TheMiddlebelt Reporters

By Eunice Isaac “As you can see, this is my farm where I planted yams at the onset of rain,” the mother of nine said quietly, pointing across the field. “If you look very well, it looks as if I didn’t plant anything at all. All my seedlings died.” She planted yam seedlings on 70-line ridges. Only twenty lines survived. “I lost 50 lines,” she said. A general view of Doofan Tertsegha’s yam field, where 50 out of 70 lines of seedlings died due to unexpected dry weather following the first rains.

At Karonmajigi Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) Camp in Abuja, families who fled insurgency in Nigeria’s North-East are finding more than shelter. In 2023, the Lola Cater Foundation established Lola Cater Academy to give at least 100 children access to free schooling. For many pupils, this was their first time inside a classroom. The academy was inspired by the vision of Ololade Ogunnubi, who engaged with camp leaders to understand the community’s greatest needs.

“Project Spark 2.0” is currently working with 300 young entrepreneurs in Bauchi State, but it is not your typical youth empowerment seminar. It is a high-impact School of Politics, Policy and Governance (SPPG) Capstone Project, designed by scholars to test whether data-driven governance can fix a broken grassroots economy. For most young entrepreneurs in Northern Nigeria, the transition from “job seeker” to “business owner” is often a leap into the dark.

Life in Katsina State has become a harsh calculation. The once predictable rhythm of farming; sowing at sunrise, harvesting at dusk has been overtaken by the rhythm of fear. Each journey to the fields feels like a wager: will the farmer return with crops, or fall victim to bandits who have turned the countryside into a killing ground? For over ten years, communities across Dutsinma, Jibia, Kankara, Batsari, and beyond have lived under the grip of ruthless commanders.

The sound of a dry tap in Keffi is not just a mechanical failure; it is the quiet, rhythmic hiss of a human rights violation. In this bustling university town, where proximity to the Federal Capital Territory has turned housing into a cut‑throat commodity, a one‑bedroom apartment is often sold as a sanctuary of independence. But for one woman, a ₦500,000 annual rent became a ticket to a year‑long theatre of survival and systemic exploitation.

How underfunding, missing teachers, and bureaucratic silence are burying the dreams of Nigeria’s children Ogah’s office should be a place of administration, but it feels more like a bunker. Even in the sweltering heat of the Nigerian afternoon, the windows remain tightly shut. It isn’t just the dust she’s keeping out; it’s the violence of an unrestricted neighborhood. “Sometimes we can be in school, and stones will be flying in from outside,” she says, pointing toward the closed panes.

The heat inside the thin tarpaulin tent felt hotter than the sun outside, pressing down on Bridget Orlulu, 40, a mother of five, who lay quietly on an old mat. Only days earlier, she had lost her seven-month pregnancy. Now, she stared helplessly at the shaking roof above her, fighting pain, exhaustion, and the kind of sorrow that words cannot carry. The air around her seemed heavy with grief, yet life inside the camp moved on as though nothing had happened.

By: Smith Akoko From Rev. Fr Moses Adadu, who established the state varsity and Colleges of Education, to Rev. Fr Hyacinth Alia, who now shows the stuff he is made of, Benue State looks to have been lucky with catholic priests. There is little to regret both times of their being in the saddle. In the last three years of steering the ship of the Benue Valley, there is no denying that Rev. Fr Hyacinth Alia has significantly outperformed majority of his predecessors.

By: Omolara Lawal. The recent wave of killings in Jos, Plateau State, is more than a tragic headline,it is a disturbing reflection of a nation gradually slipping into the dangerous habit of normalizing violence. Reports of gunmen storming communities such as Angwan Rukuba, attacking innocent residents, and leaving trails of death and injury have once again exposed the fragility of human security in Nigeria.

By: Ahmed Adebowale We are in the palace courtyard in Shao, and the programme is about to fall apart. The Ohoro has been listening while we explain the Community Charter of Commitment; the document we want communities to adopt as a public accountability mechanism against gender-based violence. We submitted it weeks before. We followed what we thought was the correct protocol and we were ready to launch. He was not. “A document like this must pass through our internal process,” he said.