Saleh Adamu Kwaru

The milestone of Nigeria’s foreign exchange reserves crossing $54.08 billion for the first time in nearly 18 years reads like a triumphant headline. On paper, it represents a towering financial fortress built by the Central Bank of Nigeria through steady oil revenues, aggressive monetary tightening, and unprecedented diaspora inflows. Yet, beneath these dazzling macroeconomic figures lies a deeply agonising paradox. For the average Nigerian, the euphoria of $54 billion in the vault feels less like a shared national victory and more like a cruel illusion—a distant celebration taking place in glass towers while the everyday citizen fights an exhausting daily battle for basic survival.

To understand the profound emotional disconnect felt on the streets today, one must travel back to December 22, 2008, the last time the reserves touched $54.21 billion. Eighteen years ago, that same numerical figure existed in a fundamentally different world. In 2008, a dollar exchanged for roughly ₦118 to ₦135. A worker earning a modest salary could walk into a market with dignity, buy family foodstuffs, pay rent comfortably, and still hold onto a sense of quiet hope for the future. Fuel was subsidised, school fees were manageable, and the middle class was a living, breathing reality rather than a fading memory. The reserve target then felt aligned with an atmosphere of tangible stability and shared prosperity.

Fast-forward to 2026, and the stark contrast breaks the heart. Today’s $54 billion reserve sits alongside a naira that trades around ₦1,315 to ₦1,390 per dollar—a staggering depreciation that has quietly eroded the life savings of millions. Where a bag of rice or a tank of petrol once took a minor fraction of a monthly wage, it now demands entire paycheques. The removal of energy subsidies, compounding transport costs, and an unyielding inflation rate have turned simple household decisions into nerve-wracking dilemmas. Parents stand in markets clutching cash that shrinks in real time, staring at prices that mock their hard work, forced to make heart-wrenching choices between feeding their children and paying for medical care.

The emotional plight of the ordinary Nigerian is defined by suffocating fatigue—the feeling of being trapped in an economic storm while reading news of a national windfall. There is a deep, unspoken grief over lost lifestyles, abandoned dreams, and the endless hustle that no longer yields a comfortable life. Every morning, millions wake up to navigate long commutes and skyrocketing living costs, carrying the emotional weight of a middle class that has been slowly wiped out. The daily narrative is no longer about building wealth or planning for retirement; it has been reduced to an urgent, high-stakes operational goal: surviving until tomorrow.

Ultimately, while $54 billion in foreign reserves provides necessary structural armour for sovereign credit ratings and currency stabilisation, a balance sheet cannot feed a hungry family or heal a weary spirit. Until the strength of those reserves filters down into stable food prices, affordable transportation, and genuine relief at the local market stall, the figure will remain an abstract triumph. The true measure of Nigeria’s wealth can never be captured solely in foreign exchange ledgers. It will only be realised when the ordinary citizen can finally breathe a sigh of economic relief and feel the dignity of their hard labour restored.

Aliyu Ismail Diso

It is with a heavy heart and a profound sense of sorrow that I pay this tribute to a true friend, a brother and a remarkable human being, Malam Bello Muhammad Sharada, whose life was cut short on August 31, 2026, at the age of 56.

My relationship with Bello did not begin yesterday. We knew each other from childhood, when he was only about 10 years old and I was three years his senior. Our families had a long-standing relationship strengthened by close friendship and intermarriage. My stepmother, Hajiya Amina Misau, popularly known as Hajia Ya, was the younger sister of his father, Alhaji Muhammadu. From those early years, a beautiful bond of friendship, affection and mutual respect developed between us.

As the years passed, that bond grew stronger. What began as childhood friendship eventually became something much deeper. Bello was no longer simply a friend; he became a brother to me.

He was a man of admirable character, kindness and compassion. He had a special way of relating with people and bringing warmth and happiness to those around him. His words of encouragement, his philosophical understanding of Islamic teachings on brotherhood, and his willingness to stand by his friends and family were among the qualities that made him exceptional.

