Africa

By Oladoja M.O

In the grand, often tumultuous, theatre of African politics, a deeply entrenched and insidious narrative persists: the Messiah-Villain Binary. This simplistic, yet devastating, framework casts political leaders not as fallible public servants, but as either divine saviours or malevolent destroyers. It’s a binary that suffocates nuance, stifles accountability, and, in a continent desperate for democratic maturity, acts as a corrosive cancer on the body politic. We must call this what it is: a dangerous delusion that has shackled Africa’s progress for far too long.

This orientation, a relic of post-colonial strongman politics, reduces the complex art of governance to a moral melodrama. Citizens, conditioned to see their leaders as larger-than-life figures, become spectators in a perpetual battle between good and evil. When a new leader emerges, they are instantly elevated to the status of a messiah, the one chosen to slay the dragons of poverty, corruption, and instability. Any opposition is, by default, cast as the villain, a saboteur working against the people’s will. This is not just a rhetorical device; it’s a profound psychological trap that prevents a healthy, critical relationship between the electorate and those they elect.

Look no further than the story of Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe. In the euphoric dawn of independence in 1980, Mugabe was the indisputable messiah. He had led the liberation struggle, promised the people a new land, and was seen as the architect of a new, prosperous Zimbabwe. But as his rule solidified, dissent grew. His staunchest supporters did not see his brutal suppression of the Gukurahundi massacres and his increasingly authoritarian tendencies as the actions of a flawed leader, but rather as the necessary evils required to defeat the ‘villains’—the opposition, foreign agents, and internal critics. This narrative allowed him to dismantle democratic institutions and cling to power for nearly four decades, all while his country’s economy imploded. The messiah had morphed into a tyrant, but the binary, with its pre-assigned roles, kept many from seeing the reality until it was too late.

A similar pattern can be seen in Rwanda, albeit with a different trajectory. Following the 1994 genocide, Paul Kagame was hailed as the man who pulled his nation from the brink of total annihilation. He is undeniably a messiah figure for many Rwandans, credited with bringing stability, order, and remarkable economic growth. Yet, this messianic status has made it incredibly difficult for a genuine political opposition to emerge. Critics, journalists, and political rivals who question his iron grip on power are often swiftly silenced, accused of undermining national unity or of being sympathisers of the genocidal past. 

The messiah’s narrative, while perhaps initially justified, has become a tool to legitimize the suppression of democratic pluralism. The ‘villain’ is no longer the genocidal regime, but anyone who dares to challenge the man who defeated it. This is a profound danger: when a leader’s infallibility is tied to a nation’s salvation, dissent becomes tantamount to treason.

The messiah-villain binary is a disease that festers in the heart of African electoral politics. It’s visible in the fervent, almost religious, rallies where supporters see their candidate not as a political leader with a manifesto, but as an oracle. The 2017 Kenyan election and the subsequent crisis offered a stark illustration. Both Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga were cast as messianic figures by their respective supporters. For Odinga’s base, he was the long-awaited liberator, the man who would finally lead them to a promised land of social justice. For Kenyatta’s supporters, he represented stability and continuity, the man protecting the country from the ‘villainous’ forces of instability. This emotional fervour, fueled by tribal and regional loyalties, led to a deeply polarised society where compromise became impossible. The result was not just political gridlock, but a cycle of violence and deep-seated animosity that continues to haunt the nation. The election wasn’t a contest of ideas; it was a crusade.

This issue is not just a problem of the past; it remains alive and well today. In Nigeria, the perennial politics of ‘saviour’ and ‘enemy’ plague the electoral landscape. From the military regimes to the current democratic dispensation, every election is framed as a life-or-death struggle against forces of darkness. A new candidate emerges, promising to sweep away the corruption of the past, and is instantly elevated to a messianic pedestal. Yet, once in power, the same old patterns of patronage and unaccountability emerge. The people, having invested their faith in a person rather than in institutions and processes, are left disillusioned, only to repeat the cycle with the next messiah figure. This prevents the building of strong, independent institutions, a free press, an impartial judiciary, and a non-partisan civil service, because the entire political system revolves around the individual, not the rules.

