Opinion

By Abdulkadir Ahmed Ibrahim (Kwakwatawa), FNGE

In politics, moments arise when loyalty to a platform must give way to loyalty to the people. There are seasons when courage is not found in standing still, but in moving forward with clarity of purpose. Kano State stands at such a moment. The planned defection of Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf to the ruling All Progressives Congress is not an act of betrayal. It is a call to responsibility, a deliberate choice shaped by necessity, foresight, and the overriding interest of Kano and its people.

Perhaps power, when isolated, grows weak. Governance, when detached from the centre, struggles to deliver. Since the emergence of Abba Kabir Yusuf as governor, Kano has found itself standing alone in the national space. Federal presence is thin, strategic attention limited. The state that once sat confidently at the table of national influence now watches key decisions pass by without its voice fully heard. This isolation is not a reflection of the governor’s intent or capacity; it is the reality of operating outside the ruling structure in a political environment where access often determines outcomes.

It is common knowledge that governors do not govern in a vacuum. Roads, security, education, health, and economic revival depend on cooperation between state and federal authorities. When that bridge is weak, the people bear the cost. Kano today needs bridges, not walls. It needs inclusion, not distance. It needs a seat where decisions are shaped, not a gallery where outcomes are merely observed.

The internal tension surrounding the emirate question has further deepened uncertainty. While history and tradition demand respect, governance demands stability. Prolonged disputes distract leadership, unsettle investors, and weigh heavily on public confidence. At such a time, a governor requires strong institutional backing and political leverage to navigate sensitive reforms with balance and authority. Standing alone makes that task far more difficult than it ought to be.More troubling is the visible absence of federal projects and partnerships. In a country where development is often driven by political proximity, Kano cannot afford to remain on the margins. A state of its stature, population, and historical relevance deserves more than sympathetic silence. It deserves action, presence, and partnership.

It is within this context that Abba Kabir Yusuf’s movement toward the APC must be understood. Not as personal ambition, but as strategic realism. Not as political convenience, but as a pathway to unlock opportunities long denied by distance from power.

By extension, Senator Rabi’u Musa Kwankwaso stands at a defining crossroads. History has placed him in a rare position. He is respected across party lines, commands a loyal following, and remains one of the most influential political figures in Northern Nigeria. Above all, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu holds him in high regard. They share a common political generation, having both served as governors in 1999, shaped by the same democratic rebirth and seasoned by time and experience.

In addition, one can recall that both Rabi’u Kwankwaso and Bola Tinubu were at the National Assembly under the platform of the now defunct Social Democratic Party, SDP, during the short-lived 3rd Republic. The former was the Deputy Speaker at the House of Representatives while the latter was a Senator together with Late Senator Engineer Magaji Abdullahi who was also elected under the same SDP ticket.

Late Engineer Magaji Abdullahi a former Deputy Governor of Kano State (2003 to 2007) and also a former Chief Executive of the State owned Water Resources and Engineering Construction Agency, WRECA, in the 1980s was a benefactor of Engineers Rabi’u Kwankwaso and Abba Kabir Yusuf were they first met as members of staff.

The late successful Kano technocrat, accomplished engineer, career civil servant charismatic and vibrant national politician was a close ally and associate of Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu starting from the SDP days and the duo was some of the foundation members of the APC.

The President’s repeated extension of an olive branch to Kwankwaso is therefore not accidental. These gestures are acknowledgements of value, respect, and shared history. They signal recognition of Kwankwaso’s political weight and his capacity to contribute meaningfully at the national level. When such calls come consistently, wisdom suggests they should not be ignored. Kwankwaso should heed the call by moving along with the political direction of Kano State.

The truth is unavoidable. The political home Kwankwaso once built no longer offers the shelter it promised. The NNPP is enmeshed in internal crises that threaten its very identity. Court cases over party ownership and recognition pose serious risks. With the Independent National Electoral Commission recognising one faction amid raging disputes, the platform has become unstable ground for any serious electoral ambition. Under these circumstances, entering the 2027 race either with Abba Kabir Yusuf seeking re election on the NNPP platform or Kwankwaso pursuing a presidential ambition would amount to gambling against history and reason.

The alternatives are no better. The Peoples Democratic Party is fractured, weakened by internal contradictions and persistent leadership disputes. Its once formidable structure now struggles to inspire confidence. The African Democratic Congress, on the other hand, is ideologically and historically uncomfortable for Kwankwaso. Many of its leading figures were once his fiercest rivals. They resisted him in the PDP and are unlikely to allow him meaningful influence now. Political memory is long, and grudges rarely dissolve.

Beyond current realities lies a deeper lesson from history. Regional parties, no matter how passionate or popular within their strongholds, have rarely succeeded on the national stage. From the First Republic to the Fourth, the pattern remains consistent. Nigeria rewards broad coalitions, not narrow bases. Power flows where diversity converges.

