Northern Nigeria

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

Nigeria’s Fourth Republic, which commenced in 1999, introduced a distinctive political culture that has since become entrenched in the nation’s democratic practice. Governors automatically emerge as leaders of their political parties in their respective states.

Although this arrangement is not expressly written into the 1999 Constitution or party constitutions as a rigid rule, it has evolved into an accepted political convention. In practical terms, once a governor belongs to a political party, he becomes the undisputed leader of that party in the state.

This “default” leadership status flows from the enormous constitutional powers, financial control, and political influence vested in state governors. Under the 1999 Constitution, governors are the chief executives of their states, control significant public resources, influence appointments, and play central roles in policy direction. These powers naturally position them as dominant actors within the political structure of their states. Political parties, being vehicles for acquiring and exercising power, inevitably gravitate toward the governor as their rallying point.

Critics often argue that this arrangement departs from earlier republican experiences. During Nigeria’s First, Second, and even Third Republics, governors and presidents were not automatically regarded as the formal leaders of their parties at the state or national levels. Party structures were often more independent, with clearer institutional separation between party leadership and executive office holders. However, Nigeria’s political system has evolved significantly since then. The current democratic framework places far greater burden, administrative authority, fiscal control, and political leverage in the hands of governors than was previously the case. It’s about the position!

The emergence of governors as de facto party leaders is not accidental but a result of political evolution shaped by key realities. The 1999 Constitution centralises executive authority in governors, making them the most powerful figures in their states. They also control critical political resources, finances, networks, appointments, and patronage, which are essential for party survival and electoral success. In a competitive electoral environment, incumbency provides structure, visibility, and mobilisation strength that few others can match.

Above all, political parties require unified command; without clear leadership at the state level, factionalism and instability can easily arise.

Imagine the chaos and unhealthy rivalry that could engulf a political party if a sitting governor chose to remain indifferent to party affairs. Competing factions would struggle for supremacy. Conflicting directives could weaken party cohesion. Such fragmentation could easily cost the party elections and governance effectiveness.

Furthermore, when it comes to interfacing between the executive arm at the federal level and party structures within the states, particularly in matters relating to appointments, political negotiations, federal-state collaboration, and reward systems, the governor’s role becomes indispensable. Governors serve as the bridge between national party leadership and grassroots political actors. In fact, Presidents often rely on Governors to win a state 

Just as the President functions as the leader of his party at the national level, governors serving as party leaders in their states create symmetry within the political order. This structure promotes stability, clarity of authority, strategic coordination, and internal discipline.

It is therefore not surprising that across Nigeria’s 21 registered political parties, this practice is widely accepted. Once a governor joins a party, he naturally assumes leadership of that party in the state, not necessarily by proclamation, but by political reality.

While debates may continue about whether this system strengthens internal party democracy or concentrates excessive influence in one individual, its practical utility in maintaining order, direction, and electoral viability cannot be ignored.

The emergence of governors as party leaders in their states reflects the reality on the ground, political necessity, and democratic evolution in Nigeria’s Fourth Republic.

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

By Hadiza Abdulkadir 

I am speaking out as a concerned sister after my younger brother from Kano, Nigeria, Ismail, was repeatedly contacted on TikTok by individuals claiming to be football agents.

They asked about his football journey and promised trials in another state where “European agents” would scout talented players. However, there was one condition: he had to pay for the registration form.

When I advised Ismail to ask what the form looked like, the so-called agent sent a blurry screenshot of a flashy, unprofessional document with no official logo, no verified organisation, and no connection to recognised bodies like the Nigeria Football Federation or FIFA. That was a big red flag.

According to people with deep knowledge about scouting, real agents do not randomly scout players on TikTok and demand upfront payments. Thankfully, Ismail asked questions before making any decision and did not send any money.

Many young footballers dream of playing professionally, and scammers are exploiting that dream. Parents and players must verify every claim, research every agent, and never pay fees without confirmed legitimacy.

Patience and due diligence can protect young talents from becoming victims. Beware.

Hadiza is Nigerian but writes from Cologne, Germany. She can be contacted via hadiza225@gmail.com.

By Umar Saleh Burra 

‎Residents of Burra District in Ningi Local Government Area of Bauchi State have renewed their appeal to telecom companies to establish a fully functional telecommunications network within their community.

‎With an estimated population of over 80,000 people, the Burra District remains without access to reliable mobile network services. Community members report that the only available network provider in the area delivers inconsistent and poor connectivity, making communication extremely difficult for residents.

‎Speaking on behalf of the community, Umar Saleh Burra, the absence of a stable telecommunications network has significantly affected economic activities, healthcare communication, education, security coordination, and access to digital financial services. Business owners lament that unreliable connectivity disrupts transactions and limits opportunities for growth.

‎“Students face challenges accessing online educational resources, while families struggle to maintain contact with relatives and essential services. 