The messiah-villain binary is a trap, a narrative cul-de-sac from which genuine democratic progress cannot escape. It’s a cancer because it preys on hope, exploiting the legitimate frustrations of the populace for political gain. It turns citizens into blind followers and opponents into sworn enemies. This dangerous orientation must be dismantled. We must stop looking for messiahs. There are no magical saviours.

There are only men and women who are fallible, flawed, and accountable to the people they serve. We must demand a politics of substance, not spectacle. We must judge our leaders not by the promises they make on the campaign trail, but by their respect for democratic institutions, their commitment to the rule of law, and their willingness to be held to account.

The true liberation of Africa as a continent and Nigeria as a nation will not come from a single hero, but from a critical and engaged citizenry that understands that the power to govern belongs to them and that no politician, no matter how charismatic, is a god. It is time to retire the messiah, to dismantle the villain, and to embrace the hard, unglamorous work of building a true and lasting democracy.

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

By Hauwa Mohammed Sani, PhD

I thought I was making a simple, kind gesture—choosing an older gentleman’s cab late one night after a long flight. I figured it would be an easy ride. What unfolded next wasn’t just a navigation problem; it was a bizarre, real-time collision between the old way of the world and the new, AI-driven one. This true story of a taxi ride truly happened to me last week.

​It was late, the kind of late where the airport lights look sickly and the air is thick with fatigue. I needed a ride. Looking over the line of sleek, modern taxis, my eye landed on one driven by an old man—a true gentleman of the road, old enough to be my own grandfather. A small surge of pity, mixed with a desire to give him the fare, made me choose him. Little did I know, I wasn’t just hopping into a cab; I was walking into a generational drama.

​The man knew the general area of my destination, but finding the exact estate became an odyssey. We drove, we turned, we asked passersby—a frantic, real-world search in a fog of darkness and street names. Frustrated, I reviewed the apartment information on my phone and saw a contact number within the address details. I called it.

​The voice on the other end was bright and American. “Oh, that’s my apartment, but I live in the U.S.,” she cheerfully informed me. “I’ll have someone call you.”

​True to her word, a local contact called back. “I’ve sent you the location,” she said. “Just Google it.”

​And there was the rub. My driver—a man whose mind held a living map of the city’s every alley and backstreet—and I, a modern traveller, stared at each other. Neither of us was familiar with using Google Maps.

​The poor old man was desperate. “What are the landmarks? Describe the building!” he pleaded into the night air. The girl on the phone, however, was stubbornly one-dimensional: “Just follow the GPS. Google the location.”

​That’s when it hit us both. In that moment, the taxi cab became a time capsule. Here were two people operating on landmarks, intuition, and human description, battling against an AI generation that has completely outsourced its sense of direction. Simple communication—a left at the bakery, a right past the big tree—was utterly lost.

​The driver was absolutely fuming. He kept grumbling, “Where is our sense of reasoning? They’re being machine is programming them!” To him, this reliance on tech wasn’t progress; it was the crippling of a fundamental human skill. He saw creativity and simple reason dying, replaced by a glowing screen that gives an answer but can’t hold a conversation.

​We eventually found the place, not by Google, but by a final, desperate, human description from a local. But the lesson lingered: Technology is fantastic, but sometimes, when it replaces basic common sense, it really can feel useless. We need to remember how to read the world, not just the map.

The Climax: The Race for the Flight

The next day, it was time for my return. The old man—who I now affectionately called Papa—had promised to pick me up. He came, but he was late. I kept calling, reminding him of my flight and the town’s busy roads. He assured me we would take an “outskirt” route with no traffic.

We found otherwise.

The clock was racing, and the roads were choked. In his confusion, the poor man even pulled into a station to buy fuel, a detour that felt catastrophic. But the beautiful part? He kept accepting his mistakes. He was frantic, not defensive. We kept running against the clock, fueled by mutual anxiety.

By the time we reached the terminal, the counter was closed.

“Hajiya,” he said, using the Hausa honorific reserved for me, the Yoruba man’s passenger. “Don’t worry about the fare. Just run. Run and make your flight first.”

I rushed in and had to beg the counter staff to issue my ticket. I became the last passenger on the flight, all thanks to a desperate sprint.

