Northern Nigeria

‎The Shareef brothers, Abdul and Umar M. Shareef, seem to have a strong fondness for playing romantic heroes. This likely inspired them to produce an emotional love story in which they take on their favourite leading roles. The production, entitled ‘Soyayyata’ (Translated as ‘My Love’), also appears to be their first series under the ‘Shareef Studio’ banner.

‎Soyayyata (though they mistakenly wrote the name as “Soyayya ta”) is a romantic drama exploring unrequited love, mistaken assumptions, and the complexities of family ties. The series primarily follows a love triangle involving Abbas (Abdul M. Shareef), Zuhra (Maryam Booth), and Haneef (Umar M. Shareef).

‎Abbas and Zuhra are cousins raised together within a shared family compound. Since childhood, his mother had betrothed Zuhra to him, as is customary in Hausa tradition. Abbas grows up to love Zuhra, but she sees him as nothing more than a brother. Meanwhile, she meets Haneef at a wedding, where he falls in love with her at first sight – an affection she fortunately reciprocates even more deeply.

‎Noticing something unusual in Zuhra’s behaviour, Abbas’s younger sister, Suhaima (Madina Abdul), persuades their parents to formally approach Zuhra’s family about the intended marriage. However, while Zuhra’s father, who is Abbas’s uncle, approves, her mother rejects the proposal. Abbas also learns the painful truth that Zuhra does not love him romantically, igniting emotional turbulence and family conflict.

‎Meanwhile, Haneef’s mother opposes his choice of Zuhra because of her humble background but later concedes because of his persistence. However, his father falls ill and dies suddenly on the day of his wedding to Zuhra, setting off a chain of dramatic twists that reshape the course of the story.

‎Despite its compact premise, the series sustains engagement through the gradual introduction of new narrative layers and characters. For instance, Ilham (Asmeey Wakili), introduced in a pivotal role towards the end of Season 1, breathes new life into the story. Despite its rather slow pace, the series keeps audiences engaged with steadily mounting tension.

‎Soyayyata is indeed worth watching for its relatable theme, which resonates strongly with young audiences. It dramatises the familiar scenario of a childhood-betrothed ‘cousin’ losing out to a ‘newcomer’. Young women with early betrothal experiences will identify with Zuhra’s predicament, while those nursing a secret crush will empathise with Abbas, who suffers in silence, enduring the pain of unrequited affection.

‎Additionally, beyond its central love story, Soyayyata explores themes of class discrimination, parental materialism in marriage arrangements, and the far-reaching consequences of such decisions. It also highlights how a lack of open communication can make arranged marriages fragile enough to break even the strongest familial bonds.

‎The series, however, scores little in terms of production quality. Continuity lapses are evident, and the editing lacks finesse. Also, while the interconnection across episodes is reasonably sustained, Episode 4 largely recycles scenes from Episodes 1 and 3. Nevertheless, these shortcomings are pardonable, given the competent direction and commendable performances that make the series ultimately captivating.

‎Finally, if you are struggling to keep pace with the endless YouTube series being released every day, Soyayyata is one you shouldn’t overlook. It is well worth your time.

‎Rating: 3/5

By Zayyad I. Muhammad

Nigeria’s solid minerals sector presents a bittersweet story for the country and its people, particularly in Northern Nigeria.

Mining has created wealth, jobs and economic opportunities for individuals and communities. In mineral-rich areas, it has provided livelihoods and opened new sources of income. At the same time,  illegal mining activities have contributed to insecurity, environmental degradation, exploitation and social disorder in some communities.

Since 2023, Nigeria’s solid minerals sector has undergone significant reforms to modernise the industry, strengthen regulation and enforcement, attract investment, and shift the country away from exporting raw minerals toward local processing and value addition.

There has also been growing interest in critical minerals, particularly lithium, alongside efforts to formalise artisanal mining and improve government revenue from the sector.

Some reports say revenue from the solid minerals sector rose from about ₦16 billion in 2023 to ₦38 billion in 2024, and from approximately ₦68.1 billion to over ₦70 billion in 2025.

The niger state tragedy in which  37 young lives were lost is being linked to illegal mining, official negligence and unprofessionalism by some Civil Defence officers 

Illegal mining is the exploration, extraction, processing or trading of mineral resources without the licences, permits or regulatory approvals required by law, or in violation of the conditions governing such activities.

Nigeria has an established legal and regulatory framework for mining, primarily under the Nigerian Minerals and Mining Act, 2007, along with subsequent legislation affecting the sector. The Nigeria Tax Act 2025, which took effect on January 1, 2026, also introduced changes affecting mining taxation and mineral royalties.

