Lifestyle

By Garba Sidi

In Nigeria, academic failure is often treated as a life sentence. A poor result can earn a student a damaging label—not serious, not intelligent, or not destined for success. I know this because I lived it. Yet my journey proves that failure, no matter how often it occurs, does not end a person’s future. Giving up does.

After completing SS3, I sat for WAEC, NECO, and JAMB, like millions of Nigerian students whose dreams rest on examination numbers. When my WAEC result was released, I had only three credits—Chemistry, Hausa, and Animal Husbandry. Showing the result to my father was one of the most painful moments of my life. His words, suggesting I might have to repeat SS3, broke my heart. Still, I chose prayer over bitterness.

My JAMB score of 145 further reduced my chances of gaining admission to university. Though ashamed, I showed the result to my father. He advised patience and encouraged me to wait for my NECO result. When NECO came out, I earned seven credits, including English and Mathematics, but failed Physics. At the time, I did not realise how much that single subject would shape my future.

Like many science students, I dreamed of studying Medicine at Bayero University, Kano. I also applied to the College of Education, Gumel, and Hussaini Adamu Polytechnic, Kazaure. With my JAMB score, university admission was impossible. My options narrowed, and disappointment became familiar.

On my uncle’s advice, I enrolled in Remedial Studies at Tafawa Balewa University, Bauchi, hoping to later study Engineering, a course believed to offer better job prospects. I passed the remedial exams and continued attending lectures while preparing for another JAMB. When I failed again, my journey in Bauchi ended abruptly. Without a successful JAMB result, remedial studies could not secure admission.

I returned home discouraged. Applications to the College of Education, Gumel, and Bilyaminu Usman Polytechnic, Hadejia, yielded no results. While friends moved on to universities and colleges, I spent most of 2015 at home, surrounded by self-doubt and silent questions about my worth.

In 2017, I wrote JAMB again and scored 171, meeting the reduced cut-off mark for Sule Lamido University, Kafin Hausa. I was offered admission to study Mathematics and even attended the interview. However, during registration, my admission was withdrawn because I did not have a credit in Physics. It was another painful reminder that failure has consequences—but it does not have to be final.

Once again, family intervention redirected my path. Through my uncle’s connection at the College of Education Gashuwa, affiliated with the University of Maiduguri, I secured admission. I randomly chose Physical Education (PHE), not out of passion, but out of necessity. I was admitted into the preliminary batch with only three weeks left before examinations.

That short period forced a decision: surrender or struggle. I chose to struggle. I attended lectures relentlessly and studied day and night. Of the eight courses I took, I failed only one in my first semester. I cleared it later and completed the programme successfully.

During my studies, I met Haruna Aseeni, a Health Education student. Our friendship began simply—sharing study materials. We stayed connected long after graduation. I later completed my NYSC between July 2023 and June 2024, unsure of what the future held.

Then came a message on a Sunday evening. Haruna informed me that someone was looking for a graduate of Physical Education. A few phone calls later, I was submitting my credentials. After an interview in Dutse, I received an Offer of Appointment as Sports Officer II under the Jigawa State Ministry of Information, Youth, Sports and Culture, and was posted to Hadejia Stadium.

What struck me most was that the opportunity came through someone I once helped academically—not through influence or desperation, but through relationship and character. Even more surprising, my father and uncles later discovered they already knew the official who facilitated the process. Life has a way of connecting efforts in ways we do not expect.

My story is not extraordinary. It is Nigerian. It reflects a system where setbacks are common, opportunities are uneven, and success is rarely linear. But it carries a message young people must hear: failure is not the opposite of success; quitting is.

To students and graduates facing rejection, delay, or disappointment, my advice is simple: do not give up. Respect everyone you meet. Work hard wherever you find yourself. Pray, persevere, and remain humble.

You never know who God will use to change your story.

