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Machina: The City That Refuses to Sleep

Published

2 hours ago

February 11, 2026

…A Homeland Honouring Its Son

By Mualeem Ibrahim

There are cities that exist on maps, and there are cities that live in the bloodstream of their people. Machina—ancient, resilient, and proud—belongs to the latter. Nestled in the northwestern sands of Yobe State, this Emirate has carried its traditions with a devotion that has outlived empires.

Its formal leadership, historians remind us, stretches back to 980 AD, when Mai Hariyu Bolo Kandira ascended the throne and began a lineage of guardianship that still stands, unbroken, like a desert baobab defying time.

Machina is not merely a place; it is a pulse. A memory that breathes. A heritage that refuses to dim. Chinua Achebe once wrote that “a people are as strong as the stories they tell about themselves.” Machina’s story is one of endurance, dignity, and a cultural splendour that glows like embers in the Sahel night.

Seven Days When Time Stands Still

Each year, Machina calls its sons and daughters home—no matter how far their journeys have taken them. For seven radiant days, the city becomes a living tapestry of colour, rhythm, and ancestral pride.

The Machina Annual Cultural Festival (MACUF) is not merely an event; it is a homecoming of the spirit. It draws dignitaries, scholars, traditional rulers, journalists, activists, and admirers from across Nigeria and beyond.

Like the festivals in Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman, MACUF reminds us that culture is not a relic to be archived—it is a living force, a heartbeat that binds generations.

But the 2026 edition was touched by something deeper. Something historic.

A Festival Crowned by Honour
This year, the desert winds carried whispers of anticipation. Machina was preparing to honour one of its most illustrious sons—Dr. Kole Ahmed Shettima. The city swelled with visitors: activists, civil society leaders, academics, politicians, and cultural custodians converged to witness a moment destined for the Emirate’s chronicles.

On January 31, beneath the watchful eyes of ancestors and the jubilant gaze of his people, the Emir of Machina, His Royal Majesty Mai Bashir Abishir Bukar, OON, L’ONN, turbaned Dr. Kole as Zanna Yuroma. It was the crowning jewel of MACUF 2026.

The Emir spoke with warmth and conviction. This honour, he said, was not merely a recognition of Dr. Kole’s service to Machina, but a tribute to a man whose compassion radiates far beyond the borders of his birthplace. His love for humanity, the Emir declared, is as expansive as the Sahel sky.And on Sunday, February 1, the festival’s grand finale, Machina seemed to overflow its own boundaries. It felt as though the entire cabinet of Yobe State had migrated to the Emirate. The Executive Governor, His Excellency Hon. (Dr.) Mai Mala Buni, the SSG, former governors, and over 40 Emirs from across northern Nigeria graced the occasion. Security agencies worked tirelessly to guide the sea of humanity—each person eager to witness history.

One lesson stood out like a desert sunrise: though Machina is an Islamic city, it does not silence its women. Draped in radiant traditional attire, they danced with grace, perfumed the air with sweet fragrances, and infused the celebration with a joy reminiscent of Senghor’s immortal tribute— “Naked woman, black woman… your beauty strikes me to the heart.”

A Life of Service, A Legacy of Impact
For more than three decades, Dr. Kole Ahmed Shettima has walked the intertwined paths of scholarship, philanthropy, and public service with the quiet dignity of a man who understands that true leadership is measured not in titles, but in lives touched. His journey has been neither loud nor ostentatious; instead, it has been steady—like the desert wind that shapes dunes over centuries, transforming landscapes with patience and purpose.

From the lecture halls of academia to the frontlines of development work, Dr. Kole has carried with him a philosophy rooted in empathy. He believes, deeply, that knowledge must serve humanity, and that privilege must bend toward justice. His work reflects this conviction.
Through the Kole Shettima Trust Fund and the Machina Emirate Development Association, he has built a legacy that stretches across generations:

Scholarships for hundreds of undergraduates, ensuring that the dreams of young people do not wither for lack of opportunity.Feeding the poor, not as charity, but as an affirmation of dignity.Clothing orphans, wrapping them not only in fabric but in hope.Building places of worship, where communities gather to pray, reflect, and find solace.Constructing water points, bringing life to communities where water is a daily struggle.

Paying medical bills, so that illness does not become a death sentence for the vulnerable.Mentoring youth, guiding them with the wisdom of experience and the tenderness of a father. Settling fines for the imprisoned poor, freeing men and women whose only crime was poverty.Improving learning conditions for secondary school students, because he knows that education is the first step toward liberation.

These are not mere acts of generosity; they are acts of remembrance. They are the gestures of a man who never severed the umbilical cord that ties him to his homeland. “What is probably important,” he often reflects, “is being rooted in my community since my primary school education.” That rootedness is his compass. It is what keeps him grounded even as his influence spans continents.

