Parenting

By: Abdulhameed Ridwanullah

On July 22, 2015, the then-spouse of Nigerian Afrobeats queen Tiwa Savage, Tunji “Tee Billz” Balogun, announced the birth of their son, Jamil, on social media with an image of the father and son’s hands. This, no doubt, was an intimate moment. But beneath that act was the normalization of what researchers described as “sharenting”. Sharenting is a pervasive practice of documenting every stage of a child’s life online. From the baby shower, scan pictures, delivery room and other “first” images in the life of the baby documented for public gaze, sharenting has become normalized to an extent that those calling for caution are regarded as old-school.

Sharenting is now recognized globally as a growing digital privacy concern because it exposes children to long-term data risks they cannot consent to. But in Nigeria, the consequences are amplified by our unique digital ecosystem.
What makes sharenting particularly risky in Nigeria is not only what online platforms do, but what we (users) do. On the users’ part, Nigerians’ platform usage has shown a pattern of resistance that outsmarts platforms’ regulations. In my research on platform resistance, I argued that Nigerians have developed what I call a digital okada culture: creative, evasive practices that bypass platform safeguards the same way commercial motorcycle riders bypass formal road rules. Screenshots, screen recording, parallel WhatsApp accounts, anonymous repost pages and third-party aggregators routinely move supposedly “private” content into the open, uncontrolled publics.

We have seen photos of the naming ceremonies privately shared on WhatsApp status, making their way anonymously to Instagram gossip pages like Instablog9ja and other similar gossip blogs. Simply put, a controlled WhatsApp status update can end up on strangers’ phones instantaneously. Our digital culture in Nigeria is a highly porous ecosystem where content easily escapes parents’ control, which complicates sharenting.
It is instinctive for proud parents to want to celebrate their joy with friends and family. Culturally and religiously speaking, giving birth is not a small feat. It is one of the memorable achievements in one’s life.

The magnitude and social significance of it alone are good reasons to celebrate and post children online. For diaspora families, social media posts also help them connect with grandchildren and relatives not seen physically. On the surface, this looks like a harmless practice. But once it is placed inside a digital okada culture, the comfort of “I only shared it with my contacts” becomes an illusion.

Even mainstream financial institutions have begun to warn that oversharing children’s information online can create future vulnerabilities. A 2018 BBC news report indicated that Barclays Bank forecasted that by 2030, sharenting could result in £670 million in online fraud. The bank added that parents might be “lulled into a false sense of security” without grasping the long-term implications of oversharing online. That warning is not just about money; it is about the long tail of our children’s data.

But financial fraud is only a small fragment of the risk. The bigger problem is how children’s data feeds an entire economic system. As I have written previously, the “paradox of social media is that a digital footprint is both transient and permanent”. It is transient because our post quickly disappears from most feeds, but the metadata is stored permanently in corporate databases. This is what Harvard professor Shoshana Zuboff calls surveillance capitalism.

Sharenting allows surveillance capitalism to thrive because parents voluntarily funnel massive intimate behavioural data about their children into algorithms. This behavioural data could be monetised by building a detailed, lifelong predictive profile of the children. According to privacy researchers, children’s photos that people share online are being used to train facial recognition algorithms and AI systems.

Think about that! Our children’s faces are being used to teach machines without our or their consent. Parents’ excitement often leads to the surrender of children’s data to platforms without their consent. Even celebrities who build careers on social media visibility, like Rihanna and Cardi B, are choosing to obscure their children’s faces to mitigate risk. Drake famously raps in the Emotionless track that “I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world; I was hiding the world from my kid”.

Many Nigerian parents take comfort in the illusion of privacy of End-to-End Encrypted messaging platforms. They assume that posting baby photos on WhatsApp Status, especially to a restricted contact list, is safer than throwing them on Instagram. Messages on WhatsApp are encrypted, no doubt; however, that alone does not mean data extraction isn’t taking place.

Metadata about what we share (e.g., baby photos), who we talk to, when, location, duration, and frequency are extractable and shareable data that the platforms can use to build a behavioural pattern.
In other words, even when images disappear, their informational shadows remain.

