Human beings

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

When most people hear the phrase “Artificial Intelligence” (AI), their minds often drift toward futuristic fantasies: robots that think like humans, machines plotting to overthrow their creators, or computers smarter than their inventors. Science fiction has fed us these images for decades. Yet, beyond Hollywood thrillers, AI is already here, quietly shaping the world around us. It answers customer queries through chatbots, selects the next movie you’ll watch on Netflix, predicts what story appears at the top of your newsfeed, and even decides whether a bank approves your loan.

But this growing presence of AI in our daily lives forces us to confront a pressing question: how intelligent is artificial intelligence?

The honest answer is that AI is not a brain. It is not some mystical creation that understands, feels, or reasons like humans do. What appears to be “thinking” in AI is essentially mathematics—machines processing massive datasets, detecting patterns, and making predictions based on those patterns. Take medicine, for instance. AI can analyse thousands of X-rays or MRI scans in minutes, flagging possible signs of disease with astonishing speed. Yet, it does not comprehend illness, nor does it share in the burden of delivering a life-changing diagnosis. It only “sees” shapes, signals, and recurring features in data.

This distinction raises a critical debate: Is AI genuinely intelligent, or is it just an extraordinary mimic?

Human intelligence is not simply about solving problems or recalling information. It is a rich blend of memory, imagination, intuition, creativity, and moral reasoning. It includes the ability to feel empathy, wrestle with ethical dilemmas, or create art that expresses the soul. AI has none of these. It has no emotions, no conscience, no instinct for right and wrong. When it generates a song, writes an essay, or navigates a self-driving car, it is not exercising creativity or judgment. It is reproducing patterns learned from the data it has been trained on.

Yet, to dismiss AI as a hollow imitation would be unfair. Its capabilities, in specific domains, far exceed human performance. Banks now rely heavily on AI systems to monitor millions of transactions, detecting fraud almost instantly —a feat that no team of human auditors could achieve at the same scale. In agriculture, AI-driven weather forecasts and soil sensors enable farmers to predict rainfall, manage crops effectively, and enhance food security. In education, adaptive learning platforms can tailor lessons to meet each student’s unique learning style, giving teachers powerful tools to reach struggling learners. These are not gimmicks; they are reshaping how we live, work, and think.

Still, with such benefits come significant dangers. The real problem arises when society overestimates AI’s intelligence, attributing to it a wisdom it does not possess. Algorithms are only as good as the data they consume, and data is often flawed. Recruitment systems trained on biased records have been caught replicating discrimination, silently excluding qualified women or minorities. Predictive policing tools fed with skewed crime statistics risk unfairly targeting entire communities, reinforcing cycles of distrust and marginalisation.

Even more worrying is the human temptation to outsource too much decision-making to machines. When schools, governments, or businesses heavily rely on AI, they risk eroding human capacity for critical thinking. Societies that allow machines to make moral or civic decisions run the risk of dulling their own judgment, a peril that no amount of computing power can rectify.

This is why interrogating the “intelligence” of AI is not just an academic exercise; it is a civic responsibility. Policymakers must move beyond lip service and regulate how AI is designed and deployed, ensuring that it serves the public good rather than private profit alone. Technology companies must become more transparent about how their algorithms operate, particularly when these systems impact jobs, justice, and access to essential services. Citizens, too, have a role to play. Digital literacy must become as fundamental as reading and writing, empowering people to understand what AI can and, crucially, what it cannot do.

Ultimately, the irony of AI is this: the real intelligence lies not inside the machine but in the humans who create, guide, and govern it. AI can calculate faster than any brain, but it cannot care about the consequences of those calculations. It can analyse data at lightning speed, but it cannot empathise with the human beings behind the numbers. That is the dividing line between computation and compassion, between efficiency and wisdom.

If we maintain this distinction, AI will remain a powerful tool that amplifies human potential, rather than one that diminishes it. The smartest move is to resist the illusion that machines are thinking entities and instead recognise them for what they are: products of human ingenuity, useful only to the extent that we wield them responsibly.

Ultimately, the future of AI will not be dictated by algorithms, but by people. The question is not whether AI can become truly intelligent; it cannot. The real question is whether humans will remain wise enough to use it well.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu writes on disaster management, humanitarian response, and national development.

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 Ibraheem A. Waziri

Artificial Intelligence has arrived, and in many ways, it is already surpassing humankind in numerous tasks – frominformation retrieval and decision-making to writing essays, diagnosing illnesses, and simulating human conversations. 

The rapid advancement of AI over the past decade is no longer a marvel; it is a living reality. With its relentless progress, we are standing on the cusp of a new era, an age in which the human mind and artificial intelligence may become intimately intertwined, both physically and cognitively. 

