Nigeria

By Muhammad Umar Shehu 

I read with deep shock and sorrow about the gruesome murder of innocent travellers from Basawa in Zaria LGA of Kaduna State. It is heartbreaking and disturbing. 

What is happening to our society? When did we become so heartless that taking a human life no longer moves us? When did we start watching these tragedies unfold without reacting, without speaking, without demanding justice? This is not normal. We are clearly losing our sense of humanity and conscience.

The killing of these travellers is wicked, and it must be condemned in the strongest terms. No matter the excuse, mob action is mob action. Whether it happens in Plateau, Uromi, Kaduna, or anywhere else, it is lawlessness. It is cruel. And it has no place in any society that wants to grow, that wants peace, that wants justice. The moment we begin to justify the unjustifiable, we open the door to more bloodshed and deeper division.

The Federal Government, Plateau and Kaduna State Governments, security agencies, traditional rulers, religious leaders, and all other concerned stakeholders must rise to the occasion. This crime must not go unpunished. It is not enough to issue statements. Action must follow. Those behind this evil must be arrested, investigated properly, and brought to justice. That is the only way this act can serve as a warning to others. We cannot continue to act as if all is well when innocent lives are being wasted with no consequences.

It is painful to admit, but we have become a society where people record killings with their phones instead of stepping in to stop the madness. Where is our sense of community? Where is our compassion? The silence and indifference from many quarters are just as dangerous as the violence itself. We must speak up, we must act, and we must demand better from those who claim to lead and protect us.

The media, civil society, and the public must not let this incident be buried under the weight of the next trending story. These lives mattered, and these families deserve answers. We must keep the pressure on until justice is served. A society that fails to protect the innocent will one day be a danger to everyone, including those who look away.

May the Almighty Allah forgive the victims, grant them eternal peace, and give their families the strength to bear this painful loss. And may we, as a people, wake up before it is too late.

Muhammad Umar Shehu is a writer and social commentator from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

By Anas Abbas

The Socio-Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP) has urgently called on President Bola Tinubu to refer the ongoing violence and killings in Benue State to the International Criminal Court (ICC).

This action is deemed essential to ensure justice for victims and hold those responsible accountable for what SERAP describes as serious violations of international law.

In a statement released on Sunday, SERAP’s Deputy Director, Kolawole Oluwadare, emphasized that such a referral would demonstrate the President’s commitment to human rights and the rule of law.

SERAP urged the President to “quickly refer the situation in Benue State to the ICC, allowing the court to exercise its jurisdiction over the violence, unlawful killings, and other grave breaches of international humanitarian and human rights law occurring in the region.”

The organization also encouraged the President to consider extending this referral to encompass other areas in Nigeria experiencing similar violence and serious human rights violations.

They suggested that he could request the ICC prosecutor to broaden any current investigations regarding Nigeria to include these situations.

SERAP stated, “Referring the situation in Benue State to the ICC would align with your expressed commitment to ‘hunt down the perpetrators of the attacks and bring them to justice, deliver justice for victims, and restore peace in the state.’”

The organization stressed the urgent need for accountability for these violent acts, regardless of whether the perpetrators are state or non-state actors.

They warned that any hesitation to refer the situation to the ICC would only embolden those responsible for these attacks to act with impunity, as many have yet to face justice.

SERAP explained that referring the crisis in Benue to the ICC is a straightforward process for the Nigerian government.

They noted that Article 14 of the Rome Statute does not impose an evidentiary burden on Nigeria.

Any referral made by the government would obligate the ICC prosecutor to either initiate an investigation or assess whether there is sufficient basis for doing so.

The group pointed out that several African nations have successfully referred cases to the ICC in the past, encouraging Nigeria to follow suit.

They highlighted that countries like Gabon, Mali, Uganda, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and the Central African Republic have previously made such referrals.

In a show of urgency, SERAP has set a one-week deadline for action, warning that if the Nigerian government fails to respond, other ICC member states may intervene.

They reminded President Tinubu that the ICC is fully empowered to investigate and prosecute crimes of this nature, stating, “The ICC has jurisdiction over those most responsible for international crimes, including war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. The provisions of the Rome Statute allow your government to refer the situation in Benue to the court.”

