Northern Nigeria

By Lawan Bukar Maigana

There are people who go on leave to escape books, and there are people who go on leave only to escape the office. Then there is Kashim Shettima, for whom a leave without books may be like a library without shelves: technically possible, but fundamentally incomplete.

The two-week leave has awakened the bookism in him. After years of governance, meetings, memos, policy conversations and the endless grammar of public administration, one would imagine that a man might simply surrender himself to sleep, travel with his family to some Shangri-La den in Dubai, or disappear into the soft luxury of doing absolutely nothing. But Shettima has never appeared to be a man who considers idleness a convincing definition of rest. For him, perhaps, rest is simply another opportunity to read.

This is not a new discovery. I wrote in 2022 about Shettima as Nigeria’s Modern Day Philosopher-King, drawing from Plato’s idea that leadership and philosophy ought to meet in the same person. Looking back now, I realise that perhaps I was only describing one half of the equation. The philosopher needs a kingdom, yes, but the philosopher also needs books. And Shettima seems to understand that the quickest way to empty a philosopher is to deprive him of reading.

His relationship with books is almost personal. He does not merely read them; he appears to court them. There have been accounts of him browsing bookstores while travelling, moving from one section to another and recommending books to people around him. He has also been described as someone who would choose books over material prizes.

I once had a conversation about this unusual book obsession with Rukaiya el-Rufai, the National Coordinator of Nigeria’s Human Capital Development Programme. She told me something that stayed with me: when it comes to gifts, what impresses her boss the most is a good book. Her advice was simple: when you travel, buy him high-value books. According to her, such a gift can make him happier than a designer perfume.

That, in itself, is a fascinating portrait of a man. While some people measure affection by the price tag on a gift, the intellectual measures it by the depth of thought behind it. A perfume evaporates. A book lingers. A designer bottle may occupy a shelf, but a good book can occupy the mind. This may explain why Shettima’s leave does not seem to be a vacation from intellectual activity. It is more like an intellectual retreat. The office may have been left behind, but the books followed him. The files may have been closed, but the pages remained open.

And when he finally returns to work, we should perhaps prepare ourselves. The post-leave effect in governance may not simply be a refreshed Vice President. It may be a more heavily footnoted one. Every conversation may come with a reference. Every decision may acquire a historical context. Every policy discussion may suddenly develop a philosophical foundation. A simple question could receive an answer, a counterargument, a historical example and, if one is not careful, a brief literature review.

That is the bookism. But beneath the humour lies something serious. Leaders do not govern only with budgets, files and official briefings. They govern with ideas. And ideas, when properly cultivated, are often born from the discipline of reading.

Shettima’s book habit therefore tells us something beyond the man himself. It reminds us that governance should not be an intellectual desert. Public office should not terminate curiosity. Power should not become an excuse to stop learning. A leader who reads is constantly exposed to worlds beyond his immediate environment. He encounters ideas that challenge him, histories that humble him, failures that warn him and possibilities that expand his imagination.

Perhaps that is why, for Shettima, a two-week leave can still become a classroom. He may have left the office, but he never really left learning. And when he returns, the books will return with him, quietly packed into the vocabulary and ideas that will eventually find their way back into governance.

So, Nigerians, prepare yourselves. The Vice President is coming back from leave. And judging by his relationship with books, he cannot leave without reading. Therefore, he is returning not only refreshed but also armed with refined administrative and policy ideas that can help make Nigeria better.

Lawan Bukar Maigana is a media and communications specialist, development advocate, storyteller, and social change driver from Borno State, Nigeria. He can be reached via email at lawanbukarmaigana@gmail.com.

By Ali Tijjani Hassan

There is a difference between a public health system that performs well on paper and one that performs well in people’s lives, and Yobe State is currently teaching us these differences in real time. For over ten days, reports of viral conjunctivitis (Apollo), as it is popularly called, have been spreading across parts of the state. Yet the silence from official quarters has been almost as consistent as the outbreak itself. No public advisory. No visible coordination. No reassurance that anyone in authority is even watching. And silence, in public health, is never neutral. It either means nothing is happening, or it means something is happening and no one has thought to tell the people living through it. Neither of these answers is acceptable. Considering the communicable nature of this outbreak, it is essentially as contagious as yawning. The system should work, and the response should be in place.

