By: Abdullahi Inuwa
In a state long battered by insurgency and humanitarian crises, one name continues to echo across dusty communities and resettled towns — Babagana Umara Zulum. To many in Borno State, he is more than a governor; he is a symbol of resilience, courage, and uncommon compassion. But does that make him a saint?
Since assuming office in 2019, Zulum has carved a reputation as a hands-on leader who refuses to govern from behind a desk.
From the troubled fringes of Marte and Guzamala to the recovering communities of Bama and Dikwa, the governor’s presence has become a recurring headline. Where insecurity once forced silence, his visits often signal renewed hope.
Observers say Zulum’s leadership style stands apart. In a state grappling with the aftermath of insurgency, rebuilding infrastructure is no small feat. Yet, under his administration, schools destroyed by conflict have been reconstructed and reopened. Brand-new classrooms now stand where ruins once told stories of despair. Hospitals and primary healthcare centres have also sprung up across local government areas, offering medical services to thousands who previously had little or no access to care.
Road networks, critical for economic recovery and security operations, have not been left behind. From urban Maiduguri to remote rural corridors, construction projects are gradually reconnecting communities that were once cut off by violence and neglect. For traders, farmers, and transporters, these roads are more than asphalt — they are lifelines.
Housing projects for displaced families remain one of the most visible hallmarks of Zulum’s tenure. Thousands of homes have been built and allocated to families affected by insurgency. Entire communities have been resettled with schools, clinics, water supply, and security support.
In camps for internally displaced persons (IDPs), many recount how the governor personally supervises food distribution exercises, often appearing unannounced to ensure fairness and transparency.
What stands out most to his admirers is his perceived selflessness. Zulum is frequently seen sharing meals with displaced families, listening to widows, consoling orphans, and engaging directly with traditional rulers and youth groups.
His focus, many say, remains fixed on the vulnerable — the poor, the displaced, and those who lost everything to conflict.
Critics argue that governance is a duty, not sainthood. They note that development is an expectation of office, not an extraordinary act. Yet even some skeptics concede that Zulum’s visible commitment and personal risk-taking in insecure zones reflect unusual boldness.
In a region where leadership is often judged by proximity to the people, Zulum’s boots-on-the-ground approach has earned him loyalty that borders on reverence. For countless residents, the dividends of democracy — schools, hospitals, roads, and food support — are no longer abstract promises but tangible realities.
So, is Zulum a saint? That may depend on who you ask. But in Borno State, amid scars of conflict and the slow march toward recovery, many see in him a leader whose service feels deeply personal — and in politics, that alone is rare enough to inspire devotion.
Abdullahi Inuwa Social Commentator ainuwa303@gmail.com
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