Northern Nigeria

By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu

As Nigeria edges closer to the peak of the 2026 rainy season, a familiar but troubling question resurfaces: will the country once again be caught between early warnings and late responses? With fresh projections indicating widespread vulnerability in thousands of communities nationwide, the stakes have never been higher. The challenge is no longer about the absence of forecasts, but about the nation’s readiness to translate those warnings into timely, coordinated action. In this unfolding reality, the role of the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) becomes not just important, but central to determining whether preparedness will finally take precedence over panic.

The 2026 Annual Flood Outlook has once again sounded a stark warning. Over 30,000 communities are at risk nationwide, with 14,118 classified as high-risk across 33 states and the Federal Capital Territory. A further 15,597 fall within moderate-risk zones, while 923 communities are considered low risk. These are not just statistics; they represent homes, livelihoods, and entire local economies that could be disrupted within days if proactive measures are not taken.

Flooding in Nigeria has evolved into a complex and recurring crisis, driven by a combination of climate variability and human factors. Increased rainfall intensity, rising water levels in major rivers, and the impact of climate change continue to heighten vulnerability. At the same time, rapid urbanisation, poor drainage systems, encroachment on waterways, and indiscriminate waste disposal worsen the situation. The result is a dangerous cycle where natural triggers meet human negligence, amplifying the scale of destruction.

Against this backdrop, the federal government has signalled a renewed commitment to strengthening emergency response systems. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, represented by the Minister of Environment, Balarabe Lawal, has acknowledged existing challenges while reaffirming efforts to improve coordination among relevant ministries and agencies. The emphasis on faster, more effective response mechanisms reflects a growing recognition that disaster management must evolve alongside emerging risks.

At the centre of this evolving response is the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), which continues to play a pivotal role in coordinating preparedness and mitigation efforts. In recent years, the agency has shifted its focus from largely reactive interventions to a more proactive strategy anchored in early warning and early action. This approach recognises a critical reality: disasters may not always be prevented, but their impact can be significantly reduced with the right level of preparedness.

One of the most notable aspects of NEMA’s current strategy is the strengthening of early warning systems. Working closely with technical agencies such as the Nigerian Meteorological Agency (NiMet) and the Nigerian Hydrological Services Agency (NIHSA), NEMA ensures that flood forecasts are disseminated well ahead of peak rainfall periods. However, the real challenge lies not just in issuing warnings, but in ensuring that they translate into timely and effective action at the community level.

To bridge this gap, the agency has intensified its grassroots sensitisation campaigns. Across flood-prone states, communities are being educated on evacuation procedures, the dangers of ignoring flood alerts, and the importance of maintaining clear drainage systems. These engagements, often carried out in collaboration with state emergency management agencies and local authorities, are gradually fostering a culture of preparedness that has long been lacking.

Equally significant is the increasing emphasis on simulation exercises and inter-agency coordination. Recent flood response drills conducted in vulnerable areas have brought together security agencies, emergency responders, and community volunteers to rehearse real-life scenarios. These exercises are not merely symbolic; they serve as practical tests of response capacity, helping to identify gaps and improve coordination before disaster strikes.

Yet, despite these efforts, persistent challenges remain. Early warning information does not always reach remote or underserved communities. In some cases, residents underestimate the risks or delay evacuation until it is too late. There is also the issue of uneven commitment at the sub-national level, where some state governments have yet to fully prioritise local preparedness measures. These gaps highlight the need for a more integrated approach that goes beyond federal interventions to include stronger state and community ownership.

Mitigation, in the broader sense, must also address structural and environmental factors. The desilting of drainage systems, enforcement of urban planning regulations, and prevention of construction on floodplains are critical steps that require sustained political will. Long-term solutions such as afforestation, improved land management, and climate-resilient infrastructure must also be prioritised if Nigeria is to reduce its vulnerability to recurring floods.

Technology is another area with significant potential. Real-time data monitoring, predictive analytics, and digital communication platforms can enhance both preparedness and response. When effectively deployed, these tools can ensure that warnings are not only timely but actionable, reaching people in formats they understand and trust.

Ultimately, the story of flooding in Nigeria is not just about rising water levels; it is about the intersection of environment, governance, and public behaviour. While agencies like NEMA continue to strengthen institutional response, the role of citizens cannot be overlooked. Simple actions such as proper waste disposal, adherence to building regulations, and responsiveness to evacuation directives can collectively make a significant difference.