The Unbreakable Trust

A display of profound, inter-tribal trust eclipsed that moment of panic. Here was Papa, a Yoruba man, sending off Hajiya, a Hausa woman, without a dime for his service, instructing me not to worry about payment until I was safely at my destination.

He kept calling me after I took off, checking on my travel and praying I made my connection. Not once did he mention money.

It wasn’t until I reached out and said, “Papa, please send me your account details,” that the drama of the day resumed (as expected, getting that detail was another adventure!). But in the long run, I paid Baba a generous amount—one he met with a flood of heartfelt prayers for my future.

This journey, from a confusing GPS battle to a race against the clock, taught me the most significant lesson: amidst all the conflict and generational friction, there is still peace and trust in connection. 

As I work on our research for the University of Essex London on conflict resolution and prepare for my ‘Build Peace’ conference in Barcelona, I realise that sometimes the greatest examples of peace aren’t in treaties, but in a simple promise between a Yoruba taxi driver and his Hausa passenger.

Hauwa Mohammed Sani, PhD, teaches at the Department of English and Literary Studies, Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria.

By Amir Abdulazeez

I am writing on this not because I have any significant concern for the award or its credibility, or because it has any correlation with the well-being of anybody in need (which I am often more concerned about). I am doing so instead due to the massive perennial debate it generates, especially among youths in Nigeria, as well as the misinformed opinions surrounding it. 

Again, the Ballon d’Or, like football itself, has transcended sport to become part of international politics and history. I became shocked when I saw a globally renowned Muslim scholar congratulating Ousmane Dembele for winning the 2025 version and hailing its award to a ‘practising Muslim’. Obviously, the crown now carries political significance that stretches well beyond the pitch. 

Since its inception in 1956, the Ballon d’Or has been regarded as football’s most prestigious individual award. Founded by France Football (conceived by sports writers Gabriel Hanot and Jacques Ferran), the award was initially designed to honour the best European player annually, with Stanley Matthews of Blackpool becoming the pioneer winner. Later, it evolved into a global prize, celebrating many other icons. Many have rightly questioned the credibility of the award, but mostly on myopic grounds centred around player and club sentiments. However, as a long-time football observer, I believe there are much broader issues regarding the credibility of the award that are worth discussing. 

Let us start with the politics. During the Cold War (1947-1991), Eastern European players (more aligned to the Soviet Union) often struggled to receive equal recognition despite dazzling performances, while Western European stars (more aligned to the United States and friends) enjoyed more favourable media attention. Although Russian goalkeeper Lev Yashin won the award in 1963, many argue that his case was only the exception that proved the unwritten rule of ‘politics, geography, and media exposure consistently play decisive roles’. Today, the award continues to reflect broader inequalities in the sport of football. European clubs dominate global coverage, which inflates the recognition of their stars. Players performing in less visible leagues, whether in South America, Africa, or Asia, rarely receive consideration, even if their contributions are extraordinary. 

Another concern is the award’s inconsistent eligibility rules over time. Until 1995, only European players competing in European clubs were considered, excluding legendary figures such as Pelé and Diego Maradona from even receiving a nomination. It was only after a rule change that non-Europeans in European leagues became eligible, allowing George Weah to win in 1995. Yet, by then, the award had already excluded decades of worthy non-European and non-European-based winners. Mild allegations of racism also cast a dark shadow over the award. Many believe players like Didier Drogba, Samuel Eto’o, Yaya Touré, Sadio Mané and Mohammed Salah were routinely ranked below their pedigree. In 2021, French pundit Emmanuel Petit openly questioned whether African players were judged by double standards. 

The selection of voters itself raises concerns. Initially restricted to journalists, it later expanded between 2010 and 2015 after a merger with FIFA’s “World Player of the Year,” adding coaches and captains to the electorate whose votes often reflected tribal, national or club loyalties rather than merit. The 2016 reversion to journalist-only voting may be a tacit admission of voting flaws, thereby creating difficulties in making comparisons across eras. For example, Lionel Messi’s consecutive wins (2009-2013) under a global, mixed electorate cannot be objectively compared to Michel Platini’s (1983-1985) under a European-only jury. The current co-organisation with UEFA, which began in 2024, signifies another attempt to lend the award more institutional weight. However, the constant changes in its format and governing alliances suggest an award in search of a stable identity, struggling to balance its commercial ambitions with its original purpose.

