Sultana Nazif, the daughter-in-law of Muhammadu Sanusi II, the Emir of Kano, says she doesn’t believe in women replacing their father’s name after marriage.

During a question-and-answer session on her Instagram story, a fan asked Sultana if she had changed her last name from Nazif to Sanusi after marrying Ashraf Adam, the son of Sanusi.

“Have you changed your name to Sultana Sanusi?” the fan asked.

Sultana replied, “No, I don’t believe in replacing your father’s name after marriage”.

Her stance is quite unusual, as in many cultures, women traditionally take their husband’s surname after marriage.

Some women, however, choose to hyphenate their last names or keep their maiden name for personal or professional reasons.

In August 2024, Sultana tied the knot with the Ashraf in Abuja.

She is the daughter of Suleiman Mohammed Nazif, a politician from Bauchi state.

Ashraf, on the other hand, is one of the sons of Muhammad Lamido Sanusi II.

Sanusi served as the governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) from 2009 to 2014. He was suspended by ex-President Goodluck Jonathan under controversial circumstances.

He would later become the Emir of Kano. However, in 2020, Sanusi was deposed by Abdullahi Ganduje, the state governor, for “disrespecting lawful instructions”.

On May 23, Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf reinstated Sanusi as Emir of Kano.

[TheCable]

XRP (CRYPTO: XRP) and Bitcoin (CRYPTO: BTC) have plenty of catalysts to support their future growth, and it's common knowledge that financial institutions around the world are adopting both coins for various reasons. But there's one new trend in particular that's driving those same financial institutions to take more interest in these two coins.

The trend might take years to play out, if it continues at all. For investors, that part could be great news, as it could lead to a new era of upwardly mobile prices borne from millions of people getting real utility from both coins. Here's what you need to know.

There's going to be a lot more physical stuff tracked on the blockchain
People trading in crypto know that Bitcoin and XRP are blockchains, and that the coins that live on those chains are associated with a myriad number of different wallet addresses. One person could have many wallets, or only one, just like they could have vast holdings of the tokens, or only a small pile.

When Bitcoin was first invented, tokens were fungible. Put differently, every token was identical to every other token, except for the address where it resided -- just like the dollar bills in your physical wallet right now.

Since then, upgrades have been made to the Bitcoin chain so that coins can include metadata that inscribes additional information. That's one of the ways that the chain can now be used to mint, send, and hold non-fungible tokens (NFTs). So far, many of the NFTs minted on the coin's chain are decidedly non-serious memes rather than anything that's useful in a financial sense or otherwise investable.

XRP has a similar capability. What's the point of a coin like XRP that's intended for serious financial applications, specifically reducing fees associated with international money transfers, having such a function? The chain isn't compatible with swapping images of meme coins or other more traditional uses of NFTs on other chains.

In short, this functionality opens the door to tracking real world assets (RWA) like properties, commodities, stocks, art, bonds, cars, and more, all on the blockchain. An NFT could contain the legal rights to a property provided that the holder could prove that they control the wallet address where the NFT resides. And that's exactly what's happening more and more on XRP and to a lesser extent on Bitcoin.

The push to track RWAs on various blockchains is just starting. As of early 2025, an estimated $7.6 billion worth of hard assets were tracked across the cryptocurrency sector. Some of the headier estimates for the growth of such tokenized assets see the total value tracked on blockchains to surpass $30 trillion by 2030.

Moving forward, at least some subset of investors looking to create a traceable record of their assets are going to use XRP or Bitcoin. In the long run, that could bring billions of dollars in value to both chains, pushing their price skyward in the process.

It's still the early days
As appealing as RWA tokenization may seem right now, there isn't any reason to rush to buy either XRP or Bitcoin on the basis of this trend alone, at least not yet.

They aren't the only two chains in the running for tracking the world's assets. Many others have the same capabilities, and there is no guarantee that either of these two will win the fight for market share. In fact, because of how difficult it is to update Bitcoin, it's better to bet against its becoming the chain for tracking real world assets.