As the 2026 flood season unfolds, Nigeria stands at a critical crossroads. The warnings are clear, the risks are well documented, and the institutional frameworks led by NEMA are steadily improving. Yet, the real test lies beyond projections and policy statements; it rests on collective action. Preparedness must move from paper to practice, from government desks to vulnerable communities. If the lessons of previous floods are taken seriously and early actions are sustained, this year could mark a turning point in Nigeria’s disaster management story. But if complacency prevails, the consequences will once again be measured in avoidable losses. The choice, ultimately, is not in the hands of nature, but in the resolve of a nation determined to act before the waters rise.

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

By Ishaka Mohammed

The Arewa Business Support Fund (Arewa BSF) has announced its website accessibility ahead of the official launch of the investment initiative set for June 1, 2026.

The announcement was made through the official X handle of the Fund @ArewaBSF. Part of it reads, “We are excited to officially announce that the portal for Arewa Business Support Fund is now LIVE!”

Arewa BSF is a private-sector initiative aimed at supporting youth-led businesses in northern Nigeria, regardless of the ownersʼ origins.

THE DAILY REALITY earlier reported how Aliko Dangoteʼs son-in-law, Captain Jamil Abubakar, raised 100 million naira to support entrepreneurs in northern Nigeria.

This Paper also gathered that beneficiaries would enjoy free mentorship and consultancy in addition to interest-free business loans, which, when repaid, would be used to support more businesses. By implication, every financial contribution is a donation. At the time of filing this report, there are 12 financial contributors.

The website https://arewabusinessfund.com/ has more information for interested entrepreneurs and contributors.

By Anwar Usman

Nigerian cleric Sheikh Ahmad Gumi has dissociated himself from alleged statements and materials circulating online linking him with support for banditry in Nigeria.

This was disclosed in a press statement issued in Kaduna on Saturday, where the cleric described the reports as fake, manipulated and doctored by individuals and groups pursuing ethnic and sectional interests.

He stated that some of his media interviews, public lectures and comments on insecurity had been deliberately misrepresented by certain internet content creators seeking sensational headlines and online traffic.

The statement in part reads, “I hereby state unequivocally that any video clip, written statement, or message attributed to me, whether directly or by innuendo suggesting support for, justification of, protection of, or advocacy for banditry in Nigeria or anywhere else, does not emanate from me,” he said.

The Islamic cleric reaffirmed his loyalty to Nigeria, describing the country as a nation with unmatched potential.

Gumi urged the public, media organisations and government authorities to disregard any misleading materials being circulated in his name.

Gumi further warned that individuals or groups perpetuating the spread of falsehoods against him from the date of the statement would face legal action.

The cleric expressed hope that Nigeria would overcome its security challenges and that victims of violence across the country would find comfort in the collective resolve of Nigerians and the international community to end insecurity.

He attributed the persistence of insecurity to factors such as ignorance, poverty and widespread social injustice, while calling for lasting solutions to the crisis.

By Rabi Ummi Umar

Lately, I have found myself unlearning and relearning everything about being a woman. Having been groomed to be nice, kind, and responsive to all situations with a smile, tolerant, and to “be the bigger person”, new knowledge suggests there is more to being a woman, especially for young ones like myself.

While I am utterly grateful for the virtues of kindness learned over the course of my life, I have realised there is a thin line between character-building and the restrictive way women are often conditioned.

There is a persistent narrative, a “myth of silence”, that suggests a woman who is quiet, who tolerates everything, and who refuses to stand up for herself or others is the “good” woman. Conversely, the woman who knows her worth, identifies wrongs, and refuses to stay silent is labelled “bad” or “difficult.”

Many cultures across the globe have deemed it normal for women to be silent spectators: unproblematic, quiet, and devoid of independent values. But what does “unproblematic” actually mean in this context? Too often, it refers to a woman who remains silent in the face of injustice, one who endures whatever is thrown at her without a word of complaint.

On the flip side, a “problematic” woman is simply one who refuses to tolerate disrespect. She is the woman who sees a wrong and calls it out; the woman who speaks the truth regardless of who she might offend. We must confront the fact that this pressure to stay silent stems from societal expectations rather than religious teachings.

As a Muslim woman from Northern Nigeria, a region that prides itself on religiosity, I have seen this play out more times than fingers could count. A woman is expected to undergo so much and wear a mask of contentment just to be loved by everyone else, even if it means she stops loving herself.