Over the next ten to twenty years, we can expect to witness the rise of brain-chip implants, neural devices capable of recording thoughts and memories, and integrating them with external data in real-time. This development, already underway in advanced laboratories, will redefine the limits of human cognition. Learning may no longer require years of study. Instead, information could be uploaded directly into the brain, rendering traditional education models obsolete or significantly transformed. 

The barriers to knowledge acquisition—once dependent on time, resources, and access—would essentially vanish. Everyone might stand on equal ground when it comes to information. In this sense, AI could appear to be the long-awaited solution to humanity’s historic struggle with ignorance. A world where information is no longer hoarded but instantly shared would mark a fundamental shift in human civilisation. 

Yet, in this possible future, one thing remains uniquely human: our conscience. The power of choice, the intention behind our actions, and the moral compass guiding our decisions stay beyond the reach of AI. The Islamic prophetic saying “Innamal a’malu binniyat”- “intentions judge actions” -takes on renewed weight. When knowledge becomes universally accessible, what will distinguish one person from another is no longer what they know, but how and why they use it. 

AI may provide the tools, but only our conscience can determine their application. In this new world, the essence of being human —the power to choose, to discern, and to act with purpose —becomes our most valuable trait. 

In writing and speech, large language models (LLMs) have dramatically reduced the burden of expression. AI tools can correct grammar, enhance clarity, and structure arguments. In this way, AI handles the “form,” allowing humans to focus more on “substance”: the meaning, purpose, and ethical significance of their message. 

Yet the human mind’s natural tendency to ask questions, to imagine, and to critique will not diminish. If anything, it will deepen. Humans are not passive recipients of knowledge; we are also its interpreters, critics, and re-creators. Far from becoming complacent in the presence of AI, people will begin to question it, reshape it, and rise above it. 

The reason is simple: the human mind cannot stagnate. It searches for meaning and thrives in ambiguity. Our ability to reflect, imagine, and dwell on abstract ideas remains unmatched. AI can mimic patterns and predict outcomes, but it cannot experience wonder, nor can it feel regret, nor grapple with moral ambiguity. 

Creativity itself arises from three essential human components: conscience, emotions, and environment. AI may support this triad; it may even challenge or stimulate it, but it cannot generate it. AI is a product of creativity, not its source. And it cannot be the source of what it did not create. 

By automating routine tasks, AI liberates the human mind to think more deeply and act more boldly. It frees us from mechanical repetition, allowing for higher-order thinking, innovation, and artistry. Writers, thinkers, inventors, and designers now have more time for exploration and imagination, which remain the core of human advancement. 

This evolving relationship mirrors humanity’s relationship with the Divine. Just as no human can rival the wisdom or creative force of God, AI can never match the core of our humanity. It cannot outfeel us. It cannot outdo us. It cannot outvalue us. It cannot possess conscience, consciousness, or emotion; the divine triad that defines who we are. 

When AI becomes fully integrated into daily life, at work, in education, healthcare, governance, and homes, we won’t become less human. In fact, we will become more human. We will have to let go of much of the mechanical and embrace the reflective. We will have more space to think, more time to connect, and more clarity to imagine. 

And in this space, we may at last pursue what has always eluded us, even in our most extraordinary scientific and industrial feats: wisdom. While AI may provide us with access to vast amounts of information, only the human soul, guided by conscience, can discern what is just, what is meaningful, and what is beautiful. 

AI does not represent the end of humanity. It is the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with tools of immense potential. But as with all tools, their value depends on the hands that use them. In the age of AI, the accurate measure of a person will no longer be what they know, but why they act and how they choose to use what they have. 

AI may become the great equaliser of knowledge, but it is only the human conscience that can give that knowledge direction, purpose, and value. And that is a gift no machine can replicate.

By Mohammed Usman

Recently, the world has welcomed the advent of a rich, sophisticated, and yet unprecedented technological breakthrough with the potential to reshape the tapestry of human life. This breakthrough is referred to as “artificial intelligence” or simply “AI.” AI means the ability of a computer program to mimic the capability of the human brain. 

Artificial intelligence, more than it was initially envisaged, has proliferated acceptance in almost all realms of life. Because, in a very short period, it has proven itself to be the tool for metamorphosing and mushrooming productivity, efficiency and effectiveness that no human beings would have ever dreamed of. 

However, this breakthrough has recently been a heated debate among experts in various sectors of life, especially academia. Though the debate does not seem to conclude the horizon because of the weight each party has been proving in favour of its side, none can deny that this AI does not solely mimic the human brain’s capability. Still, it has made it evident that there is additional potential to do away with it.

Technology has made many people, especially youth, weak and reluctant to use their brains to think and be productive as long as this Al is at their disposal. They distrust the effectuality of their brains so long as they seek access to AI and find it. This is not only a challenge to the potentiality of youth but also to future generations at large.

A time can come, and God forbid, when people can be likened to pieces of objects that cannot do any simple task for themselves without the help of this Al. Deep and critical thinking, as well as cognitive capacity, will flutter away from those people. 