Beyond the momentary applause and privacy concern, what happens when these children grow up and do not appreciate their lives being displayed online and their privacy being taken away? Teenagers are already suing their parents in Europe for unconsented exposure. It is only a matter of time before a similar conflict emerges in Nigeria. I am not a technological Luddite. Far from it. I am just a concerned technology researcher who cares about the use and misuse of social media.

In a country shaped by digital okada culture, parents cannot assume that what they post about their children will stay where they intended. Sharenting is not just about cute photos; it is about handing our children’s futures to platforms, algorithms and a porous digital public they did not choose.

Nigeria needs greater digital literacy around children’s rights. There is also a need for more public awareness campaigns and discussion about consent beginning at home. Parents must think beyond the moment of joy and consider the digital futures they are constructing for their children.

Abdulhameed Ridwanullah is a researcher at Media for Empowerment and Impact Lab, Northeastern University, Boston, USA. He can be reached at olaitanrido@yahoo.com

By Muhammad Umar Shehu

Parental care is slowly disappearing in today’s Nigeria, and the consequences of this are evident. The family used to be the first point of training where values were shaped and morals were taught. Now, many homes are broken by the absence of emotional, physical or financial support. 

Parents are either too busy chasing survival or have surrendered their roles to the internet, peer groups and street culture. And the result is right in front of us. Young people with no sense of direction, crime becoming a normal path, and a country overwhelmed by insecurity.

A child not guided at home is more likely to find purpose in the wrong places. We are now dealing with the consequences of that neglect. From cultism to kidnapping, cyber fraud to political thuggery, we are raising a generation that is desperate, angry and emotionally abandoned. You cannot discuss national security without addressing family failure. Every bandit and every drug addict started as someone’s child.

At the same time, some parents do too much of the wrong kind of parenting. They shelter their kids from reality, provide for everything but discipline nothing and expect the schools to build what they have not started. Some parents no longer listen to their children. They demand excellence without showing concern for mental or emotional well-being. That is why depression is rising among young people. That is why suicide, addiction and social vices keep growing silently.

It is true that we no longer have the strong community system that once helped raise children. But there are still ways to rebuild. The society needs to encourage good parenting by example, not just by words or scolding. We need honest conversations between parents and children. We need schools to include real-life education, not just grades, but responsibility, empathy and values. We need religious and traditional leaders to focus less on miracles and more on morality and family life.

It is easy to blame the government, but even if they build roads and power, we will still collapse as a nation if we do not raise humans with a conscience. No law can replace the love and discipline of a present parent. And no society can grow when its children are lost.

If we want to fix this country, we must go back to our roots. Parents need to be present, not just physically, but also emotionally and morally. Being a parent is not just about giving birth or paying school fees. It is about being a guide, a mentor and a strong emotional backbone. Let us not expect society to raise the children we refused to raise. If the home fails, everything else will.

This country needs healing, and it starts in the family.

Muhammad Umar Shehu wrote from Gombe via umarmuhammadshehu2@gmail.com.

By Lawal Dahiru Mamman

A senior colleague once shared a thought that has stayed with me for years. While discussing the burdens of parenthood, he described how fathers would go to great lengths to provide for their children, often at the expense of their own comfort. 

He explained that for every penny earned, the first question in a father’s mind is, “What do the children need?” That struck a chord. With each passing day, as I grow older, I find myself reflecting on how my father silently sacrificed to ensure our needs were met. 

These memories linger like a background hum in my consciousness. What becomes clearer with time is that we often miss what is right in front of us. We benefit from the comfort, the food, the shelter, the school fees, and the security,without giving much thought to the man behind it all. 

It is the classic case of not seeing the elephant in the room or, as the saying goes, not seeing the wood for the trees. It is no surprise, then, that some people have questioned why there seem to be more songs, poems, and films celebrating mothers than those appreciating fathers. 