If a husband is abusive, she is told to endure. And we must ask: who taught these men that abuse is acceptable? If her in-laws treat her poorly, she is expected to stay calm and patient until they “magically” change. If she shares her opinions or strives for self-improvement, she is suddenly seen as having “gone wild” or having too much knowledge.

Taking a microscopic look reveals why a plethora of women struggle to find themselves. They have spent so long pretending to blend in, trying to be “chosen,” and performing to fit a mould that they have forgotten who they actually are.

The truth is, there is beauty in simply being yourself. As long as you respect your boundaries and act within the framework of your faith and the law, it is okay to exist as a whole person. Since society demands “perfection” or silence, many women have perfected the art of pretence just to maintain the appearance of being “good.”

However, I recently watched a video where someone said, “The world doesn’t profit from women who are at peace; it profits from women who are constantly trying to be something else.” That resonated deeply with me. There is so much pressure on women to be more successful, prettier, or bolder. This pressure has turned life into a competition for visibility; women want to be seen, liked, and admired so badly that they lose their way.

Most women are no longer just living; they are performing. They are developing confidence, independence, and identity because the world rewards the show. A woman who is still searching for herself is easier to influence, sell to, and control. So, the societal noise gets louder, fueling more comparisons and more pressure.

In this scramble to be “seen,” many are quietly losing their spirituality. Again, this is not what Islam teaches. Women, like all human beings, should be allowed to live, to be included, and to breathe. Throughout Islamic history, women have actively participated in social, political, and economic life. They were never meant to be silent followers; multiple examples abound. 

A Muslim woman’s voice, when guided by faith, wisdom, and character, is not a threat to anyone. It is a strength, and when tapped in, the world could be a better place.

Rabi Ummi Umar is a corps member in Abuja. She can be reached via rabiumar058@gmail.com.

By Ibrahim Aliyu

Over the past few decades, Kannywood has grown into one of the most influential cultural industries in Northern Nigeria. Rooted in the Hausa language, Islamic values, and local traditions, it has shaped entertainment, storytelling, and public discourse across millions of homes. For many families, Kannywood was never merely cinema; it became a reflection of identity, morality, family structure, and social values.

Yet despite its cultural importance, Kannywood continues to attract criticism from various sections of society. Some believe the industry has drifted from the moral and religious principles it once claimed to uphold. Others argue that society itself has become increasingly harsh, suspicious, and contradictory in its judgments of public morality.

Perhaps the deeper issue is not merely “bad behaviour” in the industry, but the growing tension among public morality, private intentions, and shifting social perceptions.

In Islam, unnecessary physical intimacy between non-Mahram men and women is generally discouraged, and Hausa society has historically taken such boundaries seriously and with respect. However, there was also a period in Northern Nigeria when families could sit together and watch classic Kannywood comedy scenes featuring actors such as Ibro and Tsigai without automatically interpreting every interaction through a sexual lens.

Parents watched alongside their children. Grandparents watched with their grandchildren. Communities laughed together. At the time, many viewers saw those scenes primarily as comedy, storytelling, and harmless entertainment within a familiar cultural context.

This raises an important question: What changed?

Part of the answer may lie in how modern society increasingly interprets many human interactions through suspicion and moral anxiety. The rapid expansion of social media, unrestricted internet access, celebrity culture, and exposure to explicit online content have reshaped how people perceive entertainment, gender interactions, and morality itself.

As a result, public discussions about morality sometimes become less about intentions, discipline, and character, and more about appearances and public performance. In such an environment, accusations of immorality can spread quickly, even when the cultural context or the intention is more complex.

Hausa society contains longstanding cultural traditions that show how social interaction has historically been understood within context and boundaries. Practices such as “wasan kanin miji” and “wasan kaka da jika” reflect playful social interactions that coexisted with strong family values and respect for marriage institutions. These interactions were not automatically deemed immoral because society recognised the importance of trust, intention, and communal understanding.

This does not mean boundaries should disappear, nor does it suggest that moral principles are unimportant. Rather, it highlights the need for balance, sincerity, and self-awareness when discussing morality in public life.

The danger arises when society becomes more concerned with appearing morally superior than with cultivating genuine ethical discipline. Excessive suspicion, constant public outrage, and the tendency to sexualise ordinary human behaviour can deepen social tension rather than achieve genuine moral reform.