‎Community leaders emphasised that in today’s digital age, telecommunications services are not a luxury but a necessity. They noted that expanding network coverage to the Burra District would enhance socio-economic development, promote financial inclusion, improve emergency response systems, and strengthen overall community connectivity.

‎“We are law-abiding citizens who contribute to the economic and social development of our state. We humbly appeal to Nigerian telecom companies and relevant authorities to consider establishing network infrastructure in Burra District,” Saleh stated.

‎The people of Burra are also calling on political leaders, policymakers, and relevant regulatory agencies to support this request and facilitate collaboration with telecom companies to address the communication gap affecting the district.

‎As Nigeria continues to expand its digital economy, communities like Burra urge telecommunications providers to extend coverage to underserved rural areas to ensure inclusive national development.

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

Nigeria has seen political fallouts before, but few are as unsettling as the growing public rupture between Nasir El‑Rufai and Nuhu Ribadu. What makes the moment troubling is not merely the personalities involved, but what their dispute threatens to do to national cohesion, public trust and the already fragile boundary between politics and security.

If two men who once symbolised reformist zeal and institutional courage now choose a path of mutual destruction, they should pause and reflect—on their faith, their region, and the national interest. Because stripped of rhetoric and television soundbites, this is no longer about governance, security reform or leadership ethics. It is the bare-knuckle politics of succession, alignment and survival ahead of the next election cycle.

There was a time when this clash would have been unthinkable. Both men emerged from the same political generation shaped by the reformist moment of the early 2000s under Olusegun Obasanjo. El-Rufai, the outspoken technocrat as Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, and Ribadu, the dogged anti-corruption crusader as Chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, were once celebrated as “Obasanjo’s boys”—symbols of a new order that promised discipline, accountability and institutional renewal.

They shared proximity to power, similar access to the president, and a reputation for fearlessness. Their friendship appeared not only political but personal—jolly, confident, mutually reinforcing. That such men could become open adversaries a decade later is not just strange; it is genuinely shocking.

What, then, went wrong? Part of the answer lies in the nature of Nigerian elite politics, where alliances are often forged by circumstance rather than conviction. Power rearranges loyalties. Ambition redraws friendships. And as the political terrain shifts, yesterday’s allies can quickly become today’s obstacles.

But there is a deeper, more consequential problem. When elite rivalries migrate into the realm of security narratives and intelligence insinuations, the damage goes far beyond the individuals involved. Allegations and counter-allegations—especially those touching on surveillance, coercion or misuse of state power—can corrode public confidence in institutions that should remain above partisan struggle.

This is why the current El-Rufai–Ribadu episode deserves sober national reflection, not cheering from partisan sidelines. Nigeria is a country where trust in institutions is already thin. Security agencies operate in an environment of suspicion, insurgency and widespread fear. When senior political actors publicly weaponise security claims—whether substantiated or not—they risk weakening the very structures holding the state together.

It is also important to situate this dispute within the broader northern political landscape. Both men command followings. Both are seen, rightly or wrongly, as voices of influence in the region’s political future. Their feud therefore does not remain personal for long; it reverberates across communities, factions and aspirations. In a region already grappling with insecurity, poverty and political fragmentation, elite infighting of this nature sends the wrong signal.

Faith, too, imposes restraint. Public officials who openly profess moral and religious values must recognise that conduct matters, not just intent. Politics may be a rough trade, but there are lines that, once crossed, are difficult to redraw. The public expects elders of the political class to rise above personal grievances when national stability is at stake.

None of this is to deny that grievances can be real, or that power can be abused. Whistleblowing has its place. Accountability is essential. But there is a difference between principled dissent and public escalation that inflames tension, invites speculation and drags sensitive institutions into political theatre. Mature democracies resolve such disputes through discreet inquiry and institutional processes, not media duels.

Perhaps the most sobering lesson here is how quickly reformist legacies can be overshadowed by personal wars. History is rarely kind to public figures who allow ambition to consume perspective. Nigerians may forget policy details, but they remember conduct—especially when it appears reckless or self-serving.

As the country edges closer to another election cycle, the temptation to settle scores early and loudly will grow. That is precisely why restraint is needed now. The question is not who wins this clash, but what Nigeria loses if it continues.

El-Rufai and Ribadu have both served the Nigerian state at critical moments. Their names are etched into recent political history. They owe the country—and perhaps themselves—something better than mutual ruin. Because when elephants fight, it is not the elephants that suffer most, but the grass beneath them.

Nigeria cannot afford to be that grass.

Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicate writer based in Abuja.

By Balkisu Aminu Aliyu

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic Calendar, a sacred month during which the Quran was revealed, a time of spiritual reflection, purification, and heightened devotion.

A month of abundant blessings, forgiveness, and a strengthening of faith. Across the Muslim world, Ramadan is marked by fasting from dawn to sunset, intensified prayers, and acts of charity. It is a pillar of Islam that teaches patience, gratitude, and empathy. 

It is a time to purify the heart, practice self-discipline and strengthen one’s relationship with the Almighty. However, conversation is less about spiritual abundance and more about stark scarcity and low income.