Therefore, not every person found around a mining site is necessarily an illegal miner. The important questions include: Who holds the mining title? Is the operation properly licensed? Are the miners operating within the approved area and under the approved conditions? Are the required royalties, taxes and fees being paid? And are environmental and safety requirements being observed?

Despite improvements in regulation, modernisation and enforcement, illegal mining, insecurity and environmental degradation remain interconnected challenges in Nigeria’s solid minerals sector.

The problem is not simply the absence of laws. Nigeria already has extensive mining legislation and regulatory institutions. Rather, poverty, unemployment, weak enforcement capacity, informal economic activity, insecurity and limited government presence in some remote areas can create conditions in which illegal mining thrives.

This is particularly important in rural communities where artisanal mining may provide livelihoods for families with few alternative sources of income.

Nigeria’s challenge, therefore, is not merely to stop illegal mining, but to bring legitimate artisanal miners into the formal economy, enforce the law against criminal mining operations, protect host communities and the environment, improve security around mining areas, and ensure that Nigeria’s mineral wealth translates into sustainable development.

Nigeria is richly endowed with solid minerals. The ultimate objective should be to ensure that the wealth beneath the ground becomes prosperity above the ground, legally, safely and sustainably.

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

By Muhammad Abubakar 

The Ulama Forum in Northern Nigeria has strongly condemned the killing of 37 young Nigerians, including teenagers as young as 16, by personnel of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC) in Niger State.

In a press release signed by Convener Aminu Inuwa Muhammad and Secretary Engr Basheer Adamu Aliyu, the Forum described the killings as “shocking, disgusting and dastardly” and called for a thorough, independent and transparent investigation.

The Forum also raised alarm over reports of armed tribal militants attacking Fulani settlements in Mbamnga, Mambilla, Taraba State, particularly Wuro Geroji, where several people and livestock were reportedly killed, homes burnt, and hundreds of women and children forced to flee to Cameroon.

The Ulama Forum urged the Federal Government to ensure appropriate compensation and relief (diyyah) for victims’ families, strengthen security in vulnerable communities, prosecute those found culpable, provide humanitarian assistance to displaced persons, and facilitate the safe return of those who fled to Cameroon.

It emphasised that the protection of human life remains a fundamental responsibility of government and security institutions, stressing that every Nigerian deserves protection regardless of ethnicity, religion or location.

The Forum extended heartfelt condolences to the families of the victims and prayed for eternal rest for the departed, healing for the injured and displaced, and lasting peace, security and justice for Nigeria.

By Oluwapelumi Oluwagbotemi Arobieke

The Northwestern part of Nigeria has been plagued by heinous crimes, including banditry, cattle rustling, kidnappings, and the rise of Lakurawa criminal gangs. These gangs claim to fight for religious reasons, but their actions only bring suffering to innocent civilians. The question on everyone’s mind is: why does the North always seem to be at the epicenter of these atrocities? This cycle of violence is rooted in power and control dynamics, where the perpetrators exert dominance over the victims through coercion and manipulation.

The North’s struggles with violence and crime have become a recurring nightmare. It’s imperative that we acknowledge the complexity of this issue and the need for collective action. We must address the root causes of this violence, including poverty, lack of education, and social inequality. By providing access to quality education and economic opportunities, we can empower the youth and reduce the appeal of criminal gangs. Effective leadership and collaboration are crucial in safeguarding the North. Leaders must put aside their differences and work towards a common goal: protecting their people.

To safeguard the North, we need to invest in education, economic empowerment, and social welfare programs. Community leaders play a vital role in promoting peace and stability. They must speak out against violence and encourage their followers to do the same. By fostering a culture of tolerance and understanding, we can break the cycle of violence and build a more harmonious society. Security forces must intensify their efforts to combat crime and protect civilians. This includes intelligence gathering, strategic operations, and community engagement.

The youth are the future of the North, and it’s essential that we empower them with education, skills, and opportunities. By doing so, we can redirect their energy towards positive change and development. We must also address the economic and social factors that drive young people to join criminal gangs. This includes providing job opportunities, vocational training, and mentorship programme.

Understanding the cycle of abuse is crucial in addressing the North’s violence. The cycle consists of tension building, acute battering incident, and reconciliation. Recognizing these stages can help individuals and communities break free from the cycle of violence. Support from healthcare providers, professional counselors, and domestic violence organizations is vital in ending the cycle of abuse.


In conclusion, the North’s cry for help requires collective action from all stakeholders to address the overwhelming problems plaguing the region. It’s imperative that leaders, community members, organizations, and individuals put aside their differences and work towards a common goal: safeguarding the North. This collaborative effort will empower the youth, promote peace and stability, and break the cycle of violence. Effective stakeholder engagement is crucial in achieving this goal. By identifying and prioritizing key stakeholders, the North can develop a comprehensive plan to address the root causes of its problems.