In this sense, Kannywood is more than a film industry. It has become a mirror reflecting the wider struggles within Northern society — the struggle between tradition and modernity, religious values and entertainment culture, public expectations and private realities.

The debate surrounding Kannywood is therefore not only about actors, actresses, or films. It is also about how society defines morality, how communities respond to cultural change, and whether public conversations about ethics are guided by wisdom, balance, and sincerity rather than by fear, projection, or moral performance.

As Northern Nigeria continues to evolve socially and culturally, perhaps the challenge is not to destroy cultural institutions out of anxiety, but to engage them thoughtfully, critically, and honestly — while preserving the values that truly strengthen society.

Ibrahim Aliyu wrote via khalilnuradeen@gmail.com.

By Ibrahim Happiness

‎Every year from April 24 to 30, the world marks World Immunisation Week, a global campaign coordinated by the World Health Organisation (WHO) to highlight one of the most effective public health tools ever developed: vaccines. In 2026, the campaign comes with renewed urgency as countries work to close immunity gaps, restore routine vaccination disrupted in recent years, and protect millions of children and adults from preventable diseases.

‎‎This year’s theme, “For every generation, vaccines work,” underscores a simple but powerful reality: immunisation is not only for infants. Vaccines protect people throughout life, from newborn babies receiving their first doses, to adolescents, pregnant women, healthcare workers, and older adults needing booster or age-specific protection. It is a reminder that vaccines have served families for generations and remain central to a healthier future.

‎Globally, vaccines have transformed human survival. WHO estimates that immunisation has saved more than 150 million lives over the last 50 years, with most of those lives saved being those of infants. Vaccination has reduced deaths from diseases such as measles, polio, tetanus, diphtheria and whooping cough, while preventing lifelong disabilities and severe complications that once devastated communities. Public health experts note that vaccines are among the most cost-effective investments any nation can make because they prevent illness before it starts, reduce pressure on hospitals, and strengthen productivity.

‎Yet despite this progress, millions of children worldwide still miss out on essential vaccines each year. The reasons vary by country: poverty, insecurity, displacement, weak health systems, long travel times to clinics, shortages of trained health workers, and the spread of misinformation. When vaccination rates decline, diseases quickly return. Recent outbreaks of measles and other vaccine-preventable illnesses in several parts of the world have shown how fragile progress can be.

‎In Nigeria, World Immunisation Week is particularly significant. Africa’s most populous country has made progress in expanding routine immunisation through the National Primary Health Care Development Agency (NPHCDA), state governments, donor partners, and frontline health workers. Vaccines for children are provided free through public health facilities, and campaigns against polio, measles, yellow fever and meningitis have helped protect millions.

‎However, challenges remain substantial. Many rural and hard-to-reach communities still struggle with access to health centres. Insecurity in parts of the country continues to disrupt outreach services. Urban slums also face low coverage due to population movement and poor health infrastructure. In some communities, false claims about vaccine safety continue to create hesitation among parents.

‎Nigeria’s Coordinating Minister of Health and Social Welfare, Muhammad Ali Pate, has repeatedly stressed in 2026 that strengthening primary healthcare and expanding routine immunisation are key pillars of the federal government’s health reform agenda. He has called for stronger state-level accountability, improved cold-chain systems, and deeper community engagement to ensure that no child is left behind. According to the minister, immunisation is not merely a health intervention but an investment in national development, because healthy children are more likely to learn, grow, and contribute productively to society.

‎The Executive Director of the National Primary Health Care Development Agency, Muyi Aina, has also emphasised the importance of reaching zero-dose children, those who have never received a single routine vaccine. He noted that Nigeria’s progress will depend on better data systems, mobile outreach teams, local partnerships, and trust-building with communities.

‎International partners have echoed similar concerns. UNICEF and World Health Organisation officials in Nigeria have warned that preventable diseases can spread rapidly when immunisation services are missed, especially among vulnerable children. They continue to urge governments and families to prioritise vaccination and routine health checks.

‎‎World Immunisation Week, therefore, is more than a symbolic observance. It is a timely reminder that progress in health must be protected. Vaccines only work when they reach people. A child in a remote village deserves the same protection as a child in a city hospital. A mother deserves accurate information, not fear-driven rumours. Health workers deserve the support and tools needed to save lives.

