Muslims

By Fatima Ishaq Muhammad

Kano, known for its deep Islamic practices and royal traditions, witnessed a historic and uneasy moment during the 2025 Eid-el-Kabir celebrations as two rival Emirs led separate congregational prayers in different parts of the city.

This development demonstrated the woeful crisis over the leadership of the Kano traditional Emirate, which, indeed, remained one of the most powerful traditional institutes in northern Nigeria.

Moreover, on one side was Emir Muhammadu Sanusi II, reinstated in May 2024 by the Kano State Government after being dethroned in 2020. Aminu Ado Bayero was installed as Emir on the other side after Sanusi’s removal. He still maintains that he remains the rightful occupant of the royal seat.

During the Eid celebrations, Emir Sanusi II led prayers at the Kofar Mata Eid Ground, traditionally recognized as the seat of the Emir’s religious leadership.

Meanwhile, Emir Aminu Bayero held his prayers at a different location, with loyalists gathered around him. For the first time in recent memory, Kano experienced two major Eid congregations, each holding up to a divided royal allegiance within the ancient city.

This unprecedented situation did not happen in isolation, but it resulted from the recurring tussle over the Kano Emirate, rooted in politics and personal rivalries.

Sanusi II’s removal in 2020 by the administration of former Governor Abdullahi Ganduje was widely termed as punishment for his massive outspoken criticism of the government.

His reinstatement by the current government of Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf has been challenged in court by Bayero’s supporters, creating legal and political uncertainty over who the legitimate Emir of Kano is.

The split Eid prayers skyrocketed across Kano and beyond, symbolizing the Emirate’s division and disunity of authority.

What should have been a day of religious unity became a visible sign of division in the state’s leadership. Thankfully, no major disturbances were reported, though tensions remain high.

Adding to the complexity of the situation, the traditional Durbar festival, which usually follows the Eid prayers, was banned by the police for security reasons.

The ban disappointed many residents, as the Durbar is integral to Kano’s cultural identity and economic life.

As the legal battles escalate, many residents and observers fear that the division within Kano’s traditional leadership could escalate unless a clear resolution is provided by the courts or through dialogue among key stakeholders.

For now, Kano remains a city with two Emirs, two congregations, and a divided loyalty, awaiting clarity on the future of one of northern Nigeria’s most important royal institutions.

Fatima Ishaq Muhammad via fatimaishaq021@gmail.com.

By Nura Jibo

Whenever I see sure PDP political power losers and their APC bedfellows making historical myths and inaccuracies about their pseudo performance of national economic growth and development, it reminds one of the gospel according to Barnabas.

As a Muslim, I actually believe in the Gospel of Barnabas as a myth rather than a reality. Though his assertions are very true and apt, they are considered among Christians as a non-canonical, pseudodepigraphical gospel attributed to him. They somehow believed Barnabas was a disciple of Jesus who lived in the 14th or 15th century.

These historical myths and inaccuracies are what the so-called PDP and APC elders would wish to present to ordinary Nigerians. Indeed, their misrepresentation of facts is contrary to a detailed account of Barnabas, who, according to his Torgado Siburian theological belief, explained Jesus’ life. This account includes elements that align with Islamic reality and beliefs, such as the denial of Jesus’ crucifixion and a focus on Jesus as a prophet rather than the Son of God. 

Indeed, the PDP/APC elders’ gospel on Nigeria’s political leadership/claim on its progress is nothing but something to be considered a fabrication, as it contradicts the canonical gospels and includes historical conundrums that even the so-called generals in politics that resort to this falsehood amidst public glare cannot provide an answer to!

The PDP presidency under Obasanjo and Jonathan is nothing but a political disaster.

These two presidents presided over Nigeria with impunity and first-class corruption that drained Nigerians and stripped them bare of their dignity in the comity of nations.

Obasanjo shamelessly accused his National Assembly of being a “den of corruption by a gang of unarmed robbers”.

Indeed, Evan Enwerem’s emergence as Obasanjo’s Senate president against Chuba Okadigbo confirmed his corrupt tendencies as a political but not military leader to Nigerians. This remains fresh in our psyches and memories.

The Siemens and KBR bribery scandals, which the FBI investigated, indicted President Obasanjo’s government internationally.

On the other hand, President Jonathan allowed a corrupt Diezani oil ministerial hubris of over N100 billion, alleged to have been collected by Diezani as undue enrichment.

This is not to rule out the role of his wife, Patience, in the $8.4 million and N7.4 billion linked to her by the EFCC under a file suit dubbed FHC/L/CS/620/18.

