Muslims

By Ibrahim Inusa

Over the years, the Almajiri system of education has served as a traditional form of Islamic education in northern Nigeria, where young boys, often aged between 7 and 14, are sent far from home to memorise the Qur’an by their parents under the supervision of a Malam (teacher). While the system’s intent was to instil religious knowledge, encourage direct engagement in Islamic activities, and provide practical moral learning, it has largely become disconnected from its original purpose.

At present, the system has turned millions of pupils into nuisances, leaving most of them without literacy or numeracy skills. Pupils divide their day between reading and wandering the streets to beg for food and money, intended to cover their living and schooling costs. This model places the pupils in highly vulnerable situations, exposing them to all forms of exploitation and manipulation, and even rendering them a threat to national security.

The Almajiri system of education has been a cornerstone of learning for many Nigerian children. However, its implementation has raised concerns about child welfare, education, and human rights. As Nigeria strives for progress, it is essential to address the challenges within the Almajiri system. One major issue is the lack of regulation and oversight, which leaves children vulnerable to all forms of abuse.

Another significant challenge is the limited access to quality education. Traditional Almajiri schools focus solely on Islamic studies, neglecting secular subjects such as mathematics, science, and English. This restricted curriculum can hinder students’ ability to compete in the modern world. By incorporating modern subjects, Almajiri schools can offer students a more comprehensive education.

The Almajiri system also raises concerns about radicalisation. Some Almajiri schools may promote extremist ideologies, which can have far-reaching consequences. To mitigate this risk, it is essential to encourage critical thinking, tolerance, and inclusivity within Almajiri schools.

To reform the Almajiri system, a decisive approach is necessary. Government agencies, NGOs, and communities must collaborate to provide support for Almajiri students, including access to healthcare, nutrition, and protection from abuse. Almajiri schools should be encouraged to adopt a modern curriculum and teaching methods.

Furthermore, teachers and caregivers in Almajiri schools require training and support to provide a quality education. Community engagement is also important, and parents, guardians, and community leaders involved in decision-making processes are encouraged to prioritise children’s welfare and education.

The current Nigerian government can play a crucial role in reforming the Almajiri system through policy initiatives, such as the Almajiri Education Programme. However, more needs to be done to ensure effective implementation and sustainability. Long-term commitment to reform requires a sustained effort to improve the lives of Nigerian children. By working together, we can create a more inclusive, equitable, and prosperous society for all.

In conclusion, monitoring and evaluation mechanisms are essential for tracking progress, identifying challenges, and making adjustments to reform initiatives. Reforming the Almajiri system is a complex task that requires collaboration, commitment, and creativity. By working together, we can create a more just and equitable education system that benefits all Nigerian children.

Ibrahim Inusa writes from the Department of Mass Communication at Abubakar Tatari Ali Polytechnic Bauchi and can be reached via Ibrahiminusa216@gmail.com.

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido, PhD 

It was after a wet Thursday Asr prayer in a quiet neighbourhood of Gombe that Mallam Isa stood up to speak. The small mosque was dimly lit, the air heavy with humidity and the scent of earth. His voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of the message he bore.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “let me ask you: what would happen if today, right now, your heart stopped, and your children became orphans?”

A hush fell. Even the children at the back stopped playing. That question pierced through the hearts like an arrow.

“You pray five times a day, you give Zakah and fast Ramadan, but have you made any plan for the ones you might leave behind?” he continued.

It was not just a rhetorical question. It was a wake-up call.

The Crisis of Orphans in Our Midst

In every corner of Nigeria—especially in the north—there are orphans. They are in the streets, in distant relatives’ homes, in understaffed orphanages, and in classrooms with torn uniforms and hungry eyes. Every funeral of a husband, a father, a provider, often produces not one or two, but sometimes 10, 15 or even 20 orphans. In a society with polygamy and a high birth rate, the multiplication may be frightening.

The silent cries of orphans echo through our communities, a poignant reminder of our collective responsibility. In societies like northern Nigeria, where large families are common and the spectre of loss ever-present, the number of children left without a guiding hand is staggering. 

Losing a parent can mean losing everything: food, shelter, education, and the loving embrace of family. While various efforts exist to care for these vulnerable souls – from individual families to community and religious organisations, and a few dedicated orphanages – a critical challenge remains: the lack of sustainable, reliable funding. This is where the profound and enduring institution of Waqf emerges as a beacon of hope, offering a pathway to a robust and self-sustaining future for orphans.

What do we do with this growing population?

Islam doesn’t leave this to chance. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said:

“I and the one who looks after an orphan will be like this in Paradise,” and he held his two fingers together. (Bukhari)

This Hadith should not be a mere quote for charity posters—it is a divine incentive for action.