The APC today represents that convergence. It is not perfect, but it is expansive. It is national in outlook, broad in structure, and firmly in control of the federal machinery. For Kano, aligning with the APC is not surrender. It is strategy. It is an investment in relevance, access, and development.

For Abba Kabir Yusuf, the move is about delivering tangible dividends of democracy. For Kwankwaso, it is about securing a future that reflects his stature and experience. Loyalty, in its truest sense, is not blind attachment to a platform. It is fidelity to the welfare of followers, to the aspirations of a people, and to the demands of the moment.

Politics is not static. It is a living conversation between ideals and realities. When realities change, wisdom adapts. Kano’s future demands bold choices, not sentimental delays. The music is louder now. The moment is clearer. The door is open.

History favours those who recognise when to move. For Abba Kabir Yusuf and Senator Rabi’u Musa Kwankwaso, the path toward the APC is not a retreat from principle. It is a step toward purpose. They should go back to where they rightly belong. And for Kano, it may well be the bridge back to the centre, where its voice belongs and its destiny can be fully pursued.

Abdulkadir, a Fellow of Nigerian Guild of Editors, former National Vice President of the NUJ, Veteran Journalist, was the Press Secretary of the former Deputy Governor Late Engineer Magaji Abdullahi.

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman,

While the nation, parents, and income earners are still debating the legitimacy of the Tax Laws rolled out by the Federal Government due to “alterations” in some sections and their broader implications, final-year senior secondary school students have other things to worry about. A case of different strokes for different folks.

A student called and, after exchanging pleasantries, he said, “Is it true we’re going to write WAEC exams with computers? We have a computer lab at our school, but it can accommodate only about 30 students at a time, and not everyone offers computer studies. Some people I know don’t even have any in their schools.” He is familiar with how computers work, but was looking out for others, and his concerns are legitimate.

The Senior Secondary School Certificate exam, conducted by the West African Examinations Council (WAEC), is held in Ghana, Sierra Leone, Liberia, The Gambia, and Nigeria. WAEC announced plans to shift from traditional paper-and-pencil tests to Computer-Based Testing (CBT) for Nigeria’s 2026 West African Senior School Certificate Examination (WASSCE), affecting about 2 million students across 23,554 schools.

The rollout begins with this year’s edition, tentatively scheduled from 24 April to 20 June 2026, with the aim of improving integrity, reducing malpractice and ensuring results are released 45 days after the exam, with digital certificates available within 90 days. 

WAEC’s Head in Nigeria, Amos Dangut, revealed that 1,973,253 students (979,228 males and 994,025 females) will participate, covering 74 subjects and 196 papers. According to him, the digital exams will feature unique question papers for each of the 1,973,253 students as part of efforts to uphold academic integrity.

To support students, the examination body says it has introduced digital learning tools, such as the WAEC E-Study Portal, the E-Learning Portal, and WAEC Konnect. These platforms offer past questions, marking schemes, and performance analysis. 

Despite these promising statements, the young student’s apprehension is not an isolated case. It is the silent and loud cry of thousands of students across Nigeria. While the shift toward digitalisation is a progressive move intended to curb examination malpractice and speed up the release of results, the infrastructure on the ground tells a different story. 

In many suburban and rural schools, the “digital revolution” feels like an ancient myth. It was only last year that Nigeria crossed the 50% broadband penetration mark, according to data from the Nigerian Communications Commission (NCC) under the National Broadband Plan (NBP) 2020–2025.

We can also recall that, in May 2025, some students in Asaba, Delta State, took some of their exams using torchlights. The Minister of Education promised to “investigate” the situation, and Nigerians are still waiting for the outcome. But the substance of the matter is, can schools that lack the ability to purchase electric bulbs to light classrooms build rooms and stock them with computers before this year’s test commences?

Students in urban centres may not be affected; both at home and in school, they’re exposed to computers and the Internet. But introducing a computer-based exam to a student who has never used a mouse or sat in front of a steady power source creates an unfair playing field.

The House of Representatives learned of this development in early November and asked WAEC to halt it, citing concerns that it could lead to widespread failure and disadvantage students in rural areas with limited access to computers and the internet. Lawmakers suggest deferring it for at least three years to allow sufficient time for proper infrastructure and capacity building.

Interestingly, WAEC, through the Nigeria National Office Head, confirmed in the last week of the same month that “its plan to introduce a fully Computer-Based Test (CBT) system for the 2026 WASSCE for school candidates is firmly on track”, assuring the public that a key concern regarding travel has been addressed: “No candidate will have to travel more than 2km from their location to take the exam. This assurance is based on a new school mapping strategy.”

The transition to digital examinations cannot succeed through pronouncements alone. If the examination body insists, there must be clear communication to students through their schools and other stakeholders on a step-by-step strategy for this rollout, because students have registered and the examinations are underway.