I say this, not out of pessimism, because pessimism is cheap and the outbreak deserves better than cheap reactions. Yobe is not a state without human resource capacity. We have a significant number of epidemiologists and precision medicine experts. We have disease surveillance officers, laboratory scientists, environmental health officers, and public health professionals—a full formation of expertise that many states would envy. So, the question is not whether we have the people. The question is whether the system built around those people is actually working, or has quietly become one optimised for reporting rather than responding. Because here is an uncomfortable truth: a health system can hit every donor indicator, produce every glossy report, receive every award, and still fail the basic test of protecting the community it exists to serve. KPIs are not the same as outcomes. A dashboard is not the same as a warned public. You can be commended internationally and still be invisible locally, and that gap between what is reported upward and what is felt on the ground is where public trust quietly erodes.

What sharpens this concern is that we are not operating in isolation. This outbreak is not affecting only Yobe State; it’s spread across northeastern states. Take Adamawa State as an example: it’s currently responding to a similar outbreak of viral conjunctivitis. They already declared a pandemic and activated warning and response systems since the 7th of August, 2026. Coincidentally, Bauchi State is experiencing a cholera outbreak; the state government has been activating its cholera response system since the 1st of August, 2026. These are not distant or hypothetical benchmarks; they are neighbours, operating under comparable constraints, demonstrating that a coordinated response is possible when the will and the system align. So if they can move, what exactly is holding us back?

Is it a failure of surveillance itself, or a failure to verify what surveillance already picked up? Is it risk assessment sitting somewhere in a queue? Is it plain bureaucratic inertia, the kind where information exists but no one owns the decision to act on it? Or is it something more troubling: a culture where we wait for numbers to become undeniable before we treat them as urgent?

I raise these questions not to indict anyone by name, but because public health, by its very design, is supposed to be anticipatory. Its entire justification is that it acts before catastrophe forces it to. A surveillance system that produces reports without triggering timely action has collected data successfully but has failed in its actual purpose. And there is something quietly troubling about a community that learns of a potential outbreak through word of mouth before it hears a single word from the institutions constitutionally responsible for its well-being. That is not just a communication gap. It is a trust gap, and trust, once eroded in public health, is far harder to rebuild than any epidemic curve.

The remedy is not complicated. If there is no outbreak, say so clearly and to everyone, not just to donors. If there is one, say so. If an investigation is currently in progress, please communicate that clearly. If interventions have begun, say so. None of this requires perfect information. It requires the basic respect of keeping people informed while the work is being done. Because silence is not surveillance, and a response no one can see is barely a response at all. The people of Yobe do not need another award ceremony. They need a system that notices early, speaks plainly, and moves before the numbers force its hand. In the end, the truest measure of a public health system was never going to be what it reports about itself. It is what the people living inside it actually experience.

Ali Tijjani Hassan is a public health professional who writes from his personal quarantine after being infected with the Apollo.

By Sulaiman Maijama’a

He served a single tenure and was chased out of the corridors of power, and later had the fortune of being smuggled by a cabal after waiting for a good 8 years. When he was announced as the flagbearer of their party, he doubted himself, woke up in the middle of the night and sat on a sofa, talking to himself. Let us peer into his mind and bring out what he is saying to the world.

What is the motive behind bringing me back? When I served my first tenure as a governor, these people ganged up against my reelection and chased me away and ever since I left, I distanced myself from anything to do with the state. I jettisoned party affairs, didn’t honour wedding invitations, didn’t pay homage or send goodwill messages during festivities,  refused to ever pay condolences, refused to make donations for public and private projects. I created both social and physical distancing by relocating to Abuja and abandoning all my people in Bakesu State. Why would these people nominate me? Do they really mean well?

But I am said to be the luckiest politician this country ever produced. I was born in Alfawa State, attended primary school in Babaldu State, and did my secondary school in Dadin Kowa State. When my father was posted to Bakeso State, we lived comfortably enough that I claimed indigene status, rose through the ranks in the civil service, ventured into politics, and miraculously became the state governor. But what did I do when I had the chance?

According to what people are saying on social media, I did not execute physical projects which I can now show to convince people to elect me. But when I was rounding up my first term, I gathered a lot of money, which I intended to use to execute the projects in my second tenure, but they unfortunately elected me out. I left the state treasury with billions of naira, and I suspect it is the money this governor has used to achieve all this development people applaud him for in the state. Why don’t I say I’m the one who gathered the money for him and claim a share of the credit?

My social media handles keep popping up with posts from haters of my return, reminding people of the verification exercises we did when we were in power. I even saw one post saying that in the cemetery there is a section of pensioners who died of hunger during our verifications. But we did that in good faith, and who will die before their appointed time? I think this can be a question of faith!