The Legacy of Layth b. Sa‘d: A Model for Us

Let us take a lesson from the noble jurist and philanthropist Layth b. Sa‘d, a contemporary of the great Imam Malik. He was not only a scholar of high standing (who was often described as more grounded in fiqh than Malik -Afqah min Malik), but also a man of immense wealth. One of his investment —earning over 70,000 dinars annually (The current Naira equivalent of 70,000 Dinars, based on the pure gold content of those Dinars and today’s market price of gold, is approximately ₦51,188,742,500, ie Fifty-one billion, one hundred and eighty-eight million, seven hundred and forty-two thousand, five hundred Naira). Yet he gave away so much that he didn’t even have zakātable savings. One day, he bought a house, only to discover it had been used as a shelter for orphans. Without hesitation, he declared:

“This house is now a waqf for them. Let it remain a refuge. And I shall endow another waqf whose profits will feed and clothe them.”

Today, we admire his foresight. But more importantly, we must emulate it.

The Missing Link: Waqf as Sustainable Support

Most of our current models for orphan care, although well-meaning, are unsustainable. We rely on inconsistent donations or goodwill that may not last.

But waqf is not a charity of the moment. It is a charity of the generations.

“When a person dies, all their deeds end except three: a continuing charity (Sadaqah Jariyah), beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for them.” (Muslim)

Waqf is Sadaqah Jariyah. And every orphan fed, educated, healed, or empowered through it continues your reward in the grave.

How Do We Build a Waqf for Orphans?

1. Family-Level Waqf

Families should dedicate one house, piece of farmland, or business as a waqf for orphans. It could be residential housing, a school, or a rental property whose income supports orphan welfare.

Imagine if, in every city block, one family donated one apartment to serve as orphan housing or as an investment asset to support orphans.

2. Community-Level Waqf

Mosques, Islamic centres, and community associations should establish orphan waqf portfolios. These can include:

Schools with waqf-run canteens and hostels

Hospitals or clinics with orphan wards funded through waqf

Skills acquisition centres that train orphans for real livelihoods

3. Organisational Waqf

Existing orphanages should stop relying solely on donations. Let them build waqf farms, shops, or event halls. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said:

“The best of people are those who are most beneficial to others.” 

Let’s be beneficial in a lasting way.

You Could Be Next

One chilling truth binds us all: no one knows who will become an orphan next. We plan our lives, but we often forget how fragile life is.

A car crash, a silent heart attack, a violent raid—your child could be orphaned tomorrow. So, build the system you would want them to find.

Would you want your child to sleep under a bridge?

Would you want them to beg for school fees?

Would you want them to eat once every two days?

“None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself.” (Bukhari and Muslim)

Then love orphans as you would love your child.

Every Little Bit Counts: What YOU Can Do

Contribute to a waqf share initiative. You don’t have to give millions. Start with ₦1,000. Drops make oceans.

Educate others about the orphan waqf. Deliver a Friday khutbah, launch a WhatsApp and Facebook campaign, and distribute flyers.

Talk to local Imams, community leaders, and philanthropists. Propose orphan waqf projects.

Use your wasiyyah (will) to declare a portion of your estate as waqf for orphans.

Empower your children to understand this legacy so they can continue the chain.

Let us build an ummah where no orphan is neglected, where no child grows up feeling discarded, where our waqf institutions become sanctuaries of dignity.

Let Gombe, Kano, Lagos, Borno, Zamfara, Sokoto, Osun and every Nigerian state become shining examples of Waqf-Orphan Integration. Let Nigeria offer the world a new orphan care model—rooted in Islam, powered by community, and sustained by waqf.

And let each of us rise, in our small way, to be counted among those who build for the forgotten, the voiceless, the orphaned.

For on the Day of Judgment, it might just be that orphan’s dua that grants you the mercy you seek.

“They ask you what they should spend. Say: Whatever of good you spend must be for parents and kindred and orphans…”

— Qur’an 2:215

Amir Lamido wrote from Gombe via lamidomabudi@gmail.com.

By Isah Dahiru

There’s a Hausa proverb that says, “Wanda ya saci akuya, ya saci itacenta”—he who steals a goat has already stolen the rope tied to it. But who would have imagined that the sacred grounds of a mosque, a space where hearts are purified and souls are recharged, could become fertile ground for what I now call “holy heists”?

Last Friday, I attended Jumu’ah prayers like any regular seeker of divine mercy, looking forward to the serenity of the sermon and perhaps a gentle breeze under the neem tree afterwards. You know, that kind of spiritual therapy that reboots your inner battery. 

The Imam began passionately, with what I can only describe as a verbal balm for troubled marriages. He waxed poetic about marital life, reminding us brothers that a man’s greatness is not measured by how many goats he owns, but how gently he treats the mother of his children.

He quoted the Prophet (SAW), emphasising kindness, loyalty, and romance—even after ten years of eating her over-salted tuwo. He reminded us that he who denies affection at home may end up seeking counsel from side mirrors—and by side mirrors, I mean side chicks. It was a sermon of gold, and I had already drafted a mental apology letter to my wife (with a footnote asking for fried fish for dinner).

Then came the second khutbah—and brothers and sisters, the tone changed like NEPA light.

What followed was no longer spiritual nourishment—it was a full-blown security bulletin. The Imam, now resembling a mosque-based CNN anchor, solemnly announced the spike in theft within the mosque premises. Shoes, phones, even umbrellas—yes, umbrellas in dry season—had become an endangered species in the hands of holy day hustlers.

I blinked twice. “Wallahi, this must be fiction.”