2026 Ramadan is one of the upcoming Ramadans, while the prices of some essential commodities are falling in some parts of the country; however, many less privileged people are struggling to manage Ramadan due to low income.

“Some people can no longer take full responsibility for their families,” confides a 45-year-old woman in Gidan Sanda area of Sokoto, who asked to remain anonymous, her voice tinged with worry. “Most husbands are struggling financially because of the high level of poverty. This could stop them from providing enough food, especially during sahur and iftar.”

Her lament echoes in the words of Abu Musa, a motorcycle rider whose concern stretches beyond the fast itself to the Eid al-Fitr celebration that follows. “I don’t think I can feed my children properly, even though food prices have dropped from last year. I have no resources to meet their needs. How can I buy them new clothes for Eid?” he asks, his question hanging heavily in the air.

For families like his, Ramadan’s twin pressures, sufficient nourishment for fasting and the social expectations of Eid, feel like an immense weight.

The crisis is both urban and rural. Aliyu Kabir, a young man from the area, expressed, “People all over the town and villages are battling extreme poverty.”

This deprivation carries a deep social sting. Community reports suggest that countless parents cannot afford proper clothing for their children. In a season of communal gatherings and celebration, this need can lead to shame and embarrassment for young ones, who may mistakenly feel neglected by their parents, not understanding that poverty itself is the barrier.

At his roadside mechanic workshop along Abdullahi Fodiyo road, Malam Husaini watches the traffic of life go by, his hope pinned on a simple prayer. “It’s tradition for food prices to shoot up during Ramadan,” he observes, “We are praying to Allah to ease the condition for us.” His fear is common: that any market gains will be erased by the annual Ramadan price surge, pushing basic staples out of reach.

Amid this apprehension, the timeless teachings of Islam offer both a critique and a solution. A Hadith narrated by Abu Huraira is profoundly relevant: the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said, “Whoever feeds a fasting person will have a reward like that of the person who observed the fast, without decreasing the reward of the latter.”

This principle transforms Ramadan from a private act of worship into a powerful societal covenant. It is a sacred month in which the fortunate’s empathy must translate into sustenance for the struggling. Assisting the needy is not just charity; it is a spiritual investment, a purification of wealth, and a direct conduit to divine mercy.

Therefore, as the 2026 Ramadan approaches, the call from Sokoto’s backstreets is clear. It is a call for the wealthy, business owners, and those in positions of power, including government and political office holders, to remember the core communal spirit of this holy time. To do more. To support the vulnerable not as an afterthought, but as a central, highly recommended act of faith.

For in the end, the true test of this Ramadan may not only be in the stomachs that remain empty but in the hands that remain closed. The blessings of the month are abundant, but they are meant to be shared, ensuring that every believer, rich or poor, can turn their heart toward the divine without the crushing distraction of hunger or shame.

By Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel

Given his profile as an Islamic scholar and public servant, Imam Dr Isa Pantami’s aspiration for the Gombe State governorship continues to attract attention from multiple quarters. What caught my attention yesterday were the closing lines of Jaafar Jaafar, the publisher and editor of Daily Nigerian, in a brief social media post on the candidature. Jaafar remarked:

“Nigerian politics is grimy. You cannot work in a sewer line and expect to come out clean. Mallam (Pantami) should prepare to mudsling, dip his paws in a cookie jar, dance to the tune of Rarara songs, shake hands with female foreign investors and diplomats, visit churches, steal some billions from security vote, divert public funds for political activities, hire thugs during rallies, lie during campaign, rig during election, take kickbacks after contract award, etc.”

Jaafar is clearly not endorsing these practices; he is only highlighting the grime and immorality that dominate Nigerian politics. Yet I disagree with the implicit suggestion that Mallam Pantami must get his hands dirty simply because he is now in frontline politics. No, he does not.

Pantami does not need to embrace corruption to win elections, nor must he compromise his morals to win or govern successfully after victory. These practices do not constitute the winning formula for elections even in Nigeria. Their dominance in our politics are symptoms that our political system has been hijacked by the morally bankrupt over the years.

Unfortunately, many Western philosophers and some Eastern philosophers have theorised a political thought that sidelines morality. They present it as if power must always be ruthless and corrupt. Niccolò Machiavelli, in his famous work The Prince, famously separated politics from conventional morality. He argued that the end justifies the means and that a ruler should be prepared to use deception, force, or cruelty to consolidate power. Better to be feared than loved, he asserted, if both cannot be achieved.

We see the same philosophy from the likes of Friedrich Nietzsche, Max Weber, Henry Kissinger and even the famous Robert Greene of our age. Their common premise is that politics is about power and domination; that stability and the balance of power matter more than moral ideals; that leaders may employ force, deception, and unethical means to maintain authority; and that some, like Nietzsche, even suggest that morality is a human invention of the weak.