‎For Nigeria, the path forward is clear: sustained political commitment, increased domestic funding, stronger local healthcare systems, and public trust. Communities, religious leaders, schools, media organisations and civil society all have a role to play in promoting accurate information and encouraging uptake.

‎As the world marks World Immunisation Week 2026, the message remains straightforward and timeless: vaccines work, they save lives, and they must reach every generation.

‎Ibrahim Happiness is a 300-level Strategic Communication student at the University of Abuja and an intern with IMPR. She can be reached at: happinessibrahim11@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Abubakar Tahir

Across many communities in northern Nigeria, malnutrition remains a quiet but devastating reality. In rural homes and crowded settlements alike, countless children grow up without the essential nutrients required for healthy development.

The signs are often visible, including stunted growth, frequent illness, low energy levels, and poor cognitive development—but the deeper consequences are far more profound. Malnutrition weakens family foundations, strains healthcare systems, and ultimately undermines society’s long-term development.

Jigawa State is not immune to this silent crisis. Despite various public health interventions over the years, malnutrition continues to affect children and vulnerable populations across the state. Poverty, food insecurity, low dietary diversity, and limited public awareness about proper nutrition all contribute to the persistence of the problem.

At this critical moment, one practical and impactful step the Jigawa State Government can take is to urgently recruit and deploy professional nutritionists across the state’s healthcare system.

Nutrition is the cornerstone of human development. A balanced diet supports healthy physical growth, strengthens the immune system, enhances brain development, and improves overall well-being.

When nutrition is inadequate, the consequences can be severe and long-lasting. Conditions such as stunting, wasting, undernutrition, and micronutrient deficiencies continue to affect many children and women in Jigawa State, undermining not only their health but also the social and economic future of the state.

Health experts emphasise that the first 1,000 days of a child’s life—from conception to the age of two are the most critical for physical and cognitive development. Poor nutrition during this period can lead to irreversible damage, including impaired learning ability, weakened immunity, and increased vulnerability to disease throughout life. Ensuring proper nutrition during this early stage, therefore, requires professional guidance and sustained community engagement.

Unfortunately, Jigawa State is currently facing a growing shortage of professional nutritionists within its healthcare system. Many nutrition officers who previously served in hospitals and public health facilities have recently retired, leaving a significant gap that remains unfilled. As a result, several health facilities now operate without functional nutrition units, while in others, the departments have become largely inactive due to the absence of trained personnel.

This situation is both concerning and avoidable. Across Nigeria, universities and colleges continue to graduate qualified nutritionists every year. Yet many of these professionals remain unemployed or underutilised due to limited opportunities within the public health sector. Jigawa State, therefore, has an opportunity to strengthen its healthcare delivery system by recruiting these young professionals and deploying them to general hospitals, primary healthcare centres, and community health programmes.

Professional nutritionists play a critical role in disease prevention and health promotion. They guide families on proper dietary practices, support maternal and child nutrition, and educate communities on healthy eating habits using locally available foods. Their interventions can significantly reduce cases of malnutrition, improve patient recovery, and enhance the overall health profile of the population.

Beyond hospitals, nutritionists also play an essential role in schools. With the expansion of school feeding programmes in Nigeria, ensuring the nutritional quality of meals provided to pupils has become increasingly important. Qualified nutritionists can design balanced meal plans, monitor food preparation standards, and ensure that these programmes genuinely contribute to children’s physical and cognitive development.

Community-based nutrition education is another area where these professionals are urgently needed. Through outreach programmes, health campaigns, and grassroots engagement, nutritionists can educate rural families on the importance of balanced diets, food safety, proper infant feeding practices, and hygiene.

Crucially, they can also demonstrate how affordable, locally available foods—such as grains, legumes, vegetables, and animal products—can be combined to meet nutritional needs.

Given Jigawa State’s predominantly agrarian economy, nutritionists can also collaborate with agricultural extension services to promote nutrition-sensitive agriculture. Encouraging households to cultivate diverse crops, improve food storage, and adopt better food preparation practices can significantly improve household nutrition and reduce dependency on expensive food items.

Meanwhile, a couple of visits to several hospitals across Jigawa State reveal a worrying reality. Many facilities operate without nutrition officers, leaving nurses and other health workers to manage cases that require specialised dietary expertise. In some institutions, nutrition departments have virtually ceased to function due to staff shortages. This weakens the health system’s ability to effectively address malnutrition and diet-related illnesses.