Apparently not. The Imam cited examples. Men who had arrived barefoot left in polished Clarks. Samsung devices evaporated during sujud. One man reportedly came out of the toilet to find that not only had his shoes vanished, but so had his ablution kettle. “An saci butar alwala!” someone muttered beside me.

My friend Musa Kalim, ever the idea machine, leaned in and whispered, “Wallahi Isah, the mosque should invest in designer shoes with trackers inside. Give them out before prayer. Anyone who deviates from coming to mosque without shoes to going home with a shoe—bing! The alarm goes off. ‘Thou shalt not misstep.’”

Another friend, Engr. After I narrated the ordeal and my frustration to him, Aminu offered another way to tackle the situation. Honestly, I laughed so hard I almost missed the supplication after the prayer had ended. But knowing that Aminu wasn’t joking made me return to my senses. This is the same man who once suggested using goats to deliver medicine in rural villages, and almost got a grant for it from Melinda and Gates Foundation.

I imagined it immediately:
“Mosque Sole Security (MSS): Track Your Blessings from Sole to Soul.”
A startup powered by shame and GPS.

But there’s a deeper sadness here. When the masallaci, the house of Allah, becomes the hunting ground for pickpockets, it signals a spiritual recession. It’s no longer just a pair of stolen shoes—it’s a metaphor for the theft of morals, the robbery of conscience, and the hijacking of trust.

There’s a popular Yoruba saying, “Ti ile ba n bajẹ, a fi ti ile ni nko,” meaning, “When a home begins to decay, it starts from the inside.” And truly, if criminals now comfortably perform ablution before proceeding to commit theft, then we must urgently recalibrate our moral compass.

Let’s consider the ridiculousness: someone prays beside you, says “Ameen” with gusto, maybe even sheds a tear during supplication—and minutes later, he’s making off with your Bata sandals like a post-prayer souvenir. What kind of shame is that?

The Prophet (SAW) warned us of a time when people would pray like angels and live like devils. Perhaps this is what he meant.

Maybe the solution isn’t just CCTV or Musa’s high-tech slippers (although I’d donate to that GoFundMe). Perhaps we need something more profound—a revival of taqwa, of God-consciousness, in our lives. Because let’s be honest, even if we padlock the ablution area, thieves without fear of God will find a way to sin in style.

Perhaps we need to return to the basics—teaching our children that a stolen shoe, even if it fits, carries the burden of its last prayer. Reminding our youth that every crime committed under the minaret echoes louder in the heavens than those committed in the market square. And as elders, we must not be afraid to call out wrongdoing—even if the culprit looks like a saint in a turban.

Until then, dear reader, as you go for prayers, carry your faith boldly—but your shoes discreetly. I suggest you start wearing bathroom slippers, the type no thief would proudly wear. And if, by misfortune, you find yourself shoeless at the end of the prayer, don’t wail. Just smile and say: “May the thief walk straight into the path of repentance—and a pothole.”

And should you ever catch one red-handed, don’t beat him. Sit him down, offer him zobo and a hard chair, and give him a khutbah so fiery, even his ancestors would consider refunding your shoes.

Isah Dahiru is a pharmacist and can be reached via easerdahiru@gmail.com.

By Aisha M Auyo

Marriage is a huge opportunity to earn good deeds. By adjusting your intention, everything you do for your spouse can be an act of worship. It is that simple.

Seek to please Allah and be intentional. Every single thing you do with and for your spouse can be a form of worship when Ihsan is your motivation, and your heart is engaged in the remembrance of Allah in some way.

And by default, when good things become a habit, your good deeds are habitually earned too, insha’Allah.

From time to time, make a specific intention and say, “Oh Allah, I am doing this for my spouse only for Your sake and to earn Your pleasure.” You’ll feel the difference. A mundane task gets supercharged!

Umar ibn Al-Khattab reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said:

“Verily, deeds are only with intentions. Verily, every person will have only what they intended. Whoever emigrated to Allah and His Messenger, then his emigration is for Allah and His Messenger. Whoever emigrated to get something in the world or to marry a woman, then his emigration is for whatever he emigrated for.” (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 54, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1907).

This hadith and post are especially important for my fellow women… wives… If all the good and extra things you do for your man are just so he wouldn’t marry another woman, know that your reward stops there. And he may marry other wives if that’s in his Qadr.

It might work if you’re being obedient, respectful, kind, and many other good things, just so you’d be his favourite among his wives, but know that the reward may stop there.

Let’s always remember that this world is only temporary… Our permanent abode is the aakhira. I am not in any way saying you should stop whatever you’re doing. In fact, I suggest we always try to improve, increase, and upgrade… 

Just be conscious of your intentions and be deliberate in whatever you do. Doing so, we will have double reward… here and in the hereafter, in sha Allah.

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

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido

The dusty path to Al-Ma’arif Islamiyyah School was unusually quiet that Wednesday afternoon, except for the gentle crunch of sandals on gravel and the animated voices of two young girls wrapped in flowing white hijabs.

Unknown to many passersby, the conversation between these two girls wasn’t just about school or homework. It was about something deeper—something that could transform communities: the power of Waqf. As they walked, they debated a topic that many adults still struggle with: Should we prioritise spending on annual Umrah trips or invest in sustainable Waqf projects that empower girls through education and skill-building?