His leadership has shaped institutions, strengthened governance, and inspired a generation of thinkers, activists, and public servants. His contributions to humanity are not abstract—they are stories. Stories of children who stayed in school because he believed in them. Stories of families who found relief in moments of despair. Stories of communities whose futures were rewritten because one man chose to act.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o reminds us that “writers and scholars are the memory of a nation.” In many ways, Dr. Kole has become part of Machina’s living memory—preserving its values, expanding its possibilities, and embodying its highest ideals.
His life is a testament to a simple truth: service is the most enduring form of greatness.

Machina Rejoices.

When the turban was tied and the title bestowed, Machina did not simply applaud—it exhaled. A collective breath, held for generations, was released into the desert air. The joy that followed was not the fleeting excitement of a festival; it was the deep, resonant pride of a people witnessing one of their finest sons return home in honour.

The city transformed into a living organism—its streets pulsing with movement, its courtyards humming with anticipation, its skies echoing with the sounds of celebration. Men, women, elders, youth, and children poured into the open spaces as though answering an ancestral call. It felt as if the very soil of Machina had awakened to join the festivities.

The celebration unfolded with the splendour of an epic:

Drums thundered, their rhythms rolling across the Emirate like distant storms announcing abundance. The Kakaki trumpet pierced the air, its regal notes slicing through the crowd with the authority of centuries-old tradition.Dancers swirled in vibrant attires, their garments catching the sunlight and scattering it like shards of colour across the sand.Wrestlers stepped forward, their bodies glistening with pride, embodying the strength and honour of the land.Snake charmers mesmerized the crowd, their movements fluid, ancient, and hypnotic—echoes of a time when magic and culture were inseparable.Praise singers chanted genealogies, weaving Dr. Kole’s name into the long tapestry of Machina’s history.Music flowed like a river, winding through alleyways, courtyards, and open fields, binding strangers and kin in a shared rhythm.

It was not merely a festival; it was a rebirth.
The Emirate glowed with a unity rarely seen in modern times. Farmers stood shoulder to shoulder with scholars. Traders danced beside civil servants. Children clapped in delight as elders nodded in approval, their eyes shimmering with memories of festivals past.

The air was thick with incense, dust, perfume, and the unmistakable scent of celebration—a fragrance that only a city deeply in love with its heritage can produce.

Even the desert seemed to pause. The wind softened, as though listening. The sun lingered a little longer on the horizon, reluctant to set on such a moment. And when night finally draped itself over Machina, lanterns and fires lit up the darkness, turning the Emirate into a constellation on earth.

It was a scene reminiscent of the grand communal gatherings in Achebe’s Arrow of God—a people united not by necessity, but by pride, memory, and shared destiny.

Machina did not merely celebrate a title; it celebrated a legacy, a lineage, a reaffirmation of who it is and what it stands for. In honouring Dr. Kole, Machina honoured itself.

A Tribute to a Worthy Son

In honouring Dr. Kole Ahmed Shettima, Machina honoured the values it cherishes most—service, humility, scholarship, and humanity. The title of Zanna Yuroma is not just a recognition; it is a covenant between a son and his homeland.

And so, with pride and admiration, we join millions across Nigeria in celebrating High Chief Dr. Kole Ahmed Shettima. May his reign as Zanna Yuroma bring wisdom, compassion, and progress to Machina and beyond.

Long may he serve.Long may Machina flourish.

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Featured

50 Years After The Firsts; Has Ogun Prepared The Next?

Published

1 week ago

February 4, 2026

The Gleamer

History Is Not a Development Plan

By Abiola Odetola

There is a kind of love that claps. And there is a kind of love that tells the truth. As Ogun State turns 50, it would be easy, maybe also expected to write the familiar tribute, the great names we produced, the firsts we claimed, the achievements we once wore like a crown, or probably eulogize the current governor and government for its many achievements.

However, Ogun is a state of immense pedigree in Nigeria’s modern story, a place that has repeatedly supplied the country with its thinkers, reformers, builders, and dreamers.

Ogun did not merely participate in Nigeria’s story, it helped write it. But anniversaries are not only for applause. They are also for audit.

If Ogun at 50 is only a celebration, then we have learnt nothing. Because a state that is truly serious about its future does not only praise the past, it interrogates the present and prepares the next fifty years with painful honesty.
This is that conversation many don’t want to have openly.

I write not as an observer, but as one whose identity is stitched into the Ogun story by birth, by upbringing, by daily realities, and, to the glory of Eledumare, by work and service. I write with the kind of loyalty that does not end at sentiment. I have read about the strides of our forebears, seen Ogun in its pride, and I have lived its contradictions.

And it is that contradiction that must concern us most today: how can a state with so much history still struggle to translate that inheritance into a consistently rising future?

The danger of Ogun at 50 is not that we will forget our past. The danger is that we will hide inside it.
History should be a foundation, not a hiding place. Legacy should be a launchpad, not a resting mat. A people cannot build tomorrow by endlessly reciting yesterday.

