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The Nigerian school with a radical idea: Teaching Boko Haram’s kids

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3 years ago

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One morning in May, Zina Mustapha stood before her 20 students and wrote two mathematical problems on the whiteboard. “To solve these, you can use the coordinate formula or the vector formula,” she said.

As the teenagers chorused the formulas back at her, the scene could have been a typical high school in Nigeria. But the Future Prowess Islamic Foundation is unlike any other in Africa’s most populous country.

In the heartland of a war that has pitched the jihadist sect Boko Haram against the government, the private Quranic school has opened its doors to Muslim and Christian children of both insurgents and government soldiers, as well as those orphaned by both groups in the brutal conflict. Even as Boko Haram extremists raze and attack thousands of schools in the northeastern state of Borno, Zannah Mustapha, the school’s founder, preaches a different kind of radicalism: love for everyone.

Since 2002, Boko Haram has gunned down some 35,000 people and displaced 2 million in its battle to carve out an Islamic state in Nigeria, and to abolish perceived Western education and influence. In 2009, the group attracted global attention when it began attacking state symbols like military posts and public schools. Five years later, insurgents abducted 276 girls from their school dormitory in a remote village called Chibok.

But some teachers continue to defy them.

“Education is … the right of every human being,” says Ms. Mustapha, readjusting her hijab. “With the gun, we can kill terrorists, but with education, we can kill terrorism.”

War on education

In 2009, around the time Boko Haram turned its sights on education, Fatima was due to start first grade. But her mother couldn’t afford it, and 6-year-old Fatima was wrestling with a crushing sense of guilt.

She believed she was responsible for her father’s death at the hands of the extremists.

Bukar, her father, left home every morning for the market where he was a trader and returned at night, never failing to bring some candy for Fatima. One evening, Fatima was disappointed he’d forgotten. “I ran to welcome him, only for him to remember that he had not bought me my favorite candy,” she recalls.

Her father stepped back outside, but Boko Haram was trailing him. “They shot him in his head,” Fatima says. “That was the end of my joy – he never came back.”

For years, Boko Haram had killed those who criticized its extremist views – including moderate Muslims like Bukar. When they targeted families, the insurgents sometimes killed the men and spared women and children, and sometimes murdered both parents. Today, thousands of orphaned and fatherless kids roam the streets of Maiduguri, the capital of Borno state, and refugee camps.

The loss plunged Fatima, her five siblings, and her mother – now a single housewife – into grief and destitution.

Then, in 2010, Fatima’s mother learned about a school offering free education to Muslim orphaned children affected by the insurgency. To Fatima’s great joy, the school was just a few miles away – walking distance – and her mother was able to sign her up.

“If I didn’t come to this school, maybe I would have been by the roadside hawking,” Fatima says.

 

FUTURE PROWESS IFS (@futureprowess) / Twitter

“Boko Haram lawyer”

For more than two decades, Mr. Mustapha, a towering man who favors the flowing robes of Egyptian jalabiyahs, was a sharia court lawyer in predominantly Muslim northern Nigeria, where such courts operate alongside a Western-style judiciary. In 2007, disturbed by the number of haggard-looking orphaned children begging on the streets of Maiduguri during school hours, he quit his job to start the foundation. It began as a single building of two classrooms, with 36 pupils and two teachers.

Shortly afterward, Boko Haram’s campaign against education escalated. The group, whose name means “Western education is forbidden” in northern Nigeria’s Hausa language, began detonating bombs and carrying out horrific shootings and assaults on schools. Rights watchers estimate the sect has destroyed or forced the closure of around 2,500 schools in the region, killed 611 teachers, and displaced 19,000 more.

The effect has been devastating in a region that is already Nigeria’s most impoverished. Borno state, which has only a 23% literacy rate, has seen the number of out-of-school children more than triple since 2008 to 1.8 million today.

All this only spurred Mr. Mustapha. After approaching private donors and international humanitarian organizations, he expanded to 40 classrooms spread over four separate community schools.

He also began accepting children who had lost parents due to the crisis – regardless of the side for which their parents had fought. The decision sparked criticism and rejection from some parents and community members.

“A lot of these Boko Haram elements were killed. Their wives and children were cast on the street. … Society considered them taboo,” says Mr. Mustapha.

“If I said I’m going to work on orphans, are [Boko Haram members’] children not orphans? Or are we going to [judge] them for the offense of their parents or husbands?”

And Mr. Mustapha’s compassion paid off. While Boko Haram targeted other schools in the state, forcing weekslong closures, it never attacked Mr. Mustapha’s. He was able to offer uninterrupted education to some 2,200 kids even at the height of the insurgency.

Avoiding discrimination

Among Fatima’s classmates is Nur, whose father was a soldier. Like her, Nur lost both his father and uncle after they were gunned down by Boko Haram. But at school, both children found a respite from tragedy – happily busy, they rarely had time to think of it, and some of their close friends include children whose fathers were in the sect.

It helps that Mr. Mustapha gives all incoming students psychosocial support before admission – part of that includes encouraging them to see and relate to themselves and each other with love and to avoid discrimination, he says.

But despite his effort to convince some to accept an inclusive approach, he still faces criticism. He says some whisper about his intentions, calling him “Boko Haram lawyer” – a reference to his role as a go-between in securing the release of 103 of the girls Boko Haram abducted in Chibok.