For many years, we shared memories, experiences, challenges, laughter and countless moments that I will forever cherish. Our lives also took us through different stages of the journalism profession, a field to which he devoted much of his life.

Bello was deeply involved in print journalism. He served as an editor of Al-Tajdid Islamic Newspaper of Jama’atu Tajdidul Islam in 1996, under the Chief Editor, Malam Aminu Aliyu Gusau, Modibbo Gusau. While he devoted himself largely to print journalism, I pursued broadcasting. Our shared professional interests, however, continued to bring us together.

In 2007, we worked as research assistants to Malam Ibrahim Ado Kurawa, the former Director-General of the Research and Documentation Directorate at the Kano State Government House. Bello later served as editor of Demokuradiyya a Yau, a Hausa newspaper, while working as a desk officer responsible for newspaper production and management under the Research and Documentation Directorate.

Beyond his professional accomplishments, Bello will be remembered for the lives he touched through his words, wisdom and personal relationships. His pen was not merely a tool of journalism; it was an instrument through which he sought to influence behaviour, enlighten society and inspire the younger generation.

His writings, particularly those shared on social media, reflected his deep thoughts, wisdom and understanding of life. Even in his final days, his thoughtful reflections left messages that continue to resonate with those who followed his work.

His death has created a painful emptiness that words cannot adequately describe. Yet, in the midst of this grief, I find comfort in the beautiful memories he left behind.

The calibre and number of people who gathered at his funeral prayers testified to the impact he had on the lives of others. It was a powerful demonstration that Bello lived among people with kindness, friendship, simplicity, firmness and mutual respect.

My dear Bello, you may have left this world, but you will never leave our hearts. Your friendship, brotherhood, wisdom and memories will remain with us.

May Almighty Allah forgive your shortcomings, accept your good deeds, have mercy upon you, grant you eternal peace and admit you into Jannatul Firdaus.

To the family you left behind, especially Mubarak and his 11 siblings, I pray that Almighty Allah grants you strength, patience and courage to bear this immense loss. May He comfort the entire family and grant you the fortitude to carry on with the values and legacy he left behind.

Rest in peace, my dear friend and brother.

Aliyu Ismail Diso, is a veteran journalists in Kano. 

Prof Abdalla Uba Adamu

I had previously pledged to close this focus from my repertoire. However, I think there is a need to further clarify one thing to friends and foes concerning my stand on the ongoing raging debate about ethnicity and identity in Hausalandia. I felt it is necessary because of two reasons.

First, some highly considered colleagues have started accusing me of “supporting” one faction, i.e. the Hausa Zalla faction, “despite you being a Fulani.” Second, Farooq Kperogi plans a diaspora debate on the issue and has asked for nominated speakers. My name kept popping up as a panelist. So, let’s clear the air.

I am NOT Hausa Zalla. I am NOT Fulani Zalla. I am NOT Hausa-Fulani Zalla.

I am Abdalla Zalla.

I stand on the side of the truth, no matter where it leans. I am not moved by emotions, but by cold, hard, scientific logic. Hard core evidence of arguments, not speculations or suppositions. Let me share a personal experience to explain how I evolved to where I am now.

My father was a historian. In writing his book, “Confluences and Influences: The Emergence of Kano as a City State,” I was tasked with typing the manuscript from his handwritten notes. In the process, I came across an argument that disturbed me. I printed it, and took to him for a second look. The following approximated the conversation we held.

“Kawu, can you read this passage and confirm its authenticity”

He took it, read it and said,

“What’s the problem?”

“Your argument! You wrote that “the Jihad in Kano was not justified”! Are you sure that’s what you want write?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to write. But, still, what’s the problem?”

“But you are Torodbe Fulani, and have been emphasizing that! Are you aware that people who read your book will consider this view sacrilegious?”