By Arita Oluoma Alih

Medical science has evolved significantly over the centuries. One of the most remarkable breakthroughs in this journey is the art and science of surrogacy, a practice where a woman carries a child in utero (in the womb) on behalf of another woman or couple, whose egg and sperm are fertilised in a laboratory to form an embryo before being implanted into the surrogate mother.

The choice to become a surrogate mother is bestowed upon a woman who undergoes the implantation process, a complex journey that undoubtedly results in experiencing discomfort, physical and emotional pain.

Regardless of the outcome, these pains persist as the foetus develops during the nine-month gestation period, which comes with its own set of challenges, including hormonal imbalances and resultant body changes.

Becoming a surrogate mother is not a knee-jerk decision. Financial challenges, especially in developing societies like ours, and sympathy – a woman wanting to help another woman who has been struggling to conceive or whose womb has been certified unfit to carry a child by a medical professional – are often underlying motivations.

Intended parents also do not jump into surrogacy headfirst; they may have tried other means before settling for such a tedious process. Others, however, would opt for it due to tokophobia – the fear of childbirth. For this group, it is a case of better safe than sorry. 

Other phobias that make couples consider surrogacy include the fear of losing the baby inside the womb, medically known as stillbirth; fear of dying during childbirth; fear of excessive weight gain and other bodily and hormonal changes; fear of mom brain; and baby blues, among others. 

With all these factors in mind, it is mind-boggling that a woman should go the extra mile to carry and birth another person’s child, only to be left high and dry without any form of compensation!

On May 26, 2025, the House of Representatives initiated legislative action to prohibit commercial surrogacy in Nigeria and establish a framework to regulate the practice solely for non-commercial, altruistic purposes. This move follows the introduction of “A Bill for an Act to Protect the Health and Well-being of Women, Particularly in Relation to Surrogacy and for Related Matters”.

The provisions in the Bill that stipulate ‘explicit protection against coercion or forced surrogacy arrangements’ and ‘mandating counselling for both surrogate mothers and intended parents’ are highly commendable. This is particularly important given instances where intended parents reject babies based on gender preferences; counselling would help them understand that they must accept the child wholeheartedly, regardless of gender.

Another twist that underscores the importance of counselling is that, in some cases, surrogate mothers have fought for and claimed ownership of the child, despite prior agreements.

Secondly, the “endorsement of only altruistic surrogacy, where no financial profit is involved except for reimbursing medical and pregnancy-related matters” is a point of contention. Surrogate mothers should be fairly compensated financially for their role, based on mutually agreed-upon terms and conditions between both parties.

While the bill in itself may be altruistic, it should consider monetary compensation for women who render such a difficult and time-consuming service, thereby providing them with the necessary tools to maintain proper mental and physical well-being after childbirth.

Since the bill seeks to protect the rights of women involved in surrogacy and other parties, the legislators should consider several key factors: What happens if a surrogate mother loses her life? What if a stillbirth occurs? What provisions are made for aftercare? What if the pregnancy leaves the surrogate mother with long-lasting health issues, such as hypertension or diabetes? Addressing these questions will provide balance and add depth to the Bill.

The monetary compensation should be seen as a form of consolation for these surrogate mothers when all is said and done. However, Senator Uchenna Okonkwo, who represents the Idemili North/Idemili South Federal Constituency of Anambra State and sponsored the bill, may have his reasons, which I won’t speculate about. Nevertheless, the bill warrants a second look to make it more comprehensive.

Lastly, it is no news that baby farms are hotbeds for illicit activities, including human trafficking. Criminalising commercial surrogacy might inadvertently fuel these underground enterprises, whereas a more critical look at the bill to include compensating surrogate mothers could nip the problem in the bud.

Arita Oluoma Alih is a student of the International Institute of Journalism. She writes from Abuja and can be reached at aritaarit118@gmail.com.

By Sabiu Usman

On a Thursday evening, I began to experience symptoms of a fever. I took paracetamol, which temporarily reduced the temperature, but the fever returned more aggressively by nightfall. I spent the entire night shivering and praying for dawn, hoping to visit a nearby pharmacy for further treatment.