Issues such as the delivery model must be addressed. Will the exam be fully digital across all subjects, or will it follow a hybrid model, with practical and essay-based subjects remaining on paper for now? Is it going to be JAMB-style? If essays are not retained, this well-intentioned effort could end up being a disaster for all parties involved.

What is the plan to equip public schools at 2km intervals with functional computer laboratories and consistent power solutions, such as solar energy? This must be considered carefully, as our reality shows that students across Nigeria study on bare floors and in other dilapidated conditions.

There must be a nationwide programme for “Mock CBT” exams to familiarise students in underserved areas with the software interface before the actual harvest of grades begins. In this case, even teachers in such areas must be trained to ensure adequate supervision.

In today’s world of artificial intelligence, big data, and other emerging technologies, digitalisation is inevitable, but it must be inclusive. If the goal is to improve the integrity of education, no student should be penalised for their geographical location or economic status.

Without adequate information, one may not be able to speak for The Gambia, Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Ghana, but here in Nigeria, WAEC and the Federal Government must speak clearly on how they want this to happen, because if the questions raised above cannot be answered with clarity, we should as well heed the advice of the lawmakers in the green chamber.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja and can be reached at dahirulawal90@gmail.com.

To Kannywood audiences, the TV series Gidan Badamasi needs no introduction. It is arguably the most successful comedy series since the industry’s migration to YouTube/TV series production. There have been other popular comedy series, such as Zafin Nema and Jikokin Maigari. However, none has matched the reach and longevity of Gidan Badamasi.

After six successful seasons, Gidan Badamasi now returned with Season 7. Only two episodes have been released so far, yet the new season already shows the potential to surpass its predecessors. This is due to its thematic preoccupation, which tackles the issue of insecurity in Northern Nigeria and the problematic framing of the Fulani ethnic group as terrorists without distinction. The new season rightly reinforces a crucial truth: that terrorism has no religion or ethnicity.

The first episode opens with Alhaji Badamasi (Magaji Mijinyawa) and his aide, Taska (Falalu Dorayi), being abducted by kidnappers. The kidnappers’ kingpin, Dan Tsito, is portrayed as Fulani.  However, the narrative shows that Dan Tsito’s criminal path begins within his own community (Rugga), before extending into the forest, where he operates alongside criminals from other ethnic groups. 

The series obviously avoids ethnic reductionism and offers a more balanced portrayal of terrorists and terrorism in Nigeria. It also dismantles the notion of selective victimhood by presenting Alhaji Badamasi, a Hausa Muslim, and his aide as victims. This challenges how the international community often wrongly assumes that terrorism in Nigeria targets only Christians, and how films like The Herd (2025) subtly reinforce that misleading narrative.

The director, Falalu Dorayi and the creative team deserve commendation for addressing this sensitive issue with courage and clarity. This is the kind of storytelling Northern filmmakers must prioritise – telling their own stories truthfully rather than allowing outsiders to define their realities.

The series is also technically solid. Both picture quality and sound design are commendable. However, based on the two episodes released so far, the makers need to be more restrained with unnecessary comic scenes. A more disciplined approach would allow the series to do full justice to the seriousness of its subject matter.

In conclusion, Gidan Badamasi Season 7 shows strong promise. It remains as entertaining as previous seasons while effectively blending important social issues into its narrative. I highly recommend it.

Reviewed by

By Usman Muhammad Salihu

The passing of Sheikh Dahiru Usman Bauchi shook the nation in a way words can barely hold. Bauchi witnessed a scene history will struggle to forget, millions gathered, from ordinary citizens to scholars, traditional rulers, state governors, former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, and even the Vice President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, Kashim Shettima, leading the State’s delegation. It wasn’t a crowd built by influence. It wasn’t politics. It wasn’t power.

It was a divine honour given only by Allah to His chosen servants.

One elderly man at the funeral said, “What I saw today with my eyes… if Allah does not honour you, you cannot receive the kind of favour Maulana Sheikh received. This matter is beyond politics or chieftaincy. It is purely from Allah.” And truly, the atmosphere testified to that.

For decades, Sheikh Dahiru Bauchi stood as a bridge between generations. The number of people who embraced Islam through him is known only to Allah. The number of students who memorised the Qur’an under his guidance defies calculation. This, more than titles, wealth or recognition, is the legacy of a life well spent.

Yes, we feel the sting of his departure. But even in our grief, gratitude rises. Alhamdulillah for a man whose end came with honour, whose journey was marked by service, and whose impact will continue to shape hearts long after today.

Usman Muhammad Salihu writes from Jos, Nigeria, via muhammadu5363@gmail.com.

By Aminu Babayo Shehu

Nigeria is facing one of its toughest internal security battles in decades. From the kidnapping of schoolchildren in Kebbi and Niger states to the killing of senior military officers, including a Brigadier General, criminal groups continue to operate with increasing boldness. Bandits, kidnappers and terror cells now openly upload videos on platforms like TikTok and WhatsApp, displaying weapons, hostages and propaganda with little fear of consequences.