But wait, how many people did I fight with when I was in power whom I am still at loggerheads with? Traditional title holders accused me of not giving them the respect and resources they deserve. Now, this wicked governor fueled our estranged relationship with them because he built them beautiful palaces and pooled resources they never requested. But why would a lawyer of my standing, who knows very well that these people don’t have any constitutional role, deviate from due process?

My relationship with clergymen of both faiths was—and still is—not cordial. I thought their duty was only to preach to people to be righteous and serve God in order to go to paradise. But when I was in power, they asked to see me during every religious festivity, sent requests or proposals for donations or sponsorship of every religious activity. During fasting period, Sallah, Christmas and Maulud, they requested thousands of textiles, thousands of rams and cows and trailers of foodstuff to distribute to orphans. Whenever I turned down their request, they would quote me a verse in the Qur’an and the Bible, and accuse me of not helping religion. But I’m fasting every Monday and Thursday. Can this not take me to paradise?

Now, the poor say I have zero projects to show; traditional institutions throw questions of disrespect, and clergymen challenge my disregard for their institution. Despite all this, I want to return to this seat. 

What should I do?

Maijama’a wrote via sulaimanmaija@gmail.com.

By Usman Abdullahi Koli

While much of the world’s attention remains fixed on wars, economic uncertainty and geopolitical rivalries, a profound recalibration of the global energy order is underway. It is a shift defined not by headlines, but by the urgent competition to secure supply chains, attract long-term capital, deploy cleaner technologies, and craft the regulatory frameworks that will underpin economic growth for decades.

Increasingly, these decisions are not made within national borders alone. They are forged on international platforms where governments, industry leaders, investors, and researchers exchange ideas, build partnerships, and seek practical solutions to shared existential challenges.

That is why Nigeria’s return to the World Energy Council (WEC) deserves more than a passing mention. This is not merely another diplomatic affiliation. It is the country’s re-entry into one of the world’s oldest and most influential energy leadership forums at a moment when energy security, affordability, sustainability, and investment have become defining issues for every major economy. For Nigeria, Africa’s largest economy and one of its premier energy producers, the significance extends well beyond representation. It offers a strategic aperture to shape global policy discourse while vigorously advancing national and regional interests.

Founded in 1923, the World Energy Council has spent over a century connecting governments, businesses, and researchers across the energy landscape. With national member committees spanning more than ninety countries, it serves as a respected neutral forum for dialogue on the future of energy rather than a regulatory body. Its influence derives from its ability to unite diverse voices to address common challenges, encourage innovation, and promote practical approaches to what it terms the “energy trilemma”: balancing energy security, environmental sustainability, and equitable access. Through flagship initiatives like the World Energy Congress and its authoritative research on global trends, the Council has become an indispensable reference point for policymakers and industry leaders alike.

Nigeria’s renewed membership arrives at a pivotal inflection point. Globally, nations are reassessing their energy strategies in response to climate commitments, geopolitical fractures, and technological disruption. The conversation has moved beyond the traditional metric of production capacity. Today, equal weight is given to resilience, competitiveness, regulatory certainty, and the ability to attract stable, long-term investment. Nations are increasingly judged not only by the resources they possess, but by the institutional strength they build and the policies they pursue.

Few countries illustrate this challenge more vividly than Nigeria. The nation holds some of the world’s largest natural gas reserves, remains a major oil producer, and possesses immense renewable energy potential, particularly in solar and hydroelectric resources. Yet it continues to grapple with persistent deficits in electricity access, transmission infrastructure, financing, and energy poverty. These realities render international engagement a strategic necessity rather than a diplomatic exercise. Participation in the WEC provides Nigeria with a vital conduit to exchange technical knowledge, strengthen institutional cooperation, learn from global best practices, and project African perspectives in conversations that increasingly dictate investment and policy outcomes.

The opportunities created by this renewed engagement are substantial. Membership unlocks access to comparative research, executive-level dialogue, policy networks, and collaborative initiatives that can directly support national reforms. For instance, Nigeria could leverage the WEC’s scenario-building tools to chart optimal pathways for gas monetisation alongside solar expansion, or utilise the Council’s “Energy Trilemma Index” to benchmark its regulatory reforms against peer economies, translating global frameworks into actionable domestic strategy. Backing this strategic push with the full authority of the state, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu offered an unequivocal endorsement of the newly constituted Member Committee. The President, in formally welcoming Nigeria’s admission, reframed the development as a decisive assertion of continental leadership rather than a mere diplomatic courtesy. Capturing the administration’s highest aspirations for the platform, he declared: “Nigeria has joined the World Energy Council to lead, not just participate – to ensure Africa’s voice shapes global energy decisions.”