“So? That’s their problem not mine. I stand by the passage: the Jihad in Kano was not justified, at least on the basis of religion. Being a Torodbe should not blind me to the truth. And this one of the legacies I want to you to have from me.”

That was my epiphany moment. And I finished typing the manuscript, the book was published and was moderately successful. No one, to the best of my knowledge, challenged at least in print, the Kantoma’s interpretation of the Jihad in Kano. I take the old man’s counsel. Stand with the truth as I interpret and understand if. I perfectly accept different interpretations, but not forceful acceptance.

So far, all the data I have at my disposal points to one incontrovertible fact: Hausa ethnic group existed for centuries. The archeological data supports it, all the way from the Republic of Niger to southern Zaria.

Another cold fact was the recorded arrival of Islam at least in Kano after 1349 and before 1380. Sarki Ali Yaji, who accepted Islam, declared war on those who did not—thus waging the FIRST Jihad in West Africa.

Now, where things get interesting was the view that he and those who accepted Islam retain their Hausa identity. Those who did not accept Islam were declassified from Hausa identity and were classified, by the Muslims, as Maguzawa. But who did this? Certainly not the Hausa themselves.

But they are still Hausa. Being Christians/Animists does not erase their identity. And what about the New Humanists? Regular Muslim Hausa folk who suddenly became atheists or agnostics? Do they also suddenly cease to become Hausa? Thus, when you look closely at this definition of Hausaness being bandied about, it becomes questionable. That a Hausa person is he who is living in Hausalandia, is a Muslim and speaks the Hausa language.

The authority for their Hausaness of the Maguzawa (man, I HATE this label) was Paul Krusius. He was an early 20th-century German ethnographer and scholar who authored one of the foundational academic studies on the Maguzawa whom he described as the non-Muslim, animist Hausa people. His 1915 monograph, (Die Maguzawa) The Maguzawa. Trans by Gisela Seidensticker-Brikay remains a primary historical source for anthropologists and Africanists studying pre-Islamic Hausa culture, religion (Bori and Maguzanci), and the socio-religious dynamics of Northern Nigeria.

Therefore, the Maguzawa, who never actually refer themselves as such, are Hausa, but non-Muslim. Being Hausa refers to shared culture, language (Hausa), history, and heritage, regardless of faith. These attributes don’t disappear simply because they are not Muslims. In Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Iraq and many other places, there are millions of Christian Arabs. Does their Christianity erase their Arabness? If not, why should being non-Muslim erase Hausa identity?

The Fulani appeared in Hausalandia in the middle of 15th century. Before their arrival, kingdoms with Muslim structures had existed for centuries. Their proliferation led to intermarriages with the local Hausa women. This is fine and wonderful. However, the products of such marriage do not create a new ethnicity. Thus, the term Hausa-Fulani is primarily a socio-political and regional designator rather than a single homogeneous ethnic group created purely by intermarriage. Such products speak principally the language of Hausalandia. BUT if they decide to become Christians, which part of the hyphenated do they lose?

As such, intermarriage between two ethnic groups does not “cancel” or erase either underlying ethnicity. Ethnicity is a fluid socio-cultural construct based on language, history, geographic lineage, and shared identity—not a biological sum that automatically resets to zero.

So, once more, I am informing all friends, foes and those on the edge, I do not belong to any of the current Zalla movements. I will therefore decline any invitation to be part of any panel discussion on this, with all due apologies to my proposed nomination.

To make it easy for you to understand, I affirm my view that the Hausa ethnic group exists. Maguzawa however they are labeled, are Hausa and are real. That religion is not a factor in determining ethnicity. That you can be in Russia and still be Hausa if you are Hausa and from Hausalandia.

I belong to Gaskiya Zalla. No matter where the needle turns and points.

Abdalla Zalla.

Abdalla Uba Adamu is a professor of media and cultural studies at Faculty of Communication, Bayero University, Kano. This was first published on his Facebook account.