) warned us of a time when people would pray like angels and live like devils. Perhaps this is what he meant.

Maybe the solution isn’t just CCTV or Musa’s high-tech slippers (although I’d donate to that GoFundMe). Perhaps we need something more profound—a revival of taqwa, of God-consciousness, in our lives. Because let’s be honest, even if we padlock the ablution area, thieves without fear of God will find a way to sin in style.

Perhaps we need to return to the basics—teaching our children that a stolen shoe, even if it fits, carries the burden of its last prayer. Reminding our youth that every crime committed under the minaret echoes louder in the heavens than those committed in the market square. And as elders, we must not be afraid to call out wrongdoing—even if the culprit looks like a saint in a turban.

Until then, dear reader, as you go for prayers, carry your faith boldly—but your shoes discreetly. I suggest you start wearing bathroom slippers, the type no thief would proudly wear. And if, by misfortune, you find yourself shoeless at the end of the prayer, don’t wail. Just smile and say: “May the thief walk straight into the path of repentance—and a pothole.”

And should you ever catch one red-handed, don’t beat him. Sit him down, offer him zobo and a hard chair, and give him a khutbah so fiery, even his ancestors would consider refunding your shoes.

Isah Dahiru is a pharmacist and can be reached via easerdahiru@gmail.com.