“Ameena, wait for me!” called out Hafsah, adjusting the corner of her veil.

Ameena slowed down and turned with a grin. “Wallahi, you’re always dragging your legs like an old lady.”

They both laughed.

But as they turned the bend, Hafsah lowered her voice and leaned in. “By the way, my aunt and her entire family are travelling for Umrah again this Ramadan. That’s like the fifth time in a row! Imagine the reward, subhanallah!”

Ameena nodded with a smile, but her eyes said more. “Masha Allah. No doubt, Umrah is virtuous. The Prophet SAW said in Sahih al-Bukhari, ‘Umrah to Umrah is expiation for the sins committed between them.’ And in another Hadith, ‘The performance of Hajj and Umrah removes poverty and sins just as a furnace removes the impurities from iron.’ So yes, it is beautiful.”

Hafsah beamed. “Exactly! That’s why they go every year. My aunt says you can never get enough of Makkah. The barakah there is like no other.”

Ameena stopped, picked a tiny stone, and tossed it thoughtfully. “I agree. But I can’t help thinking… what if, just what if, they did something different this year? Take the entire amount they usually spend—tickets, hotel, feeding, shopping—and invest it in a Waqf. A sustainable, income-generating waqf specifically for girls’ education and skills development.”

Hafsah blinked. “A waqf? Instead of Umrah?”

“Not instead of,” Ameena corrected gently, “but perhaps before another one. Let’s say they make a solid waqf just once. From then on, the proceeds can fund multiple Umrahs and sponsor tens—maybe hundreds—of girls like us. Wouldn’t that multiply the rewards?”

Hafsah frowned slightly. “Hmm. But that’s not the same spiritual feeling as being in Makkah.”

“True. But listen to this Hadith,” Ameena said, eyes lighting up. “The Prophet SAW said: ‘Whoever goes out to seek knowledge is in the path of Allah until he returns.’ That’s in Sunan al-Tirmidhi. And in Sahih Muslim, the Prophet said that feeding the hungry, helping the poor, or removing a harm from the road are all Sadaqah. These actions have also been likened in reward to Umrah.”

She continued, “In fact, Imam Ibn Rajab said some charitable actions—because of their benefit to society—can surpass voluntary Hajj and Umrah in reward!”

Hafsah looked unconvinced. “But those are small things. Can they compare to walking between Safa and Marwa?”

Ameena smiled knowingly. “Let me share a story about our Islamic heritage, as reported by Ibn Kathir—one of the great scholars and righteous predecessors, Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak, once set out for Hajj. Along the way, he passed through a town where a young girl was seen taking a dead bird from a garbage heap. 

Curious, he followed her and learned that she and her brother had nothing to eat, surviving off scraps and carrion due to poverty and oppression. Ibn al-Mubarak was so moved that he cancelled his pilgrimage, gave her all the money he had set aside for Hajj—except a small portion for their return—and said: ‘This is better than our Hajj this year!’

Can you imagine? A scholar of his stature suspended the journey of a lifetime because he saw a greater reward in feeding the poor.”

Hafsah bit her lip, thoughtful.

“And what of the Hadith in Sahih al-Bukhari,” Ameena continued, “where the Prophet SAW said: ‘He is not a believer whose stomach is filled while his neighbour goes hungry.’ Don’t you think our people—who travel yearly for Umrah with their entire household—should ask themselves if their neighbors are fed, educated, and safe first?”

There was silence for a while. Then Hafsah asked, “But maybe they feel their own worship is more important.”

Ameena didn’t flinch. “Worship is important. But Islam is both ‘ibadah and mu’amalat—personal devotion and social responsibility. A society where girls are unskilled, uneducated, and poor is a society in crisis. Allah says in Surah Al-Balad, ‘But he has not attempted the Ascent. And what will make you know what the Ascent is? It is freeing a slave. Or feeding on a day of severe hunger, an orphan of near relationship, or a needy person in misery.’ That’s the real struggle.”

She paused, then added, “And here’s a shocking stat: According to UNICEF, more than 50% of girls in Northern Nigeria are out of school. Many of them end up as child housemaids or hawkers. Imagine if we had waqfs in every state—centres for literacy, vocational skills, business mentorship. Wouldn’t that be more pleasing to Allah than redundant luxuries?”

Hafsah exhaled slowly. “You’re making too much sense. But some people say they don’t have the time or knowledge to create a waqf.”

“They can partner with existing foundations,” said Ameena. “Or even just dedicate a part of their wealth to it. Start with a shop, a farm, or a borehole project. Let it generate income. Let it teach a girl to write, to code, to recite Qur’an beautifully, to become a teacher, to stand tall.”

By now, they were at the gate of the Islamiyyah school.

Hafsah turned and looked at her friend. “You know, Ameena, if your words were a waqf, they’d be multiplying rewards already.”

Ameena chuckled. “Then let’s start the first one—with our pens, our voices, and our footsteps.”

They both stepped in, side by side, into a class that taught not just religion, but purpose.