By morning, I was too weak to leave the house alone. I contacted a neighbour who often assisted people with basic medications. He came over with some drugs, inserted a cannula into my hand, and administered an injection. After some time, I felt slightly better, just enough to perform my early morning obligatory prayers.

After prayers, I visited my parents for the usual morning greetings. They noticed the cannula in my hand and expressed concern. I explained that I had been battling a fever all night. They offered prayers for my quick recovery and good health.

I returned to my room to rest, but a few hours later, the fever returned. I decided to visit a hospital for a proper diagnosis and treatment. I informed my mother and father, who responded with prayer and support.

Just as I stepped out, NEPA restored electricity, so I went back inside briefly to plug in my phones. Then I picked up my HMO & ATM card, some cash, and headed out. I stopped an Okada taxi motorcycle and climbed. However, midway through the trip, I suddenly felt dizzy and weak. I asked the Okada man to stop so I would not fall off. He parked and waited with me for about 10 minutes. When the dizziness did not subside, he advised me to stop another Okada when I felt better, and he left.

As I sat by the roadside with my head lowered, trying to recover, I heard someone call my name: “Sabiu, what are you doing here?” I looked up and saw a man who seemed to recognise me. I told him I was heading to Doma Hospital, and he offered to give me a ride. Without much thought, I entered his tinted glass car, given my background working in places like banks, I often encountered many people, so I did not find it unusual that he knew me, even though I could not recognise him.

I did not realise the danger until the doors shut behind me. The two men in the back seat immediately pulled me to the centre and forced a long beanie over my head, covering my face. We drove for about 25 minutes. When the cap was finally removed, I found myself in an unfamiliar room with three men surrounding me.

One of them, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, opened a kit, pulled out a syringe, and took my blood. He also forced me to give a saliva sample by pressing my jaw and collected it in a small container. Then he asked for a urine sample. I told him I did not feel the urge, but he insisted. One of the men, a tall, heavy-set individual, struck me twice in the back. The pain and fear triggered an immediate urge, and I had no choice but to comply. I gave the sample.

They offered me food, which I refused. I was scared and confused, still burning with fever. I noticed a wall clock, and it was 11:20 am. They left me locked in the room around noon and did not return with food and water until late that night, around 10:00 pm. Again, I refused to eat.

Later, one of the men sitting beside me was scrolling through what appeared to be my Facebook profile on his phone. I realised he had likely performed a reverse image search using the photo he had taken of me earlier. As he continued scrolling, a call came in from a contact saved as “Dr. Gombe.” He answered briefly, and shortly afterwards, they opened the door to let the doctor in. He appeared again wearing a face mask, this time also with a pair of glasses.

He reviewed some papers and likely test results and told the others that my vitals were fine and the only issue was my fever. He handed me medication I recognised and trusted, so I took it. It relieved the fever, but I remained cautious and continued to reject all food and drinks they offered.

That night, I could not sleep. I was terrified, and I knew something terrible was about to happen.

On Saturday morning, I refused to eat the breakfast they brought. They eventually left, leaving me alone inside the room. Around 9:00 pm, they returned. I overheard a tense conversation between the men and the doctor from behind the door. The doctor confirmed that everything had been arranged for a journey to Kaduna, where a surgery was scheduled for Monday. The driver, whom I had become familiar with by voice, asked about payment and the buyer of the kidney. Suddenly, one of them realised the door had not been entirely shut and might have allowed me to overhear their plans. He quickly pulled it closed and locked it properly.

When I realised they were planning to transport me to Kaduna, surgically remove my kidney, and sell it, a wave of fear surged through me. My heart began to race uncontrollably. I knew, without a doubt, that I had to find a way to escape or I might not live to tell the story.

That night, after they all left with the doctor, I gathered what little strength I had left and began inspecting the room. The doors were solid, and the windows were tightly secured with reinforced burglar-proof bars. Then, as I looked upward, I noticed the ceiling was made of a thin, rubber-like material, not as strong as the rest of the room. I dragged a chair to the centre, climbed onto the headrest, and carefully broke through two ceiling panels. With trembling hands, I pulled myself up into the roof cavity.

Carefully crawling along the ceiling joists, I broke through another panel leading into a different bedroom. I did not stop. I kept crawling, searching for a way out, until I spotted a weak point near the edge of the roof. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed through it, and to my relief, it opened to the outside.