While we may lack precise statistics to prove this imbalance, popular culture seems to confirm the observation. From the nursery rhyme “Who sat and watched my infant head…” titled “My Mother,” many of us were introduced to the emotional pull of maternal devotion. 

Over time, several explanations have emerged for this artistic focus. Mothers are often perceived as more emotionally accessible. The mother-child bond, portrayed as warm, nurturing, and unconditional, lends itself easily to emotional expression in music, film, and poetry.

Cultural symbolism also plays a role. Across different societies, mothers are often regarded as the emotional anchors of the family. This perception makes them natural muses for stories about love, sacrifice, and resilience. 

Moreover, many creatives draw from personal experience, with some having been raised primarily by their mothers. And then there is the reality of audience connection — people often relate more universally to stories about mothers. 

All of that said, as we commemorate Father’s Day, it is crucial — now more than ever — to reflect on and appreciate the often-unnoticed contributions that fathers make. While mothers are frequently, and rightly, celebrated for their warmth and care, many fathers quietly go about their roles with little attention or applause.

Providing for the family remains one of the most visible expressions of a father’s love. Fathers work tirelessly to ensure there is food on the table, school fees are paid, and their children live comfortably. As children, we may take these things for granted. 

It is only with maturity that we begin to realise the depth of their commitment. Fathers often do all this without asking for recognition. Their sacrifices are quiet and enduring — a form of love that speaks less and does more. 

This year’s Father’s Day, like those before it, may have come and gone without noise or public fanfare. But even in the silence, we must recognise the strength of men who daily put their families ahead of themselves. They go without, just so we never lack. 

They deny themselves small luxuries so their children can feel seen, equal, and included. That is not just love — it is selflessness in its purest form. Many of us, growing up, may have perceived our fathers as distant or overly strict. 

But now, we realise that those long hours spent away from home, the constant budgeting, the unspoken worries — they were all signs of a love that often hid behind responsibility. Fathers may not always wear their emotions on their sleeves, but their love is steadfast and deep.

Times have changed, and we now see more women contributing financially to their homes, a development that deserves celebration. Still, it is important not to diminish the sacrifices and emotional labour of fathers. This is not a contest about who does more. 

Instead, it is a moment to reflect on all that fathers do — without complaint, without applause, and often without being asked. If there is such a thing as an unsung hero, the average father fits that description. They show up. 

They stay. They build. And they keep going. So, to every father, stepfather, guardian, and father figure — thank you. Thank you for your sacrifices. Thank you for the quiet strength you bring into our lives. 

Thank you for the roads you walk, so that we can dream. You are the solid foundations upon which we rise. May your love, sacrifice, and strength never go unnoticed again.

Lawal Dahiru Mamman writes from Abuja and can be reached via: dahirulawal90@gmail.com.

By Garba Sidi 

It’s truly disheartening how some parents neglect their responsibilities in shaping their children’s behaviour. This lack of care can leave their biological sons and daughters feeling unloved. Love is crucial for a child’s healthy development.

On my way out of the city this morning, I overheard a conversation between two young men, no older than 24, who were smoking cigarettes. One said, ‘We have no value in people’s eyes because we messed up our lives.’ The other responded, ‘I swear, Nasiru, when I look at my friend Aminu, his life seems so good. Everyone likes him; he studied hard, has a good job, and looks at us, sitting in this dirty place. We ruined our lives, and we’re ashamed of ourselves.’

Nasiru’s friend spoke in a low voice, gathering his thoughts before narrating his story. He explained that his father was a car driver and his mother was from Bauchi State. When his father married his mother and brought her to Jigawa, she told him about his father’s recklessness in providing for their needs (his and his younger sister’s). After some years, his father married another woman, and whatever resources he brought came to her, leaving them with nothing but what their neighbours offered.

His mother sadly passed away, plunging him into deep sorrow. From that point on, their life became a struggle. He started going to the fish market to earn money for food and other necessities, as his stepmother used everything his father brought, even food, leaving them barely enough to eat. His stepmother, who didn’t have children herself, would sometimes even tell him his father wasn’t a man because he couldn’t give her a child.