Inside the classroom, the discussion continued to swirl in Hafsah’s mind. That evening, as they sat under the neem tree during Qur’an revision, she whispered to Ameena, “You know what? I’m going to talk to my parents tonight. I’ll share everything you said—every Hadith, every idea. Maybe they can be the first to try this new way: build a waqf before the next Umrah.”

Ameena smiled, eyes glowing. “And I’ll talk to mine too. If they see how serious we are, and how much it could benefit the Ummah, I believe they’ll listen.”

The next day, during break time, the girls called a mini gathering under the school’s mango tree. A handful of curious classmates sat cross-legged in the dust, munching on groundnuts and zobo. Hafsah stood up and declared, “We want to tell you about something that can reward you even after you die. Something more powerful than a yearly trip to Makkah…”

She spoke. Ameena backed her up. Together, they planted a seed.

Later that afternoon, they approached their teacher, Ustaz Sani, known for his stern look but soft heart. A little nervously, they explained their idea.

To their surprise, Ustaz Sani leaned back, eyes shining. “Ameen! This is the spirit of Islam! The Prophet SAW once said, ‘The most beloved of deeds to Allah are the most consistent, even if they are small.’ 

But let me add more,” he said, reaching for a worn book on his desk. “Imam Al-Ghazali wrote that a waqf is a shield for society, a way to preserve faith, knowledge, and dignity. Some waqfs in history lasted over 700 years, sponsoring scholars, doctors, and imams! Even the famous Al-Azhar University in Egypt started as a waqf.”

The girls’ faces lit up.

“Keep spreading the message,” he urged. “You are not too young. Let your classmates know. Let your family hear. Let the whole Ummah remember:

Before your next Umrah… build a Waqf.”

Amir Lamido wrote from Gombe and can be contacted via lamidomabudi@gmail.com.

By Musa Kalim Gambo

ND Shehu Kanam, a political scientist and son of the soil, offered a searing insight into Governor Caleb Mutfwang’s recent statewide broadcast in a Facebook post following the blood-soaked tragedy that befell some communities in Plateau. In dissecting the speech, he made a remark that has lingered in my conscience like smoke from an unquenched fire:

“The governor made reference to previous attacks including Dogo Nahauwa and completely ignored the attack in Garga District of Kanam LGA in 2022 where over 100 lives were killed. At all times, Kanam LGA is being treated as third-class citizens in Plateau State.”

And how true that is—how bitter, how brazen. One would expect that in the arithmetic of grief, every loss would count, that memory would not play favourites. But alas, even in mourning, there is politics. Even in death, there are those deemed more worthy of remembrance than others.

Let’s be clear: every act of violence against any group of people is an abomination. It should be met with absolute condemnation. Those who carry out such horrors—burning homes, hacking down the old and the young, silencing lives with the crack of a rifle—are not just criminals. They are monsters in human form, agents of chaos and cruelty, and they must be made to face the full wrath of justice, if justice still has a name.

But then we turn to the governor’s address. Perhaps the speechwriter, weary and burdened, meant no harm. Maybe it was all too much—the urgency, the pressure, the tears behind closed doors. Perhaps grief blurred the pen, and memory failed. But selective memory tells a deeper story, whether by accident or design. It speaks of a hierarchy of pain where some cries echo louder in the chambers of power while others are muffled into silence.

The omission of the Kanam massacre, where bullets and blades buried over a hundred souls in 2022, is not just an editorial oversight. It is a symbolic erasure. It is a painful reminder that suffering is not always seen in some communities in Plateau. The state does not always mourn their dead. Their pain is not always acknowledged. In the cold theatre of political memory, Kanam seems to occupy the balcony—watching, grieving, unheard.

But why? Why must Kanam and others like it constantly beg to be seen?

Maybe the intention of the governor’s speech wasn’t to compile a historical record of tragedies. Perhaps it was just a passing mention meant to stir the ghosts and frame the urgency. But even a passing mention must carry the weight of justice. When invoking past massacres, we must strive for balance, breadth, and truth. We cannot cherry-pick grief.

This is not mere sentimentality—it’s about shaping policy from a place of inclusion. When the memory of a people is consistently erased or ignored, how can they believe in the solutions presented to them?

Interestingly, embedded in the governor’s speech was a subtle but telling reference to the nature of the attacks. The subsequent ban on open grazing and cattle movement at night across the state implies that the perpetrators may be connected to patterns of pastoral violence. Whether these connections are definitive or speculative is for the intelligence community to clarify. Yet, in that policy, one senses that the governor has a working theory of the violence–it is, therefore, expected that this act of violence will be brought to a definite end very soon.

Still, even the most astute policies will fall flat if people feel excluded from the conversation—if they feel like third-class citizens in their own land.

A state cannot heal when its government speaks selectively, and a people cannot move forward when some of their dead are left behind in the narrative. To move forward, we must gather all the names, all the villages, all the cries, and lay them bare—without hierarchy or hesitation.

Governor Mutfwang must do better. Plateau deserves better. Kanam demands no pity—only remembrance, and justice.

Let this not be another footnote in the long, bitter history of the Middle Belt. Let this be a turning point—where silence gives way to truth, and truth gives rise to healing.

