Jos City

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

A detailed personal account posted by northern Nigerian social media influencer Aisha Falke has drawn significant public attention as debates intensify over insecurity and religious rhetoric in the region.

Falke, founder of the popular online platform Northern Hibiscus, published a two-part account describing how her family narrowly escaped an attack during the 2001 ethno-religious crisis in Jos. In the account, she recalls waking to reports of killings at roadblocks and later watching her mother’s Christian friend—described as a close family companion—allegedly approach their home with a machete as mobs advanced toward their neighbourhood.

According to her narration, the family fled moments before large groups of armed youths descended on the area. She also recounted scenes of panic on the roads as fleeing residents warned of roadblocks where travellers were reportedly attacked and burned.

Falke’s post has generated extensive reactions across northern Nigeria, with many users describing it as a reminder of the human toll of past communal violence.

The renewed attention comes as security agencies continue the search for 25 Muslim schoolgirls abducted from their school in Kebbi State last week. The incident has prompted widespread condemnation, though it has unfolded alongside online claims by some groups alleging “genocide against Christians” in the region—claims many northern residents and government officials dispute, arguing that ongoing attacks by bandits and insurgents have targeted communities irrespective of religion.

Falke did not link her story to the Kebbi abductions, but analysts say the timing has contributed to broader conversations about the dangers of inflammatory narratives and the need for balanced reporting on insecurity.

Authorities have not yet provided updates on the rescue operation, while families of the abducted students continue to appeal for swift action.

By Malam Aminu Wase

Plateau State is a richly diverse and vibrant community, home to people of various ethnic and religious backgrounds. We are one family, destined by God to live together in peace and mutual respect. Sadly, this unity is too often ignored when it comes to leadership, particularly the highest office in the state. The persistent adoption of a Christian-Christian gubernatorial ticket threatens the very foundation of our coexistence.

It is time for Plateau to embrace equity, justice, and inclusiveness. For too long, Muslims in the state have been marginalised in political leadership, particularly at the executive level. This exclusion must end. I firmly believe that the next governorship candidate, regardless of religion, should choose a Muslim as a running mate. A Muslim-Christian or Christian-Muslim ticket would truly reflect the spirit of fairness and unity we all profess to uphold.

For more than two decades, Muslims in Plateau State have shown unwavering political support for Christian-led tickets, believing in the promise of shared governance and mutual respect. From Wase to Kanam, Jos North to Shendam, Barkin Ladi to Quanpaan, Mangu, and other local government areas, Muslim communities have consistently turned out in large numbers to vote, not out of compulsion, but from a sincere desire to contribute to the democratic process and to foster unity across religious lines. Yet, this goodwill has not been met with reciprocity.

Despite making up a significant portion, nearly half of the state’s population, Muslims remain glaringly absent from the highest levels of leadership. This is not merely a matter of political imbalance but a painful reminder that inclusion and equity remain elusive. When a group that has given so much continues to receive so little in return, it breeds frustration, weakens trust, and threatens the very cohesion that Plateau so desperately needs. We cannot claim to be united while one half of our people are repeatedly shut out of the room where decisions are made.

Our call is simple: include us. Recognise our presence. Acknowledge our contributions. Let us build a Plateau where everyone feels seen, respected, and valued regardless of faith.

Personally, some of the most meaningful relationships in my life have been with my Christian friends, friendships that began in the classrooms of Pilot Central Primary School in Wase, grew stronger at Government Science College Wase, and deepened further during my university years. These bonds have shown me the beauty of unity, the strength of mutual respect, and the power of shared dreams. That is why it pains me deeply to see Muslims continually left out of leadership. It feels like a betrayal of the unity we have lived and believed in. If we can walk together in friendship, why can’t we lead together in governance on the Plateau?

In the Wase Local Government, Christians are a minority, yet they have never been treated as outsiders. They have held key positions, including that of the Deputy Chairman, and many have benefited from the federal appointments from the Rt Hon Ahmed Idris Wase, the immediate past Deputy Speaker of the Nigerian House of Representatives, thanks to his inclusive leadership. This is what true leadership should look like, recognising every citizen’s worth, regardless of faith or number. It proves that fairness is not a favour, it’s a duty. If such inclusive governance can be practised locally, why can’t it be replicated across the entire state?

Plateau belongs to all of us. We must build a future where leadership reflects our shared diversity. Let’s end the cycle of exclusion and embrace a new era of fairness, justice, and genuine unity.