He had friends who smoked cigarettes, and being around them constantly led him to become a drug addict. He blames two things for his current situation: the love he lost from his father and the death of his mother.

His friend, Nazy, then began his story about joining this group of drug addicts. He attributed the core reason for his situation to his mother’s neglect in shaping him in his youth. He explained that his mother sold food at home, and his father was a mechanic engineer. Many people came to their house to eat, and as the only male child, both parents showered him with love and didn’t punish him when he did wrong.

He started working as a shopboy for one of their regular customers. Things went well initially until he met the daughter of a wealthy businessman. They began a relationship, and she introduced him to a world of excessive entertainment, including smoking cigarettes, drinking syrup, injecting drugs, and inappropriate physical contact. Tragically, her father caught them drinking syrup in his apartment and handed Nazy over to the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA) while his daughter continued to enjoy a comfortable life without consequences.

Nazy’s parents tried to get him out of jail but were too late. The wealthy man paid money to have Nazy imprisoned, blaming him for ruining his daughter’s life. Nazy spent five months in prison before being released. He heard the wealthy man’s daughter is now in Uganda. This is how he ended up in this cycle of addiction.

By Amrah Musa Kamaruddeen

In today’s digital era, a new phenomenon known as “sharenting” has emerged, where parents extensively share photos, videos, and updates about their children on social media platforms. This blend of sharing and parenting has sparked a lively debate, raising questions about privacy, consent, and the long-term impact on children.

For many parents, social media offers a convenient platform to document and celebrate their children’s milestones and daily adventures. It provides a way to connect with family and friends, especially those far away. Sharing these moments can foster community and support, allowing parents to exchange advice and experiences.

However, the practice of sharenting has prompted significant privacy concerns. Once images and information are posted online, they can be difficult to control. Photos can be shared, downloaded, and even misused by strangers. 

The permanence of the internet raises questions about how these digital footprints might affect children as they grow older, especially when they begin to establish their online identities.

Another critical issue is consent. Young children cannot give informed consent to having their lives shared online. As they grow, they may feel uncomfortable with the digital trail left behind by their parents’ posts. This raises ethical questions about children’s rights to privacy and autonomy over their personal information.

The psychological effects of sharenting are still being explored. Some experts suggest that children might feel pressure to perform for the camera or struggle with the idea that their lives are being broadcast without input. On the other hand, positive reinforcement from family and friends can boost a child’s self-esteem, suggesting a nuanced impact.

For parents who wish to navigate sharenting responsibly, several guidelines can be considered:

1. Privacy Settings: Use strict privacy settings on social media accounts to limit who can see your posts.

2. Consent: As children grow older, involve them in discussions about what gets shared and respect their wishes if they prefer not to be featured online.

3. Limit Details: Do not share sensitive information such as full names, birth dates, or locations that could compromise your child’s safety.

4. Think Long-Term: Consider the potential long-term effects of each post and whether it might embarrass or harm your child in the future.

5. Digital Literacy: Educate children about the implications of digital sharing and the importance of privacy from an early age.

As technology continues to evolve, so too will the dynamics of parenting in the digital age. Sharenting, while offering opportunities for connection and celebration, demands careful consideration of privacy, consent, and the well-being of children. By adopting mindful practices, parents can safeguard their children’s present and future in the digital realm.

Amrah Musa Kamaruddeen wrote from the Mass Communication Department, Bayero University, Kano.

By Zainab Abubakar Abba

I was only nine years old when my world was shattered into a million pieces. My mom, my guiding light, my haven, left me too soon. The pain was unbearable, the grief overwhelming. I thought I would never survive without her warm embrace and loving smile. Not knowing life had other plans.

Ten years later, fate dealt me another cruel blow. My dad, my rock, my hero, passed away, leaving me alone and adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The loss was like a tsunami, sweeping away everything I thought I knew about love, family, and security. The pain of losing one parent was devastating, but losing both was like being stripped of my very foundation.