I jumped down and instantly heard approaching footsteps. My heart pounded as I dove into a nearby flower bed, pressing my body flat against the ground. A man walked by, sweeping the area with a flashlight. I held my breath, praying he would not see me. Fortunately, he moved on to another part of the compound. When his back was turned, I leapt up, climbed onto a drum near the wall, and scaled it, disappearing into the night as fast as my legs could carry me.

I ran blindly, barefoot, and disoriented. Eventually, I found a road. I tried flagging down cars, but most sped past. Finally, an elderly man stopped. He asked where I was going. I said Nasarawo. He said he was not going that far but would drop me at Jekadafari Roundabout.

He noticed I was barefoot and looked me over suspiciously, probably questioning my mental state, but he said nothing. When we reached Jekadafari, I got down and began walking toward Central Primary School, exhausted and disoriented. Along the way, someone who looked familiar stopped me. Though I could not remember his name, we recognised each other. 

“Sabiu, what happened to you?” he asked, shocked. I did not have the strength to explain. I simply begged, “Please just take me home.” Without hesitation, he helped me onto his motorcycle and rode straight to our house in Nasarawo.

My mother was the only one at home; all of them were out searching for me. I knocked on her door and weakly said, “It’s me.” She opened it, and I collapsed in her arms, crying. She offered me water, which I drank desperately. After two sachets, I passed out from exhaustion and trauma.

My elder brother and his wife, both medical practitioners, had returned by then. They immediately began treating me. I was given injections and placed on intravenous fluids. Their swift care helped stabilise me.

I didn’t wake up until midnight the next day, Sunday. I had slept for more than 24 hours straight. My body had completely shut down from the fever, stress, and trauma.

When I finally regained enough strength to speak, I sat with my mother and narrated everything, from the moment I fell ill to my escape from the traffickers. As I said, her eyes filled with tears. She listened in horror, then pulled me close and wept.

Through her sobs, she kept repeating, “Alhamdulillah. Your prayers and ours worked. Allah protected you.” Today, I am recovering, still feeling aches and pains, but alive. I thank God for giving me the courage and the opportunity to escape.

I share my story to warn the public: organ trafficking is real. These people are organised and patient, and may even know your name or background. They work like professionals, from collecting samples to contacting buyers.

Please be cautious when interacting with strangers, even those who seem familiar. If you ever feel dizzy, disoriented, or experience sudden symptoms after a simple injection, seek professional medical help immediately.

Above all, always let your loved ones know where you are going and don’t move around alone, especially when you are unwell.

May Allah continue to protect us all, ameen.

Sabiu Usman can be reached via sabiuusman12@gmail.com.

By Uzair Adam

The Muslim Corpers’ Association of Nigeria (MCAN) has expressed deep sorrow over the tragic killing of over 200 people in a brutal attack on Friday night in Yelawa, Guma Local Government Area of Benue State.

The Daily Reality reports that the development was disclosed in a statement by the National Executive Council of MCAN on Tuesday.

MCAN, in the statement signed by its National PRO, Hadi-Almu Umar Faruk, condemned the attack in strong terms and called on government authorities to ensure justice is served.

It described the massacre as a “heinously inhumane act of violence” and emphasized that the sanctity of human life is a divine trust that must be protected.

“No cause can ever justify such wanton bloodshed. A society where life can be taken with impunity is a society in crisis,” the statement said.

MCAN also urged media organizations across Nigeria to give balanced attention to cases of insecurity in other parts of the country, especially the Southeast, Northwest, and Northeastern zones, where lives continue to be lost regularly.

“Balanced and comprehensive reportage is not only a journalistic duty but a powerful tool in awakening national conscience and mobilizing the collective will to act against injustice,” it stated.

In addition, the association advised all Muslim corps members serving in volatile states like Benue, Borno, Niger, Sokoto, Kebbi, Imo, and Zamfara to remain vigilant, avoid high-risk areas, and stay connected with local MCAN units for safety.

MCAN, in the statement, offered prayers for peace and protection across Nigeria.