Malam Aminu Wase writes from Kaduna State. He can be reached at aminusaniusman3@gmail.com.

By Malam Aminu Wase

Once upon a time, Plateau State was a beacon of peace and prosperity. Nestled in the heart of Nigeria, it was a place where nature, culture, and hospitality came together in perfect harmony. Tourists enjoyed its cool weather, striking landscapes, and vibrant local communities. The Tin City, as Jos was fondly called, bustled with life, creativity, and promise.

But the tragic eruptions of religious and ethnic crises turned that promise into pain. In just a few years, the spirit of unity that defined Plateau faded, and the state began slowly declining economically, socially, and psychologically. What once symbolised Nigeria’s peaceful coexistence became a cautionary tale.

As we reflect on what was lost, we must confront what can still be regained. The nostalgia we feel for those better days is not just sentimental—it is a reminder of what is possible when peace reigns. Plateau’s beauty remains, as does the enduring goodwill of its people. We need a collective recommitment to peace, tolerance, and shared progress.

Let us not be deceived: the divisions that tore through our communities were not inevitable. They were fanned by the greed and political ambition of a few elites, who found power in division. But the people have grown wiser. Today, Plateau has a growing desire to put those dark times behind us and rebuild a society anchored in unity and mutual respect.

The future of Plateau depends on us, ordinary citizens who choose dialogue over conflict, cooperation over suspicion. If we unite sincerely, we can restore trust, attract investment, and lay the foundation for a thriving economy. Peace is not a luxury—it is the bedrock of development.

With stability, there is no limit to what Plateau can achieve. Its tourism potential, agricultural wealth, and strategic location can be leveraged to turn it into a hub of economic activity, perhaps even rivalling global success stories like the UAE, in sha Allah.

Plateau belongs to all of us. It is our shared heritage and responsibility. The time to recover its lost glory is now.

By Hafsat Lalo

“I might have just seen my father for the last time,” was the message I sent to my husband on WhatsApp as I sat in the car that was to take my niece, Fatima and me to Kano a day before I travelled to Japan. My husband responded, “Why, nobody knows; life is not in our hands.” I told him that Baba was very old, though he was very strong, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he lived another year. We both prayed for him, leaving the conversation there. 

Earlier that morning, I went into Baba’s room to say goodbye. As I entered, I was met with the familiar scent of the room, his unmistakable charisma and the aura that has always surrounded him. I could have sensed his presence even if he were not in that room. 

Baba was sitting on the couch wearing a brown jallabiya, having just performed his Fajr prayer. I greeted him; his calm demeanour contrasted with the wave of emotions inside me. He asked, “Kin fito?” (Are you ready to leave?). I nodded. After a brief silence, I said, “Baba, ka yafe min” (Father, please forgive me). Another silence followed, and both of us were lost in our thoughts. I thought about how this might be the last time I saw him. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I am sure he understood what I was implying. 

He asked, “A yafe miki?” (Should I forgive you?). I replied affirmatively, almost crying at this point. He said, “Toh Na yafe miki, ki je ki rike karatun Qur’ani da sallah a kan lokaci”. Those were his exact words.

It was no coincidence that he had given me a prayer mat (darduma) as a gift two days earlier. He mentioned he was planning to give me a prayer mat and a Qur’an. He handed me the prayer mat and gave me N2500 to buy the Qur’an, explaining that he had asked for the price and intended to buy it himself but hadn’t had the chance to stop on his way home. It took him a while to locate the money from his pocket. So I told him to leave it since I had money, but he insisted.

At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the significance of the prayer mat and the promise of a Qur’an. They seemed like Baba being Baba – I had received similar gifts from him before. In 2019, my younger sister brought me a prayer mat and Riyadussalihin, which Baba had asked her to give me. I gave out the prayer mat when I was getting married, but I still have the Riyadussalihin. It wasn’t until the day he died, as I was about to pray Asr that I noticed the prayer mat I was about to use was the very one he had given me. The realisation hit me very hard, and I again broke down in tears, sitting there and thinking about that one last encounter. I began to reflect deeply on their meaning. I realised they were no ordinary gifts—they were symbols of his life, the values he held dear, and a message to keep faith at the centre of my life, no matter how far I am from home.

Baba’s love for the Qur’an was unwavering throughout his life. Even as recently as five years ago, he remained a student of the Qur’an despite his age. He would stop at the market with my elder brother to learn the Qur’an. He also had teachers who came to the house in the evenings to teach him. His relentless pursuit of knowledge, even in his later years, was a testament to his humility and passion for learning.