Growing up without both parents is a journey of unimaginable pain, struggle, and resilience. I have faced countless challenges, from navigating the complexities of adolescence to finding my place in a world that seemed determined to hold me back. The grief that followed was like a tidal wave, crashing over me with unrelenting force. I felt lost, alone, and scared. Simple tasks became monumental challenges, and everyday moments felt like a survival struggle. 

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, I slowly began to find my footing. I realised that my parents may have left me physically, but their love, wisdom, and legacy remained. I held onto the memories we shared, the laughter we enjoyed, and the lessons they taught me.

Amidst the darkness, I have discovered a spark that refuses to be extinguished—a spark of hope, determination, and courage. Ihave learned to cherish my parents’ memories and hold onto their love and legacy like a beacon at night. And I haven’t been alone in this journey. 

My siblings have been my lifeline, my support system, and my everything. Having supportive siblings has made all the difference in my journey. They have been my parents in every sense of the word, providing love, care, and encouragement when I needed it most.

Losing both parents at a young age has been the most challenging experience of my life, but it has also been a transformative journey. I have learned to cherish every moment, to never take love or life for granted, and to find strength amid vulnerability.

If you are walking a similar path, know you are not alone. Your pain is valid, your grief is real, and your resilience is remarkable. Hold onto the memories, lean on others, and find ways to honour your loved ones. 

And if you are fortunate enough to have supportive siblings, cherish them, appreciate them, and lean on them when the future seems uncertain. You are stronger than you think and will rise wiser and more compassionate than ever.

Zainab Abubakar Abba wrote from the Department of Mass Communication, Bayero University, Kano.

By Aisha Musa Auyo

I often dismiss the hearsay that everyone must be attacked by this virus once in their lifetime. It’s a superstition, I would reply to them. My sisters were all attacked by the virus, one after the other at a roll, all four of them. I was the one applying calamine lotion on them. We were all waiting for my turn, but I wasn’t infected. Very unusual, even the doctors would say. I must be immune to the chickenpox, I would boast.

After about 15 years, the virus knocked and crushed me to the point of losing hope of living again. From high fever, sore throat, muscle pain, dizziness, and general discomfort. My son was the one who contracted the virus, and obviously, I’ll be the one to take care of him. I did it with full confidence and carelessness that I was immune to the virus. However, I separated him from his siblings and classmates. His illness didn’t last for more than five days, and in a week, he was okay and mixing with everyone.

We travelled for Easter, and I was sick throughout the Easter break. It is Kano weather, I would say. All I do is lie down. Cooking and Tarawih during the last days of Ramadan became impossible for me, yet I didn’t go to the hospital. I deceived myself into thinking I’d get better when my body adjusted to the weather. Until one Tuesday, I felt so sick I couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk, and hated the sound of everything.

Then, one of my kids complained of heat rashes. I undressed him so I could bathe, and viola! Chickenpox rashes all over his body. I checked my other son and found the same issue, then I took a closer look at myself, the rashes were all over my body. I was so sick that I wasn’t paying attention to my skin. It then dawned on me that all three of us were infected by Haidar two weeks after his illness.

I made some calls and was told to stay at home, that we can infect the entire community by going to the hospital. The virus is very contagious. We stayed indoors, and medication was sent to us. We were told not to entertain visitors and not to go out till we were fully recovered and free from the virus.

“Lockdown II,” I thought to myself. We became prisoners in our house, and although the lockdown did give me a chance to rest and bond with the kids, it’s not anything I would hope for anyone.

My fever kept getting high, and I was told the virus punishes adults 50 times the way it treats kids. 

My kids were active and eating after three days, but I wasn’t. The rashes were all over me, including my feet, palms, ears, scalp, lips, throat and tongue. Eating and drinking become difficult. These rashes are not only irritating to the eyes, they hurt like ant bite. I have to be recording my temperature every 3 hours just to see if everything is going well. I finished all the painkillers in the house. Sitting becomes difficult, and leaving my room becomes difficult, too.

I kept thinking something else must definitely be wrong with me; chickenpox could not be this hard. A malaria drug was prescribed for me. Since I wasn’t eating, the ulcer came back in full force. Then I learned that the rashes and scars do not go away. My world was crumbling, and I was crying like a baby. I can’t imagine living with these scars forever.