This is no longer an era where outdated tactics can secure the nation. Criminal groups are becoming more technologically aware, while the state still relies heavily on manual intelligence and slow-response systems. Countries facing similar threats have adopted advanced tools and strategies. Nigeria must follow the same path.

The United States and Israel use drones, satellite intelligence and geolocation trackers to disrupt hostile organisations long before they strike. Rwanda has established a modern drone command system to enhance surveillance and national security. India employs mobile tracing, SIM mapping and digital pattern analysis to dismantle kidnapping networks. These examples show that even in challenging environments, technology can expose criminal movements, reduce their operational freedom and strengthen national response.

Nigeria can apply the same approach effectively.

Real-time aerial surveillance remains one of the most critical gaps in Nigeria’s security architecture. High-altitude drones equipped with night-vision cameras and thermal sensors can monitor large forest areas where bandits hide. Such drones transmit live data to command centres, enabling tracking of movements and coordination of precision strikes. In many cases, soldiers need not be deployed on foot into ambush-prone areas; operations can be guided or executed remotely.

Mobile intelligence is another powerful asset. Every phone, even when switched off, leaves digital traces. With firm collaboration between telecom operators and security agencies, criminals can be located through cell-site analysis, call patterns and movement anomalies. India has successfully used these tools to reduce large-scale kidnapping syndicates.

Satellite imaging, when paired with artificial intelligence, can detect camps, vehicles, and human movement in remote areas. Modern software can analyse thousands of images within minutes and flag suspicious activity such as heat signatures, makeshift shelters, or recently cleared land. This drastically improves early detection and reduces operational delays.

State governments can also invest in early-warning technologies. Community CCTV networks, automated alarm systems and remote-sensor alerts can shorten response times. Local initiatives that once existed in a few states need consistent funding and national integration.

At the federal level, the Presidency should coordinate a national security technology blueprint. This would bring together drones, cyber-intelligence tools, biometric systems, satellite monitoring, and geospatial-analysis platforms into a single central command. Strategic partnerships with technologically advanced nations can reduce costs and strengthen capacity.

Nigeria’s security forces have courage and dedication, but courage alone cannot defeat modern criminals who rely on speed, shock and terrain mastery. Technology is the equaliser. It exposes hideouts, cuts communication lines and allows the state to strike before criminals mobilise.

The tools exist. They are affordable. They have worked in other nations. What Nigeria needs now is clear political will, long-term investment and an understanding that 21st-century threats demand 21st-century solutions.

If embraced, technology can save lives, disrupt kidnappers and terrorists, and restore the confidence of millions of Nigerians who deserve safety.

Aminu Babayo Shehu is a Software Engineer and Mobile Developer with experience building technology-driven solutions, including systems for logistics, telecommunications, e-commerce, and security-focused applications. He writes on technology, national development and digital transformation.

By Mujahid Nasir Hussain

On 14 November 2025, the world marked World Diabetes Day, and a familiar message rang out across hospitals, communities, and workplaces: Africa must “know more and do more” to confront the rising tide of chronic diseases. It is a message that feels especially urgent here in Nigeria, and in cities like Kano, where the realities of modern life have dramatically reshaped how people live, move, work, and stay healthy. For many families, this year’s theme was not merely a global campaign. It reflected what they witness daily—more people living with diabetes, hypertension, kidney disease, stroke, obesity, and joint disorders than ever before.

The World Health Organisation has warned that Africa will soon face a dramatic shift in its health landscape. By 2030, deaths from non-communicable diseases are projected to surpass those from infectious diseases. This is a striking transformation for a continent historically burdened by malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV. Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation, is at the centre of this shift, with cities such as Kano experiencing a rapid rise in chronic and progressive conditions. The reasons are both complex and straightforward: changing diets, prolonged sitting, stressful work environments, reduced physical activity, environmental pollution, and limited access to preventive healthcare.

Yet amid these alarming trends, one therapeutic tool stands out: exercise. For many years, exercise has been treated merely as a wellness activity or an optional lifestyle choice. But in reality, it is one of the most powerful and scientifically proven therapies for slowing the progression of chronic diseases. When the body moves consistently, it undergoes profound biological changes: insulin works better, blood vessels become healthier, the heart becomes stronger, inflammation decreases, and harmful fat around organs begins to shrink. These benefits are not cosmetic; they are therapeutic.

However, there is a critical truth that the public often misunderstands: exercise is powerful medicine, and like any medicine, it must be prescribed correctly. It is not something people with chronic diseases should “start doing” without guidance. The mode, frequency, intensity, and duration of exercise must be tailored to the individual’s medical condition, age, fitness level, and risk factors. What is safe and effective for one person may be dangerous for another. This is why professional guidance is so essential. For instance, a person living with uncontrolled hypertension should not begin intense aerobic workouts without clearance from a doctor, because sudden spikes in blood pressure could lead to complications.