The consequences are visible across the globe. Leaders who internalise these philosophies often govern through ruthlessness, corruption, and moral compromise. In so doing, they have soiled their hands in blood, sex scandals, human rights abuses, economic sabotage, and corruption. This is why, for example, several prominent world leaders have skeletons in Jeffrey Epstein’s wardrobe. They have abandoned morality in their pursuit of power. Today, they are prisoners of their actions.

In contrast, Islamic political philosophy teaches that a ruler must be powerful yet morally accountable, serving as a role model for society. Consider Umar ibn al-Khattab (Umar I), the rightly guided caliph, whose governance was a masterclass in combining justice, authority, and compassion. Umar I punished governors publicly, enforced the law even on the elites, maintained military discipline, and ensured state stability. Yet he was profoundly compassionate: during a famine, he refused to eat butter or meat until the people were fed, and he personally delivered food to the hungry. This was not a democracy; it was a caliphate, yet moral leadership reinforced his authority rather than undermined it.

Umar ibn Abdulaziz (Umar II), the Umayyad Caliph, provides another striking example. Before his ascension to power, the Khutbah (Friday sermons) were often laden with political propaganda, and some rulers ordered preachers to insult and curse Caliph Ali bn Abi Talib from the pulpit in political rivalry. They turned the khutbah into a tool for political rivalry rather than moral guidance. Umar II stopped this vile practice immediately he became the Caliph. He banned curses and political abuses from the revered pulpit of sermons and replaced them with Qur’anic verses. This was exemplary moral courage.

However, Umar II returned the stolen wealth of his predecessors and officials to the national treasury. He reformed corrupt systems gradually because he believes moral change is institutional, not emotional. He abolished oppressive taxes and unjust land confiscations, redistributed state wealth to reduce inequality, and institutionalised meritocracy. Under this meritocracy, he appointed governors and officials based on competence rather than family or tribal loyalty. He removed corrupt and incompetent officials even from his own Umayyad family. Therefore, he revived Islamic ethics in governance.

The last example I will cite here is the famous Abbasid Caliph Harun al-Rashid, who was cited by Chinua Achebe in his book, The Trouble with Nigeria. Harun al-Rashid is another classic example of a leader who combined political power with moral conscience. He was known to travel incognito at night among Baghdad’s citizens to hear complaints directly and make amends where needed. Despite his moral inclinations, the Abbasid dynasty reached its political and cultural peak under Harun al-Rashid. His reign kicked off what later became known as the “Islamic Golden Age”, which gave the world an intellectual gift, the Baytul Hikmah (House of Wisdom).

These examples make one point crystal clear: moral corruption is a choice, not a prerequisite for leadership. The more the world internalises Machiavellian philosophies, the more it empowers the ruthless and morally bankrupt. For Imam Dr Isa Pantami, his candidature is a litmus test. Should he compromise his ethical standards, he risks tarnishing decades of personal integrity. Yet he also has the opportunity to carve out a niche in Nigerian politics by leveraging his clean record, focus, and moral credibility. If he can win ethically and govern without succumbing to corrupt pressures, he could make history, embodying the same fusion of power and moral conscience exemplified by Umar ibn al-Khattab, Umar ibn Abdulaziz, and Harun al-Rashid.

I wish him success and look forward to observing whether he can translate his reputation into leadership that blends authority with moral responsibility, setting a new standard for governance in Nigeria. He is a specimen we should observe; let us see how morally upright people swim against the black tides of our politics. If he succeeds, more morally upright people need to enter politics and help us fix this broken country as early as possible, before it’s too late.

Ibrahiym A. El-Caleel wrote from Zaria, Kaduna State, via caleel2009@gmail.com.

By Isyaka Laminu Badamasi

Recently, an Imam at Kurmin Dorawa in Karofin Madaki, Bauchi state, led a joint Maghrib and Isha’i prayer due to credible fears of a possible attack by suspected thugs in the area. This decision, though unusual, was taken as a precautionary measure in response to rising insecurity—either as retaliation for earlier clashes involving local youths or as part of the resurging menace of ‘Yan Sara Suka’.

Ordinarily, the combining of prayers occurs during the rainy season, while travelling, during festivities, or for other lawful reasons as permitted in Islam. That such a step was taken purely for security reasons speaks volumes about the level of fear and uncertainty now confronting residents.

These mobs, largely composed of young people between the ages of 15 and 25, move around armed with dangerous weapons. Contrary to popular belief, they are not street children, nor are they sponsored by politicians, cult groups, or gang leaders. Rather, they are products of deeper structural failures: poor parental care, societal decay, government neglect, weak application of criminal justice, and, most critically, the widespread abuse of drugs and other narcotic substances openly sold in our neighbourhoods.

In recent years, decisive actions by security agencies, vigilante groups, and community committees have significantly reduced Sara Suka’s activities, creating a relatively safer environment. Unfortunately, the problem has resurfaced with renewed intensity, spreading across almost all parts of the state, including both old and newly established settlements. As a result, some neighbourhoods have become partially or completely inaccessible due to the violent activities of these groups.