Steering this strategic re-engagement is a newly constituted Member Committee, featuring representatives from the government, the private sector, academia, and international energy institutions. At its helm, Dr. Bala Maijama’a Wunti has been appointed Chief Executive Officer of the Nigerian Member Committee, and he is very much the man in the picture. Upon his appointment, Wunti captured the essence of this moment with characteristic clarity: “I am honoured to lead WEC Nigeria at a time of profound economic crosscurrents. We will navigate the energy trilemma with pragmatism, mobilising private capital to ensure Nigeria’s energy future is defined not by ideology, but by investability—delivering prosperity that is bankable, just and secure.”

These words are more than a statement of intent; they are a strategic compass. They affirm that Nigeria’s approach to the global energy transition will be grounded in realism, fiscal discipline, and a clear-eyed understanding of what attracts capital and sustains development. Wunti’s emphasis on “investability” rather than ideology signals a mature departure from abstract commitments toward measurable, bankable outcomes—a philosophy that resonates deeply with Nigeria’s immediate needs and long-term aspirations. Wunti is no peripheral figure. He brings a formidable depth of operational and strategic experience from Nigeria’s petroleum industry, having served in senior technical and executive roles, most recently as Chief Health, Safety, and Environment Officer of NNPC Ltd. His professional DNA, forged in operational management, institutional leadership, corporate governance, and multi-stakeholder engagement, positions him uniquely to navigate the complex currents of the global energy transition.

In his new capacity, Wunti’s mandate extends far beyond administration. He is tasked with architecting Nigeria’s engagement strategy: fortifying ties with international partners, driving substantive policy dialogue, and ensuring that Nigerian perspectives are not merely heard, but actively shape global energy governance. His leadership will be critical in translating the Council’s global frameworks into tangible reforms that address Nigeria’s domestic energy paradox: abundant resources coexisting with acute access deficits.

The broader significance of this development, however, transcends any single appointment. Nigeria’s return to the World Energy Council signals a mature recognition that influence in today’s energy landscape is determined as much by ideas, partnerships, and institutional credibility as by natural resource endowments. The countries that will define the future of energy are those that combine resource wealth with sound policy, technological innovation, and sustained international collaboration.

For Nigeria, this renewed membership is a strategic instrument to deepen its contribution to global energy conversations while advancing its own developmental priorities. The platform is now active, and the leadership is in place. The hope ahead, under Wunti’s stewardship, is to convert participation into tangible outcomes: stronger cross-border partnerships, more informed domestic policies, enhanced investment flows, and a more resilient, inclusive energy sector. If that objective is achieved, Nigeria’s return to the World Energy Council will be remembered not simply as an institutional milestone, but as a decisive step in strengthening the nation’s role within an increasingly interconnected global energy system, with Dr. Bala Wunti standing firmly at the centre of that transformation.

Usman Abdullahi Koli wrote via mernoukoli@gmail.com.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

Professor Rabia Salihu Sa’id, a renowned atmospheric and space-weather physicist at Bayero University, Kano (BUK), has been appointed by United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres to a prestigious 21-member Independent Scientific Panel on the Effects of Nuclear War.

The newly formed global panel, established following UN General Assembly Resolution 79/238, brings together leading international experts to assess the physical, environmental, climatic, radiological, and socioeconomic consequences of a potential nuclear conflict.

Professor Sa’id holds a Bachelor of Science, Master of Science, and PhD in Physics from Bayero University, Kano, alongside an additional M.Sc. in Environment and Development from the University of Reading in the United Kingdom. 

Professor Sa’id’s academic career began at BUK in 1999 as a Graduate Assistant, eventually leading to prestigious international research fellowships, including work at the Institute of Applied Physics at the University of Bern in Switzerland as well as recognition from the Ford Foundation and the Elsevier Foundation.

Professor Sa’id’s appointment underscores Nigeria’s growing prominence in high-level scientific diplomacy and global policy formulation. The panel’s work marks the first comprehensive, UN-backed synthesis of nuclear war impacts in over three decades, leveraging modern climate modelling and technological advances to update global risk assessments.

Speaking on the scope of the initiative, UN officials noted that the panel will examine local, regional, and global ramifications of nuclear detonation, providing crucial data to inform international security policies. 

The group’s findings will be compiled into major reports ahead of key international security summits, offering updated science to aid in nuclear risk reduction and disarmament strategies.