By Tahir Mahmood Saleh

Kabeer 2Pac’s rise to online fame began in early 2025, when he started posting highly unconventional videos on his TikTok account. Born Kabiru Isma’il and known online as Kabeer2pac (a name he chose in homage to the late American rapper 2Pac Shakur), he quickly garnered massive attention for performing bizarre, often shocking stunts. His content included immersing himself in stagnant open cesspools and smearing sediment on his body, actions he explained were not signs of madness but deliberate attempts to “trend” and gain visibility online (“ɗaukaka na ke nema”).

The TikTok metrics behind his rise were striking. Within months of posting these videos, Kabeer had amassed millions of views and a large following. One of his most-viewed clips, in which he shook off charcoal dust while wearing a distinctive winter jacket, reached over 51 million views, and at one point, his account had approximately 1.8 million followers and 15.1 million likes. These numbers reflect how quickly his brand took off in an environment where the algorithm rewards shocking or novel content.

Kabeer’s content evolved over time as he experimented with different styles and stunts to maintain attention. After his early cesspool videos gained traction, he shifted to other eye-grabbing visuals, such as having bags of charcoal dust dumped on him, which again drew viral attention. This strategy positioned him as a cultural exemplar of the “attention economy,” in which creators leverage extreme content to secure views, engagement, and, eventually, financial or material rewards.

His fame translated into real-world opportunities, though not without controversy. A notable outcome of his online popularity was an invitation from Gwanki Travels and Tours International Ltd in Kaduna, who publicly offered him a free ticket to perform Umrah (a pilgrimage to Mecca). Kabeer expressed gratitude for achieving the fame he sought and noted that such endorsement was among the factors that drove him to continue his work. However, reactions were mixed: while many fans celebrated his creative drive, some religious leaders and critics warned against harmful behaviour and urged investment in education or trade instead.

Despite his meteoric rise, Kabeer himself acknowledged the ephemeral nature of his viral popularity. In later interviews shared online, he said he understood that people might soon tire of his antics as the public constantly seeks fresh content and new personalities. Beyond the sensational stunts, he also sought to diversify his videos by including short comedy skits and dance clips to retain audience interest, a common strategy among creators seeking to build sustainable relevance.

Today, the outcome is telling. There is no consistent content relevance, no major promotion, no formal education leveraged, no lasting sponsorships, no two million followers, just a fading digital footprint. Kabeer2pac’s story is not merely about an individual; it is a cautionary tale.

For Arewa content creators, the lesson is clear: fame without strategy is noise, not power. Visibility alone does not ensure sustainability. Without structure, skill development, personal growth, and long-term planning, viral attention fades as quickly as it arrives. In the digital age, the challenge is not how to trend, but how to remain relevant with dignity, purpose, and value.

Tahir Mahmood Saleh wrote from Kano via tahirmsaleh.seggroup@gmail.com.

By Usman Usman Garba

Incidents of women killing their husbands in Northern Nigeria have become a disturbing phenomenon which puts some kind of anxiety in the hearts of youth and unmarried men. What was once rare is now appearing more frequently in headlines, police reports and public conversations. 

Everyone knows that Northern Nigeria is a region known for strong family values, deep respect for marriage, and a social structure built on religious and cultural norms. Yet, the recent rise in cases where wives take the lives of their husbands has forced many to question what is happening behind the façade of stability.

There are a lot of views and perceptions concerning why women kill their husbands in Northern Nigeria. Many are of the belief that forced marriage is one of the reasons such an inhumane act happens. Thus, others are married willingly without the intervention of anyone in a forced marriage, but still kill their spouses.

In my opinion, other factors should be taken into consideration, contrary to what many regard as the main cause of this dastardly act.

Mental health remains one of the least understood issues in Northern Nigeria. Depression, trauma from abusive relationships, postpartum challenges, and emotional exhaustion can push individuals to extremes. Unfortunately, many women have no access to counselling, families discourage speaking out; society expects women to “endure”; emotional crises are dismissed as weakness or spiritual problems, and this lack of support creates dangerous psychological pressure.