Baba ensured that we all had access to (Western) education, something he was not privileged to have. I remember how he would often call and ask me to translate the news on TV for him. While I was doing it, I would see him looking at me with the pride of a father who was able to give his daughter what he couldn’t have.

As I was overwhelmed by these thoughts, I couldn’t help but think back to the day Baba passed away—a day that started like any other but carried an inexplicable heaviness. I had woken up unusually sad after seeing a picture of Baba at the hospital at around 2:30 am. I couldn’t go back to sleep after. The morning came, but I had no appetite and was in a foul mood. I couldn’t eat.

The hours dragged on, clouded by unease, until that message from Ahmad came: ‘Baba ya rasu.’ When I read it, time seemed to stop, and my body went numb. It wasn’t just the news of Baba’s death; It was the fact that the message brought back the pain of losing my mom. It felt as though I had lost both of my parents all over again, and I cried for the two people who brought me into this world and shaped who I am. 

Baba, your death has torn me apart, and the fact that I wasn’t there with you in your final moments will haunt me forever. But I promise to hold on to your final gifts; no matter where life takes me, I will hold on to them. Being your daughter is the second most incredible honour of my life. Thank you for leaving us a good name and a legacy of integrity, Baban Umma. May Allah grant you eternal rest, forgive your shortcomings and grant you the highest rank in Jannah. 

He left behind a remarkable family: six wives, three of whom are deceased, 50 children (nine of whom are deceased), 116 grandchildren, and 55 great-grandchildren.

Hafsat Lalo wrote from Japan via hafsahlalo@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

Many Nigerians are hesitant to travel at night, especially along routes considered red zones, due to security challenges, such as banditry and kidnappings. 

On Friday, September 1, 2024, we missed our flight from Yola to Abuja. The next day, Saturday, September 2, 2024, we embarked on an adventurous road trip from Yola to Abuja. We left Yola early, around 6 a.m., and reached the village of Lafiya Lamurde a few minutes before 8 a.m. Lafiya Lamurde is about 90 km away from Yola.

There, we encountered a security roadblock with several vehicles parked. Every Saturday is sanitation day in Adamawa State, so we had to wait until 10 a.m. when normal activities would resume. However, the road was opened 15 minutes earlier, at 9:45 a.m., allowing us to continue our journey toward Gombe.

A few kilometres before reaching Gombe, we had a flat tyre caused by our driver’s reckless overtaking on a sharp bend. An articulated vehicle had broken down on the road, and our truck struck some rocks while swerving to avoid it. We stopped to change the tyre, only to discover that there was neither a jack nor a wheel spinner in the car. Fortunately, the vehicle driver we had overtaken sensed the danger and stopped to assist us. With his help, we changed the tyre and continued to Gombe, where we bought a new tyre, visited acquaintances, and proceeded toward Bauchi.

We arrived in Bauchi around 3:30 p.m. After stopping at a fuel station to refuel the car, we took a break to perform our Zuhr and Asr prayers and had some small snacks. When we were ready to resume our journey, the vehicle refused to start. We initially thought it was a fuel pump issue, but after an electrician checked the car, he confirmed the fuel pump was OK. Suspecting an electrical fault, we called a mechanic, who determined the issue was actually with the timing chain. As it was approaching 6 p.m., we realised the car needed to be towed to a mechanic’s workshop for repairs.

With a morning meeting scheduled in Abuja, we hired a commercial vehicle for ₦70,000 to take us from Bauchi to Abuja. We left Bauchi just before 7 p.m., and it was already dark and raining when we reached Jos. Our driver mentioned that the road from Jos City to the famous “forest” was in poor condition.

From Jos, it was already past 8 p.m., and it was raining—we had embarked on a night journey, something many Nigerians try to avoid. Our journey from the famous “forest” to Abuja via Akwanga and Keffi was adventurous and surprisingly exciting. Despite the late hours and rain, there was heavy traffic and numerous security checkpoints.

We noticed that the checkpoints were strategically positioned, spaced a few kilometres apart. Some were manned by the military, others by the police, and some by civil defence officers. Additionally, we observed routine patrols by the army and the police, with some military patrols even using motorbikes. 

We must commend the security agencies—the heavy traffic was likely a result of people feeling assured by the strong presence of checkpoints. However, we also noticed the presence of local tax collectors operating on the road, even though it was late at night.