This piece does not seek to introduce a new narrative. Rather, it aims to draw attention to existing academic research that examines the role of drug abuse in expanding the frontiers of thuggery. These studies consistently highlight how narcotics fuel aggression, lower inhibition, and sustain cycles of violence among vulnerable youths. More importantly, the literature proposes evidence-based policy frameworks and intervention strategies for addressing the menace through inclusive, humane, and logical approaches.

Only by grounding our responses in research, strengthening social institutions, enforcing the law fairly, and confronting the drug economy within our communities can we hope to stem the resurgence of ‘Yan Sara Suka’ and restore lasting peace.

Academic literature proposes several multidimensional strategies to address the drug abuse crisis in Nigeria, focusing on prevention, management, and systemic reform. These papers advocate the integration of compulsory drug education into secondary and tertiary institution curricula to enlighten students on the physiological and social dangers of substance misuse.

The literature also suggests establishing associations and clubs to promote healthy lifestyles at the community and family levels. Additionally, several studies highlight the critical role of effective family communication and proactive parental monitoring in reducing children’s exposure to drugs, as well as leveraging traditional and religious institutions for grassroots mobilisation and public sensitisation.

While these measures are critical in addressing the menace of drug abuse, the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA), as the regulatory body charged with combating this serious social problem, must be more proactive. For decades, the agency has engaged in efforts to curb drug abuse, including supply and distribution control; however, the situation continues to deteriorate. This reality calls for serious policy adjustments to enable a multisectoral approach involving relevant ministries, Departments, and Agencies (MDAs), such as the NDLEA, the Pharmacists Council of Nigeria (PCN), NAFDAC, security organisations, and host communities, alongside the honest and consistent application of criminal justice.

Governors, on the other hand, should, as a matter of public interest, establish platforms that complement the efforts of the NDLEA through innovative initiatives aimed at eradicating drug abuse in our communities. This can only be achieved through strong political will and sincerity of purpose.

Isyaka Laminu Badamasi is of No 555 Ajiya Adamu Road, Bauchi, Bauchi State.

By Abubakar Muhammad

Crime is a prominent feature of the city. The mitigation of crime and other social vices is a responsibility that falls not only on the government. The health of society is a responsibility that spans multiple dimensions, from authorities with direct power to families and residents of the community as a whole. The social health of the city is also the work of architects and planners. 

Physical planning is an important factor in influencing the social health of society and its inhabitants. Respected voices in urban planning note how a great urban environment, in terms of design and social services, can enhance people’s quality of life and foster a sense of community. In this piece, I set out to use Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano as a social repair tool and a planning theory for combating crime and other social ills in our society. 

We have recently heard the gruesome murder of an entire family in Kano, first in Tudun Yola and then in Ɗorayi, by the same alleged criminals. Cities are characterised by petty and violent crimes. The job of residents and governments is to implement policies that prevent crime to ensure the safety of inhabitants and the prosperity of the city. Sustainable urbanism involves governments at various levels, as well as city residents. 

I was particularly happy weeks ago when I learned that communities around Dala have mobilised to construct a police station around Kuka Bulukiya cemetery to combat persistent phone snatching that has cost countless lives of innocent passersby. The idea of constructing security outposts in crime hotspots has been a productive strategy for combating crime. It is not only about fighting crime; it also replaces crime with security and constant human presence and activity. It not only prevents crime and protects lives but also brings life and economic activity to beleaguered areas.

My friend once took me to an area of the ancient city to pay my condolences. It was a long time ago I cannot remember the name of the neighbourhood. Those who know Kano intimately can piece together snippets from my narration to figure out the area. I can vaguely say that the area was around Mandawari, Yar Mai-Shinkafi, Gyaranya, Baƙin Ruwa, or Gwauran Dutse. We walked through the alleys after the condolence and appeared at the Aminu Kano Way. 

The neighbourhood has a shelter christened Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano. It is an open pavilion in the heart of the neighbourhood. I was intrigued not only by the discovery but also by the place’s name and social function. This was the first time I had ever heard of the place, or any shelter named Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano in the city. I began to think about the connection between the place and the famed radical politician. 

I did not ask the naming history behind the shelter, but my imagination wagered that this must be the spot where Mallam Aminu Kano hung out with friends and conducted his public life. It must be the local context where he started his political career, a gathering place for the nightly schooling and political organising. My guess was supported by my assumption that the place is located within the ancient city, and not far from his initial dwelling at the Aisami/Sani Mainagge axis. I was intrigued by the place for its great potential to build a community.

The Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is a mini square and public space for the community. It enables the residents to perform social and religious functions. Residents of the neighbourhood, particularly the elderly and retirees, use the pavilion to hang out. The community uses the open space to perform the funeral salat for the deceased. The main street around the space serves as a collector road, receiving people from nearby alleys and neighbourhoods. Thus, the open space becomes vibrant with life. Residents and visitors use the space to park their vehicles. Around the square, activities sprang up: informal people, vendors, and small entrepreneurs set up stalls offering services, various wares, delicacies like tsire and awara, and other household items that cater to the neighbourhood’s hospitality and social needs. The shelter becomes a living room of the community. My reading is that Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is an open space that allows residents to do things that they cannot perform in the narrow alleys of their neighbourhood.