Musa Kalim Gambo writes from Barkinladi, Plateau State.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The Kano State Hisbah Board has arrested 24-year-old Shamsu Yakubu after a disturbing video showed him allegedly licking a goat’s genitals. The footage, which circulated widely on TikTok, sparked outrage among viewers and residents.

Yakubu reportedly asked someone to film the act in a bid to gain social media fame. “I did it to trend on social media and become famous,” he admitted in the video. 

However, under interrogation by Hisbah officials, he denied fully committing the act, saying, “I swear to Allah, I did not lick the goat’s genitals. I only put my mouth around the area.”

Hisbah officials were alerted after concerned residents, angered by the video, threatened to take matters into their own hands. A community leader intervened and reported the incident to the authorities.

Speaking on the arrest, Deputy Commander-General of the Hisbah Board, Sheikh Aminuddeen Abubakar, expressed dismay over the act, calling it a violation of religious and moral values. “Sadly, a Muslim man will use his mouth to lick the genitalia of a goat, without regard to religious teachings,” he said.

Sheikh Aminuddeen revealed that both the suspect and the goat will undergo medical testing. “We will test both for possible diseases before prosecution,” he stated, adding that Yakubu would also face psychiatric and drug evaluations.

He warned others against seeking online popularity through indecent behaviour, saying, “Anybody caught bathing in dirt or charcoal under the guise of fame will be arrested and dealt with accordingly.”

The incident has reignited conversations around the influence of social media on youth behaviour, with some calling for stricter regulations and moral guidance to curb extreme acts done for clout.

By Aisha Musa Auyo

I will begin my write-up with this Hadith: Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “Nothing is heavier on the believer’s scale on the Day of Judgment than good character.” (Sunan al-Tirmidh).

If we pay attention and are fair to ourselves, I bet you will realise that none of us is perfect. We all have areas in our lives where we excel, and we all have areas where we do not excel – or even fail. This will be true in your marital life as well. So, let us try to upgrade our character based on this fact.

Marriages collapse for many reasons. Some marriages and relationships go wrong because people fail to praise each other’s strengths and tend to criticise each other’s weaknesses. 

Let me tell you from experience. I love getting praise when I do something good, but if I totally blow something, I am already critical and upset enough with myself that I do not need my mate coming in and twisting the knife, so to speak. I am pretty sure everyone out there would agree with me on this. 

If you want to approach marriage the right way, you must generously praise each other, particularly when one excels at something, and use criticism sparingly when one flounders. Pray about the challenges and allow Allah, the Most High, to handle the work. 

Crushing your spouse’s soul will only push them away and never pull them toward you. When you see your spouse has messed something up, this is a time to draw them into your arms, hug them tight, and assure them everything will be okay. 

Marriage is teamwork, not competition, so learn to support and encourage each other. If you discover that you have strengths in areas where your spouse is weaker, take the lead in those aspects of the relationship and allow your partner to excel in what they do best. This synergy is achievable only in a healthy, selfless, progressive marriage.

If you both struggle in an area, agree to collaborate to address it. Learning to use this key effectively will create tremendous harmony in your relationship.

This formula can be applied beyond marital relationships. Any type of relationship can benefit from it, including those between parents and children, teachers and students, siblings, coworkers, or employers.

In a world where you can be anything…. choose positivity, compassion, empathy, and kindness. Remember, people may forget how you look, but they may never forget how you made them feel.

One more reason to be kind, encouraging, and compassionate is the hadith that the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: “The best among you are those who have the best manners and character” (Sahih al-Bukhari).

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

Innā li-Llāhi wa-innā ilayhi rājiʿūn.

The passing of Prof. Khurshīd Aḥmad marks the end of an era in the intellectual development of contemporary Islamic thought, particularly in the fields of al-Iqtiṣād al-Islāmī (Islamic economics) and al-Mālīyyah al-Islāmiyyah (Islamic finance). 

A polymath, visionary, and tireless reformer, Prof. Khurshīd Aḥmad was one of the most distinguished Muslim thinkers of the 20th and 21st centuries. His scholarship, activism, and public service bridged the worlds of theory and practice, faith and governance, tradition and modernity.

Born in Delhi in 1932 and later migrating to Pakistan following the partition, he pursued higher education in economics and law. He eventually earned a Master’s in Islamic Studies and a PhD in Economics from the University of Leicester, United Kingdom. He was not merely an academic in the conventional sense; he was an intellectual activist whose writings and public engagements profoundly shaped the global discourse on Islam and economic justice.

His Legacy in Islamic Finance

Among his many contributions, Prof. Khurshī Aḥmad’s most outstanding intellectual work in the field of Islamic finance is arguably his foundational role in articulating and systematising the theoretical framework of an Islamic economic order, particularly through his seminal work: Islam: Its Meaning and Message (edited by Khurshīd Aḥmad, first published 1976).

This edited volume contains his essay  “The Islamic Way of Life”, which not only presents the ethical foundations of Islam but also outlines the spiritual, social, and economic dimensions of Islamic governance.

More specifically related to economics is his earlier and pioneering treatise: Islamic Economic System: A Socio-Economic and Political Analysis (1970). This work laid down the theoretical underpinnings of al-Niẓām al-Iqtiṣādī al-Islāmī and served as a cornerstone for the subsequent emergence of Islamic banking and financial institutions.