Transportation experts note that night journeys by road offer unique experiences: quieter roads, cooler temperatures, time efficiency, and even scenic beauty. However, they also come with challenges such as limited visibility, driver fatigue, and a heightened risk of accidents.

Our night journey from Bauchi to Abuja, which lasted from 7 p.m. to 2 a.m. via Jos, Akwanga, and Keffi, was exciting and adventurous. The security presence was excellent—kudos to the office of the National Security Adviser and all the security agencies. The heavy traffic reflected people’s confidence in the safety of the route. However, many sections of the road were in poor condition, which remains a concern.

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

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini

Many students were trapped in a school that collapsed in the Busa Buji community of the Jos North Local Government Area of Plateau State.

According to eyewitnesses, the building housing Saint Academy collapsed around 11 a.m. on Friday, leaving students who were writing exams trapped.

After news of the collapse broke, many parents thronged to the school, wailing uncontrollably.

Rescue operations are ongoing, and security personnel, including soldiers and police officers, have arrived at the scene.

A truck, which was heading for the scene, got stuck in the mud, making the rescue operations more challenging.

However, some of the injured students have been transported to the hospital for treatment.

By Usman Muhammad Salihu 

As the rainy season sets in over Jos, the Plateau State capital, residents are cautiously optimistic about relief from the persistent water scarcity that has plagued the city for months. The onset of the rainy season brings a glimmer of hope for the residents of Jos, replenishing parched earth and depleted water sources and offering a reprieve from the relentless struggle for access to clean water.

For many in Jos, the arrival of the rainy season symbolises the prospect of a brighter future. With each drop of rain, the reservoirs begin to fill, easing the burden on communities that have long been forced to endure rationing and scarcity. However, while the rains offer respite, they also underscore the need for sustainable solutions to Jos’s water woes.

The city’s infrastructure must be fortified to harness and manage this precious resource effectively. Investments in water treatment facilities, storage infrastructure, and distribution networks are imperative to ensure every resident can access safe and reliable water year-round.

Moreover, Jos’s challenges are not unique; they reflect broader issues of water scarcity and management that affect communities worldwide. As climate change intensifies, erratic weather patterns and dwindling water supplies pose increasingly urgent threats to global populations. The lessons learned from Jos’s struggle are pertinent not only for Nigeria but for all nations grappling with the repercussions of environmental degradation and resource depletion.

The resilience and resourcefulness of the people of Jos shine through in the face of adversity. Communities come together, sharing resources and supporting one another in times of need. This spirit of solidarity will propel Jos forward towards a future where access to clean water is no longer a luxury but a fundamental human right.

As the rain continues to fall over Jos, let us remember the lessons of the past and the challenges that lie ahead. Let us seize this opportunity to build a more sustainable and equitable future where every individual can thrive, nourished by the life-giving waters that sustain us all.

Usman Muhammad Salihu writes from Jos, Plateau state. He can be reached via muhammadu5363@gmail.com.

By Usman Muhammad Salihu

Jos, the capital city of Plateau State, has for long been grappling with the persistent issue of water scarcity, leaving residents to endure the consequences of insufficient water supply from the body responsible. The lack of functional boreholes and wells further compounds the challenge, painting a grim picture of daily life for the city’s inhabitants.

The city, despite being blessed with natural water sources, finds itself in the grip of a water crisis. Government efforts to address this issue have fallen short, with inadequate infrastructure and supply systems unable to meet the teeming demand.

To effectively bring an end to the menace, the government must prioritize infrastructure development, including the construction of water treatment plants and distribution networks, to ensure equitable access to clean water across the city.

Implementing and enforcing water management policies and regulations can help curb wastage and ensure responsible usage of available resources.

Engaging with local communities to understand their needs and involve them in decision-making processes can foster a sense of ownership and accountability in water management initiatives.

On the other hand, well-to-do individuals and private companies operating in Jos should integrate water provision mechanism and sustainability practices into their corporate social responsibility initiatives.

Collaborating with government agencies and NGOs can amplify the impact of private sector efforts, leveraging resources and expertise to address water scarcity more effectively.

Empowering residents with knowledge about water conservation and hygiene practices can promote responsible usage and reduce strain on limited water resources.

Supporting grassroots initiatives aimed at water conservation, such as community-led well drilling projects or water purification programs, can foster resilience and self-sufficiency within our neighborhoods.

By implementing comprehensive solutions that span governmental, private, and community sectors, the city can break free from the cycle of scarcity and ensure a sustainable water future for generations to come.

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