XRP may have a better chance, as it's being actively developed, and it's already in use by international banks for the purpose of processing money transfers. It wouldn't be too difficult for those financial institutions to tokenize the assets they control using XRP, and it'd likely be a lot cheaper and faster than trying to do the same with Bitcoin.

But it's unclear how much demand for XRP those efforts would actually generate at this early stage. Keep in mind that XRP's network charges fees that are a fraction of a penny for each transfer that occurs using the coin; there's simply no way that transferring assets could ever produce much in the way of revenue unless the transactions were priced differently.

Overall, the takeaway here for investors is that there may be a big addition to the investment thesis for both of these cryptocurrencies over the next few years if the RWA tokenization trend really takes off. Keep an eye on how much the major financial institutions buy into the idea. If it seems like they're all in, and if they choose either Bitcoin or XRP to be the tool for implementing the tokenization process, it'll be a strong buy signal.

Don’t miss this second chance at a potentially lucrative opportunity
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Alex Carchidi has positions in Bitcoin. The Motley Fool has positions in and recommends Bitcoin and XRP. The Motley Fool has a disclosure policy.

[The Motley Fool]

Many Nigerians experience visa refusal daily. They don’t need the National Security Adviser, Malam Nuhu Ribadu, to invoke hell against any country to make the point.

Unfortunately, Ribadu’s fury after the Canadian High Commission refused visas to Chief of Defence Staff General Christopher Musa and other officials for the winter Invictus Games in Vancouver Whistler was directed at an unlikely target. Canada can be criticised for many things, but Ottawa’s faults do not include consular meanness.

In the last five years, Canada has been the third-biggest destination for Nigerian immigrants, especially students, after the US and the UK. Multiple sources, including reports by Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC), suggest that Canada, New Zealand, and the United Arab Emirates have relatively friendly visa policies for Africans.

Schengen refusals

If Ribadu needs any idea of what a visa hell looks like, he should look at Europe, specifically the Schengen area. According to a BusinessDay report, Nigeria ranked among the top five countries globally for Schengen visa refusals between 2022 and 2023.

Nigerian applicants submitted 86,815 requests three years ago, with 39,189 rejected—a 45.1 percent refusal rate. By 2023, the number of applications had increased to 105,926, but 42,920 were denied, reflecting a slightly lower rejection rate of 40.8 percent. At the rate at which President Donald Trump is going, sooner than later, the US might upstage Schengen as the world’s meanest visa gateway.

There will hardly be anyone to speak up for the casualties. When ordinary citizens are denied visas, they must deserve it, right? But General Musa is not an ordinary citizen. He is the jewel of Nigeria’s military top brass and should receive full consular courtesies on a good day without a fuss.

What happened?

So, what happened? Why did the Canadian High Commission refuse to issue visas to General Musa and the delegation of military officers for the Invictus Games? Let’s dial back.

Many years ago, citizens didn’t need visas to visit other Commonwealth countries, at least for the first 60 days.

Even by 1962, when many of these countries imposed visa requirements due to immigration pressures, a few, including Canada, maintained visa-free policies longer than most. It still maintains a visa-free policy for a few Commonwealth countries, while Britain has a much longer list of visa exemptions for some Commonwealth countries, including Malawi and Botswana.

Africa talks the talk

Today, even intra-African travel is a big struggle for Nigerian passport holders, despite all the talk by AU about visas on arrival. Thanks to the shameful conduct of a few desperadoes who have elevated the risk factor of the green passport and successive irresponsible governments that have plunged the country into the current mess, travelling with a Nigerian passport is not easy.

If the country’s status has moved from visa-on-arrival up to the early 1970s in many Commonwealth (and even non-Commonwealth countries) to a status of cautious admission and even outright hostility toward ranking government officials, Ribadu does not need to invoke hell. It’s a metaphor that painfully reminds us of our odyssey.  Why was a four-star general in the Nigerian army denied a visa in a manner that has turned into a street brawl?

Cracks within

A few days after Ribadu asked the Canadian High Commission to “go to hell”—an expression that might have shocked even the hosts of hell’s consular services—it came to light that the refusal may have had more to do with the tardiness of a desk officer at the army’s protocol department than with the Canadian High Commission in Abuja.