So the harder question must be asked, one that cuts beyond ceremony and nostalgia. Fifty years after the firsts, has Ogun prepared the next?
Ogun’s political history is impossible to tell without invoking towering figures whose ideas reshaped governance, education, federalism, culture, and civic duty in Nigeria. Names like Obafemi Awolowo, Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola, Tai Solarin, Wole Soyinka, Fela Kuti, Olusegun Aremu Obasanjo, Justice Atanda Fatai Williams, and Justice Adetokunbo Ademola did not merely occupy offices or stages; they built ideas that outlived them.

But herein lies our quiet failure: we mastered leadership, but neglected succession.We built icons, but failed to build pipelines. We celebrated brilliance, but did not institutionalise its transfer. We raised legends, but did not systematically prepare replacements.

Political leadership in Ogun has too often become custodial rather than generational, focused on preserving relevance, not preparing successors. The result is a dangerous vacuum where younger people grow up hearing stories of greatness without being handed the tools to recreate it.

So today, we must ask without sentiment and without fear: who is the political leader of Ogun State today in the mould of ideas, not office? Who is thinking about Ogun’s future beyond the next election cycle? Who is grooming the next Awolowo, Solarin, Soyinka, not in personality, but in intellectual rigour and moral courage?

As Ogun marks 50, we also stand at the doorstep of another election season, a moment that will quietly shape not just the next four or eight years, but the next fifty. Yet, the signs are worrying.

The same political warlords, many who have dominated the space for decades and failed the sustainability test from Ijebu to Egba, are sharpening daggers, not to build consensus, but to protect territory. Young professionals, technocrats, reform-minded servants, and emerging leaders are already feeling the weight of suppression, voices muted, ambitions caricatured, innovation treated as insolence.

Personal aspirations have become endless, often at the direct expense of youth inclusion.
This must be said clearly: a generation that will not live in the next fifty years has no moral right to mortgage that future with ego, factional battles, and needless political fracas.

Nature does not tolerate vacuum. Leadership transitions will happen, whether planned or chaotic. The only real question is how prepared the next leaders will be.

Today, many of Ogun’s socio-political and traditional leaders are between the ages of 60 and 90. This is not an insult; it is biology. But wisdom demands something of this reality: intentional transfer of power, knowledge, and responsibility.
Who is engineering young minds towards development rather than desperation? Who is preparing Ogun’s youth for leadership rather than patronage?

One of Ogun’s most painful contradictions is this: our young people are thriving, just not at home.
Across Nigeria and the diaspora, Ogun sons and daughters are holding their own in finance, technology, medicine, law, academia, arts, sports, and entrepreneurship. They are building systems, running companies, shaping policies, and competing globally.

Yet many do not see Ogun as a place where ambition can legally and competitively flourish. Too often, talent is met with suspicion rather than support. New ideas are strangled by old gatekeepers. Young voices are silenced in community and political spaces. Merit is sacrificed on the altar of loyalty. Innovation is treated as rebellion.

We have normalized a culture where young people are told subtly or directly, “wait your turn,” even when the system offers them no real seat at the table.

This culture does not build states. It empties them.

Cultism. Internet fraud. Prostitution. Skill gaps. Hopelessness. These are not moral failures unique to Ogun youth. They are responses to blocked opportunities.

When legitimate pathways are closed, illegitimate ones thrive. When skills are not taught, shortcuts are taken. When voices are suppressed, anger festers.

The real tragedy is this: the same energy that fuels these challenges could power Ogun’s renaissance only if properly channelled.

Youth energy is raw capital. Unrefined, it explodes. Refined, it builds nations.

This is why Ogun must now confront the question it has avoided for too long: where is the Ogun Youth Agenda?

Not youth empowerment as charity. Not youth inclusion as rhetoric. But a deliberate, state-wide youth development framework that treats young people as the primary infrastructure of Ogun’s future.

An Ogun Youth Agenda must be the organising principle of the next ten years, aligning education with skills, industry with apprenticeship, governance with mentorship, and politics with succession. Without this, every other plan will fail, because no state rises above the capacity of its people.

If Ogun is to matter in the next fifty years, youth development cannot be an afterthought. It must be the strategy.

There is a large pool of youth in Ogun State today largely not engaged.

In the long run, Ogun must raise leaders, not just office holders. It must export ideas, not only people. It must become a place where talent can succeed legally, competitively, and sustainably from home. It must position itself not as a feeder state, but as a shaper of Nigeria’s future.
This is not idealism. It is survival.

As we celebrate fifty years, let us ask the question that truly matters: where are the next Awolowo, Mike Adenuga, MKO, Fela, Tai Solarin, Soyinka, Oba Otudeko, Fola Adeola, and many others we all know, not just in name, but in preparation?
More importantly, who is deliberately posturing young Ogun minds for that level of greatness?If the answer is silence, then our celebration is premature.

Ogun’s history is not its destination. It is its responsibility.

Those who built the past deserve honour. But honour does not mean control. At this stage, leadership must be measured not by how long power is held, but by how well it is handed over. Not by how loudly history is invoked, but by how intentionally the future is prepared.

One truth must now guide Ogun beyond 50: history is not a development plan.

Has Ogun prepared the next?

History does not reward inheritance. It rewards stewardship.

The future is already watching.

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