What the likes of Governors Sule Lamido, Amaechi, Nasiru El-Rufai, Peter Obi, and even VP Atiku Abubakar want to tell Nigerians after being frustrated and pushed to the periphery of power and out of national and global relevance, one hasn’t the vaguest idea.

Please note:

There is no point in alluding to the APC’s leadership under Buhari and Tinubu. Because doing so will not allow us to see the light of day, it is better not to mention the terrible economic harakiri, democratic suicide, and perturbed insecurity that the APC and, by extension, its PDP rivalries have thrown into Nigeria. Recounting APC ordeals is a déjà vu that this writer is not ready to waste more energy delving into.

Happy Eid celebration!

Nura wrote from Shahrazad Homes, 21 Zerifa Aliyev Street, Baku, Azerbaijan.

By Maryam Ahmad

The Federal Government of Nigeria has declared Friday, June 6, and Monday, June 9, 2025, as public holidays to commemorate this year’s Eid-el-Kabir celebration.

Announcing the holidays on behalf of the government, Minister of Interior Dr. Olubunmi Tunji-Ojo extended congratulations to the Muslim Ummah both within Nigeria and in the diaspora. 

Dr Tunji-Ojo urged Muslims to embody the spirit of sacrifice and faith exemplified by Prophet Ibrahim (Peace be upon Him) and to use the period to pray for a peaceful and prosperous Nigeria.

In a statement signed by the ministry’s Permanent Secretary, Dr. Magdalene Ajani, the minister assured Nigerians that the people-oriented reforms and initiatives carried out under President Bola Tinubu’s administration’s Renewed Hope Agendaare aimed at restoring Nigeria to progress.

Eid-el-Kabir, also known as Eid al-Adha, is one of the most significant festivals in Islam. It commemorates Prophet Ibrahim’s willingness to sacrifice his son in obedience to Allah’s command. In Nigeria, the festival is marked by prayers, animal sacrifices, and sharing meals with family, friends, and the less privileged.

The declaration of these public holidays allows Muslims across the country to observe the religious rites and festivities associated with Eid al-Kabir.

By Aisha Musa Auyo

Let me start with this adage: being predictable is boring. The only way to keep attracting your man is by constantly exciting him.

A woman’s unpredictability and mystery can add excitement and intrigue to a relationship, keeping things fresh and engaging. This sense of mystery fosters curiosity and a desire to continually learn more about her, which can help prevent complacency. By maintaining an air of unpredictability, a woman can inspire her partner to stay attentive and actively invested, enhancing emotional and romantic connections.

A classy woman in a relationship exudes respect, grace, and self-confidence. She values herself and her partner, communicates maturely, and maintains her dignity even in challenging situations. Her elegance comes through her kindness, understanding, and ability to express love while setting healthy boundaries. This balance makes her an inspiring and cherished partner.

There are many ways to display charm and sophistication in everyday life.

When it comes to names, choosing affectionate ones for your spouse can depend on the mood, occasion, and shared history. Some days, you can be casual and warm, like “My love,” “Sweetheart,” or “Habibi.” At other times, use respectful titles like “Sir,” “Ranka ya dade,” “Alangubro,” or “Yallabai.”

Use playful nicknames on fun and flirty days (I won’t drop examples here, yauwa). During special moments, use affirming and supportive names like “My Hero” or “My Rock.”

In terms of dressing, if you’re always wearing native wear, surprise him with bum shorts and a spaghetti top. Or try a clingy evening gown or a see-through nightie. Let him know you possess what those Ashawos flaunt, except yours is reserved for his eyes alone.

When styling clothes, try different outfits that give you a new look and poise. We love comfort, but we can still make comfort look sexy and appealing.

Before experimenting with style, know your body type. Know what flatters your figure and what doesn’t. You can’t wear a fitted gown with a big tummy or bum shorts with bow legs. If you’re Qashi da Rai, avoid bubu—it may make you look like Muciya da Zani at home. Yauwa! This isn’t body shaming—it’s being real.

On perfume: know that perfume is the silent language of emotions. A single scent can lift a mood, stir memories, and instantly transform feelings. Use perfume to your advantage at home. It’s a soft weapon of attraction.

Learn to use scents to evoke peace, desire, and comfort. Use different perfumes for the day, night, special occasions, or even just to create a relaxing atmosphere. If you stick to one scent, he might get used to it, and it may lose its effect. Find out which scents he likes and rotate them. Explore English and Arab perfumes, humra, oils, kulaccam, incense, body mist, body milk, body sprays, bath mists—you name it. And remember: your house should smell pleasant too. Don’t smell like a flower while the house smells like Daddawa! Set the tone with your space, then yourself.