This includes investing in education, economic empowerment, and social welfare programs. Community leaders must speak out against violence and encourage their followers to do the same, fostering a culture of tolerance and understanding. By addressing these areas, stakeholders can create a safer, more prosperous North. The international community must also support Nigeria’s efforts to address these challenges. Simply put, we can break the cycle of violence and build a brighter future for the North.

Oluwapelumi Oluwagbotemi Arobieke, Department of Mass Communication, University of Maiduguri.

By Dahiru Ƙasimu Adamu 

In northern Nigeria, disability has long been viewed as a one-way ticket to a life of begging. But Imrana Aminu Sifawa is rewriting that narrative through academic achievement.

When a child is born with a disability in northern Nigeria, tradition often dictates their future: they beg. It’s a grim expectation that has consigned countless individuals to a life of dependency rather than dignity.

But Imrana Aminu Sifawa refuses to be a statistic. Born completely blind in 2001 in Sifawa town, Bodinga Local Government Area, Sokoto State, this young man has spent his life shattering stereotypes and reaching academic heights that many sighted individuals never reach.

Imrana’s educational journey began at AA Raji Special School Sokoto, where he completed both primary and secondary education. But he didn’t stop there.

He later earned his National Certificate in Education (NCE) in Islamic Studies, with a specialisation in Special Education in Islam, from Shehu Shagari College of Education, Sokoto. Today, he is pursuing a degree in Islamic Studies at the same institution, affiliated with Usmanu Danfodiyo University, Sokoto (UDUS).

Recognising that the world is moving rapidly toward technology, Imrana earned a Diploma in Computer from Kebbi State School for Special Needs in Birnin Kebbi, where he mastered computer operation and networking.

“I have knowledge of operating computers,” Imrana declares with quiet confidence. “Even now, if you bring one to me, I will operate it. I understand its features, how it works, how letters are arranged, and how to type.”

Imrana’s intellectual pursuits extend beyond secular education. He has completely memorised the Holy Qur’an and studied Hadith extensively. His command of Islamic scholarship is evident when he quotes Imam Shafi’i: “Kulli yaumil zadal ilmi zadani ilmul bi jahali…” (Every day knowledge increases, and my knowledge of my ignorance increases…)

In Fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence), he has studied Mukhtasarul Khalil, Lawali, and Sani, among others.

What drives this remarkable young man? A deep-seated rejection of the fate society had planned for him.

“I grew up disinterested in begging, and I completely hate it,” Imrana states firmly.

His determination was fueled by his father’s unwavering support; his father, a retired civil servant, said that politicians and wealthy individuals never helped with his school fees.

Imrana’s path has been anything but smooth. He openly acknowledges the discrimination he has faced.

“The challenges are many, but to mention a few: discrimination,” he explains. “Whenever I set foot in education, some thought I could not do it. Some lecturers clearly hated me. Nevertheless, I endured, I resisted, and now I have attained it.”

He draws strength from the teachings of Ta’alimil Mutaalim: “Bijiddi la bi jiddi kulli muhataji…” (With effort, not with mere desire, every seeker achieves…)

Imrana is unequivocal in his message to people living with disabilities: shun begging, citing a powerful Hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). He warns: “Anyone who engages in begging on the Day of Judgment will wake up without any flesh on his body; it is the sign of beggars.”

In another tradition, he notes that anyone who begs invites poverty through their own actions.

“Begging is not good,” Imrana insists. “Most of those who rely on begging have many cows and flocks of sheep, but they cannot leave it; they have become addicted.”

Rather than begging, Imrana advocates for entrepreneurship as a path to dignity and self-sufficiency.

When asked about his own source of income, he reveals: “Walima (ceremonial gatherings) is one of my sources of income. When people have occasions like marriages or naming ceremonies, they invite me to present and educate attendees, and I earn income through that.”

Imrana urges wealthy individuals to provide people with disabilities with capital for investments that enable them to pursue their dreams and become stable, contributing members of society.

Several other people like Imrana can do better but have yet to receive encouragement and support.

If our society truly wants to thrive,  we must stop discriminating against people with disabilities. Instead, we must encourage them, integrate them, and support them in learning modern skills that will benefit them, their families, and society at large.

Imrana Aminu Sifawa’s story is not just about one man’s triumph over blindness; it’s a testament to the power of education, the strength of human will, and the urgent need to change society’s view of disability.

Imrana Aminu Sifawa’s message is clear: Disability is not a barrier. Begging is not a destiny. Education is the tool for success.

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.