The Nation newspaper quoted competent sources as saying that the Army failed to attach the note verbale from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that should have accompanied the visa applications.

If that is correct – and the military authorities have not denied the report – how was that Canada’s fault? The question still needs to be asked: How did 14 of the 21 soldiers enrolled get visas when the officials and delegation leader could not be processed?

Calm down…

Ribadu is not just another government official. He would be justified in feeling slighted about a perceived diplomatic slight on Nigeria’s contingent, even if it was a contingent attending the Munich beer festival. But his office demands a sober and dignified response, not the sort of thing Idi-Amin might have said on the eve of evicting thousands of Asians from Uganda.

The report of official tardiness was sobering enough, but the purpose was no less puzzling. Of course, Prince Harry’s brilliant idea of the Invictus is to give wounded servicemen and veterans a chance to connect and bond with others as they remind us of their sacrifices for our safety and security and rediscover meaning in a shared humanity. But since its start in 2014, Invictus has been a summer game.

Their winter games

If the organisers decided to extend it to the winter to include adaptive sports, such as alpine skiing, Nordic skiing, skeleton and wheelchair curling, among others – hardly core Nigerian sports – that is fair enough. Yet, how any of these sports seriously concern Nigeria when only 15 African countries have participated in the Winter Olympics in 58 years between 1960 and 2022, and of this number, only seven have done so more than once, is another matter.

Winter is not our thing. The urgency of the task at home – a stubborn rise in the wave of insurgency in the Northeast and North West, despite reported gains in some areas – requires the full attention of the military’s top command. General Musa should have delegated attendance.

How not to be angry

Managing the refusal was no less scandalous. If a bunch of secondary school students on a Sudoku exhibition tour to Kathmandu was refused visas and decided to moan about it on TikTok, I can understand that.

But it defies common sense that Nigeria’s top security adviser would dramatise a matter well within his reach to investigate and take remedial steps, if necessary. Ribadu neither did himself nor General Musa any favours by his intemperate remarks. He gave ordinary folks something to jeer about and made the country look ridiculous.

Can’t stay down

Idiots may have brought the country to its knees, down from a place where Africa, the Commonwealth, and the rest of the world looked up to us and our passport ranked among the most respected. But nothing says we must stay there.

The job at hand is to dig us out of that hole, a significant point Ribadu made but sadly lost in his fit of anger. Modern consular diplomacy includes, among other things, a timely, trusted, and secure data-sharing system that gives parties to a transaction reasonable comfort. Where that fails, nasty surprises are inevitable.

Not much can get done by tantrums or by a false sense of entitlement.

Ishiekwene, Editor-In-Chief of LEADERSHIP, is the author of the new book Writing for Media and Monetising It. 

One of the earliest University graduates to join the Nigerian Military and the first University Graduate to govern the old Western State, Brigadier-General Oluwole Rotimi turns 90 today.

A gentleman Officer and noiseless achiever General Christopher Oluwole Rotimi made remarkable achievements while he was at the helm of affairs in the Western State.

In addition to creating peaceful atmosphere in the state he devoted most of his energy on Agriculture and industrialization.

Born 20 February 1935, in Abeokuta, Rotimi attended Agooko Methodist School, Lisabi school, Olowogbowo Methodist School as well as Kings College Lagos, after which he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree at the University College Ibadan.

General Rotimi joined the Nigerian Army in 1960 and served as part of the United Nations Peacekeeping Force in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He rose to become the first African Deputy Quartermaster General and the third non-white Quartermaster General of the Nigerian Army in 1966. 

During the Nigerian Civil War Oluwole Rotimi provided logistics support for the Federal Government's war efforts. He became the commander of the Ibadan Garrison between 1969 and 1970.

After the war Oluwole Rotimi became the Military Governor of Western State in 1971, under General Yakubu Gowon in succession to Major General Adeyinka Adebayo.