Someone with diabetic neuropathy may not feel injuries in their feet, making certain activities unsafe without supervision. Individuals with chronic kidney disease need specific exercise prescriptions that do not strain the cardiovascular system or accelerate fatigue. People recovering from stroke require structured rehabilitation overseen by physiotherapists to prevent falls or further damage. Even patients with obesity, osteoarthritis, or long-standing back pain need tailored, gradual programs to avoid joint overload. This is why exercise should not be approached casually, especially in a context like Africa, where many chronic conditions are undiagnosed or poorly monitored. Before starting an exercise program, individuals living with progressive diseases should consult qualified professionals. Doctors provide medical clearance and identify risks. Physiotherapists design safe movements that protect joints and nerves. Exercise physiologists prescribe evidence-based routines that align with the patient’s goals and limitations. Their role is to ensure that exercise becomes therapy, not a trigger for complications.

In Kano State, this issue is especially relevant. The city has undergone a rapid transition from physically demanding lifestyles to sedentary routines. Many residents now spend long hours sitting in shops, riding motorcycles, or working in offices. Combined with high consumption of energy-dense foods and limited awareness of disease symptoms, progressive illnesses have become deeply entrenched. Yet awareness of safe, guided exercise therapy remains low. Many people begin rigorous routines abruptly, driven by social pressure or misinformation, only to injure themselves or exacerbate their conditions. Others avoid exercise entirely because they fear doing the wrong thing. Both extremes are harmful.

To confront this, a cultural shift is needed, one that recognises exercise as a vital part of medical care. Hospitals and clinics across Nigeria must integrate exercise counselling into routine visits, especially for patients with diabetes, hypertension, kidney issues, and obesity. Something as simple as a doctor explaining which movements are safe, or a physiotherapist demonstrating gentle routines, could prevent years of complications. Exercise physiologists, though still few in number, should be incorporated into more healthcare teams to design personalised programs grounded in scientific evidence.

At the community level, awareness must grow that exercise therapy is not a one-size-fits-all approach. It is a carefully structured health intervention. Encouraging early-morning walking groups, promoting workplace movement breaks, and organising community fitness sessions are valuable, but they must be paired with safety education. Leaders—traditional, religious, and educational—can play a vital role by emphasising the importance of seeking professional guidance before starting any intense routine, especially for those already living with chronic diseases.

It is also worth acknowledging the emotional dimension. People battling progressive diseases often feel overwhelmed, frightened, or uncertain. Exercise offers not just physical healing but a sense of agency. It improves mood, relieves anxiety, supports sleep, and helps people feel that they are actively shaping their health. This psychological benefit is powerful, especially in societies where chronic diseases still carry stigma. But again, confidence grows stronger when people know they are exercising safely and correctly under the guidance of trained professionals.

Nigeria’s future health outcomes depend on coordinated action. Families must embrace a culture of safe movement. Workplaces must reduce prolonged sitting and encourage healthy routines. Schools must restore physical activity as a normal part of the day, not an afterthought. Healthcare institutions must treat exercise as a formal therapy, not a casual suggestion. And individuals must understand that professional guidance is the foundation of safe and effective exercise therapy. The WHO’s projections are indeed alarming, but they are not destiny. Africa still has the opportunity to change its trajectory. But to do so, we must shift how we view health, how we integrate movement into daily life, and how we approach treatment of chronic diseases. Exercise will play a central role in this transformation, but only if it is approached with the same seriousness and medical supervision as any other form of therapy.

In the markets of Kano, the offices of Abuja, the streets of Lagos, and the rural communities of northern and southern Nigeria, the message must be clear: movement heals, but only when guided, intentional, and safe. The global call to “know more and do more” continues beyond 14 November. This is a reminder that Africans must not only embrace exercise as therapy but also do so with professional guidance to protect the body and preserve long-term health. Our path forward lies not just in treating disease, but in transforming lifestyles with knowledge, with care, and with the understanding that the right kind of movement, at the right intensity, prescribed by the right professional, can change the story of health for a generation.

Mujahid Nasir Hussain is an exploratory researcher in biomedicine, deeply passionate about public health, chronic disease prevention, and evidence-based community health interventions.

By Usman M. Shehu

One of the most unsettling realities for any corps member post-NYSC is the harshness of the Nigerian labour market. I know this firsthand—we had our Passing Out Parade (POP) on 18th December 2025. 

Finishing NYSC brings not just doubt, but real anxiety and fear: fear of losing the monthly allowance, and the daunting task of distributing your curriculum vitae (CV)—via email or in person—to companies, agencies, and contacts.

The dynamics of the job market have shifted dramatically. It’s no longer just about what you know (your skill set), but increasingly about who you know (your connections). This is driven in part by the sheer volume of graduates entering the market each year. 