Similarly, domestic violence is one of the dangerous circles that causes women to kill their husbands. Many of the reported cases involve homes where domestic violence had been ongoing. Women in such situations sometimes endure physical and emotional abuse for years. With limited support systems, some feel trapped with no escape route.

This does not justify murder, but it highlights the reality. For instance, some wives act out of fear; some out of desperation; some out of retaliation; while others act because they believe no one will protect them.

Hence, the role of social media and exposure to new narratives has also contributed immensely to this inhumane act in Northern Nigeria.

Cases of women killing their husbands, though still few, spread quickly on social media, and sometimes, this creates copycat behaviour, unrealistic ideas about marriage, normalisation of revenge narratives and fake empowerment messages telling women to “fight back” violently.

Social media has become an amplifier, sometimes distorting reality and increasing tension in fragile homes

Nonetheless, a justice system that often fails women worsens the system. Many women who are abused find no one to intervene. At the station, police dismiss domestic complaints; families send them back home; religious or traditional leaders advise “patience”, and society blames women for failed marriages. Thus, when conflict turns deadly, the same system responds swiftly, after lives have already been destroyed. This is why prevention, not punishment, should be our priority.

The rising cases of wives killing their husbands are not simply crime stories; they are warning signs of deeper fractures inside marriages, families and social systems.

Northern Nigeria must confront these issues honestly and urgently. The goal is not to assign blame but to prevent homes from becoming battlegrounds. When families break down, society breaks down: when violence enters the home, it enters the community; and when silence becomes the norm, tragedy becomes inevitable.

The solution lies in awareness, support, justice and compassion, before the next headline appears. To stop this dangerous pattern in our communities, we must confront the root causes. The society must strengthen domestic violence reporting channels, improve community mediation and counselling structures, promote healthy marital communication, address economic pressures, educate people on mental health and teach conflict management to young couples.

Usman Garba writes from Kano via usmangarba100@gmail.com

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 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 Engr. Khalilah Yahya Aliyu 

September was the month dedicated to raising awareness of various medical conditions, among them hydrocephalus, which is commemorated in the United States on the 20th. This article was meant to have been published as my contribution to this course, but you will have to forgive me. The pen became too heavy for me to write as it required revisiting emotional wounds and acknowledging future fears.

I am a mum to a vibrant two-year-old blessed with this little-known condition–Hydrocephalus. Or so I thought, until I had him and realised hydrocephalus has quietly existed around us all along. During my final ultrasound before delivery, I curiously read the note from my OB-GYN: “mild ventricular dilatation.” At the time, “dilatation” only meant one thing to me, which was that my body was preparing to bring my baby into the world. What caught my attention, though, was how different this report was from the one I received during my first pregnancy.

As soon as I got home, I turned to Google: “What is mild ventricular dilatation in a foetus?” I learned it’s also called ventriculomegaly. It is a condition characterised by enlarged ventricles (fluid-filled spaces in the brain). The diagnosis was mild, and I read that it might normalise. I was still advised to watch for signs like visible veins on the scalp, projectile vomiting, and a rapid increase in head size.

Let me take you back a bit. Hydrocephalus, in direct translation from Greek, means ‘hydro’ (water) and ‘cephalus’ (head). Literally speaking, “water in the head”. But it’s not just any water. It’s cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). While CSF is essential, an excess of it leads to hydrocephalus.

Although some cases are congenital, it is critical to note that hydrocephalus can be acquired either due to old age or blunt trauma to the head. The case that scared me to my bones was when we were researching for a registered Medtronic vendor to purchase Ja’far’s shunt. We heard about a ten-year-old whose head accidentally hit a wall. The trauma distorted the flow of CSF, and he was not diagnosed on time till he nearly lost his mobility and sight. The shunt surgery restored his health.