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

Let’s stop sugarcoating it. Nigeria’s leaders have failed the very people they swore to serve. The signs are everywhere. Millions go to bed hungry, communities are under constant threat from bandits and terrorists, and families bury loved ones over avoidable tragedies. The cry from the North to the South is the same: “Where is the government?”

For decades, we have watched politicians campaign with promises and disappear after elections. We have listened to speeches full of hope, only to wake up to worsening hardship. Whether in education, healthcare, security, or the economy, Nigerians are primarily left to fend for themselves in a country that seems to work only for the elite.

Electricity is unstable. Public schools are underfunded. Hospitals lack basic equipment. Roads are death traps. Jobs are scarce. The police often protect the rich while the poor face brutality. The gap between government and the governed has become dangerously wide.

But the failure didn’t start yesterday. It results from years of corruption, mismanagement, and lack of vision. Successive governments, both military and civilian, have chipped away at the country’s foundations while enriching themselves. The civil service, once respected, is now known more for inefficiency and bribery than service delivery.

What’s worse is that people have grown tired. Tired of voting without results. Tired of protesting with no response. Tired of hoping for leaders who never come. This fatigue is dangerous because when people lose faith in the system, they seek alternatives. And that is where chaos begins.

Still, all hope is not lost. The first step is honesty. We need to admit that things are not okay. Then, we must demand better. Louder. Consistently. In unity. Good governance doesn’t happen by chance. It happens when citizens hold leaders accountable during elections and every day after.

Nigeria is not poor. Nigerians are not lazy. The failure lies in a leadership that treats public service like a private business. Until that changes, the suffering will continue. But if the people find their voice and use it, we may turn this broken system into something that works for all.

Muhammad Umar Shehu wrote from Gombe and can be reached via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

By Lawan Bukar Maigana

At a birthday lecture titled “Weaponisation of Poverty as a Means of Underdevelopment: A Case Study of Nigeria,” organised in honour of former Governor Rotimi Amaechi at the Continental Hotel in Abuja, the Emir of Kano, Sanusi Lamido Sanusi, bitterly complained about the unprecedented hardship Nigerians face today. 

According to him, the inflation and poverty gripping the nation are the direct consequences of loving to rule over people rather than loving them through developing favourable policies. That’s what I understand from his statement. But isn’t the fuel subsidy removal connected mainly to the realities he pointed out? 

Many might forget, or conveniently overlook, that this same Sanusi Lamido Sanusi has been one of the strongest advocates for removing fuel subsidies since 2012. Years ago, I heard him proudly state on BBC Hausa that he had repeatedly advised President Muhammadu Buhari to remove subsidies and shut down Nigeria’s borders. 

Respectfully, Buhari granted only one of his two wishes—closing the borders while leaving fuel subsidies intact. The subsidies lingered for years, postponed amid fears of political backlash.

Under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the fuel subsidy has finally been removed. The impact on ordinary Nigerians has been brutal—prices for fuel and essential commodities have surged, sending inflation into uncharted territory. People are being hunted by hunger and economic hardship like never before.

In this context, I believe Sanusi’s recent criticisms miss the mark. If anyone deserves celebration, it is President Tinubu,who dares to implement what Sanusi himself recommended years ago. Blaming Tinubu alone, even though Sanusi didn’t mention his name, for the hardship is unfair because he and other elite policymakers never offered concrete solutions or mitigating measures to cushion the blow on the poor when pushing for subsidy removal.

It is important to remind Nigerians that the blame for this economic situation is shared, not the fault of any one individual or administration. As the former Governor of the Apex Bank, Sanusi is part of the problem he now publicly laments. He advocated for the policy without proposing corresponding safety nets or economic reforms to soften the impact. The failure to plan has cost Nigerians dearly.

At the Abuja event, Sanusi asked a question that cut to the heart of leadership in Nigeria: “Do we as leaders truly love Nigerians, or do we just like ruling over them?” The answer is painfully obvious: too many leaders are interested in power for power’s sake. They seek to rule over the masses rather than serve them by crafting policies that uplift the poor.

This question should prompt serious reflection. If policymakers want to see genuine progress, they must remember that leadership is more than advising harsh policies; it is about standing with the people during the painful transitions these policies cause. It is about preparing the ground and providing support systems before asking citizens to bear the burden of economic reforms.