Hence, the need for members of any given society, especially the youth, to limit the use of this technology can never be overemphasised. It must always be handled with care and suspicion since it has come to stay and co-evolve with them.

Governments at all levels must develop policies, rules, and regulations that govern the use of this technology, be it shadow, put it under control, and ensure that it does not damage its citizens in any way. 

Mohammed Usman (Noble-Pen) wrote via mohammedusman5706@gmail.com.

By Aisha M Auyo

“She’s very arrogant. Who the hell does she think she is? ita ba kowa ba sai girman kai, wai Auyo ce zata nuna bata ganemu ba? Why will Auyo pretend not to recognise us after all our years together? (My friends, acquaintances, coursemates, and relatives).

“Aunty Hadiza, Aisha fa bata gaidamu, idan mun hadu dauke kai take, abin mamaki da takaici“. (My mother’s friends and colleagues complain with disappointment that I don’t greet them whenever we meet.)

“Anti-Binta, Aisha fa matar Abdullahi in ta gammu yi take kamar bata sanmu ba, yarinyar data taso a gabanmu? Bata san mune sirikanta ba, we can do and undo fa“. (My mother inlaw’s friends, relatives and colleagues complaining that I don’t respect them.)

“Baiwar Allah ban gane ki ba; I think you have mistaken me for someone else. We’ve never met”. (The strangers I greet with confidence and pride, thinking that I recognise someone I know). 

Does this sound familiar? These are the comments and remarks I’ve been hearing since my teens. Sometimes I explain to the complainants that it’s my eye problem; some people believe me, some do not, and they will say she’s just a snub. 

Then comments started coming from my friends or their parents that they’d greeted my mom, but she did not recognise them. I’ll apologise and explain to them that she finds it hard to identify people.

So when the complaints kept coming, I realised that mam and I have a common problem. So also Hafsa. The issue started eating me. I always pray that my eyes or memory should not fail me whenever I go out. 

Then greeting strangers become my new normal. I’ll see a person, assume that person is someone else, and even start exchanging pleasantries with them, only to see them surprised by my politeness, that they do not know me or the others I’m talking about. 

Then it occurred to me that this isn’t normal. Something must be wrong with us. Like we do great in school, we have a sharp ability to memorise and recall lessons and events, but why not people? I know we have sight problems, hence the use of constant eyeglasses, but why has our memory never failed us in school? Shebi na the same eye and brain we use to see people and read books?

So when my appointment with the optician came, I told him of this condition affecting my life. He explained that it’s a rare socio-medical condition that can be inherited or acquired later in life. I did my research and learned a lot about the condition. 

Here are a few things you should know about Prosopagnosia; perhaps you may encounter someone with such a condition.

Prosopagnosia (face blindness or facial agnosia) is a neurological disorder characterised by the inability to recognise faces. The term comes from the Greek words for “face” and “lack of knowledge.”

Depending upon the degree of impairment, some people with Prosopagnosia may only have difficulty recognising familiar faces, while others cannot discriminate between unknown faces. In severe cases, people may be unable to distinguish a face as different from an object. Some people are unable to recognise their faces. 

Prosopagnosia is only face blindness, not colour blindness or overall visual impairment. It is not the same as forgetfulness or sometimes struggling to find the right word.

This condition is unrelated to memory dysfunction, loss, impaired vision, or learning disabilities. The disorder is thought to result from congenital influence, damage, or impairment in a fold in the brain that appears to coordinate the neural systems controlling facial perception and memory (right fusiform gyrus). 

Congenital Prosopagnosia appears to run in families, making it likely to result from a genetic mutation or deletion. Some degree of Prosopagnosia is often present in children with autism and Asperger’s syndrome and may cause impaired social development.

Because there aren’t apparent brain lesions in people with congenital Prosopagnosia, scientists aren’t sure what causes it.

Prosopagnosia can be socially debilitating as individuals with the disorder often have difficulty recognising family members and close friends. They often use other ways to identify people, such as relying on voice, clothing, or unique physical attributes.

Evidence suggests that people with Prosopagnosia may become chronically anxious or depressed because of the isolation and fear that come with the condition. 

Navigating basic social interactions with Prosopagnosia can become fraught, and some people avoid contact with family members and other loved ones out of fear that they will not be able to recognise or address them adequately.

Sadly, there’s no treatment for Prosopagnosia, but there are ways to manage it. People with Prosopagnosia often focus on features like hair colour, walking style or voices to tell people apart.

So now you know, if you meet a person and he/she fails to recognise you, kindly be supportive and understanding. They may be suffering from this condition; trust me, it is debilitating for people suffering from it because It’s hard for others to understand. It may even cause depression in severe cases. 

And remember, before you assume, learn the facts; before you judge, understand why!

Aisha Musa Auyo is a Doctorate researcher in Educational Psychology, a wife, a mother of three, a Home Maker, a caterer and a parenting/ relationship coach.