I gave birth via emergency C-section after a prolonged labour. The first thing I checked when I held my baby was his head. It looked normal, covered in a full mass of hair. I couldn’t even see his scalp. Due to the labour complications, we stayed in the hospital longer. On the second day, neonatal jaundice set in, and my baby was admitted to the Intensive Care Baby Unit (ICBU). By the third day, I noticed something unusual. He vomited after every feed, and not just regular spit-up. It was forceful, the typical definition of projectile vomiting. I informed the paediatrician, who advised smaller, more frequent feeds. I followed the advice, but the vomiting persisted. Luckily for us, he had a voracious appetite, and after each episode, he’d eagerly refill his tummy.

We were discharged after 10 days. Grandma gave him his first haircut, and that’s when we noticed the intricate network of veins on his scalp. Visitors had all sorts of suggestions, from saffron oil to headache “ciwon kai” remedies. But deep down, I knew what it was. I anxiously waited for the final symptom to appear. Within days, his head began to enlarge, and his fontanelle (Madiga) wasn’t pulsating as it should. The vomiting continued. I turned to my husband and said solemnly, “Baby Ja’far needs urgent medical attention.” Grandma agreed. I trusted my instincts, and kudos to my husband, family, and friends for providing me with the strength to keep hope alive. They left no stone unturned to make this trial bearable.

At precisely one month old, we took him to Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital. We first saw a paediatrician at the GOPD, who ordered a scan, and my fears were confirmed. He has Dandy Walker Syndrome (DWS), which has led to excess fluid buildup in his head. I cried. Yes, I did. But I was also hopeful because I had read that early intervention could improve his chances of living an everyday life. We were given a medicine, Acetazolamide, that must be compounded to suit a child’s dosage. The medication is to reduce cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) production and help manage intracranial pressure. We were then transferred to the Neurosurgical Department, where we met the neurosurgeons on their clinic day, a Wednesday. A strike by resident doctors worked in our favour, allowing Ja’far to be seen directly by a consultant neurosurgeon. 

I mentioned how warm his head felt, and the consultant reassured me it wasn’t related to hydrocephalus. “He’s like any other baby,” he said. “He can have a fever”. That was the beginning of our journey. I was frantic. I just wanted him treated quickly to relieve the cranial pressure. He needed brain surgery to insert a shunt that would regulate the CSF flow. Delays could cause irreversible damage. The medical team was dedicated and compassionate, particularly the doctors. He had the surgery successfully at two months old, and we watched him ace his developmental milestones. We celebrated his second shunt anniversary on June 19, 2025.

After Ja’far’s diagnosis, my curiosity deepened. I consumed every piece of literature I could find related to hydrocephalus. Wednesdays became my learning days, not just from the doctors but from fellow patients and caregivers. I remember overhearing a professor of neurosurgery advising a mother of another shunted warrior: “You and your partner should properly plan subsequent pregnancies. Gone are the days of ‘just taking in'”. He emphasised starting folic acid six months before conception, staying healthy, and avoiding harmful practices. And of course, make prayer your closest ally as you follow the healthiest regimen possible. Take your child to the hospital because even with limited resources, our healthcare workers continue to perform wonders, saving lives every day. They are our true heroes. 

It is pertinent to add, though solemn, that a shunt is a foreign body and can be prone to infection, blockage or malfunction. You must be alert; should you observe the slightest recurrence of any of the pre-surgery symptoms, hasten to the hospital for proper diagnosis. The doctors often reassure us that milestones might be delayed for our warriors. Still, with the appropriate care, they accomplish them over time. Seeing the scars where the shunt is placed, be it the catheter or the pump, and knowing that it is going to be there for life, can be heartbreaking. But I have learned to overcome this feeling by viewing it as a lifesaver because without it, you might not even be able to hold your bundle of joy. Brace up, not everyone’s journey is the same, but be ready for bumps. They can come in the form of incessant headaches, seizures or double incontinence.