Take my field, geology, for example: it’s not one of the most competitive courses, yet about 80 students graduated from my class alone, with degrees ranging from first class to second class (upper and lower), and third class. This pattern repeats across faculties, from the sciences and engineering to the humanities. When you do the math, thousands of graduates flood the market annually, far exceeding the combined absorption capacity of the public and private sectors.

This oversupply is a major reason why many graduates and even their guardians rely on connections to secure jobs. It’s an affront to the merit-based ideals of our educational system and a key factor behind the public sector’s declining efficiency. When nepotism and connections trump competence, institutions suffer. The civil service is already crumbling under this weight, as we see today. Fixing it remains a hot topic in public discourse, but the goal should be clear: employment, public or private, must prioritise what you know over who you know.

Another major challenge is the age barrier. Since 2009, the NYSC certificate prominently displays your date of birth to prevent age falsification. This makes it harder for anyone over 28, whether due to late entry to university or academic delays, to secure interviews or even apply. Most job portals and advertisements specify strict requirements: age limits, degree class, skills, and years of experience. Often, if you’re above the age threshold, you can’t even access the application portal. These restrictions hit hardest in white collar jobs.

The Way Forward: Despite these systemic hurdles, individual agency matters. To move forward, we must be enterprising and proactive: work hard, strategically build in-demand skills (like digital marketing, data analysis, coding, or entrepreneurship), and stay humble while relentlessly pursuing opportunities, whether through networking, job hunting, or starting your own business.

That said, this moment isn’t entirely bleak. We’re excited about the transition and earning our certificates. It opens doors to jobs that require completion of the NYSC. And if we take these steps seriously, upskilling, staying resilient, and thinking creatively, we won’t just be employable; we’ll become highly sought-after prospects.

Happy POP to my fellow ex-corps members, Batch C Stream 2 2025! Let’s step into this next chapter ready. For by failing to plan, we are planning to fail.

Usman M. Shehu wrote from Kano via usmanmujtabashehu@gmail.com.

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

Nigeria is inching into a troubling chapter where insecurity is no longer a distant concern but a daily shadow stretching across communities, highways, markets and now, the country’s schools. The recent surge in kidnappings has unsettled citizens and raised serious questions about the effectiveness of national security frameworks. What used to be episodic attacks have evolved into a sustained campaign of abductions, village raids and highway banditry that expose deep cracks in the country’s ability to protect its people.

Across many states, residents speak of fear as a constant companion. Travellers avoid certain routes, farmers abandon farmlands, and families adjust their routines around the unpredictability of violence. Security agencies, though making efforts, continue to appear overstretched and often reactive. Attackers strike quickly, vanish into unmapped forests, and resurface in another location days later. Communities are left grieving while government assurances rarely transform into long-term relief.

In a development that underscores the urgency of the situation, several states have now moved to shut down schools as a precautionary measure. Katsina State has ordered the closure of all public schools following credible threats linked to the activities of kidnapping gangs. In Kwara State, schools across Ifelodun, Ekiti, Irepodun, Isin and Oke-Ero LGAs have been closed amid rising concerns about attacks on vulnerable institutions. Plateau State has taken similar steps, placing selected schools on an indefinite shutdown. Findings across the northern region show that over 180 schools have been affected by either temporary or ongoing closures linked directly to insecurity.

This trend represents one of the most alarming signals yet. When schools begin to shut down not because of strikes or infrastructure decay, but because the government is unable to guarantee children’s safety, the crisis deepens. The consequences are severe: disrupted learning, displacement of pupils, psychological trauma, reduced enrolment, and widened educational inequality. Children bear the heaviest burden of a battle they did not choose.

The broader insecurity plaguing the country is not without roots. Years of ungoverned spaces, porous borders, arms proliferation, youth unemployment and an over-centralised policing system have created fertile ground for criminal groups to thrive. Banditry has become organised; kidnapping has become transactional. The combination of economic desperation and weak local intelligence systems has allowed small groups of armed men to wield disproportionate influence in rural communities.

Still, this moment calls for more than routine condemnations. What Nigeria faces requires a recalibration of its security priorities. Intelligence must take precedence over brute force. Communities need to be integrated into early-warning mechanisms. Technology—primarily aerial surveillance, communication tracking, and real-time mapping of forest corridors—must shift from policy statements to operational deployment. States must also be allowed clearer, legally backed roles in security management, as the current centralised structure is no longer sufficient to address a crisis spread across vast territories.

Public trust, already weakened, can only be rebuilt through visible, sustained action. Citizens want coordinated operations, not conflicting statements. They want preventive measures, not post-attack visits. They want accountability in security spending and clarity in strategy. Above all, they want assurance that their children can sit in classrooms without fear.