Bias towards attacking players has been an emerging hallmark of Ballon d’Or selections. Legendary defenders like Paolo Maldini, Alessandro Nesta, Sergio Ramos and Roberto Carlos, who defined an era of defensive excellence, always fell short. The exception of Fabio Cannavaro in 2006, along with a few others in the past, after a World Cup-winning campaign with Italy, serves as a testament to the rarity of a defender being recognised. 

More recently, Virgil van Dijk’s 2019 narrow runner-up finish sparked debate about whether non-attacking players could ever realistically win in a sport increasingly obsessed with goals and flair. The award relies heavily on football journalists who often prioritise goal highlight reels, statistics and global recognition over tactical nuance and defensive brilliance. Strikers and playmakers dominate the headlines that directly feed into voting behaviour. 

To combat positional bias, a more revolutionary approach could be implemented: nomination by quota. Why not have separate shortlists and voting panels for goalkeepers, defenders, midfielders and forwards? The top three or five of these categories could then be considered for the overall voting and eventual award. This would ensure that the unique skills of each position are evaluated by those who best understand them, guaranteeing that players are judged on their specialisations rather than against others with contrasting roles. 

The criteria for judgment also lack clarity and consistency. Officially, the award considers individual performance, team achievements, talent, fair play and career consistency. In practice, however, voters often seem swayed by a single outstanding tournament or by sentimental narratives. Luka Modrić’s 2018 victory after Croatia’s World Cup run exemplified this. While Modrić was superb, critics argued that other players had stronger year-round performances, but the emotional weight of Croatia’s fairy tale run tilted the scales. But how come this same emotion did not sway voters to select any player from Leicester City’s 2016 Premier League incredible winning team? A pervasive, though often unstated, criterion for many voters is team success. 

To win the Champions League or a major international tournament has become almost a prerequisite for contention. This creates an inherent unfairness, elevating players in dominant teams while punishing extraordinary individuals in less successful sides. This inconsistency reveals a fundamental confusion: is the award for the “best player,” “most popular player,” or the “most successful player”?

The timing and calendar controversies are another issue. International tournaments occur every two years, creating periods where national team success heavily influences voting. World Cup years traditionally favour tournament winners, regardless of club form. The recent calendar change, from July to August, aimed to address this imbalance but created new problems, with voters now contending with assessing performances from overlapping seasons and tournaments. This temporal confusion affects not just voting patterns but also the public’s understanding of what the award represents: is it recognition for calendar year performance, season achievement, or tournament success? The 2013 Ballon d’Or win by Cristiano Ronaldo was criticised following timing inconsistencies due to odd deadline extensions. The current system, which allows a player to win a major tournament in the summer and have their performance rewarded a year later, creates a disjointed narrative. 

The question of authority is another big one. FIFA represents 211 national associations, UEFA oversees European football’s institutional framework, yet it is a private French publication that bestows football’s most prestigious individual honour. The comparison with FIFA’s The Best awards and UEFA’s Player of the Year exposes this imbalance. This raises the paradox: why should a magazine possess such outsized influence in determining football’s most prestigious individual accolade, overshadowing awards backed by governing institutions? While there is nothing fundamentally wrong with this, it only emphasises the need for France Football to show more responsibility by sanitising and standardising its award.

I am not in a position to coach France Football on how to reform its awards to minimise the credibility dilemma; they have much better experts who can do that. My concern is to see young football followers and analysts become more informed and equipped for deeper debates that are beyond sentiments. My other concern, which has little to do with the Ballon d’Or, is to see football giving a little back to its estimated 3.5 billion fans that have made it powerful. While fans give it a lot, the sport appears to be offering almost nothing significant in return. 

It is sad to see football remaining silent, biased and indifferent in the face of global oppression and injustice. While it took FIFA and UEFA just four days to suspend Russia after it invaded Ukraine in 2022, both bodies have remained criminally silent for over two years since Israel launched its genocide on the football supporting people of Palestine.

Amir Abdulazeez, PhD, can be reached via abdulazeezamir@hotmail.com.

By Umar Aboki

The traditional Hausa cap, also known as “Hula,” is recognised for its intricate embroidery and is often worn with traditional Hausa attire. It has a long history in Hausa land, originating as a common and traditional male garment and later evolving into a symbol of cultural, religious, social, and even political status.

