The simple act of visiting someone—a cherished gesture globally—is rooted in empathy, solidarity, and basic human decency. In many cultures, including Islam where the act of Ziyara carries spiritual weight, paying a visit to loved ones in distress or during ordinary times is highly valued.
Yet, this universal virtue has its limits. We all understand that not every door should be knocked upon. No genuine moral or religious code encourages paying courtesy calls to convicted criminals, dangerous individuals, or those whose actions have demonstrably led to catastrophic loss of life. Exceptions exist, of course, for a defendant’s legal counsel or spiritual guide, but outside those narrow bounds, such visits are never considered noble.
It was this principle that immediately drew my attention to rampant online reports claiming that the Governor of Sokoto State, my home state, Ahmed Aliyu, had joined Governor Alex Otti in visiting the convicted terrorist Nnamdi Kanu in prison. The story—propelled by political mischief, ethnic sentiment, and a thirst for sensationalism—spread with lightning speed across social media.
My concern was immediate. Kanu, to the best of my knowledge, is not a Muslim, ruling out any spiritual mission for Governor Aliyu. Nor is Ahmed Aliyu a lawyer. Furthermore, Kanu has famously refused proper legal representation, choosing instead to speak for himself and reject the judicial system he so fiercely campaigns against. The entire narrative simply collapsed under the weight of logic; it felt entirely orchestrated.
I couldn’t help but ponder the motive: what possible raison d’être could justify Governor Aliyu abandoning all political and moral prudence to join Governor Otti on such a controversial visit? How could such a decision be defended before the people of Sokoto State, who have consistently stood against terrorism of every shade? How could it be rationalized to the numerous families who have lost loved ones to violent groups, or those still struggling in silent grief?
Imagine my relief when Governor Aliyu’s office issued a clear and decisive statement debunking the entire claim, explaining that the governor was not even in the country at the time the alleged visit was supposed to have taken place. That clarification immediately restored balance to the frantic conversation.
It is, of course, entirely normal that a visiting state chief executive like Alex Otti would be afforded the full courtesies of the Sokoto state government: reception, guided movement, security protocols, and standard diplomatic niceties expected between states. Governors routinely extend such courtesies across regional and party divides.
Similarly, I instantly dismissed other claims circulating in the same echo chambers—propaganda alleging that the Sultan of Sokoto had indicated an intention to confer a traditional title on Nnamdi Kanu. This story lacked any substance, official confirmation, and, crucially, the cultural logic that underpins the operations of the Sultanate system. To anyone familiar with the Sultanate, the claim was as desperate as it was hollow, reading like a fever dream of propaganda.
Now, do I have an issue with Governor Otti visiting Nnamdi Kanu, a convicted terrorist, in prison? Absolutely not. That is entirely his decision, and the governor is clearly willing to damn any potential political consequences. In doing so, he is reinforcing, in broad daylight, a painful truth that Nigerians often prefer to avoid: that criminals are perceived differently based on where they come from. What is vehemently condemned in one region is often openly defended in another. What would trigger volcanic national outrage for some becomes a badge of regional solidarity for others.
I am almost certain that if a northern governor were to undertake a similar high-profile visit to a convicted terrorist—say, a Boko Haram commander or a prominent bandit leader—the Nigerian media ecosystem would immediately go into uncontrollable overdrive. The headlines would be unending, the debates endless, and the outrage universal. This is the stark unevenness of the Nigerian moral compass, where the same offence is judged through dramatically different lenses depending on which part of the map the political actors originate from.