Nana Aisha (RA) said:

“I used to perfume the Prophet (peace be upon him) with the best perfume I could find until I saw the shine of the perfume on his head and beard.” (Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 5923)

When it comes to homemaking, we must constantly evolve. If you can’t change furniture often, update your space with small touches: new decor, decluttering, rearranging, or freshening up your environment. Minimal furnishing in small spaces often gives the cleanest look. Keep the house neat and germ-free. Fumigate regularly, burn incense, and use home mists, fresheners, and mopping sprays.

On behaviour—this is tricky, because we can’t be who we are not, but we can improve. If you’re naturally moody, try being more cheerful around your man. A cheerful wife is a huge turn-on. Be the woman he rushes home to. This way, he’ll notice quickly when something is off.

Avoid nagging. Often, a gentle reminder or silence works better than complaints. Be calm when he expects arguments, and then ‘show him shege’ when he least expects it—that’s the art of being unpredictable with a touch of sophistication. But this only works if your man is mature and understanding.

If you have the freedom and mutual understanding in your relationship, playfully surprise him by pretending to be away—perhaps plan a two-day trip, but return after just one. Welcome him with a good meal, a new nightie, and a memorable evening. Or, if he’s open to it, surprise him at work or send a special lunch to brighten his day.

If you always cook continental dishes, try traditional meals sometimes. If you usually serve food plainly, try plating and garnishing. Serve kunun tsamiya instead of a smoothie, or fresh juice instead of fruit salad. Don’t be the woman who only cooks shinkafa da miya and tuwo. Learn, upgrade, and initiate.

For hairstyles, try different braids or updos—ponytails, doughnuts, Kitson GABA, all-back, Calabar styles, etc.- but choose based on your hair type. Don’t insist on a style that doesn’t suit your hair. Most importantly, keep your hair clean and fragrant.

In Oza’s other room, learn to initiate intimacy. Don’t be the boring wife who waits for her husband to make the first move. A wife initiating intimacy strengthens emotional and physical bonds, makes her husband feel desired and valued, and breaks the assumption that one partner must always lead intimacy. It deepens connection, enhances communication, and fosters a more fulfilling relationship.

Also, explore different styles to keep things exciting and mutually satisfying.

If you’re used to black henna, try red or maroon. If you always wear ‘daurin ture ka ga tsiya, switch to turbans or different gele styles.

Sometimes, soften your voice—lower your tone and speak gently when needed. I heard there’s a tone called bedroom voice, right?

If you’re usually strong and independent, try being soft and playful sometimes.

If you’re always asking for money, ease up on small requests, especially when he’s managing big expenses. Surprise him instead with a perfume, shoes, a book, attire, pyjamas, a watch, or a ring. You shouldn’t always be the one expecting gifts. That’s why we say ‘ki nemi kudi, Lantana’.

And to you, Dan Lami or Man Sagir, know that all this charm, sophistication, versatility, and surprise can’t happen if you are too strict, stingy, or overbearing. You must be friendly and generous with your words, smiles, time, emotions, and yes, your wallet. Yauwa.

Lemme stop here….

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, PhD

It was a warm afternoon in my office at the Zakah and Waqf Foundation in Gombe, and I had cleared my schedule for what was described as a “very important meeting.” A group of nine young professionals—doctors, nurses, and medical administrators—filed in with purposeful expressions. These were respected Muslim health workers in our community, competent and resourceful in their own rights, leading their Muslim body. 

They sat down, exchanged pleasantries, and after a few minutes, one of them cleared his throat and spoke. “We were hoping you could help us reach Qatar Charity. We want to build a mosque in our hospital.”

I paused. My mind raced not with criticism but with confusion. These were not poor villagers. These were professionals, all salaried, some likely earning above average. I asked gently, “How much will the mosque cost?”

“About ten million naira.”

“And how many Muslim staff do you have?”

“Roughly 500,” they responded.

I picked up a pen and scribbled something. “That’s twenty thousand naira each,” I said. “Divided over four months, that’s 5,000 naira per month.”

There was a short silence. “You don’t need Qatar Charity,” I told them. “You need yourselves; you need Gombe Charity.”

From my limited understanding, I explained that most international charities, like Qatar Charity, raise funds from within their own people first. They identify a problem in a country, develop a proposal, return to their citizens and say: “Donate to build a mosque in Nigeria.” If they can do that for us, why can’t we do it for ourselves? I then told them to put my name as the first donor of the twenty thousand naira to kickstart the project. 

That brief meeting offered a glimpse into a deeper issue—our chronic psychological dependence on external aid, even when we can act. The problem isn’t always material poverty; often, it’s a lack of belief in our collective strength—a poverty of the mind and will.