Many people associate any man they see wearing a Hula with being a Muslim or Hausa or both. Yusuf Ahmad, a traditional Hausa cap seller, believes that wearing a Hausa cap is a sign that indicates someone is a Hausa man and a Muslim, and that wearing a Hausa cap is what completes a man’s decency. 

Yusuf added that the older generation of Hausa men like to wear tall Hausa caps, while the new generation prefersshorter ones. And when people come to buy caps, they mostly ask for the cheaper and lighter ones; it is the rich men who usually ask for the Zanna-Bukar and other heavier ones.

There are various types of traditional Hausa caps, including “Zanna-Bukar”, “Damanga”, “Zita”, “Maropiyya”, “Zulum” and “mu-haɗu-a-banki”. They are distinguished by factors such as the materials used to make them, their place of origin, the wearers, and their purposes, among other considerations. However, the most popular and widely worn is the “Zanna-Bukar”. Overall, the hula has evolved from being merely a piece of headwear to a symbol of cultural identity and belonging within the Hausa community and beyond. 

Malam Khamilu, a resident of Yahaya Gusau Road, Kano, claims that he wears Hausa caps frequently, especially the Zanna-Bukar. He says it is very special to him and he got his own tailor-made, specially for himself. He also considers his cap a part of his identity as a Hausa-Fulani man and a Muslim.

The Hula is not limited to being worn only within Hausa communities. It is worn by men in many populations in North Africa, East Africa, West Africa, South Asia, and the Middle East.

Zulyadaini Abdullahi Adamu, a Hausa cap knitter and seller, says he wears his Zanna-Bukar or Damanga daily, and he knits the Zanna-Bukar, Damanga and PTF, then sells them at prices ranging from eight thousand to thirty thousand Naira, and that people come to buy them from Jigawa, Maiduguri and other states and places.

Men throughout the African diaspora also wear it. Within the United States and other foreign countries, it has become primarily identified with persons of West African heritage, who wear it to show pride in their culture, history, and religion. Dauda Ibrahim Dachia, a Northern Nigerian staying in Tirana, Albania, claims to wear his traditional Hausa cap overseas, but not all the time. He usually wears it on Fridays, during Eid celebrations, or during cultural events.

It was written in an article by the Centre de l’ldentité et de la culture Africanes titled ‘The Khada Habar: A traditional hat in a Hausa environment’ that “wearing a hat is a mark of respect for oneself, above all, according to Mr. Adéyèmi “when you don’t wear a hat, traditional dress is not complete”, he insists, “it reflects a disconnect between man and his own culture”.

Muhammadu Sa’idu, another resident of Kano, claims to wear the Zanna-Bukar frequently, usually to events. He says that anytime he wears it, people respect him a lot. He also has a ‘Damanga’ but prefers wearing the Zanna-Bukar. In his case, he doesn’t usually associate Hula with the Hausa tradition or Islam.

 Sa’id Salisu Muhammad, a Hausa cap washer at Gaɗon ƙaya, says he wears traditional Hausa caps a lot, especially the Zanna-Bukar. He says that a typical Hausa man always wears the Hula to work, events and other places, so they have to always bring them in for washing. He also notes that people bring in Zanna-Bukar the most, followed by the lighter ones such as the “Maropiyya” and “Zita”.

The Hula also serves as a means for people to fit into Hausa communities, as they are seen as a symbol of identity, and provide a sense of belonging. Musa Abdulrazaq, a young man from Kaduna who studies in Kano, says anytime he is in Kano, a place where the Hausa culture is evident and vibrant, wearing the traditional Hausa cap is very important to him. Although he doesn’t wear it much back at home, he understands that it is a vital part of the culture in Kano, so he regularly wears his Hula to fit in with the people of Kano and feel at home.

However, not everyone from outside the Hausa community feels the need to identify with the Hausa people. Umar Ahmad, a Fulani man who visits Kano but has been staying here for about two years, says he doesn’t wear the traditional Hausa caps. Instead, he maintains his Fulani cap. And when asked, he said he does indeed associate the Hula with Islam and Hausa tradition.