Part II

For this reason, Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano stays with me. I want to suggest an expanded version of this space be built in as many places as possible in the ancient city, its suburbs and major towns across the state. This is based on key spatial ideas for sociability and security of communities and neighbourhoods. 

Ancient cities like Kano had been built around their traditional institutions. The city spread out from the Emir’s Palace, surrounded by other civic buildings such as the court and the central mosque, which eventually formed the city centre. Spreading in a radial pattern, subsequent expansions and settlements of the city and major towns followed the same tradition. All roads lead to the city centre. And the civic centre, or city centre, is almost always located in the vicinity of the traditional ruler’s dwelling. Outside the city, the Maigari’s or Dagaci’s house sat at the centre of the settlements.

The best location for the Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano is to look for the ugliest and most dangerous part of the neighbourhood and tear it down to create a large enough open space to build the shelter. This place should be the heartbeat of the area by consolidating basic services in one building: a small local clinic, a school, a library, administrative offices for Mai-unguwa, Dagaci, and security agents, and a conference room for important community meetings and non-partisan civic engagements.

A strong civic component and social life are essential. The idea is to overwhelm crime, blight and unsightly facades. The building can serve as a venue for adult literacy classes, mass education and public orientation centres for social mobilisation and political awareness. As a multipurpose building, the place can host activities such as elections, immunisation campaigns, skills and personal development training for local youth. 

A mosque can be located close to the shelter. Around the mosque, the elderly sit, dine, and eat. It is where they enjoy calm, festive hours by day and night. Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano should be the agora and living room of the community. Clusters of civic buildings, residential and commercial uses can create sociability. This is not new; it is something that needs to be consciously improved upon existing traditions. Several Hausa villages have a santa or tsakar gari, which serves mixed purposes and brings people together. Since the shelter is located near the mosque, it should also serve as an open space for conducting funeral prayers. Commercial activities can be encouraged around the area to provide a more vibrant economic life. In Kano city, many neighbourhoods have ƴar kasuwa within walking distance, allowing residents to make purchases for their daily needs. 

The small clinic located in the centre should offer first-aid services and cater to the health needs of the most vulnerable. It should deliver basic drugs and inexpensive medications, medical advice and other services that might not require a trip to the hospital. Local people with training in medical fields can volunteer to operate the place. They can also request NYSC corps members to be posted there. Funding can come from donations from wealthy residents of the community. People who have retired from active service in various walks of life can participate. Skilled individuals can also ask to set up offices and contribute their services to the community. Community services can serve as a clear benchmark for future political leaders. People can see what potential representatives have contributed to their local communities before they enter politics – what they have done for the people before asking for their votes.  

It would not be a bad idea to allow car owners to park their vehicles in and around the shelter. Community-owned assets, such as donated vehicles for transporting the deceased, a power transformer, and water sources like a borehole, can be sited there. The underlying assumption is that communities would actively work to protect their assets and improve their neighborhood. Their commitment or otherwise to safeguarding their assets is clear proof of their collective responsibility, leadership, accountability and readiness for sustainable development. 

The idea is to use Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano to make the targeted area active and vibrant with human activity. The dwelling of the traditional ruler should be sited there to continue to facilitate administrative functions and liaison with various levels of governments for record-keeping, issuing birth certificates and documents, and other civic engagements. The closest idea to this is Ofishin Wakili, which can be upgraded where they already exist. If built with magnificent architecture, places like this can become historic sites that represent the community and its traditions.  

The building should house an office for joint security agencies, including the police and Hisbah. This is where disputes will first be reported. It will enhance coordination and timely reporting of suspicious activities to support early crime prevention. Emphasis is placed on civil matters and on preventing violent crimes. The activities and involvement of the security should be largely civil and minimal. The point is to increase safety through informal supervision. Security agents, the elderly, and small business operators are public figures who keep an eye on the neighbourhood. Retirees and the elderly also fill the void and silence when others are at work or school. They can alert parents – and the security agents – to what is happening in the neighbourhood. Sustainable urbanism can be achieved by densifying social life in hitherto dark corners without militarising the neighbourhood. The refurbishment of the neighbourhood is a valued alternative to blight, providing security through communal social space. Services and buildings can be distributed according to the community’s needs and resources. The purpose is to chase away the thugs from the heart of the community and bring light to the dark corners and crevices. In the process, services are brought closer to the people. Traditional institutions are involved more closely and meaningfully in public service for their immediate communities.