Nigeria stands at an inflexion point. The closure of schools is more than a temporary safety measure—it is a national alarm, a stark reminder that insecurity is now undermining the very foundations of development. Whether the country reverses this trajectory depends on how decisively and intelligently the challenge is confronted.

For now, parents wait, communities worry, and a nation watches the future of its young people disrupted by forces that should never have been allowed to grow this bold.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicated commentator based in Abuja.

By Sulaiman Maijama’a 

Writing the end‑of‑year experience or the new‑year resolution, as is the case with many people on social media in recent years, has not been my tradition, for I don’t like making public the ladder I set out to climb in my life, nor do I like sharing my private‑life experience for public consumption. Reflecting on my journey through 2025, however, I saw the need to document the lessons learned, the experiences and knowledge acquired, and the shocks that became a turning point in my life. Perhaps this will shed some light on up‑and‑coming young people.

Of all the things I will recount, three occasions of opposite feelings of happiness and sadness that occurred stand out, and made me redefine my life and the people around me. Two experiences taught me, in practice, the concept of winning and losing in life. Several other experiences have widened my eyes to the realities of age and responsibility that come with it, as I’m rounding out the year as a newly improved version of myself.

On April 12th this year, I reached the pinnacle of my adulthood as I tied the nuptial knot with my beautiful Fulani wife in a momentous ceremony. Two days later, as we set out to enjoy the new life, my father-in-law, the father of my wife, passed on. The mosque we had gone to two days earlier to witness the making of my marriage contract was the same mosque we went back to observe the funeral prayers of my father-in-law. People who, two days earlier, came or called to celebrate with us were the same people who came or called to commiserate now. 

This tribulation obstructed all our plans: our honeymoon and visits from relatives to our newlywed home were suspended.  Weakened or rather paralysed by death, love vanished naturally from our hearts. My wife cried profusely (as she still does), and so my job was to pacify her and give her a sense of solace for her ever-growing pain. We did not have the luxury of the early days of marriage.

One month later, as we began to recover from the ordeal and as the rainy season set in,  thieves broke into my house mysteriously overnight while it was raining and took away my motorcycle. This was yet another moment of nervousness and suspicion about the area we reside in and the people around us, because we did not acclimatize to the environment.

Life continued through June and July, when I decided, for the first time in my life, to give agriculture a try. I planted soya beans with full force and hope to earn multiple profits. When it was almost ripe for cultivation, the farmland was tilted for a massive project, and I ended up having less than 20 per cent of what I invested.

In August, the most flabbergasting of all tribulations befell me: my biological father passed away after two years of illness. This is the greatest change in my life, and the realisation that growth has seriously come.

Looking back on my life, I know the Almighty’s favour and kindness toward me are immeasurable. Throughout my life, I have been successful in everything I have ever put my hands to; my educational journey, from nursery through primary and secondary school to polytechnic and university, has been seamless. Throughout this, I never retook any exam, graduated from polytechnic at the top of my class with a Distinction, and graduated from university with almost a First‑Class Honours. I never lacked resources, had opportunities, and even built a house while in university.

After graduation, I had two job offers before I finished the National Youth Service Corps. As I rounded out my NYSC, I got married immediately. I never missed any of my life’s milestones. With all these favours of God on me, why did God not test me in 2025? I will have to question my life and faith. Though these are tests of life that are hard to contend with, I draw solace whenever I remember Allah’s saying in the verse below in Surah Al‑Baqarah:

“And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient”

Maijama’a is the Manager of Admin and Commercials, Eagle Radio Bauchi. He can be reached via sulaimanmaija@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

There comes a point in every nation’s existence when it must interrogate the very myths that forged its being, and it appears Nigeria has reached that juncture. “One Nigeria”, a slogan as old as our independence, repeated in classrooms, parliaments and pulpits alike, has gradually morphed from a patriotic creed into a hollow incantation that adorns speeches, but no convictions. A rhetoric that unites in sound but not in substance. And yet, like an overused balm, it is still generously applied to wounds that have long become septic.

When the British, in their cartographic arrogance, decided that the roaring rivers of the Niger and Benue could somehow dissolve the ancestral boundaries of a hundred nations into a single name, they planted both a promise and a peril. The promise was the strength of size, the illusion that numerical vastness equals greatness. The peril, however, lay in presuming that different civilisations, with their own gods, economies, memories, and destinies, could be hammered into a coherent polity without a shared philosophy of being. What emerged was less a federation of equals than a fragile patchwork held together by coercion and cliché.

History is replete with examples of states that mistook enforced coexistence for genuine unity. The Soviet Union once imagined that the subjugation of difference equalled solidarity until it collapsed under the weight of its own contradictions. Yugoslavia thought nationalism could be suppressed by ideology until ethnic passions burned Sarajevo into ash. Even Sudan, our continental cousin, insisted on an indivisible state until the centre could no longer contain the centrifugal cries for dignity and recognition, and the South tore itself free in a baptism of blood. Each of these polities preached “oneness,” but none could manufacture mutual trust. Unfortunately, Nigeria’s situation, though cloaked in democratic pretensions, bears an unnerving resemblance.