The Cement Factory at Sagamu, 

the Wire and Cable Factory in Ibadan,

the Ceramic Factory in Abeokuta,

the Wood Processing Factory in Ondo and the Palm oil Mill at Okitipupa.were some of the landmark projects established by his administration.

In 1975, Oluwole Rotimi was removed from office as governor of Western Nigeria after the 1975 coup d'état. The following administration led by General Murtala Mohammed, commissioned a panel to investigate corruption amongst the immediate past governors of the previous administration. Oluwole Rotimi, together with Mobolaji Johnson-Brigadier (Lagos State Governor) were the only two governors exonerated.

in retirement, General Rotimi was appointed Nigerian Ambassador to the United States by the Obasanjo administration in succession to Professor George Obiozor 

Happy Birthday ? and many happy returns in robust health.

In an era where speed often takes precedence over accuracy, journalism is facing a credibility crisis. The recent speculative reports surrounding the alleged resignation of Lagos State House of Assembly Speaker, Mojisola Meranda, exemplify how misinformation can erode public trust in the media. This brand of speculative journalism, which thrives on unverified sources and sensationalism, is not only a disservice to the public but also a blemish on the ethics of the profession.

Without a doubt, the Meranda’s resignation rumor has become a case study in speculative reporting. 

For instance, on February 19, 2025, today, being Wednesday, an online news platform reported that Speaker Mojisola Meranda had resigned from her position. This claim was based on an alleged circular dated February 17, 2025, which circulated widely on social media. However, closer examination revealed that the letter bore no signature, an immediate red flag indicating its dubious authenticity.

As gathered from a news report, specifically the Punch Newspaper of February 19, 2025, in its report headlined,  “UPDATED: Lagos Speaker Meranda denies resignation rumour”, it can be opined that the swift response from Meranda’s Chief Press Secretary, Segun Ajiboye, debunking the rumor should have put the matter to rest. Ajiboye categorically stated, “I’m in the office. The speaker is in the office. I don’t know where that is coming from.” Yet, the damage had already been done. The misinformation had already spread, sowing confusion and fueling political speculations at a time when the Lagos Assembly was already grappling with a leadership crisis following the removal of former Speaker Mudashiru Obasa.

This incident underscores a growing trend in contemporary journalism where the rush to break news outweighs the responsibility to verify facts. The dissemination of such unverified information is not just reckless but has broader implications for governance, stability, and the media’s own credibility.

Without a doubt, there are inherent perils in speculative journalism. The foregoing can be buttressed from perspective of the fact that speculative journalism is not a new phenomenon, and its impact has worsened with the rise of digital media. In fact, the tendency to publish sensational and often misleading headlines to generate traffic and engagement is harming the integrity of the press. The Meranda case is a textbook example of how this approach can have negative consequences.

One of the consequences is that speculative journalism erodes public trust, particularly when viewed from the fact that the fundamental role of the press is to inform the public with accurate and verified information. In fact, when media outlets publish unverified reports, they risk misleading the public, who rely on journalists for factual news. Once trust is broken, it becomes difficult to restore, and people begin to dismiss even legitimate reports as “fake news.”

Looking at this contextual element of unprofessionalism in the field of journalism as been practiced in Nigeria today, it becomes clearer to understand the fact that speculative journalism causes political destabilization. This is as misinformation, especially in politically sensitive situations, can have severe consequences. In a state like Lagos, where politics is highly dynamic and competitive. This is as a false report about the resignation of a sitting Speaker could have triggered unnecessary panic, political maneuvering, and unrest. Not only that, it could have also emboldened certain political factions to exploit the misinformation for their own gain, exacerbating an already volatile situation.

From the perspective of professional misconduct in Journalism, it can be said that the ethics of journalism dictate that every story must be thoroughly vetted before publication. In fact, Journalists’ Code of Ethics clearly states that journalists must “seek truth and report it” while ensuring accuracy and fairness. Therefore, the decision to publish unverified claims about Meranda’s resignation violates this core principle and reflects poorly on the standards of the profession.