Equally concerning is the situation in higher institutions offering nutrition and dietetics programmes, where departments sometimes struggle with limited staffing and resources to train future professionals. Strengthening the nutrition workforce will therefore require both recruitment into the healthcare system and sustained support for training institutions.

It is important to acknowledge that the Jigawa State Government has made commendable progress in improving healthcare infrastructure and expanding primary healthcare services across the state. Investments in health facilities, maternal healthcare programmes, and immunisation services have improved health outcomes in many communities.

However, strengthening the nutrition workforce must become an essential component of these broader health reforms. Without trained professionals to address nutrition-related challenges, efforts to combat maternal and child mortality, infectious diseases, and poor health outcomes will remain incomplete.

Recruiting and deploying professional nutritionists is not merely a staffing decision—it is a strategic investment in public health, human capital development, and the long-term prosperity of Jigawa State. A healthier and well-nourished population is more productive, better educated, and more capable of contributing meaningfully to economic and social development.

Jigawa State, therefore, stands at an important crossroads. By prioritising the employment of nutritionists in hospitals, primary healthcare centres, schools, and community health programmes, the government can take a decisive step toward reducing malnutrition and improving the well-being of its citizens.

The fight against malnutrition requires commitment, expertise, and timely action. The time to act is now.

Muhammad Abubakar Tahir, a concerned citizen, writes from Hadejia, Jigawa State.

By Usman Muhammad Salihu

In Nigerian politics, defections are no longer surprising. What is surprising now is how quickly they happen and how easily political actors move from one platform to another.

The recent defection of Peter Obi and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso from the African Democratic Congress (ADC) to the Nigeria Democratic Congress (NDC) is not just another political adjustment. It is a bold move. But bold does not always mean safe.

At first glance, the decision appears strategic. Internal crises within the ADC, legal uncertainties, and the pressure of electoral timelines make stability a priority. From that angle, shifting to a new platform may seem like a necessary step, an attempt to secure political ground ahead of a highly competitive 2027.

There is also strength in the alliance itself. The coming together of Obi and Kwankwaso brings national attention, regional balance, and an existing base of supporters. On paper, that is not just movement; it is potential consolidation.

But politics is not played on paper. It is played among the people. And this is where the real challenge begins.

The Nigeria Democratic Congress is still largely unfamiliar to many Nigerians. Beyond political circles and elite discussions, its presence at the grassroots remains limited. For a significant number of voters, especially at the lower levels, NDC is not yet a known political identity.

And in Nigerian elections, familiarity matters. Voters do not just choose candidates. They choose what they recognise. They choose what they trust. They choose what they understand. That is the gap this move must overcome.

Beyond visibility, there are emerging concerns about the platform’s stability. Reports suggest that the Nigerian Democratic Congress may be grappling with internal legal disputes. If proven true, this introduces an even more delicate risk. Moving from one troubled platform to another does not resolve instability; it simply transfers it. And in politics, uncertainty is a cost few can afford at this level.

Because this is no longer just about transferring political influence, it is about building voter awareness from the ground up within a limited time frame. That is not a small task. It is one thing to move with loyalists. It is another thing to move with the electorate. And history has shown that the two do not always align.

There is also a deeper concern. Frequent political movement, no matter how strategic, raises questions of consistency. When platforms change too often, voters begin to look beyond the movement itself and ask a more difficult question: What exactly is constant? Is it ideology? Is it vision? Or is it simply positioning?

These questions matter because today’s voter is less passive than before. There is growing awareness, scrutiny, and an expectation for clarity. So while this move may be necessary from a political standpoint, it is also risky from a public perception angle.

Because speed in politics can be a double-edged sword. Move too slowly, and you lose relevance. Move too quickly, and you lose trust. And right now, this move feels fast. Perhaps calculated. Perhaps unavoidable. But still fast.

So, is this a strategy or a survival tactic? It is arguably both. Strategy, because the timing aligns with political realities. Survival, because unstable platforms leave little room for hesitation.

From another angle, this move is not just a strategy or a matter of survival; it is a gamble. A calculated one, no doubt, but a gamble, nonetheless. It rests on the assumption that political influence can be transferred faster than voter trust can be built. And in a system where recognition often shapes voting decisions, that assumption may prove too optimistic.