Decades after independence, we continue to stagger under the illusion of unity while exhibiting every symptom of division. Our politics remains a theatre of tribal anxieties. Our economy, a contest of regional grievance. Our institutions, battlegrounds of exclusion and suspicion. Every census, every election, every policy debate collapses into the arithmetic of ethnicity. We have created a federation in name, but a feud in practice. The Nigerian state, like a badly tuned orchestra, plays the anthem of unity while each instrument screams in its own discordant key.

What has deepened the tragedy is not merely that we are divided, but that we have learned to romanticise our dysfunction. The myth of “One Nigeria” has been elevated to the level of moral blackmail, as though questioning it were heresy. Yet, the facts are unflinching. From the coups and counter-coups of the 1960s, to the Biafran war that drenched this soil in youthful blood; from the endless agitations of the Niger Delta, to the violent insurgencies of the North, and the secessionist murmurs of the East, we have been a nation perpetually negotiating its own existence.

Even now, in the twenty-first century, the markers of mistrust remain, only deepened by new forms of betrayal. We have witnessed, time and again, how national security efforts are quietly sabotaged by regional sympathies where the pursuit of peace against terror becomes a political chessboard, and those who menace the state are garlanded as champions in their communities. In some quarters, it has almost become an identity to excuse barbarity in the name of kinship, to embrace those who burn the nation’s fabric as heroes rather than outlaws.

There are regions where individuals, through their character and conduct, have dragged the nation’s image into global disrepute, staining the diplomatic standing of millions, and forcing the country to spend years rebuilding bridges of trust with the international community. Elsewhere, the spirit of entitlement fosters a belief that governance is a turn-by-turn inheritance, that “it is our time now,” and so positions of influence must rotate along bloodlines and geography rather than merit. Even the recent rumblings of military adventurism, the whisper of coup sympathies and their architects seem disturbingly traceable to predictable corners of the polity, confirming that our divisions have not merely survived time; they have evolved.

Thus, we remain a country trapped in its contradictions: differential justice, uneven development, selective outrage, and an ever-widening gulf between the governors and the governed.

How then do we continue to recite the catechism of unity with straight faces? When the “one” in “One Nigeria” has become a question rather than a statement. For unity cannot be decreed by constitutions nor enforced by soldiers; it must be earned by fairness, equity, and mutual respect. When a nation’s prosperity is monopolised by a few, when power circulates within predictable bloodlines, when regions are treated not as partners but as provinces, the rhetoric of unity becomes an insult to intelligence.

We deceive ourselves with patriotic songs while ignoring the dissonance in our reality. The world is changing; nations are redefining themselves in pursuit of justice and balance. Ethiopia, after decades of internal conflict, restructured its governance to reflect its ethnic federalism. The United Kingdom, once rigidly centralised, conceded autonomy to Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland to preserve its union. Even Belgium, split by language and identity, discovered that devolution was the price of stability. In each case, political maturity triumphed over sentimental unity. Why then should Nigeria, with its far deeper pluralities, cling to a system that has neither delivered prosperity nor peace?

It is at this critical juncture that Nigeria must summon the courage to confront itself, not with nostalgia or denial, but with truth and pragmatism. The time has come for an honest national conversation, a sober rethinking of our structure, values, and vision. We must ask: What truly binds us, and on what terms should we continue this union? This is not a call to disintegration, but to redefinition. 

If genuine unity is to be sustained, it must be built on a framework that reflects our peculiarities rather than suppresses them. Perhaps it is time to revisit the foundations of our federalism to decide, through dialogue and consensus, whether the present centralised model still serves our collective good.

If what we need is a restructured federation that grants greater autonomy to regions, then let us pursue it with sincerity. If what we require is a return to a confederation that allows each region to govern according to its social and economic realities, then let the people decide it freely. And if, after exhaustive dialogue, it becomes clear that coexistence itself has become unsustainable, then perhaps peaceful dissolution negotiated with maturity and justice may be the truest form of unity left to us.

Whatever the outcome, silence and pretense can no longer suffice. We must choose between a future defined by courage or a decline defined by denial.

It is time to stop pretending that unity is sacred when it has become suffocating.

If we refuse to confront this reckoning, we risk learning, as others have, that when unity becomes a prison, freedom will break the walls. For now, the cracks are visible in our rhetoric, our regions, our republic. Whether they widen into collapse or are sealed with courage depends on our collective honesty. But one thing is certain: the chant of “One Nigeria” will not save us if it continues to mean nothing more than silence in the face of inequality.

Until we replace illusion with justice, and ideology with sincerity, we will remain what we are, a country yoked together by history, but not joined by purpose.

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