After nine days, the pain became bearable. I felt better and had the hope of living again. I was told I could still spread the virus even at that time, so I spent my Eid al Fitr at home, browsing and researching chickenpox and how to get rid of the scars.

I learned that the only immunity to the virus is being infected by it. Once you are infected, you will hardly get infected again. It happens once in a lifetime. Although some countries were able to eradicate it, most countries are still battling the virus.

Now and then, especially during the hot season, this virus will spread. It’s there to make sure everyone is immunized, meaning everyone is infected with it once in his lifetime. If it’s a choice, one would prefer to be infected at a younger age, as the virus is merciful to kids and merciless to adults, lol. I’ve come up with a few things to do when the virus strikes.

• As a parent, once you notice that such a contagious virus infects a family member of yours, kindly seclude your ward from the public. It starts with one person, and in less than a week, the whole committee can be infected. Kindly reject visitors by letting them know your condition. Do not travel till you are fully recovered. These teachings from our beloved Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. He emphasized the importance of quarantine, separating sick individuals from healthy ones, and avoiding contact with contagious diseases to prevent their spread, all of which are integral to Islamic rulings on managing infectious diseases.

• Chickenpox medications are over-the-counter meds. You don’t have to go see a doctor. Once you notice fever, headache, muscle ache, and rashes, know that it’s either chickenpox or measles. They’re contagious. By going to the hospital, one may infect the nurses, receptionist, and even the doctors. Send an immune person to get the drugs for you.

• Drink a lot of water and fluids. Those monster rashes drain one to the point of dehydration.

• You, as a healthy individual, should not feel bad when a person tells you not to visit due to the nature of their illness. Kindly understand that they have your best interest at heart. A colleague of mine is still angry with his Uncle because the uncle told him not to visit them as the whole family is infected with chickenpox.

• Chickenpox doesn’t sit well with heat, so make sure you stay in a well-ventilated space and do not wear clothes since you are indoors.

• Bathe at least thrice a day with room temperature water, and avoid hot or warm water.

• If possible, wash your hands with a hand wash every hour when you are not sleeping.

• Try your best not to forcefully scratch or remove the rashes when they’re drying. Allow your skin to shed them. This is easier said than done. Feeling a blister or bump on your skin and letting go isn’t easy. Let me not deceive you.

• Calamine lotion helps to soothe and dry the rashes.

• If the fever is high, try using a damp cloth over the patient and take painkillers according to the doctor’s instructions.

• After you are healthy and free of infection, sanitize the house and the clothes you use with hot water and disinfectants. This includes towels, bedspread and sofas.

• I was told the rashes and scars never disappear; some said it takes years before they disappear. One of my sisters was born with a fair complexion, but after a chickenpox infection, her complexion darkened. She never recovered her colour. As discouraging and sad as this may sound, one should not relax and allow the virus to ruin one’s looks and confidence. Aloe vera gel does wonders with consistency and patience.

• Honey, neem oil, or water infused with neem leaves also help a lot. Retinol creams are also very effective. But please don’t bleach your skin or use harsh chemicals on your body.

Aisha Musa Auyo is a Doctoral researcher in Educational Psychology, a wife, and a mother of three. She is a homemaker, caterer, and parenting/relationship coach.

By Muhammad Muhammad Khalil

Marriages built on love, affection and mercy are expected to last forever. But, unfortunately, whilst some marriages crash in infancy, others spanning for decades end up in divorce, too. The psychological trauma children of those failed marriages experience due to their parent’s separation is deep and enormous, negatively affecting their physical and mental health.

In most cases, the love lost between ex-couples shifts to their children. Both the mother and father show unconditional love and care for them, for love of one’s progeny is an inborn disposition in humans and animals.

Despite this, there are pockets of male parents in our society who decline to provide sustenance for their children once the split occurs. They, sadly, leave their ex-wives and their families with the burden of fending for their seeds. Instead, the wives’ families, stacked with their backbreaking responsibilities, bid their daughters to take the matter to court.