But beyond both lies a more uncomfortable possibility: That this could be a leap into a platform that has yet to fully exist in the minds of the people. Because, in the end, political strength is not measured by alliances alone, but by acceptance. And acceptance cannot be transferred overnight.

So, while the move may look bold in Abuja, its real test will come far away from strategy rooms, in markets, in villages, and at the polling units. Where names are remembered, where symbols are recognised, and where unfamiliar platforms are often rejected.

And if that gap is not closed in time, what appears today as a strategy may tomorrow be seen as a miscalculation. Because in Nigerian politics, you can move ahead of the system, but you cannot move ahead of the people. And when that gap exists, even the most calculated move can quickly turn into a costly gamble.

Ultimately, this move will be judged by one metric: conversion rate. How many Obidients and Kwankwasiyya become NDC members, not just in spirit but on the ballot? If the answer is “most,” then history will call it strategy. If the answer is “some,” then it was survival. If the answer is “few,” then it was a miscalculation dressed as ambition. The voters are watching, and their silence right now is louder than any endorsement. For Obi and Kwankwaso, the real campaign did not start in Abuja. It starts the day a trader in Aba and a farmer in Gaya can point to the NDC logo and say, “That is us.”

Usman Muhammad Salihu was among the pioneer fellows of PRNigeria and writes from Jos.

muhammadu5363@gmail.com.

By Ahmed Usman

In the years following independence, Northern Nigeria stood at the forefront of the country’s economic progress. The region’s agricultural output, symbolised by the famous groundnut pyramids of Kano and by thriving cotton production across the savannah belt, powered employment, export earnings, and real-sector development. For a time, Northern Nigeria was not only a major driver of Nigeria’s economy but also one of the most economically vibrant regions on the African continent. Today, however, the region finds itself at a critical crossroads.

Over the past two decades, Northern Nigeria has faced a combination of security, economic, and structural challenges that have slowed its development trajectory. The rise of insurgency in the North-East, banditry and cattle rustling in parts of the North-West, and persistent farmers–herders conflicts have disrupted livelihoods, weakened agricultural production, and discouraged investment. These crises have inflicted enormous human and economic costs not only on the region but also on the Nigerian economy as a whole.

Yet security challenges alone do not explain the region’s economic difficulties. The deeper problem lies in the failure to convert the region’s extraordinary demographic and natural advantages into sustained economic growth.

Northern Nigeria possesses some of the most significant development assets in the country. The region accounts for more than 60 per cent of Nigeria’s population and contains over 80 per cent of the country’s arable land. It also receives abundant sunlight, suitable for solar power generation, and hosts numerous dams capable of supporting large-scale irrigation and energy production.

Despite these advantages, the region continues to record some of Nigeria’s most troubling development indicators. Poverty levels remain among the highest in the country. Youth unemployment is widespread. The region also accounts for about 20 million out-of-school children, one of the highest figures worldwide. Internally generated revenue in many northern states remains low, limiting the fiscal capacity needed to finance development.

This paradox of abundant resources alongside persistent poverty highlights the urgency of a new development strategy to transform its demographic advantages into a true demographic dividend.

At the heart of the solution lies the revival of the real sector. For too long, Nigeria’s growth model has leaned heavily on the service sector and oil revenues, sectors that generate limited employment relative to the country’s rapidly expanding workforce. Each year, millions of young Nigerians enter the labour market, yet the economy struggles to create sufficient productive jobs. Sustainable and inclusive growth will require renewed investment in sectors capable of generating large-scale employment. Agriculture, agro-processing, manufacturing, and renewable energy stand out as areas where Northern Nigeria holds a natural comparative advantage.

Agriculture in particular offers a powerful pathway for economic transformation. With vast fertile land and favourable climatic conditions, the region has the potential to become Nigeria’s primary agricultural hub once again. Expanding irrigation farming, adopting modern agricultural technologies, improving access to inputs, and strengthening agricultural value chains could dramatically increase productivity while generating millions of rural jobs. But agriculture alone will not be enough. The next stage of development must focus on building strong agro-industrial linkages. Processing agricultural products locally rather than exporting raw commodities can significantly increase value addition, stimulate rural industries, and expand export opportunities.

Infrastructure will be critical to unlocking these opportunities. Reliable electricity, modern road networks, efficient storage systems, and improved logistics are essential for connecting farmers, manufacturers, and entrepreneurs to national and global markets. The region’s extensive dam infrastructure already provides enormous potential for irrigation agriculture and renewable energy if properly utilised.