The Turkey Phenomenon: A Lesson Misunderstood

Take, for example, the popular trend in some Northern Nigerian states where applications pour into Turkish and other organisations for Qurbani (Udhiya) distributions. Turkish charities, may Allah reward them, buy cows and distribute meat during Eid.

But here’s a crucial question: Is this a model to emulate or one to reconsider? If every year, our people look outward to receive—and never inward to learn how to organise, fund, and distribute—we risk cultivating a culture of constant reception without reciprocity.

Islam is not a religion of passivity. It teaches us to act before asking, to solve before seeking, and to build with what is already in our hands. Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught us that the upper hand is better than the lower one—the hand that gives is superior to the hand that receives.

The Al-Basar Example: From Vision to Visionary Impact

Now, let’s discuss a model worth following—Al-Basar International Foundation.

Al Basar International Foundation is a non-profit international NGO. Founded in 1989 by a group of concerned professionals. Al-Basar is a shining example of what happens when people come together to solve a problem themselves. Their focus? Combating preventable blindness across the Muslim world. No dependency. No grand donor campaigns. Just strategic self-mobilisation as well as waqf and collaborative mindset. 

It works in Yemen, Bangladesh, Sudan, Nigeria, Pakistan, etc. In Nigeria, for instance, a 2019 campaign funded by King Salman Humanitarian Aid and Relief Centre in collaboration with Al Basar International Foundation saw medical volunteers from Saudi Arabia meet 8,000 eye patients and perform 800 eye surgeries to remove cataract and glaucoma in Ibadan, Nigeria, as well as in Lafia in Nasarawa State. 

The foundation manages the Makkah Eye Specialist Hospital in Kano state, Nigeria, where 4,000 free eye surgeries were carried out in 2021. The hospital treats eye conditions, including diabetic retinopathy. In 2022, Al Basar International Foundation, in collaboration with the King Salman Relief Center, sponsored 400 free cataract surgeries for residents of Kano, which took place at Makkah Eye Specialist Hospital. 

Over the years, Al Basar has conducted over 2,000 outreach programs worldwide, performed over 700,000 cataract surgeries, and dispensed nearly 2 million glasses. With 28 hospitals across six countries, the foundation has recorded 26 million outpatient visits. It also invests in education by establishing colleges to train eye care professionals, impacting Africa and Asia. Their school screening program has reached over 1 million children, providing immediate interventions and ensuring a comprehensive approach to their eye health.

Now ask yourself: is Al-Basar a government-funded operation? No. Did it start with foreign aid? No. It was “from them, by them, for them.” And now it is for us, too—because they nurtured it to the point where it could grow beyond them.

We should not only admire such models. We should replicate them.

Historical Echoes: Islamic Proofs of Self-Driven Solutions

Uthman ibn Affan (RA) and the Well of Rumah

When water scarcity plagued Medina, and a private owner monopolised a well, the Prophet (SAW) called for someone to purchase it for the Muslims. Uthman (RA) stepped up, bought the well, and made it a public waqf. He didn’t write to Yemen. He didn’t petition the Romans. He simply used what Allah had given him to solve a problem for Allah’s sake.

So, What Can We Do? A Homegrown Waqf Blueprint

If we genuinely want to stop relying on donors and start building resilient communities, here are practical steps:

Think Within, Act Within: Begin every solution by asking what the community already has—not what it lacks. Do you have professionals? Land? Skills? Social networks? Then, start from there.

Group Economic Self-Waqfing: Encourage professional groups (doctors, teachers, engineers, traders, lawyers) to dedicate a portion of monthly income to a fund. Even a modest 5,000 naira monthly from 100 people can generate sustainable capital. At Zakah and Waqf Foundation, we enjoy that from some professionals, and it works. 

Community Challenge Waqf: Identify a local challenge—maternal health, education for orphans, access to clean water—and collectively endow a waqf around it. Let the yield solve that problem perpetually.

Transparent Management Structures: Set up trustworthy waqf boards to manage resources. Trust fuels contribution. Accountability sustains it.

Celebrate Independence: Create cultural pride around self-funded projects. Showcase schools, hospitals, orphanages, and mosques built without a single foreign dime.

It is Time to Change the Script

Imagine if each LGA in Nigeria had one waqf-funded primary health centre, one vocational training centre, and one scholarship fund—all funded by local contributions from professionals, retirees, and small traders.

We would not be beggars. We would be builders.

It’s time to write a new story. One not of helplessness and application letters to foreign NGOs but of resolve, unity, and strategic giving. One of From Us, By Us, For Us—in the truest, most impactful sense.

When that story is told to future generations, they will say: There was a people who stopped waiting and started building.

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

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.