It is profoundly depressing how our Sharia courts are flooded with such cases (as mentioned above). I have seen multiple men go to jail for failure to comply with court orders, namely, to give their ex-wives the measly amount designated for the sustenance and upkeep of their children.

From what I have learnt thus far, some men defaulted not because they could not afford it but rather due to their fall-out with their ex-wives, the children’s mothers. The innocent kids usually take a back seat thanks to the resentment the father harbours against the mother. To treat their ex-wives harshly, they deprive their children of their necessities. One wonders: what benefit do such men draw from putting their kids’ lives in misery and danger?

The situation of some divorcees is both worrisome and pathetic. Many have become frequent court-goers because their kids’ fathers are reluctant to relieve the burden. Scores of children of failed marriages suffer significantly because the wrangling between their parents barely stops. The kids’ welfare stays truncated as a result.

My plea to such men is to fear Allah (SWT). And remember that the children they’re endowed with are a trust for which they’ll account. Their children have rights and responsibilities upon them.

As the prophetic saying goes: “All of you are guardians and are responsible for your charges; a man is a guardian of his family and is responsible for his charge.”

Muhammad Muhammad Khalil wrote this via muhdmuhdkhalil@gmail.com.

By Tijjani Muhammad Musa

I left the house without taking breakfast or even a bath in order to meet an 8:00 am appointment with the rest of our SWS.Comms production crew. A client has brought in an advert for emergency production and airing on the radio against an event scheduled to take place the next day, Saturday morning, by 10:00 am after the monthly Sanitation exercise.

The heavy traffic of Adaidaita Sahu, private vehicles, motorcycles, and so on State Road was highly discouraging as I turned into it from Maiduguri Road. Quickly calculating my other options, I thought of taking alternative routes to steer me away from the delay most likely to occur if I should get trapped in the traffic mess.

However, thinking positively and hoping for the best, I still drove into the snailing jam of vehicles. Soon, however, I saw an opening on the side of the road accommodating a trickle of cars and the ever-daring tricycle riders. Now being in a bit of a hurry, I instinctively branched into that flow. 

This gave me and many others the opportunity to cut off almost three-quarters of the “go-slow” that was caused due to road repairs, maintenance and renovation work going on on the roads as a result of adverse effects of heavy rainfall witnessed in the city in recent time. 

So many of the roads in the metropolis have turned into shallow graves and potholes, forcing many drivers to demonstrate their driving skills and dexterity, with pedestrians expressing their anger and annoyance once in a while from getting splashed with dirty potholed rainwater.

As I slowly snake through the engaging challenge, turning my head side to side to check the distance between me and the line up of tricycles to my left, I suddenly saw her in one of the Adaidaita and couldn’t help but stare. While briefly looking at it, I at that same time sensed myself being stared at. So I checked to see who was poring his or her eyes over me.

It was a much younger woman sitting next to the person who had caught my rapt attention. Clearly, she was wondering why my face lightened up and suddenly saddened again upon seeing the old woman sitting calmly by her side. 

To douse her fears, I lowered my car window, pointed at the old woman and loudly said, “She reminds me of my mother, who is now late. May her soul be blessed and rest in peace.” I whispered the supplication to my hearing only.

The younger woman, now relaxed and with a slight smile, said, “Allaah Sarki. Allaah Ya jik’anta da rahama” and I said, “Amin thumma amin” as tears wheeled up my eyes. I quickly got hold of myself as I averted the gaze of both the woman as well as the okada rider, whose attention had now turned to me.

I looked at the old woman intently once again and realized that she didn’t actually look like my Hajia in any way except for her height and the frail, wrinkled body characteristic of old women in their octagenarian stage of life. She was looking absent-mindedly into a future that none could tell what it was her mind’s eye was seeing or thinking.

Once again, tears overwhelmed me, for I could remember clearly the same kind of look on the face of my mother. She didn’t want to die due to the uncertainties that lay ahead. But then, none can avert its coming to pass, as it is a promise that must be fulfilled.