Professor Sa’id, widely recognised for her contributions to physics education, environmental research, and advocacy for women in STEM, joins a diverse international team tasked with delivering these critical scientific evaluations over the next two years.

By Myolisi Gophe

When meningitis robbed him of his hearing at the age of eight, many believed Ibrahim Tukur’s future had been written off. His teachers could no longer reach him. Friends drifted away. Some mocked him. Even his father, convinced there was no future for a deaf child, withdrew him from school.

Today, that same boy is pursuing a Master of Philosophy (MPhil) in Disability Studies at the University of Cape Town’s (UCT) Department of Rehabilitation and Health Sciences as the first Deaf Mandela Rhodes Scholar – one of Africa’s most prestigious leadership scholarships – and is using his experiences to advocate for a more inclusive society.

For Tukur, who hails from Nigeria, his journey is not simply one of overcoming adversity – it is proof that when barriers are removed and opportunities are created, people with disabilities can thrive.

“Receiving the scholarship was one of the happiest moments of my life,” he said. “It reminded me that our disabilities do not determine our success.”

Growing up in Ingawa, a small town in Nigeria’s Katsina State, life changed overnight when meningitis left him Deaf.

Unable to follow lessons in mainstream classrooms, he experienced a sharp decline in academic performance.

“My life drastically changed,” he recalled. “I could no longer understand what my teachers were teaching.”

The social isolation that followed was equally devastating.

“I lost most of my friends, who avoided me because of my deafness, as if it were a curse.”

Believing there was little hope for his son’s future, his father removed him from school.

But fate intervened.

A relative encouraged his father to enrol him at the Government School for the Deaf in Malumfashi, a residential school where sign language was the primary means of communication.

The impact was immediate.

“For the first time since losing my hearing, I learned in an environment where everyone communicated through sign language. Gradually, I regained my confidence, rediscovered my love for learning, and began to believe in myself again.”

That experience sparked a lifelong commitment to ensuring other Deaf children would not face the same barriers.

He went on to earn a degree in Special Education from Bayero University in Kano before enrolling at UCT to deepen his understanding of disability inclusion and advocacy.

Today, he serves as the head teacher at Dambo Tukur School for the Deaf and he also co-founded the Thrive Disability Initiative, a non-governmental organisation (NGO) dedicated to empowering persons with disabilities through education, employment, and entrepreneurship.

Finding inclusion at UCT

Although he had spent years advocating for disability rights, arriving at UCT introduced him to a level of inclusion he had never previously experienced.

“I have never experienced what real inclusion was like until I came to UCT,” he said.

When he struggled to find accommodation upon arrival, staff at UCT’s Disability Service stepped in immediately, helping secure accessible accommodation at Obz Square in Observatory and installing assistive technologies in his room.

Initially, he worried he might be inconveniencing others.

“I realised that inclusion is not about doing someone a favour. It is about removing barriers so everyone can participate equally.”

Another turning point came when his South African Sign Language interpreter connected him with members of the Western Cape Deaf community.

“Through them, I found friendship, belonging and a sense of home.”

Those experiences reinforced his belief that leadership begins by creating spaces where everyone feels seen, valued and included.

The importance of leadership

The Mandela Rhodes Scholarship recognises more than academic excellence. It seeks young leaders committed to reconciliation, entrepreneurship and social impact.

For him, leadership has always been measured by how many lives are impacted, rather than what titles people have.

Among his proudest achievements is advocating for the establishment of Dambo Tukur School for the Deaf back home, which now provides quality education to more than 50 Deaf children who previously had little or no access to schooling.

He has also organised mentorship programmes for Deaf learners, trained government workers in sign language to improve communication with Deaf citizens and coordinated vocational skills programmes that have enabled many unemployed Deaf adults to become financially independent.

One of his biggest challenges came while campaigning for the school.

Government officials initially resisted the proposal because of misconceptions about Deaf people.

Rather than allowing disagreement to create division, he chose dialogue.

“By continuing to engage respectfully and demonstrating the importance of inclusive education, we eventually secured approval and established the school.”

He believes those experiences embody the leadership values championed by the Mandela Rhodes Foundation.

Overcoming invisible barriers

His own university experience also revealed the everyday obstacles Deaf students continue to face.

As an undergraduate, before his journey with UCT, he completed his degree without the support of a sign language interpreter.

Instead, he relied on lecture notes, handouts, and hours of independent study to compensate for the information he could not access in class.