Umar Aboki wrote via umaraboki97@gmail.com.

By Maryam Ahmad

In a major step towards promoting regional integration and easing movement across borders, Burkina Faso has announced the removal of visa fees for all African travellers.

The decision, which took effect this week, is aimed at strengthening ties within the continent and encouraging trade, tourism, and cultural exchange. Authorities in Ouagadougou said the policy reflects Burkina Faso’s commitment to the ideals of African unity and cooperation.

Observers believe the move will boost economic activities, attract more visitors to the country, and set an example for other African states to follow.

The announcement comes at a time when regional organizations such as the African Union continue to push for free movement of people and greater continental integration.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The African Union (AU) has officially endorsed the Equal Earth map projection this month, marking a shift away from traditional world maps that many critics say distort the size of Africa and other regions in the Global South.

Developed in 2018 by cartographers Tom Patterson, Bernhard Jenny, and Bojan Šavrič, the Equal Earth projection aims to present landmasses in their true proportions while maintaining a visually appealing shape. Unlike the widely used Mercator projection, which significantly shrinks Africa relative to Europe and North America, the Equal Earth map shows the continent’s actual scale.

“The Equal Earth map restores dignity to Africa’s representation,” said an AU spokesperson. “It reflects the continent’s real size and importance in the world.”

Supporters argue that adopting the Equal Earth projection will help challenge Eurocentric biases in education, media, and policy discussions. The AU plans to encourage member states to introduce the map in schools and official publications.

Cartographers say the Equal Earth map strikes a balance between scientific accuracy and accessibility, offering a fairer perspective of the world’s geography.

By Khairat Sulaiman

Globally, across different cultures, parents, especially mothers, are known for their unconditional strength, love, and countless sacrifices. From conception to childbirth to raising a child, mothers make innumerable sacrifices, and while some of these choices may not always be in the best interest of the child, they often stem from a place of love and concern. Yet as time passes, a subtle shift unfolds. The caregiver becomes the one who needs care, particularly in Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, where elderly homes are uncommon.

This partial role reversal is particularly complex when dealing with African mothers, whose identities have long been shaped by cultural values, religious beliefs, and deeply rooted notions of motherhood. To correct, guide, or suggest new ways of thinking often feels like a violation of cultural norms and everything they’ve ever believed in. But the truth is, just as we evolve into different stages of adulthood, our mothers are evolving too. One major transition is menopause.

Many women begin their journey into womanhood with fears, myths and half-truths. Until recently, parents and guardians often shied away from conversations around reproductive health and menstruation. 

The body undergoes a host of changes, from an increase in the size of particular body parts to hormonal fluctuations and emotional rollercoasters. She begins to adapt to this new normal, each month bringing a different experience, all of which she’s expected to bear gracefully and quietly. And as with all things that begin, there must also be an end. The end of menstruation is menopause.

Menopause isn’t just the quiet departure of menstruation. It marks the biological full stop to a woman’s fertility, typically arriving in her late 40s or 50s. Menopause brings hot flashes, mood swings, weight gain, sleep disturbances, hair thinning, memory fog, and a decline in oestrogen levels, which impacts everything from skin elasticity and bone density to a sense of identity. 

In many African societies, where motherhood defines a woman’s value, the end of fertility can feel like “the end of usefulness” or “an expiration date”. It’s an intensely physical, emotional, and psychological shift. Many mothers enter this phase in silence. 

Studies have shown that only a minority of women explicitly discuss menopause with their children, so it remains largely unspoken and unacknowledged, especially in conservative African settings. As a result, few children know how to help their mothers navigate this transition, and understanding these sudden personality changes can be both confusing and painful. It’s also difficult for mothers to acknowledge that they, too, need support.

As the first daughter, my mother’s menopause affected my life as profoundly as it did hers. The mood swings, the tears over seemingly trivial things, the constant irritation, I didn’t know how to manage. So, I misread it as hostility and dislike, and I withdrew. When it was time to choose where I would study, I picked somewhere far away, hoping distance would shield me from what I was too young to understand, but looking back now, I realise how much she must’ve been going through physically, emotionally, and mentally. 

Menopause wasn’t just a phase for my mother; it was a transformation, one that demanded compassion, not avoidance. I wish I had been able to see that then. I wish I had asked more questions, offered more hugs, and stayed present instead of pulling away.