I cannot conclude without a strong plea to the government. Congenital diseases are rare. Ja’far’s DWS, for example, ranges from 1 in 10,000 to 35,000 live births. Setting aside funds that low-income parents can access to cover medical expenses will go a long way toward improving our warriors’ quality of life. Make the health sector more robust. Map out a lasting plan to eradicate strikes. It might have worked in our favour, but it has also stalled the needed intervention for some of our warriors, leading to irreversible brain damage. Mandatory, accessible antenatal care, overseen by qualified medical practitioners, will help preserve the rarity of these conditions.

To all my fellow hydro mums, be grateful to the Almighty for the gift and celebrate your little warriors. Whether it’s an inch or a milestone, every step is worth celebrating. Also, you are not alone. We have a community, and we’re here to support one another, always. To everyone who stood by us throughout this journey, I want to say thank you. Where could we have found the strength to carry on without you?

Engr. Khalilah Yahya Aliyu wrote via khalilah20@gmail.com.

By Salim Yunusa

Art Xplosion 4.0, the youth-focused art and mental health festival organised by Friends Advocacy for Mental Health Initiative (FAM Initiative), concluded in Zaria after a week-long celebration of creativity, resilience, and cultural identity. The event, the first of its kind in the city, marked a major step toward exposing young people to art as a tool for emotional expression, cultural grounding, and mental well-being.

Over 100 children and adolescents participated in the program, which featured bead-making, painting, mosaic art, upcycled crafts, gypsum art, traditional performances, cultural showcases, storytelling, and an art exhibition. Participants were drawn from different communities across Sabon Gari Local Government and beyond, including young people with invisible disabilities and those from underserved socio-economic backgrounds.

For the organisers, Art Xplosion 4.0 was more than an event. It was a statement about the role of creativity in strengthening mental resilience among young people navigating social pressure, identity struggles, and emotional challenges.

Program Manager and Lead Artist Aisha Ahmad Ibrahim said the week-long festival reaffirmed her conviction that art remains one of the most accessible and transformative tools for youth mental health. She said, “Art Xplosion 4.0 was truly a wholesome event for me that reaffirmed that what I do is worthy,” she said. “Despite the hassles and rigorous work I handled as Programs Manager and Lead Artist, I genuinely enjoyed every part of the experience, from preparation and procurement to organising and leading my team. The diversity of participants initially made me sceptical about coordination, but art once again proved to be a natural medium of expression. Healthy children, children and youth with neurological and non-visible disabilities, and those from low academic and socio-economic communities all expressed their artistic abilities beautifully. My team and I moved easily between groups to guide and support them. With about 100 participants from almost all parts of Sabon Gari and beyond, Art Xplosion 4.0 was a deeply fulfilling success.”

Curator Jecinta Egbim described the edition as a powerful testing ground for the resilience strategies she teaches adolescents during mental health outreaches. “This year’s Art Xplosion 4.0 was an entire experience, not just for our participants but for me,” she said. “Going through some of the tests of my own resilience strategies, I have seen that resilience is truly the key. Tools like art, effective communication, emotional regulation, support systems and outlets helped us push through.”

She added that the implementation process itself came with emotional and logistical challenges. “We faced hard times, tough ‘no’s, shut doors, and some interesting stakeholder management issues, but we emerged stronger. One of our biggest successes was simply seeing the week through from start to finish. We received multiple reports from adolescents, parents, school owners, community leaders, and caregivers. Even two days after the event, a mother visited our office with her daughter to thank us. It was humbling to see the impact extend into homes. That was the essence of this year’s edition: Art Xplosion should not just be immersive on-site, but a holistic experience that follows participants into their houses, schools, and workplaces.”

She noted that even with less than 20 sponsors supporting 100 participants, the team stayed committed to impact. “Fundraising was tight and discouraging, but our successes outweighed every challenge. It reminded us of what we are really made of.”