“There were moments when I questioned whether I truly belonged at university and whether I could succeed in a system that was not designed with Deaf students in mind.”

Despite those challenges, he graduated with an Upper Second Class pass (an average score between 60% and 69% across his university courses).

The experience shaped his conviction that disability itself is not the greatest obstacle.

“Inaccessible environments create the greatest barriers to success.”

As someone who has lived the realities of exclusion, he believes universities have an important role to play in changing society.

He would like to see disability studies integrated across disciplines so that graduates in every field understand disability rights, accessibility, and inclusive communication.

He also advocates for stronger support services, including timely access to sign language interpreters, assistive technologies and accessible learning materials.

Financial support for students with disabilities, particularly those from disadvantaged backgrounds, is equally important.

Long-term vision

His long-term vision is ambitious: over the next decade, he hopes to empower at least 500 people with disabilities through education, leadership development and entrepreneurship.

The Mandela Rhodes Scholarship, he said, provides more than financial support.

“It gives me the knowledge, networks and leadership experience to achieve these goals.”

Looking back on his journey, he hopes his story inspires other Deaf learners to believe in themselves.

“Do not allow society’s expectations to define your future,” he said.

“There will be obstacles, and there may be moments when people underestimate your abilities, but your deafness does not determine your intelligence, your talent or your potential.”

His message is simple but powerful.

“If a boy who was once withdrawn from school because people believed he had no future could become a Mandela Rhodes Scholar and study at one of Africa’s leading universities, then you should never doubt what is possible for your own life.

“Dream boldly, persevere through challenges, and remember that you deserve to learn, to lead and thrive just like everyone else.”

Editor’s Note: The article was first published on the Cape Town University news website here: How a Deaf student experienced real inclusion at UCT.

By Muhammad Abubakar

Since I came to France for work, I have been extremely cautious about criticising Israel or Benjamin Netanyahu. Often, though wrongly, people conflate criticism of an entity or a person with criticism of an idea or of an entire ethnic or religious group.

Soon after Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7, I felt driven to write about the unresolved conflict. It was difficult to ignore the subject. Yet I was also concerned that expressing my views might affect my employment or even my residency status in France. To be certain, I reached out to our Human Resources department for guidance.

We essentially agreed on an important distinction. Israel and Benjamin Netanyahu are not the same as the Jewish people or Judaism. One can criticise the policies of the Israeli government or the actions of its prime minister without expressing hostility towards Jews or the Jewish faith. The same principle applies elsewhere. A person may criticise Saudi Arabia or Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman without being an Islamophobe or an enemy of Islam.

This distinction is fundamental in any society that values free expression and intellectual honesty. Democracies depend on the ability of citizens to question governments, leaders and public figures. If every criticism of a political leader is interpreted as an attack on an entire religion or ethnic group, meaningful public debate becomes impossible.

I was reminded of this principle after listening to new songs released yesterday by the Nigerian political singer, Dauda Kahutu, popularly known as Rarara. The songs appear to criticise an opposition politician in Gombe State, Sheikh Ali Isa Ibrahim Pantami, who is also a respected Islamic scholar.

Unfortunately, I have seen some people make the same mistake that often appears in discussions about international politics. They have framed criticism of Pantami as though it were criticism of Islam itself.

Pantami does not represent Islam. He is a Muslim and an influential public figure, but he remains an individual whose political choices, public statements and actions are open to public scrutiny, just like those of any other politician. Defending him is entirely legitimate, but such a defence should be based on facts, evidence and reason rather than on the assumption that any criticism directed at him is an attack on the religion he professes.

By any definition, both the singer and the governorship candidate he appears to criticise in his songs are Muslims. Neither of them represents Islam. Their political disagreements should therefore remain political disagreements. Turning them into religious disputes serves neither truth nor the public interest.

This tendency to wrap political figures in the cloak of religion is dangerous. It discourages accountability and deepens unnecessary divisions within society. Once religion becomes a shield against legitimate criticism, it becomes difficult to separate public responsibility from personal belief.

Nigeria’s diversity demands greater care in the language we use. Political competition should not be transformed into religious confrontation. Citizens should be able to disagree with politicians, governors, ministers or scholars without being accused of attacking an entire faith.

The lesson is simple. We must distinguish between people and the principles they claim to represent, between governments and the nations they govern, and between political leaders and the religions they practise. Failing to make these distinctions only fuels misunderstanding and polarisation.

Criticise ideas. Debate policies. Defend people if you wish. But let us avoid presenting political disagreements as battles for religion. In the long run, both politics and religion are better served when we keep that distinction clear.

By Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin 

In Northern Nigeria’s political battlegrounds, the loudest attacks don’t always come from campaign podiums. Long before Facebook, TikTok and WhatsApp turned everyone into a publisher, Hausaland already had its own version of political messaging.

The maroƙi (praise-singer) was more than a singer. He was a storyteller, historian and public commentator. When a leader did well, he sang yabo, verses filled with praise and the same performer could just as easily turn that skill toward humiliation by mocking a rival’s failures, appearance, or character in verses crafted to stick in public memory, which is referred to as zambo. 

Zambo is a sharp, witty poetry designed to mock, embarrass or expose. It wasn’t always pleasant, but it was part of the culture; the difference today is that zambo has become a political business.

Instead of entertaining a local crowd, one song can now reach millions of people before sunset. A chorus recorded in Kano can be playing in Kaduna, Sokoto, Abuja and even among Hausa communities abroad within hours.

No one illustrates this better than Dauda Kahutu Rarara. Over the years, he has released songs like Hannun Karɓa, Masu Gudu Su Gudu, Baba Buhari Dodar, Jagaba Shi Ne Gaba and recently Malam Ya Yi Rawa. To his supporters, these are campaign anthems. To his critics, they are political attacks wrapped in catchy melodies. Whatever side you take, one thing is difficult to deny: people remember the songs long after they have forgotten the campaign speeches, and this alone says something about the power of music.

What makes today’s political songs different from the poetry of men like Sa’adu Zungur, Mudi Sipikin or Garba Affa is intention. Earlier political poetry was designed to awaken society, challenge injustice and educate the people. Much of today’s political music is driven by patronage. A politician hires a musician, the musician praises one side, ridicules the other, and the song becomes another campaign strategy.

Perhaps that is why political music now feels less like public service and more like political advertising. There is nothing wrong with musicians supporting politicians. Every artist has the right to hold political views. The concern begins when entertainment replaces truth, becomes more influential than verified facts, and insults travel farther than ideas.

Maybe the bigger question is not why politicians pay musicians. Maybe it is why we, the listeners, remember the insults more easily than the policies.

As another election season approaches, perhaps the challenge is to enjoy the music without allowing the chorus to become our ballot paper. After all, a hit song lasts only a few minutes, but the consequences of the leaders we choose can last for years.

Ibrahim Aliyu Gurin is a graduate of mass communication from Bayero University, Kano, and can be reached at ibrahimaliyu5023@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

One of the gubernatorial ambitions generating the most intense debate and public interest ahead of the Gombe State 2027 governorship race is that of Professor Isa Ali Ibrahim Pantami.

From the outset, Professor Pantami’s reported interest in contesting for the governorship attracted attention far beyond the borders of Gombe State. This is largely because he is not regarded as a conventional politician. Rather, he is an accomplished academic, Islamic scholar, technocrat, and former Minister of Communications and Digital Economy whose tenure earned him national recognition for driving Nigeria’s digital transformation.

Pantami’s potential candidacy appears to enjoy support from three distinct constituencies.

The first consists of those who genuinely believe he has something significant to offer the state. They draw inspiration from his performance as minister, citing his reforms in the digital economy, the expansion of broadband infrastructure, the growth of digital identity enrolment, and his emphasis on innovation, transparency, and public sector efficiency. To this group, his administrative record demonstrates that he possesses the competence and vision required to govern Gombe State.

The second group is found within the opposition in Gombe state, particularly elements of the PDP, who view Pantami as one of the few personalities with the political profile, credibility, and public appeal capable of mounting a serious challenge against the APC’s candidate-Dr. Jamilu Isiyaku Gwamna. Whether they support him or not, many acknowledge that his entry into the race would significantly alter the political equation.

The third constituency comprises sections of the religious community who see his ambition as an opportunity for one of their own to demonstrate how religious scholarship, intellectual depth, and public service can translate into effective democratic governance. For many within this group, his candidacy represents more than a political contest; it is an opportunity to test whether the values he has consistently preached can be successfully applied in elective office.

Like every major political figure, Pantami also faces opposition from different quarters.

The first group consists mainly of career politicians who believe he is entering a political space traditionally occupied by established political actors. To them, he is an outsider attempting to disrupt existing political calculations, alliances, and structures that have been built over many years.

Perhaps more surprisingly, the second group of opponents comes from within sections of his immediate religious constituency. Some clerics and religious associates reportedly believe that during his tenure as minister, he did not sufficiently carry them along or extend the expected level of inclusion and patronage. Consequently, while they may respect his scholarly credentials, they remain reluctant to support his political ambition.