Without resort to pointing accusing fingers at certain genre of Journalism, there is no denying the fact that the rapid dissemination of the fake resignation letter is a stark reminder of the dangers posed by social media in the age of digital journalism. While social media platforms have democratized information-sharing, they have also become breeding grounds for misinformation. With no editorial gatekeeping, false narratives spread like wildfire, making damage control an arduous task for legitimate news organizations.

In fact, Journalists and media houses must take extra caution in verifying information before amplifying it on their platforms. While the competition for online relevance is fierce, credibility should never be sacrificed at the altar of speed and engagement.

The question now is “What needs to be done?” The answer cannot be farfetched as to curb the menace of speculative journalism, Nigerian media practitioners must adopt a more responsible approach to news reporting. Against the foregoing backdrop, there are a few critical steps that can be taken, and they cut across strengthening verification processes, promoting accountability among Journalists, encouraging fact-checking mechanisms, sensitizing the public and adoption of legislative and industry regulations.

Before publishing a report, journalists must ensure that they have cross-checked their sources and verified the authenticity of any documents they cite. In the Meranda case, a simple attempt to contact her office for clarification before running the story would have prevented the misinformation from spreading.

In fact, news outlets must hold their reporters accountable for the accuracy of their stories. Journalists who consistently engage in speculative reporting should be subjected to disciplinary measures, including retractions and public apologies when necessary.

Also, Independent fact-checking organizations should play a more active role in verifying political news before it gains traction. Media houses should also integrate fact-checking desks into their newsrooms to scrutinize sensitive reports before publication.

In a similar vein, Journalists must also educate their audiences on the importance of media literacy, and as well encouraging readers to verify news from credible sources before sharing can help stem the tide of misinformation.

In fact, while press freedom must be protected, there is a need for regulatory bodies such as the Nigerian Press Council (NPC) and the Broadcasting Organizations of Nigeria (BON) to set clear standards against speculative journalism. This is as stricter adherence to the Nigerian Code of Ethics for Journalism will help restore credibility to the profession.

Without a doubt, the Lagos House of Assembly leadership crisis is an unfolding story, and journalists must ensure that they report facts, not speculation. The false report on Meranda’s resignation is a cautionary tale of how the rush for sensational news can compromise journalistic integrity. The media must uphold its role as the fourth estate by prioritizing accuracy over clickbait headlines.

If the profession is to regain public trust, journalists must return to the fundamental principles of truth, fairness, and responsibility. Only by doing so can we safeguard the credibility of the media and ensure that it remains a reliable source of information for the public.

The events of February 17, 2025, at the Lagos State House of Assembly were not just another political dispute—they were a dangerous miscalculation that put lives at risk. The viral footage that has now been seen around the world tells a story far deeper than any political battle—it reveals a moment when the very enforcers of state power, the uniformed officers of the Department of State Services (DSS), found themselves suffocating, physically overwhelmed, and almost crushed against the very doors they were sent to secure.

As a psychologist and police/prison scientist, my focus is not on the political games at play—politicians will always have their battles, their schemes, their fights for power. My concern is for the human beings caught in the middle, those men in uniform who were put in an impossible position, left with no exit, no strategy, no backup, and ultimately no control. That day, DSS operatives were not just defending the doors of the Assembly—they were trapped against them. They were pressured into becoming human barriers, their bodies locked between the force of determined lawmakers and the heavy wooden doors that stood behind them.

The video evidence that has now traveled across the world is painful to watch. It showed force—relentless, unstoppable force—coming from men and women pushing, pressing, and cornering these officers against the door, their bodies crushed in the battle for space. The officers, clad in black jackets, their faces covered, helmets weighing heavy on their heads, stood their ground—but for how long? Seconds stretched into eternity as they struggled, gasping, unable to move, unable to retreat, unable to control what was unfolding before them.

And then, it happened.

One by one, the officers were pushed back. Pressed. Overwhelmed. The mass of bodies forced them to lose ground. The final officer, still clinging to his post, looked lost—isolated, surrounded, eyes darting in disbelief, his body caught in a human tide he could no longer resist. He was pushed out, swallowed by the overwhelming power of those determined to reclaim the chamber. And then, the doors closed.