Nigeria’s elites, including Sanusi, need to own their history, yesterday. They must remember their past advocacies and be willing to share responsibility when those policies create hardship. It is easy to blame the current government for long-advocated but poorly planned decisions. It is far harder to admit one’s role in the consequences.

The harsh reality is that many elites conveniently forget their yesterday—the positions they took and the policies they championed. When those policies are finally implemented, and Nigerians bear the consequences, those same elites criticise the outcomes as if they had no hand in shaping them.

The lesson here is clear: policymaking in Nigeria must be holistic. It must consider not only economic theories but also social realities. Removing subsidies may be necessary, but without effective mitigation strategies, it becomes a weapon of poverty, inflicting untold suffering on the most vulnerable.

So, as Nigerians struggle with inflation and hardship, we should remember the true colours of our elites. They must be held accountable—not only for the policies they recommend but also for the human cost of those policies.

Lastly, I ask again: Should those who recommend harsh policies also bear part of the responsibility for their outcomes? The answer is a resounding yes. True leadership demands not just bold ideas but also the courage to accept the consequences and work tirelessly to protect the people.

Lawan Bukar Maigana is a journalist, humanitarian, Pan-Africanist, and social commentator. He’s known as Ibn Maigana on Facebook.

By Usman Abdullahi Koli, ANIPR

It is difficult to tell the story of a man whose life was not just lived but felt deeply, genuinely, and profoundly. It’s over now, the last file signed, the final handshake exchanged, the door gently closed behind a man whose entire life has been anything but ordinary.

As of May 30, 2025, Dr. Bala Maijama’a Wunti stepped out of public service, quietly bowing out from a remarkable journey that shook boundaries, lifted lives, and left behind a trail of courage, dignity, and truth. I find it not only fitting but necessary to say this: Now that it is done, let this be my tribute.

Much has been said, written, and whispered in admiration since his retirement announcement. But what I pen today is not a replica of what others have offered. This is personal. This is from a heart that was moved years ago when I sat quietly among students of ATBU Bauchi, listening to a man speak not as a bureaucrat, not as a technocrat, but as someone who had walked through fire barefoot and came out not burnt, but better.

He wasn’t speaking to impress. He was telling the truth, raw and unfiltered. He spoke of days when meals were not guaranteed, when dreams seemed laughable in the face of brutal reality. He described the hunger, the worn sandals, the sleepless nights, and how faith became his pillow. I remember that moment clearly. That day, in that humble auditorium, something shifted. It wasn’t just a speech. It was a defining moment for him and for us who listened.

In that moment, I carried three life lessons from Dr. Wunti—ones he never explicitly taught but demonstrated through his life.

First: Prayer is not optional. I have never encountered a man more grounded in submission to the Divine. No matter how tight his schedule, how demanding the office, and how crucial the meeting was, he found time to pause and connect with his Creator. And he did it not out of habit but conviction. It shaped everything about him: his calm, clarity, and confidence.

Second: He never forced what his heart didn’t embrace. Dr. Wunti did not do things just to tick boxes. He left it alone if his soul wasn’t aligned with a cause. This rare integrity gave his actions an unusual depth. Whether leading multi-billion-naira reforms or quietly helping an ailing community clinic, he did so with full acceptance and sincerity.

Third: Compassion wasn’t a virtue for him; it was a reflex. He gave not because he had to, but because he knew what it felt like to need and not have. Every school he built, child he sponsored, borehole he commissioned, and hospital bill he paid came from a heart softened by experience. He remembered. And in remembering, he uplifted.

Born in Bauchi, in a household where survival often came before ambition, Dr. Bala Wunti grew up in the shadows of lack. But he did not let it define him. Instead, he let it refine him. He pushed through school with sheer determination — from Chemistry at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, to earning his MBA in Marketing from ATBU Bauchi, and a Postgraduate Diploma in Management. These were not just academic milestones but small battles won against the odds.

Then came the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). He joined in 1994, and what followed was a remarkable odyssey. From Production Programming Officer to GM Corporate Planning, and eventually MD of the Petroleum Products Marketing Company (PPMC), he did not just fill positions — he transformed them. His work at NAPIMS as Group General Manager changed how Nigeria handled petroleum investments. Projects like Operation White restored sanity to a system many had given up on.