This is because Allaah AWJ Says in the Qur’an, “Kullu nafsin za ikatul maut” – Every soul must taste of death (Q3:185). So we all must eventually bow out. When, where, why, by what or how none of us knows. Thus by the 1001 ways and more to die, we all must become deceased.

I felt for her as I did feel for Hajia then whenever I saw that worrisome look registered on her face. I would immediately want to do something to distract her attention so as to change her mood for the lighter from such disturbing thoughts. 

Suddenly without thinking, I reached into the pigeon hole in front of my dashboard and fetched out some money I usually keep there in case of an emergency and asked the Adaidaita rider how much was the cost of the ride. He told me, and I handed much more than the amount to him, telling him to give her the change.

The old woman looked at me and smiled. She was pleased with what I did and waved her two palms at me in thanks, and all of a brief flash, I saw my mother in her. It was a beautiful sight. The younger woman with her was also happy and prayed fervently for me as I drove off.

Then by Allaah SWT, the dam broke, and I started crying, in the wonder of what my mother might be going through, wherever she might be at that moment. There and then, I started praying to Allaah AWJ to please forgive her, whatever wrong she might have done while alive and bail her from anybody’s haqqi if she has done them wrong. 

That my Lord and Maker should please compensate whoever she owes, whatever it might be and set her soul free in Barzakh, pending when she will be admitted into Jannah and His AWJ’s much sought after Grace. Fortunately, I’ve dreamt of her 3 times already. She’s doing alright, bi iznilLaahi.

In one of such dream, we were at an occasion with Prof. Yusuf Adamu, and she came to the place. So I excitedly introduced her to him. As he respectfully greeted her and started thanking her for me, she said to him, smiling, “A’a haba ai mu ne da godiya”. More tears tore into my composure like a small child.

I had to stop myself as passersby were beginning to stare at me, wondering and whispering to each other what they thought was wrong with me. Though I never liked the idea of tinting off my car windows since I have nothing to hide, for a change, I wished I had done so, so I could indulge and enjoy my emotional outburst in full privacy. 

It’s not every day that such grace from Allaah happens to me. Anyway, I pray that all our parents who have died be in better existing conditions, wherever they may be right now than when they were here living on earth. 

May all other mothers and fathers be similarly forgiven for their wrongs, mistakes and shortcomings. Allaahumma amin thumma amin.

By Mallam Musbahu Magayaki

In the past, when a child reached the first stage of school enrolment that was provisionally five to six years old, wrong perceptions were instilled in his mind that he could be a breadwinner for his family when obtaining educational qualifications. Instead of, at the same time, being fully furnished with the positive impact of skill acquisition. So that if he, unfortunately, doesn’t get a white-collar job after graduation from school, he may situationally turn to the other side to become self-reliant and driven by self-buoyancy.

Nowadays, parents’ failure to engage their children in varied forms of skill acquisition training is seemingly revealing and mulling over the alarming rate of crimes being perpetrated in the country, which could be attributed to unemployment as the majority of the countrymen didn’t learn any skills or hold reliable small-scale businesses rather than depending on educational qualifications which do not guarantee one’s life success.

This mistaken belief has to be timely and utterly changed by exposing their children to various productive and creative skills that can help them meet their needs after learning the skills professionally. However, relying heavily on the government, specifically the Nigerian government, jobs as a source of income is a huge mistake that yields nothing but disappointment!

Let us learn from developed countries such as China, South Korea, and Malaysian citizens who have become productive due to engaging their youth in various aspects of skill training schemes with the support of their serious governments. And they successfully channelled them further to where they are now in terms of development.

In a nutshell, I urge Nigerian governments at all levels to replicate China’s Green Business Option (GBO) at both secondary and tertiary levels, which can feasibly pave the way for their products to acquire skills to develop themselves by becoming self-reliant even if they fail to be employed by the government and other related agencies.

Mallam Musbahu Magayaki writes from Sabon Fegi, Azare, via musbahumuhammad258@gmail.com.