Equally important is the need to invest in human capital. Northern Nigeria’s youthful population represents one of the region’s greatest assets, but only if young people are equipped with the education, skills, and opportunities needed to participate in a modern economy. Expanding access to quality education, strengthening vocational training, and promoting the development of technical skills must become central pillars of the region’s development strategy.

Yet economic progress ultimately depends on the strength of institutions. Transparent governance, accountable public institutions, and a regulatory environment that encourages private investment are essential for sustainable development. Reducing bureaucratic barriers, strengthening property rights, and improving the ease of doing business will be critical for attracting both domestic and foreign investment.

History shows that development trajectories can change when policy direction aligns with economic potential. Northern Nigeria once played a central role in powering Nigeria’s economic progress. There is no reason it cannot do so again.

The challenges facing the region are significant, but they are not insurmountable. With strategic investments, stronger institutions, and a renewed focus on the real sector, Northern Nigeria can unlock the immense potential of its land, its resources, and most importantly, its people. The region’s future should not be determined by the weight of its challenges but by the boldness of its choices. If those choices are made wisely, Northern Nigeria could once again emerge as one of the most powerful engines of economic growth in the country and perhaps on the continent.

By Grey Akans 

In the lush, undulating hills and valleys of Southern Kaduna, a quiet crisis is unfolding. It is not the kind that makes headlines with sudden violence, but one that works its way silently through generations, eroding the very bedrock of our identity. Our languages, the ancient vessels of our wisdom, history, and worldview, are gradually going extinct.

Each of the dozens of languages spoken here—Gbagyi, Bajju, Atyap, Kataf, Jaba, Fantswam, and many more—is a unique universe. They are not mere collections of words but intricate systems of knowledge. Our languages carry the names of medicinal plants known only to our ancestors, the proverbs that distilled centuries of wisdom, and the folktales told under the moonlight that taught us morality and courage. They hold the specific terms for the textures of soil, the phases of the moon for farming, and the subtle behaviours of animals. When a language dies, it is not just words that are lost; it is an entire library of human experience and ecological understanding that burns down, leaving no ashes behind.

The forces behind this silent extinction are complex and powerful. The dominance of Hausa as the lingua franca of commerce, administration, and social interaction in Northern Nigeria is a primary factor. For our children to thrive in markets and schools outside our communities, fluency in Hausa becomes a necessity, often at the expense of their mother tongue. Adding to this is the overwhelming influence of English, the official language of education and modernity. From nursery school to university, success is measured in one’s command of English. Our native tongues are increasingly confined to the homesteads, and even there, their territory is shrinking.

Perhaps the most painful agent of this loss is our own shift in attitude. A dangerous narrative has taken root, subtly branding our languages as “local” or “vernacular”—synonyms for backwardness in the minds of many. Parents, with the best intentions for their children’s future, now speak to them only in Hausa or English, believing they are giving them a head start in life. Unwittingly, they are severing the deepest root connecting their children to their heritage. The younger generation, fluent in the languages of the wider world, now stumbles over the proverbs of their grandparents. The rich, melodic tones of our ancestors are becoming unfamiliar, replaced by the utilitarian cadence of global tongues.

The consequences are profound. When a people lose their language, they experience a form of cultural amnesia. The unique songs sung during harvest, the playful riddles that sharpened our wits—all these fade into silence. We risk becoming a people without a past, adrift in a homogenised global culture, our distinct identity diluted into a vague, generic label.

But the whisper is not yet silent. There is still time to act. The fight for linguistic survival must begin at home. We must consciously choose to speak our languages to our children, making them the language of love, play, and storytelling. Our community leaders and cultural associations must take the lead by documenting these languages, producing written literature, and organising festivals that celebrate them. We can lobby for the inclusion of our native tongues in the early school curriculum, not to replace English or Hausa, but to stand proudly beside them.

Our languages are more than just a means of communication; they are the soul of Southern Kaduna. They are the breath of our ancestors and the birthright of our children. To let them die is to surrender a part of ourselves we can never recover. We must listen to the fading whisper and raise our voices to sing our songs, tell our stories, and speak our names once more, loudly and proudly, before they are lost to the wind forever.

Grey Akans can be contacted via his Facebook account: Grey Akans.