But beyond strategy and structure, he brought the soul into the system. He refused to let numbers dehumanise policy. He saw the downstream sector not as a marketplace but as a lifeline, and he made it work for people, not just profits.

Still, if you asked Dr. Wunti his proudest achievements, he would not point to the boardroom. He would likely tell you about the girl in Dass who got a scholarship and later became a pharmacist, or the widowed mother in Katagum who now has a roof over her head. He would tell you about community boreholes, school renovations, and the youth he mentored who are now leaders in their own right.

He didn’t just serve; he saw. He saw people not as statistics but as stories. And he listened. And when he could, he helped. Quietly. No cameras. No hashtags.

In his family, Dr. Wunti is not the oil executive; he is Abba. A father who sits with his children teaches them not just by advice, but by example. A husband who understands that love is shown in small acts, in presence, in patience. He did not let success steal him away from those who mattered most. He carried them with him.

Now that his chapter in public service closes, many will remember Dr. Wunti for the policies he shaped, the reforms he led, and the titles he bore. But I will remember him for something more enduring: the humanity he never let go of.

Some may chase greatness by building empires. But some, like him, choose to make people. And when people grow, they remember. They speak. They write just like I am doing now.

Dr. Bala Maijama’a Wunti didn’t retire. He simply stepped into another phase of influence that does not require office walls or government files. His impact now lives in the echoes of children’s laughter in classrooms he built, in the gratitude of patients treated in hospitals he supported, and in the hearts of all of us lucky enough to know the kind of man he truly is.

Thank you, sir, for rising and taking many of us along with you.

This is not goodbye. It’s an honour.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via usmankoli31@gmail.com.

By Anwar Usman

The Federal Government has deployed additional troops to Benue State in response to the latest deadly attack in Yelewata, Guma Local Government Area, which claimed the lives of many of residents.

The Secretary to the Government of the Federation, George Akume, stated this on Monday in a statement.

Akume condemned the deadly attack and reiterated the federal government’s commitment to end the violence.

He said President Bola Tinubu swiftly ordered a full-scale military operation to flush out the perpetrators and restore peace in the area, following the “mindless and disheartening” killings in the state.

He said, “I express profound appreciation to President Bola Tinubu for his swift directive for a full security operation to rid Benue of these killers and bring the perpetrators to justice. It is to be noted also, that the federal government has rendered assistance through NEMA, while more troops have been deployed to Benue state to handle the explosive situation.

“Expressing grief over the merciless killing of many of innocent men, women, and children in the state, Akume described the incident as a wound to the country.

He said, “The continued bloodletting and mindless killings across Benue State are both disheartening and utterly condemnable.

“This latest reprehensible act, one among too many, is not merely a tragedy for Benue; it is a deep wound to the soul of our nation.

“These dastardly acts are not restricted to Benue State alone. Plateau and Zamfara states also suffer the same fate. These killings are economically deterministic, not religiously driven.”

Akume called on leaders and stakeholders in Benue to set aside all differences and urgently unite to chart a sustainable path to peace.

He further stated that “We must rise above division and act decisively to protect our people and preserve our future”.

The SGF urged all Nigerians, regardless of faith or belief, to uphold peace and brotherhood.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

A UK court has sentenced Nigerian health worker Adewale Kudabo to six months in prison for kissing a vulnerable patient in his care, in what the judge described as a “serious abuse of trust.”

Kudabo, who was employed at a care facility in England, was found guilty of engaging in inappropriate and non-consensual physical contact with a patient. The court heard that the victim was emotionally and mentally vulnerable, and unable to provide informed consent.

Presiding Judge Alex Menary said Kudabo’s actions represented “a gross violation of professional boundaries,” and stressed the duty of care owed by healthcare workers to those they serve.

Henry Fernnandez, the prosecutor, said Kudabo was allocated to bathe the patient who was in a lot of pain.

When finished bathing the patient, Kudabo reportedly kissed her on the lips

“The patient was dependent on your care and protection,” Judge Menary said during sentencing. “Instead, you exploited that vulnerability.”

In addition to the prison sentence, Kudabo has been removed from the health care register and is barred from working in the care sector in the future.