One of the program’s partners, NEST AI, highlighted the deeper emotional significance of art for young people. Its founder, Yazid S. Mika’il, said the initiative reflected how creativity can help youths build confidence and shape their futures. “Art speaks to one’s emotions and the core of being… it helps young people realise that they matter, and can determine what a beautiful and healthy future looks like,” he said.

Poetic Wednesdays Initiative, also a partner, expressed satisfaction with the program’s impact. Founder Salim Yunusa said the organisation was proud to support an initiative that brings creativity and healing into the lives of young people in Northern Nigeria. “We are pleased with what this initiative achieved, especially in Zaria,” he said. “We hope to see more of this replicated across Zaria and northern Nigeria at large.”

The Art Xplosion model uses creative expression to help children and adolescents communicate feelings, build confidence, improve emotional regulation, and reconnect with cultural identity. Many of the participants came from families dealing with psychosocial stressors, developmental challenges, or limited access to creative opportunities.

FAM Initiative reported that participants showed improvements in communication, empathy, and artistic expression. Parents and community leaders also noted that the activities helped their children feel calmer, more expressive, and more connected to their heritage.

This year’s edition introduced an expanded cultural showcase, featuring participants who displayed traditional attire, shared cultural stories, and performed dances. The art exhibition and auction also allowed the public to appreciate the creative output of the young participants.

With Art Xplosion 4.0, Zaria has now hosted its first large-scale festival that blends art, cultural pride, inclusion, and mental health advocacy. Organisers say the program’s success has opened a new chapter for community-driven youth development initiatives in Kaduna State.

FAM Initiative announced that future editions will expand mentorship opportunities, deepen community outreach, and strengthen support structures for children and adolescents dealing with emotional and developmental challenges.

As the dust settles on this year’s event, the organisers say their biggest hope is that the young participants, many of whom are experiencing structured art therapy for the first time, will carry their newfound confidence, skills, and cultural pride into the next chapters of their lives. Art Xplosion, they say, is not just an event. It is becoming a movement for healing, expression, and resilience across Northern Nigeria.

By Maryam Ahmad

The Maldives has become the first country in the world to implement a generational ban on tobacco use, marking a historic step in global public health policy.

According to a statement from the Ministry of Health, anyone born after January 2007 will be permanently prohibited from purchasing, using, or being sold tobacco products within the country. The measure aims to create a tobacco-free generation and reduce the long-term health and environmental impacts of smoking.

Health officials described the policy as part of the government’s broader strategy to curb non-communicable diseases and promote healthier lifestyles among young people in the Maldives.

The Maldives joins a small but growing list of nations considering similar “smoke-free generation” initiatives, with New Zealand having previously proposed a comparable plan before it was repealed.

Authorities say enforcement guidelines and public education campaigns will accompany the new law to ensure effective implementation and community support.

By Aisha Musa Auyo

I preach kindness every now and then—kindness to a spouse, kids, parents, relatives, and others in our lives. But today, I want to dwell on the most crucial kindness… kindness to oneself.

This is a kindness that goes beyond this dunya (this world); a kindness that rewards you with the best of here and the hereafter. Being kind to oneself has many faces, but I’ll discuss the most important ones here:

Prioritising the Akhirah Over the Dunya

This world is merely a temporary place. Try as much as you can to resist the temptation of indulging in sins. Strive to stop any act that you would not love to die doing. Stop procrastinating regarding good deeds. We do not know when our lives will end; no one gives us notice. We owe ourselves this profound kindness: preparing for the inevitable.

The Investment of Sadaqah (Charity)

Giving out sadaqah, even if it’s merely half a date, expiates sins and prevents tragedy. We often spend a great deal on ourselves without calculation, yet when it comes to giving to others, we hold back and start calculating. What we forget is that whatever we give out is multiplied and comes back to us many times over. Whatever we spend only on ourselves ends here.