In Islamic Economic System, Prof. Khurshīd Aḥmad delineates a clear moral and functional distinction between the capitalist, socialist, and Islamic paradigms, advocating a system well entrenched in tawḥīd, ʿadl, and mashwarah.

He was also instrumental in the formation of the International Institute of Islamic Economics (IIIE) at the International Islamic University, Islamabad. He advised several governments and Islamic financial institutions in conceptualising and implementing Sharīʿah-compliant economic policies. His influence continues to shape policies in countries like Pakistan, Malaysia, and Sudan, and in global institutions such as the Islamic Development Bank (IsDB).

Prof. Khurshī Aḥmad’s intellectual legacy transcends geographical and disciplinary boundaries. He championed a vision of Islamic economics and finance not merely as an alternative system but as a holistic worldview embedded in divine guidance and aimed at achieving justice, equity, and human dignity.

May Allāh (Subḥānahu wa Taʿālā) forgive his shortcomings, reward him with Jannah al-Firdaws, and accept his works as ṣadaqah jāriyah. His writings will continue enlightening scholars, guiding policymakers, and inspiring future generations.

Dr. Oyekolade Sodiq OYESANYA wrote from the Department of Religious Studies, Tai Solarin University of Education, Ijagun, Ogun State, Nigeria.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

On March 20, 2025, I shared my essay A Reflection on Dimensions, Death, and the Eternal Four: Ramadan 2025 with Dr. Abdullahi Dahiru, exploring the Qur’an’s seven heavens, the cosmic role of death, and the possibility of 19 dimensions in Allah’s creation. Perhaps inspired by those reflections, Dr. Dahiru shared a post, via his Facebook page, from Mechanical Engineering World, noting the observable universe’s vastness: 2 trillion galaxies, with the Milky Way containing 200 billion stars, and Earth as one of 3.2 trillion planets. This sparked a thought-provoking thread. I commented, suggesting this universe might be one of “7 universes (heavens) in Allah’s dominion.” Dr. Dahiru responded, questioning the “7 universes” idea, citing Prof. Maurice Bucaille’s view that the Qur’anic “7” often means “uncountable,” a convention in ancient cultures.

Hammad Abubakar Puma joined, thanking Dr. Dahiru and suggesting he watch the YouTube documentary, Allah and the Cosmos, if he hasn’t seen it. I replied, arguing that the observable universe lacks the layered demarcations for the Qur’anic seven heavens. I propose a multiverse model—seven distinct universes—that better aligns with the Qur’an’s boundaries, jinns’ exclusion, and the gated ascent of Isra wal Mi’raj. 

Hashem Al-Ghaili’s recent posts about scientific findings, including multiverse evidence in the Cosmic Microwave Background (CMB) and the possibility of our universe residing within a black hole, bolster this perspective. This exchange and my earlier reflections lead me to propose that the seven heavens may be seven separate universes, bridging divine revelation with modern cosmology.

The Qur’anic Foundation: Seven Heavens and Cosmic Barriers

The Qur’an describes “seven heavens in layers” (67:3, 41:12), often interpreted as hierarchical realms—atmospheric layers, celestial spheres, or spiritual planes. Yet, the “nearest heaven” is adorned with stars (37:6) and guarded against rebellious jinns by “burning flames” (72:8-9, 67:5). Jinns, beings of smokeless fire (55:15), lament, “We have sought [to reach] the heaven but found it filled with powerful guards and burning flames” (72:8).

This suggests a cosmic boundary separating the nearest heaven from what lies beyond. If this nearest heaven is our observable universe—spanning 93 billion light-years with 2 trillion galaxies, as Dr. Dahiru’s post notes—then the other six heavens could be separate universes beyond our cosmic horizon. Qur’an 55:33 reinforces this: “O company of jinn and mankind, if you are able to pass beyond the regions of the heavens and the earth, then pass. You will not pass except by authority [from Allah].” This implies the heavens are inaccessible without divine permission. Science, limited to the observable universe, cannot breach the cosmic light horizon, and jinns’ failure to penetrate the heavens suggests the higher heavens may be parallel universes in a multiverse framework.

Isra wal Mi’raj: Gated Realms Beyond the Observable

The ahadith of Isra wal Mi’raj, the Prophet Muhammad’s (peace be upon him) Night Journey and Ascension, support this view. In Sahih Bukhari (Book 54, Hadith 429), the Prophet, guided by Angel Jibril, ascended through the seven heavens, knocking at each gate for entry. At the first heaven, Jibril requested access: “It was asked, ‘Who is it?’ Jibril answered, ‘Jibril.’ It was asked, ‘Who is with you?’ Jibril replied, ‘Muhammad.’… The gate was opened.” This repeated for each heaven, showing these are distinct, guarded domains, inaccessible even to an angel and the Prophet without divine approval. 

If the first heaven is our observable universe—where stars and meteors (the “flames” of 67:5) reside—its gate may symbolize the cosmic horizon, science’s limit. The higher heavens, requiring divine permission, lie beyond this horizon, potentially as separate universes with interdimensional thresholds, aligning with multiverse theories where universes are separated by barriers like inflationary boundaries or higher-dimensional branes.