Stakeholders – government, traditional institutions, and community members – should work together to realise the Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano as a state-supported, neighbourhood-funded civic infrastructure across Kano State. Zauren Mallam Aminu Kano should be conceived as a community and family resources centre for the neighbourhood’s residents. It should be designed as a crime-prevention tool through visibility, social life, and shared spaces that strengthen grassroots governance and access to basic services.  It is also an embodiment of the spatial practice of good neighbourliness, the warmth, and the communal character of the Mutumin Kirki society. 

 Abubakar Muhammad is from Kano, Nigeria. 

By Usman Usman Garba

The rapid growth of online media, especially online newspapers, has significantly changed journalism in Nigeria. 

Today, news travels faster than ever before. With just a smartphone, Nigerians can access local, national and international news within seconds. This digital transformation has helped expose corruption, amplify citizens’ voices and bring government closer to the people.

However, these advantages have also created serious challenges. The unchecked rise of numerous online news platforms, many of which lack professional standards, is gradually eroding the quality, credibility, and value of credible news in Nigeria.

Opening an online news platform has become cheap and easy. Unlike traditional print media and broadcast stations, which require licences, physical offices, and trained professionals, many online platforms operate without clear structures or accountability. As a result, individuals with little or no journalism training now run platforms that publish news without proper editorial control.

Without professional gatekeeping, many stories are published without verification, balance or ethical consideration. Headlines are often poorly written, misleading or dotted with grammatical errors. This situation has weakened journalism standards and reduced public confidence in the media.

One of the biggest problems is the unhealthy competition to publish breaking news. Many online platforms rush to be the first to report incidents, especially during political events, security crises or court proceedings. In this race, accuracy is often sacrificed. Rumours, unverified social media posts and hearsays are turned into news.

Additionally, fake news and misinformation have become common online. False reports about elections, insecurity, government policies and public figures spread widely before they can be corrected. 

Unfortunately, corrections rarely receive the same attention as the original false stories. This has made it difficult for many Nigerians to know what to believe and which media organisations to trust.

Plagiarism is another serious challenge. Many online platforms copy stories from credible newspapers, television stations and news agencies without proper attribution. 

Some only change headlines or rearrange paragraphs. This unethical practice discourages investigative journalism and erodes originality.

Media organisations that invest time and resources in quality reporting often lose traffic and revenue to platforms that simply copy and paste content.

Sensationalism has also become widespread. Shocking headlines, exaggerated claims and emotional language are used to attract clicks.

Stories about scandals, rumours, insults and the private lives of public figures often receive more attention than reports on education, healthcare, insecurity, unemployment and the economy. As a result, serious national issues are pushed aside.

Social media has made this situation worse. Many online platforms now rely heavily on Facebook, X (formerly Twitter), WhatsApp and TikTok for traffic. 

To satisfy social media algorithms, content is designed to trend rather than to inform the public. News is judged by likes, shares and comments and not by accuracy or public interest. In this environment, truth is often sacrificed for popularity.

The impact on public trust is alarming. Many Nigerians now dismiss online reports as “fake news” or “social media stories.” Sadly, this growing distrust also affects credible media organisations that still uphold professional standards.

When trust in the media declines, accountability, transparency and good governance suffer.

Economic pressure also plays a role. Many online platforms struggle financially due to low advertising revenue. Some resort to paid news, political propaganda or sponsored stories disguised as journalism. This further blurs the line between news reporting and public relations, thereby misleading the public.

Despite these challenges, online journalism remains vital to Nigeria’s democracy. Digital platforms have helped expose corruption, promote citizen journalism and cover neglected communities. 

The problem is not online media itself, but the lack of professionalism, regulation and ethical commitment. To protect quality journalism, media owners must invest in training, robust editorial systems, and ethical standards.

Journalists must return to the core principles of their profession: truth, accuracy, balance and fairness. Regulatory bodies and professional organisations, such as the Nigerian Union of Journalists, must be more active in enforcing standards and disciplining offenders.

The government also has a role to play, as the Kano State government did with online media by allocating offices and registering them, but regulation must be handled carefully to avoid threatening press freedom. 

Efforts to fight fake news should focus on promoting professionalism, not silencing critical voices. The public is not exempt from responsibility. Nigerians must learn to verify information before sharing it, especially on Facebook, WhatsApp and other social media platforms. Supporting credible media organisations through readership and subscriptions will also help sustain quality journalism.

In conclusion, the state of news in Nigeria is at a crossroads. If the current trend of unprofessional online platforms continues unchecked, quality journalism will suffer greatly. But if journalists, media owners, regulators, and the public work together, Nigeria’s online media space can still become a powerful force for truth, development and democracy.

Usman Usman writes from Kano via usmangarba100@gmail.com.

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido

This week marks a historic milestone for Islamic social finance in Nigeria. For the first time, the Association of Zakat and Waqf Operators in Nigeria (AZAWON) has declared a National Zakat and Waqf Week, running from January 30th to the following weekend. Across the country, more than 70 member organisations are participating through various programmes. The goal is simple but urgent: to educate, enlighten, and reawaken Muslims to the power and relevance of zakat and waqf in today’s world.

