By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
There are moments in a nation’s history when leadership emerges from the thick fog of despair to offer a glimmer of hope. Governor Babagana Umara Zulum of Borno State stands as a compelling example of such transformative leadership. In a state once synonymous with violence and displacement, he has steadily reshaped the narrative—proving that even in the ruins of insurgency, renewal is possible through vision, courage, and integrity.
Against unimaginable odds, Zulum’s administration has rebuilt what many had written off as lost. His efforts in the education sector, in particular, deserve national recognition and emulation. At a time when schools across much of the North are shutting down in fear, Borno is witnessing the rebirth of classrooms once silenced by war.
Through a deliberate and well-coordinated programme, the state has constructed 104 model mega primary and secondary schools, many of which now serve hundreds of thousands of children orphaned by insurgency. These schools—equipped with e-learning tools and reliable power supply—represent more than infrastructure; they stand as symbols of resilience and hope.
Beyond new construction, Zulum’s government has rehabilitated hundreds of existing schools. Teachers’ quarters, including numerous well-furnished two-bedroom flats, have been built to attract and retain staff in rural and semi-urban areas. It is a holistic approach that recognises teachers need dignity and stability to fulfil their calling effectively.
His commitment also extends beyond conventional schooling. By reviving technical and science-based institutions like the Government Technical Colleges, the administration is deliberately investing in the state’s productive future.
It is preparing young people not just for certificates but for self-reliance, innovation, and relevance in a rapidly changing world.
In essence, Governor Zulum has done more than rebuild schools—he has restored faith in the power of governance to transform despair into purpose. His leadership demonstrates that progress is not a miracle but the predictable result of planning, sincerity, and sustained political will.
This is the direction other Northern governors must urgently follow, for the broader picture across the region is heartbreakingly grim. A recent Daily Trust report of October 2, 2025, revealed that at least 188 public schools have been shut down in Northern Nigeria, with Katsina and Benue among the worst affected. Behind those numbers lie tens of thousands of children whose futures are quietly being erased.
What we face is not simply an educational challenge—it is a national emergency of the highest order: a slow-motion collapse of hope and opportunity for an entire generation. Every shuttered classroom represents lost potential and a betrayal of the nation’s most sacred duty: to educate its children.
Insecurity has turned classrooms into battlegrounds. Armed groups—bandits, Boko Haram, ISWAP, and Ansaru—have deliberately targeted schools, seeking to destroy the very seeds of a future they fear. Some schools have been burned; others now serve as military outposts or shelters for internally displaced families. The very idea of learning has been driven into exile.
The consequences are far-reaching. Nigeria already has one of the world’s largest populations of out-of-school children. The escalating insecurity in the North threatens to turn this crisis into an existential threat. Every day a child remains out of school, the country edges closer to a future, defined by ignorance, poverty, and radicalisation.
A child denied education today, becoming a youth without skills tomorrow—and an adult without hope the day after. Poverty becomes entrenched, and violence becomes cyclical. This is how nations unravel—not through sudden collapse, but through the quiet, consistent failure to nurture minds and protect dreams.
Security experts have long warned that education is the first line of defence against extremism. When we fail to educate, we empower those who profit from ignorance. The uneducated youth becomes easy prey for extremists who offer not learning, but belonging—not books, but bullets.
Some states have experimented with radio lessons, remote learning, and mobile classrooms. These efforts deserve recognition, but they remain stopgap measures. No technological substitute can replicate the discipline, mentorship, and socialisation found in a physical classroom. In conflict zones, where infrastructure is already fragile, the human connection in learning is irreplaceable.
What the North needs now is not just more schools but safe schools. The immediate priority must be to reclaim and secure existing learning spaces. Each school should be designated a Federal Safe Zone, protected by dedicated security units trained specifically to safeguard students and teachers.
These units—potentially drawn from the Civil Defence Corps, police, and community vigilantes—must be equipped and mandated to act swiftly in the face of threats. Their protection should also extend to school routes, ensuring no child has to risk their life just to learn.
Beyond security, rebuilding trust is essential. Parents who have lost children to abductions or violence will not readily send others back to school. Confidence must be restored through school feeding programmes, cash incentives, free uniforms, and a visible, sustained government presence. Teachers, too, must be paid promptly, supported emotionally, and motivated through training and hazard allowances.
Children who have lost years to conflict need accelerated learning programmes tailored to help them catch up. Without such interventions, thousands of adolescents will remain permanently locked out of formal education—forming what development experts now call a “lost generation.””
There are global lessons to draw upon. In Pakistan’s Swat Valley—once ravaged by Taliban attacks—education returned only after strong military protection was paired with active community involvement. In contrast, Afghanistan’s prolonged instability left millions uneducated, creating a population ill-equipped to sustain peace. Nigeria faces a similarly stark choice: learn from success or repeat tragedy.
Our neighbours, Niger and Mali, offer sobering warnings. In their rural border regions, schools remain shut under extremist threats, and communities are sliding deeper into poverty. If Nigeria fails to act decisively, it risks descending into a similar spiral—on a far more devastating scale.
The message is clear: leadership matters. Governor Zulum has shown that transformation begins with willpower and ends with results. The North can rise again—if other governors embrace a similar vision that integrates security, education, and community trust into a coherent development agenda.
Nigeria’s long-term survival hinges on how it treats its children. Education is not a luxury—it is the nation’s strongest weapon against instability. Every classroom reopened is a fortress of peace. Every educated child is a shield against ignorance and extremism.
We must not surrender to despair. The chalk must return to the teacher’s hand. The book must return to the pupil’s desk. The classroom must once again become a sanctuary of hope, not a theatre of fear.
The time to act is now—decisively, collectively, and unreserved. For every year we delay, the darkness deepens, and the cost of recovery multiplies. If we fail to save our schools, we will lose not only our children—but the very soul of the North itself.
Leman is a former National Secretary of the Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ).