A Multiverse Perspective: Seven Universes Under Divine Command

Modern cosmology supports this reimagining. The inflationary multiverse theory by Alan Guth suggests that rapid expansion after the Big Bang created “bubble universes” with different physical laws. String theory posits up to 10^500 possible universes, or “branes,” in higher dimensions. 

Hashem Al-Ghaili’s post from the Royal Astronomical Society notes a breakthrough: since 2004, scientists studying the Cosmic Microwave Background (CMB) have identified the “Cold Spot,” a region challenging standard cosmology. Initially considered a supervoid, the Cold Spot is now seen by some, like Ruari Mackenzie from Durham University, as evidence of a collision with another bubble universe—a hint of the multiverse.

The European Space Agency’s Planck mission confirmed its existence in 2014, fueling the multiverse debate. Could the Qur’an’s seven heavens be a divine simplification of such a multiverse, each heaven a distinct universe? The Qur’an’s emphasis on divine unity (41:12) ensures these universes remain under Allah’s command. 

The “nearest heaven” (our universe) is the first, where jinns are repelled by meteors (72:8-9). The higher heavens—universes 2 through 7—lie beyond, their gates symbolizing barriers science cannot cross. Each heaven’s “command” (41:12) may imply unique laws, like inflationary bubbles with varying constants, aligning with the jinns’ exclusion and the gated ascent of Isra wal Mi’raj.

Engaging the Thread: Addressing Traditional Interpretations

Dr. Dahiru cited Prof. Maurice Bucaille’s The Bible, the Qur’an, and Modern Science, noting the Qur’anic “7” often means “uncountable,” a convention in ancient cultures. While this aligns with traditional tafsir—viewing the seven heavens as symbolic—it doesn’t preclude a literal reading. The Qur’an’s specificity in naming “seven” heavens and Isra wal Mi’raj’s accounts suggest a structured cosmology. Bucaille’s point may highlight the Qur’an’s accessibility to its 7th-century audience, while its deeper truth—seven distinct universes—emerges through modern reflection.

Traditional tafsir, like Ibn Kathir’s, sees the heavens as layers within one creation, possibly atmospheric or spiritual. Yet, the observable universe lacks clear “layers” for 7, 70, or 70,000 demarcations. Planets don’t fit the gated structure of the heavens. A multiverse interpretation—seven universes—better accommodates the strict demarcations, jinns’ exclusion, and gated ascent, implying science’s reach is limited to the first heaven (Sama ta d’aya).

Dimensions, Death, and the Cosmic Graveyard

In my March 20 reflection, I proposed the seven heavens might enfold 19 dimensions, with black holes—mak’abartar taurari (the graveyard of stars)—as portals to these realms, tied to the Qur’anic number 19 (74:30, “Over it are nineteen”). Hashem Al-Ghaili’s post, citing the James Webb Space Telescope’s JADES survey, notes the rotation of 263 distant galaxies shows asymmetry—two-thirds spinning the same way, defying expected randomness. This supports black hole cosmology, suggesting our universe exists within a larger black hole, aligning with my concept of _mak’abartar taurari_ as a liminal space bridging dimensions or universes.

If each heaven is a universe, it might have a dimensional structure. Our universe is 4D, but higher heavens could harbor more dimensions, as string theory suggests (10 or 11 dimensions). The “gates” of Isra wal Mi’raj might be dimensional thresholds. Death could be the key to crossing them, carrying the soul through mak’abartar taurari into these universes, where nineteen angels of Jahannam (74:30) oversee dimensions, their number echoing the nineteen letters of Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—a cosmic symmetry of divine order.

Conclusion: A Unified Vision of Allah’s Creation

With 2 trillion galaxies, the observable universe becomes the first heaven, a single bubble in Allah’s dominion—potentially within a larger black hole, as the JADES survey suggests. The higher six heavens, as separate universes, align with the Qur’anic narrative of inaccessibility (55:33), jinns’ repulsion (72:8-9), and the gated ascent of Isra wal Mi’raj, resonating with multiverse theories supported by evidence like the CMB Cold Spot and galactic rotational asymmetry.

As I break my fast this 27th day of Ramadan, I marvel at this possibility, inspired by Dr. Dahiru’s thread, the contributions of Hammad Abubakar Puma, and the scientific insights shared by Hashem Al-Ghaili. I also remember Qur’an 18:109, which speaks of the vastness of Allah’s words: “Say, ‘If the sea were ink for [writing] the words of my Lord, the sea would be exhausted before the words of my Lord were exhausted, even if We brought the like of it as a supplement.’” 

As I ponder the vastness of Allah’s words: read, His creations—the seven heavens, each a testament to His boundless power; Science, jinns, and humans are confined to the first heaven, but death—through divine mercy—might carry us beyond, through the _mak’abartar taurari,_ into realms where nineteen angels stand guard, and Allah’s Kursi spans all (2:255). Yet in this sacred month, the Qur’an bids us ponder, and the seven universes offer a vision of creation as vast as Allah’s mercy itself.