In Gombe State, the Zakah and Waqf Foundation is leading a series of activities during the week, including khutbahs, public lectures, zakat disbursement programmes, advocacy visits, and radio and television engagements. One of the key events was an invited guest Friday khutbah I delivered at Fuad Lababidi Mosque, carrying a message many communities desperately need to hear: that zakat and waqf are not just religious rituals but economic systems designed to build strong, self-reliant societies.

A central theme of the sermon was that Islam does not accept poverty as destiny, nor hunger as a permanent condition. Allah says, “Take from their wealth a charity by which you purify them and cause them to grow” (Qur’an 9:103), and He reminds us, “The example of those who spend their wealth in the way of Allah is like a seed that grows seven ears; in every ear are a hundred grains” (Qur’an 2:261). 

The verses above show that giving in Islam is not a loss but rather a source of growth, purification, and multiplication. Islam built a community where the wealthy bear responsibility for the vulnerable, the strong uplift the weak, and wealth circulates rather than remaining locked in a few hands. Two of the greatest tools for achieving this are zakat and waqf.

Many people today see zakat only as short-term relief — food packs, cash support, or emergency help. While these are important, zakat in its full vision is far greater. It is a poverty-reduction system, a wealth-redistribution mechanism, and a tool for economic empowerment. When properly managed, zakat can fund small businesses for the poor, provide tools and equipment for tradespeople, support education and skill development, and help recipients become earners. In other words, zakat is meant to move people from dependency to productivity. 

Globally, experts estimate that billions of dollars in zakat are paid annually by Muslims, and if organised professionally and invested productively, this wealth could significantly reduce poverty across the Muslim world.

If zakat is the fuel of social protection, waqf is the engine of long-term development. Waqf, or Islamic endowment, is a form of continuous charity where an asset is dedicated for the sake of Allah and its benefits are used for the public good. Historically, waqf funded universities and schools, hospitals and clinics, roads, bridges, and water systems, orphan care and social welfare, as well as libraries and centres of knowledge. 

For centuries, Muslim civilisation ran on waqf. In places like the Ottoman Empire, vast portions of public services, including education and healthcare, were financed through endowments rather than government budgets. In many classical Muslim cities, it was possible for a person to be born in a waqf-supported hospital, educated in a waqf-funded school, work in a waqf-funded market, and even be buried using waqf land — all without costing the state.

The Nigerian reality today presents serious challenges: youth unemployment, underfunded schools, poor healthcare access, and widespread poverty. Yet Islam has already placed in our hands the tools to respond. The khutbah stressed that we must stop seeing development as the government’s responsibility alone. Islamic civilisation flourished not only because of governments but also because of community-driven institutions like zakat and waqf.

The message echoed across the nation. In Abuja, Alhabibiyyah Islamic Society, through its Zakat and Waqf Unit, organised a major programme to mark its 5th Zakat and Waqf Day and the 15th Public Zakat Disbursement on 31st January 2026. The event drew national attention, with the National Chairman of AZAWON, Malam Muhammad Lawal Maidoki (represented by Honourable Balarabe Shehu Kakale), delivering the keynote address. A high-level panel discussion followed on the theme “Zakat, Waqf and the New Tax Regime,” where I served as a panellist alongside Taiwo Oyedele, Chairman of the Presidential Fiscal Policy and Tax Reforms Committee (represented), Hajiya Adama of Al-Ikhlas Waqf Trust, Borno, and Barrister Dele Oye, Founder of Dele Oye & Associates. My contribution once again emphasised the strategic developmental and civilisational roles of zakat and waqf, highlighting practical ways these instruments can be used to address our numerous socioeconomic challenges in a structured, sustainable manner.

The implications are clear. Zakat institutions must move toward professional management, proper data systems, and empowerment-based programmes that help beneficiaries start businesses and become self-reliant. Waqf must also evolve beyond its limited perception. Instead of restricting waqf to graveyards and mosques, communities can establish rental properties, shopping complexes, farms and orchards, schools, and clinics with income-generating arms. The profits can then fund education, healthcare, scholarships, and social welfare on a permanent basis. Families can dedicate houses or land as waqf, mosques can initiate community waqf projects, businesspeople can create corporate waqf funds, and professionals can contribute their expertise in management and governance.

The National Zakat and Waqf Week is therefore more than a ceremonial event; it is a wake-up call. If Muslims in Nigeria pay zakat correctly and channel it productively, establish and manage waqf professionally, and build partnerships between scholars, business leaders, and experts, then by Allah’s permission, we can see reduced poverty, more jobs for youth, better schools and hospitals, and stronger, more dignified communities. 

The revival of zakat and waqf is not just about charity; it is a strategy for economic revival and social stability. As emphasised in the khutbah and in the Abuja panel discussion, empowering the Muslim community will not happen through speeches alone, but through planning, management, transparency, and trust. The tools are already in our hands. The question is whether we will use them.

Amir Lamido, PhD, wrote from Abuja, Nigeria.