But you see, when we make other people’s lives easier, lessen their burden, or make them feel better, Allah multiplies that, and the reward is for both here and the hereafter. Whenever we spend on ourselves, let’s try to include those who are less privileged. We are not only helping others; we are being incredibly kind to ourselves beyond this dunya.

The Perpetual Reward of Sadaqah Jariyah (Ongoing Charity)

Let’s discuss Sadaqah Jariyah—a charity, in which the reward continues to reach you even after your death. We can achieve this through various means, such as investing in raising pious children, teaching the Quran, performing good deeds, drilling a source of water, contributing to an Islamic school or any other worthy cause, even if we can’t afford to sponsor it entirely, planting trees, etc.

We benefit more from this benevolence than the people it was intended for. We truly owe it to ourselves to show this type of kindness.

Cultivating Great Relationships

Cultivating good relationships with others, elevating their mood and ranks, making them feel great about themselves, and improving the quality of their lives are powerful ways we can be kind to ourselves. These are the investments that make people miss us and sincerely pray for us after we are gone. We owe this kindness to ourselves—being able to invoke the feeling of longing, missing, and praying for us when we are no longer here.

Sustaining Spiritual Well-being; keeping our mouth moist with Zikr (remembrance of Allah), Istighfar (seeking forgiveness), and Salawat (blessings upon the Prophet); reading the Quran; and constantly upgrading our knowledge and practice of our Deen (religion) is a kindness to ourselves that we should never compromise.

Integrity and Truthfulness

Saying the truth, having integrity and decency, minding one’s business, and having a halal (lawful) source of income is a profound kindness we owe ourselves, for this will be a shield from the Hellfire.

Simple, multiplied deeds

You see, a simple gesture—smiling at strangers, a kind word, an encouraging nod, removing a harmful object from the road, helping or feeding animals, or watering a plant—will go a long way in benefiting us here and hereafter. Angels are praying to Allah that whoever gives out, may Allah increase his wealth, and whoever withholds his wealth, may Allah withhold His blessings from him. So we should never forget that whatever we do, small or big, we shall receive it in multiples.

Being Intentional

One crucial thing I’d like to remind us here is to be intentional about everything we do. Let’s always ensure that our deeds and actions, big or small, are motivated by the reward of our Creator. Let every action or inaction emanate from the craving for Allah’s Rahma (Mercy) and the fear of His punishment. This, indeed, is the biggest kindness we owe ourselves.

Lemme stop here..

Aisha Musa Auyo is a doctoral researcher in educational psychology. A wife, a mother, a homemaker, a caterer, a parenting, and a relationship coach. She can be reached via aishamuauyo@live.co.uk.

By Mujahid Nasir Hussain

Every human brain tells a story: of love, memory, and motion. Yet, for many Nigerians, these stories are being erased silently by diseases that steal what it means to be human. Alzheimer’s disease, Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), Parkinson’s disease, and other neurodegenerative disorders are creeping into our society, affecting not only the elderly but, increasingly, middle-aged adults as well. Their signs often begin subtly: a forgotten name, a misplaced key, and a trembling hand, until the symptoms grow into something that shatters families and identities alike.

I am writing this piece after World Mental Health Day (October 10) to raise awareness about these devastating but often misunderstood brain disorders, and to emphasise why Nigeria must invest in research that explores the molecular roots of neurodegeneration. Behind every fading memory is a biological story waiting to be told; one that may hold the key to prevention, treatment, and hope.

Globally, neurodegenerative diseases are among the fastest-growing causes of disability and death. According to the World Health Organisation, over 55 million people currently live with dementia, and nearly 10 million new cases are recorded each year. Alzheimer’s disease accounts for about 60–70% of these cases. The burden is not only medical but also social and economic, as families face the heartache of caring for loved ones who may no longer recognise them.