Just like that.

Sealed shut.

A uniformed officer, once standing at the door as the last line of defense, now found himself on the outside, locked out, cast aside like a fallen pawn in a game he did not create. It was a moment of defeat, a moment of finality, a moment that should haunt the leadership of the DSS.

What if he had been injured? What if the weight of the crowd had suffocated him? What if his body had given out from the sheer pressure of the force against him? Would his name have been remembered? Would DSS leadership have mourned him—or simply replaced him with another uniformed man, another body sent into another unwinnable battle?

What happened that day should deeply trouble anyone who understands tactical enforcement, security risk, and human vulnerability in moments of crisis. These were not riot control officers, not a heavily armored military detachment—these were DSS operatives, an intelligence-based security force, suddenly caught in an escalating physical confrontation they were never trained or prepared for.

And so I ask: what if one of them had gone down?

What if, in the crush of bodies, one of those officers had lost his footing and been trampled under the weight of the lawmakers forcing their way forward?

 What if, in the suffocating heat of the moment, an officer had collapsed from exhaustion, struggling for air under his helmet?

What if panic had set in, leading to a reactionary use of force—one wrong move that could have sparked uncontrollable violence?

What if, in that desperate, chaotic moment, the line between restraint and retaliation had been crossed?

Because let’s be clear—this was seconds away from becoming a deadly situation.

The official statement from the Lagos Assembly, signed by Ogundipe Olukayode, Chairman of the House Committee on Information, Strategy, and Security, laid out the undeniable facts:

 Yes, the DSS was invited for security—but not to block lawmakers from their own chamber.

Yes, the Clerk requested their presence—but not to physically seal the Speaker’s office.

Yes, there were security concerns—but the DSS itself became the biggest security threat that day.

How did it come to this? How did a force as elite as the DSS find itself not as the controller of the situation, but as its victim? Who within DSS command authorized this engagement without fully assessing the risks? Who believed that a handful of officers could physically hold back an entire legislative body without confrontation? Who, in DSS leadership, failed to recognize that their operatives were walking into a situation where brute force would not be enough?

This is not just a question of tactics—it is a question of responsibility.

DSS, you have the right to defend your institution. You can sue the media if you believe you were misrepresented. But while you do that, let’s not ignore the real question—why were your officers left gasping for air against those doors? The media did not press your officers against those doors.

The media did not send them into a mission without a strategy.

The journalists did not cause their distress, their exhaustion, their struggle to breathe.

This was a failure in planning.

And again, I ask—was it worth it?

Did the DSS succeed in stopping the legislative session? No.

Did the lawmakers back down? No.

Did the situation remain under DSS control? No.

Instead, the Speaker, Mojisola Meranda, still presided over the session.

The lawmakers still convened.

The Assembly still carried out its function.

And DSS? What did it gain?

Its operatives were humiliated in front of the nation.

It suffered reputational damage as an elite force caught in a political game.

It put its own officers in serious, life-threatening danger.

DSS is not a street enforcement unit. It is not a riot squad. It is not a tool to be thrown into political disputes. It is an intelligence-based security agency, built on precision, strategy, and operational foresight. But on this day, there was no strategy. There was no foresight. There was no precision. Instead, there were uniformed men, trapped at the doors of a legislative building, suffocating under the weight of a crisis they were never meant to fight.

If DSS does not reflect on what went wrong, the consequences next time will be irreversible.

Because next time, it may not just be distress on an officer’s face.

Next time, a uniformed man may not get back up.

Next time, there may be real casualties.

And who will take responsibility?

 Not the politicians who orchestrated it.

 Not the government officials who benefited from the chaos.

Not the power players who will move on to their next battle.

It will be the DSS operatives—the men in uniform—who will pay the price.

DSS must rethink its approach now. Not because of politics. Not because of media scrutiny. But because its own personnel are being placed in dangerous, unwinnable situations. No elite security force should find itself becoming the crisis instead of the solution.

DSS, the world saw what happened.

The risk to your officers was undeniable.

And this time, they survived it.

But next time?

Next time, the cost may be fatal.