As our parents age and evolve, it is crucial to create a relationship of mutual growth and understanding. It’s essential to lead with empathy rather than confrontation. Her reactions are often shaped by unspoken trauma, generational expectations, and physical changes beyond her control. So, meet her emotions with calm curiosity instead of matching frustration. Preserve her dignity using language that empowers rather than instructs. 

Gently introduce new ideas like therapy, rest, or lifestyle adjustments by sharing relatable stories or easing her in with familiar examples. Bear in mind that these suggestions might not sit well with her, but patience, consistency, and a little diplomacy could work magic. Normalise open conversations about menopause and ageing, just as we would with menstruation, to help her feel less isolated. Above all, women love compliments and support, so continue to affirm her worth beyond her role as a mother; remind her she is still loved, beautiful, needed, and valuable, just as she is.

Khairat can be reached via khairatsuleh@gmail.com.

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini

Nigeria’s national women’s basketball team, D’Tigress, made history by securing their fifth consecutive FIBA Women’s AfroBasket championship after defeating Mali 78-64 in a thrilling final on Sunday night in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu praised the team for their exceptional skill, resilience, and teamwork, which led to their seventh continental title.

Despite a slow start in the match, the Coach Rena Wakama-led squad fought back to dominate and claim victory.

In a statement, President Tinubu commended the players for inspiring the nation and upholding Nigeria’s sporting excellence.

“Your superb performance has made Nigeria proud. Like the Super Falcons, you have shown the world the strength and talent of Nigerian women,” he said.

The President also applauded Coach Wakama and the Nigeria Basketball Federation for their dedication, assuring continued support as the team prepares for the FIBA Women’s World Cup qualifiers next year.

Tinubu expressed his eagerness to receive the team and the trophy in Abuja, wishing them a safe return.

The victory cements D’Tigress’ dominance in African basketball and reinforces Nigeria’s reputation as a powerhouse in women’s sports.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

Renowned U.S.-based Islamic scholar Dr. Yasir Qadhi has paid a heartfelt tribute to Nigerian business mogul and philanthropist Alhaji Aminu Alhassan Dantata, who passed away at the age of 94.

In a message shared via his social media platforms, Dr. Qadhi described Dantata as “a shining star and a legendary icon” in Nigeria, praising his humility, honesty, and lifelong commitment to philanthropy.

“He was one of the most successful entrepreneurs and business tycoons in Africa,” Dr. Qadhi wrote. “Yet everyone knew him to be a humble and honest man… ever-ready to help others less fortunate, never greedy for more.”

Recalling a recent meeting with Dantata in Nigeria, Qadhi shared the late businessman’s parting words of wisdom: “Honesty! Always, be truthful and sincere, and leave the rest to Allah.”

Alhaji Dantata, who declined a political appointment, was never involved in a scandal and was laid to rest in the revered Baqi al-Gharqad cemetery in Madinah, Saudi Arabia.

“Such men are very rare indeed,” Qadhi noted, praying for Allah’s mercy upon him and for his legacy to continue through his progeny.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The African Union Commission has expressed concern over the recent travel restrictions imposed by the United States, which affect nationals from several countries, including some within the African continent.

In a statement released this week, the Commission acknowledged the right of sovereign nations to protect their borders and ensure the safety of their citizens. However, it urged the US government to exercise this right in a manner that is “balanced, evidence-based, and reflective of the long-standing partnership between the United States and Africa.”

The Commission warned that the new travel restrictions could negatively impact people-to-people connections, educational exchanges, business relations, and the diplomatic ties cultivated over decades between Africa and the US.

“Africa and the United States share mutual interests in promoting peace, prosperity, and global cooperation,” the statement noted, emphasizing the importance of maintaining and strengthening those bonds.

The Commission also called on the US administration to consider a more consultative and inclusive approach in such policy decisions, advocating for constructive dialogue with the countries affected.

Highlighting the value of transparency and collaboration, the AU Commission reiterated its readiness to support any initiatives to foster mutual understanding, address the underlying concerns, and enhance cooperation between the two sides.

The statement comes amid increasing scrutiny of the broader implications of the US travel policy on international relations and multilateral engagement.