In Africa, the crisis is quietly intensifying. A report by Alzheimer’s disease International estimates that by 2050, over 12 million Africans could be living with dementia, a staggering increase that health systems are unprepared for. In Nigeria, accurate statistics are scarce, but hospital reports and community surveys show a growing number of undiagnosed neurodegenerative cases among the elderly. Unfortunately, in many communities, symptoms of neurodegeneration are still seen through the lens of superstition. Some families attribute forgetfulness to witchcraft or punishment from the gods. As a result, patients are hidden away, untreated, and stigmatised, even when medical help could improve their quality of life.

But beyond the surface symptoms lies a world of molecular complexity. In every neuron, RNA and proteins work together in precise harmony, regulating gene expression and cell responses to stress. These molecules form small, dynamic structures known as RNA–protein assemblies that constantly change shape and function in response to the brain’s needs. When this spatio-temporal regulation is disrupted, the way these structures behave across time and space is disrupted, it can cause proteins to misfold and clump together. These toxic clumps interfere with brain cell function, triggering the gradual degeneration that characterises diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Think of it like a city whose garbage collectors suddenly go on strike. Waste piles up, streets become impassable, and normal life grinds to a halt. That’s what happens inside the brain when these molecular systems fail. The result is memory loss, confusion, speech problems, tremors, and ultimately, the loss of independence.

Sadly, this understanding of disease mechanisms has not yet translated into practical awareness or local solutions in Nigeria. Our health sector remains focused on infectious diseases like malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV, which are undeniably urgent but overshadow chronic illnesses that also deserve attention. Neurodegenerative conditions receive very little research funding, and only a handful of Nigerian universities have well-equipped neuroscience or molecular biology laboratories. This lack of infrastructure makes it difficult for scientists to explore how environmental, nutritional, and genetic factors specific to African populations contribute to neurodegeneration.

We cannot afford to ignore this any longer. With Nigeria’s population ageing rapidly, the number of people at risk of dementia will rise sharply in the next decade. Families and caregivers already face immense emotional and financial strain. A 2023 study published in Frontiers in Public Health noted that dementia caregiving in Africa often leads to burnout, poverty, and social isolation, especially among women who bear most of the burden. This is more than a medical issue; it is a public health and human rights concern.

Raising awareness is the first step. Nigerians need to understand that persistent memory loss, tremors, or difficulty performing everyday tasks are not normal parts of ageing. They may signal conditions that require medical attention. Community health workers should be trained to identify these early signs, and hospitals should include basic neurological screening as part of routine check-ups for older adults.

The second step is research. As a physiologist, I believe that Nigeria’s greatest untapped potential lies in our young scientists and natural resources. There is growing evidence that certain plant-derived compounds, including those found in Habbatus Sauda (black seed) and other indigenous herbs, have neuroprotective properties. Exploring how these natural products influence RNA–protein interactions could open pathways to affordable treatments tailored to our local context. If supported, Nigerian research could not only advance understanding but also drive innovation in neurodegenerative disease therapy.

Finally, there is the matter of policy. The Nigerian government and health agencies must recognise brain health as a national priority. We need a National Brain Health Initiative, one that funds research, trains neurologists, supports caregivers, and integrates neuroscience into medical education. Just as we have campaigns for malaria and maternal health, we should have campaign awareness for dementia, Parkinson’s, and other neurodegenerative diseases. Without deliberate action, the human and economic costs will be overwhelming in the coming decades.

Our brains define who we are. To lose them is to lose ourselves, and yet millions are slipping away unnoticed. This World Mental Health Day, let us broaden the conversation beyond depression and anxiety to include the silent epidemic of neurodegenerative diseases. Let us replace stigma with understanding, neglect with action, and fear with hope. Nigeria must awaken to this reality — that the future of our nation depends not only on the health of our hearts and bodies but also on the preservation of our minds.

Mujahid Nasir Hussain is a physiologist and an explorative researcher in biomedical sciences with a particular focus on Molecular mechanisms underlying neurodegenerative disorders.