Another dimension that has attracted considerable attention is the political dexterity with which Pantami secured the PDP gubernatorial ticket. The manner in which he navigated the party’s internal dynamics and emerged as its flagbearer suggests careful planning and strategic preparation rather than mere political ambition. His decision to align with the Nyesom Wike-led faction of the PDP, a bloc widely perceived in political circles as maintaining a cooperative relationship with the APC-led Federal Government, has further strengthened his political positioning. The goodwill and support he reportedly enjoys within that tendency of the PDP could prove to be a significant advantage as the campaign unfolds.

In addition, Pantami could benefit from protest votes originating from within the APC. Some influential APC stakeholders and their supporters who believe Governor Muhammadu Inuwa Yahaya has not done sufficient justice to their political aspirations or interests may choose to channel their dissatisfaction by supporting Pantami. While it remains to be seen how substantial such a shift could be, the possibility of cross-party protest votes is a factor that political observers cannot ignore.

Whichever way one chooses to examine it, Professor Isa Ali Ibrahim Pantami’s potential governorship candidacy is in a class of its own. What initially appeared to be little more than speculation or a distant aspiration has steadily evolved into one of the defining conversations in Gombe State politics. official campaign has yet to commence, but the discussions surrounding Pantami’s governorship ambition have already reshaped Gombe State’s political landscape, making him a force that political stakeholders can no longer afford to ignore.

The ultimate test, however, will not simply be the enthusiasm surrounding his candidacy but his ability to convert goodwill into an effective political structure, sustain broad-based alliances, and persuade the electorate that his administrative achievements at the federal level can be replicated in Gombe State. Regardless of the eventual outcome, Pantami has already ensured that the Gombe 2027 governorship contest will be one of the most closely watched political battles in the state’s history.

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

By Abdullahi Mukhtar Algasgaini 

The National Board for Arabic and Islamic Studies (NBAIS) has come under scrutiny after allocating N18.049 billion of its N26.47 billion 2026 budget to staff salaries and allowances, representing 68 per cent of its total budget.

The agency, responsible for standardising and certifying Arabic and Islamic education across Nigeria, plans to spend N15.414 billion on salaries and N2.636 billion on allowances and social contributions for its workforce, according to budget documents.

While N146.6 million is earmarked for allowances, N2.489 billion has been allocated for social contributions, including N770.15 million for the National Health Insurance Scheme and N1.540 billion for staff pensions.

The remaining 32 per cent of the budget covers N318 million for overhead costs and N8.104 billion for capital expenditure.

The board has also set aside over N2.5 billion for projects including road construction, solar streetlights, food distribution, and social media training across Kano, Katsina, Kogi, and Zamfara States.

Notable allocations include N210 million for road construction in Kano Central Senatorial District, N175 million each for solar street lights in three Kano LGAs, and N28 million for rice distribution in Zamfara State.

A combined allocation exceeding N1.5 billion has been made for solar street light installations across multiple Kano LGAs, with amounts ranging from N140 million to N175 million per local government area.

Dr Umar Yakubu, Executive Director of the Centre for Fiscal Transparency and Public Integrity, called for the board’s scrapping, describing it as a duplication of existing agencies.

“First of all, we create agencies we don’t need. How can you create a whole agency just to conduct exams when you can easily give that role to WAEC, JAMB or other bodies?” he asked.

Yakubu alleged that “90% of the staff don’t have work to do,” adding that the EFCC has been investigating corruption allegations at the agency for years.

Public analyst Lasisi Olagunju highlighted the disparity in spending, noting that NBAIS’s personnel expenses exceed the entire personnel budget of NECO (N15.53 billion), NUC (N4.216 billion), NBTE (N1.843 billion), and NCCE (N1.306 billion).

“How many workers does the National Board for Arabic and Islamic Studies have in its employment to justify a personnel bill of more than N18 billion?” Olagunju queried.

Sources within the agency, speaking on condition of anonymity, revealed that the board has approximately 6,000 staff members. Some employees admitted to having little to no work, with one headquarters staff member stating: “I come to work twice a week because there is nothing for me to do.”

NBAIS was recognised as a national examination and regulatory body in 2011 following approval by the National Council on Education, covering over 1,600 public and private schools and more than 5,000 Tsangaya schools.

The agency’s Head of Information, Abdul Salam Ramalan, promised to respond to inquiries after consulting with his principal but had not done so at the time of filing this report.