Still, he is undeterred. With support from the International Committee of the Red Cross, Mr. Mustapha also opened a center that trains widows in livelihood skills. Some of them are widows of Boko Haram members.

Meanwhile, Mr. Mustapha receives far more admission requests for his school than he has the capacity to handle. He wants to expand further, but doesn’t have the money.

His greatest pride, he says, comes from seeing the kids happy, especially girls who, as is often the case among impoverished families in northern Nigeria, would likely have been forced into child marriages to bring in a dowry. Instead, those at his school have a chance to chase their dreams.

“I want to become a nurse to help less privileged people, especially children and pregnant women,” says Fatima.

This article was produced with the support of the USC Center for Religion and Civic Culture, the John Templeton Foundation, and Templeton Religion Trust. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of these organizations.

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Houston

Turnout, Trust, and Ground Game: What Decided Houston’s Runoff Elections

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4 days ago

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December 14, 2025

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Low-turnout runoff races for Houston City Council and Houston Community College trustee seats revealed how message discipline, local credibility, and voter mobilization determined clear winners—and decisive losers.

The final ballots are counted, and Houston’s runoff elections have delivered clear outcomes in two closely watched local races, underscoring a familiar truth of municipal politics: in low-turnout elections, organization and credibility matter more than name recognition alone.

In the race for Houston City Council At-Large Position 4, Alejandra Salinas secured a decisive victory, winning 25,710 votes (59.27%) over former council member Dwight A. Boykins, who garnered 17,669 votes (40.73%). The margin was not accidental. Salinas ran a campaign tightly aligned with voter anxiety over public safety and infrastructure—two issues that consistently dominate Houston’s civic conversations. Her emphasis on keeping violent criminals off city streets and expanding Houston’s water supply spoke directly to quality-of-life concerns that resonate across districts, especially in an at-large contest where candidates must appeal to the city as a whole.

Salinas’ win reflects the advantage of message clarity. In a runoff, voters are not looking to be introduced to candidates—they are choosing between candidates they are already familiar with. Salinas presented herself as forward-looking and solutions-oriented, while Boykins, despite his experience and political history, struggled to reframe his candidacy beyond familiarity. In runoffs, nostalgia rarely outperforms momentum.

The second race—for Houston Community College District II trustee—followed a similar pattern. Renee Jefferson Patterson won with 2,497 votes (56.63%), defeating Kathleen “Kathy” Lynch Gunter, who received 1,912 votes (43.37%). Though the raw numbers were smaller, the dynamics were just as telling.

Patterson’s victory was powered by deep local ties and a clear institutional vision. As an HCC alumna, she effectively positioned herself as both a product and a steward of the system. Her pledge to expand the North Forest Campus and direct resources to Acres Home connected policy goals to place-based advocacy. In trustee races, voters often respond less to ideology and more to proximity—those who understand the campus, the students, and the neighborhood. Patterson checked all three boxes.

By contrast, Gunter’s loss highlights the challenge of overcoming a candidate with genuine community roots in a runoff scenario. Without a sharply differentiated message or a strong geographic base, turnout dynamics tend to favor candidates with existing neighborhood networks and direct institutional relevance.

What ultimately decided both races was not a surprise, but execution. Runoffs reward campaigns that can re-mobilize supporters, simplify their message, and convert familiarity into trust. Salinas and Patterson did exactly that. Their opponents, though credible, were unable to expand or energize their coalitions in a compressed electoral window.

The lesson from Houston’s runoff elections is straightforward but unforgiving: winners win because they align message, identity, and ground game. Losers lose because, in low-turnout contests, anything less than that alignment is insufficient.

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Africa

Nigeria–Burkina Faso Rift: Military Power, Mistrust, and a Region Out of Balance

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4 days ago

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December 14, 2025

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The brief detention of a Nigerian Air Force C-130 Hercules aircraft and its crew in Burkina Faso may have ended quietly, but it exposed a deeper rift shaped by mistrust, insecurity, and uneven military power in West Africa. What was officially a technical emergency landing quickly became a diplomatic and security flashpoint, reflecting not hostility between equals, but anxiety between unequally matched states navigating very different political realities.

On December 8, 2025, the Nigerian Air Force transport aircraft made an unscheduled landing in Bobo-Dioulasso while en route to Portugal. Nigerian authorities described the stop as a precautionary response to a technical fault—standard procedure under international aviation and military safety protocols. Burkina Faso acknowledged the emergency landing but emphasized that the aircraft had violated its airspace, prompting the temporary detention of 11 Nigerian personnel while investigations and repairs were conducted. Within days, the crew and aircraft were released, underscoring a professional, if tense, resolution.

Yet the symbolism mattered. In a Sahel region gripped by coups, insurgencies, and fragile legitimacy, airspace is not merely technical—it is political. Burkina Faso’s reaction reflected a state on edge, hyper-vigilant about sovereignty amid persistent internal threats. Nigeria’s response, measured and restrained, reflected confidence rooted in capacity.

The military imbalance between the two countries is stark. Nigeria fields one of Africa’s most formidable armed forces, with a tri-service structure that includes a large, well-equipped air force, a dominant regional navy, and a sizable army capable of sustained operations. The Nigerian Air Force operates fighter jets such as the JF-17 and F-7Ni, as well as A-29 Super Tucanos for counterinsurgency operations, heavy transport aircraft like the C-130, and an extensive helicopter fleet. This force is designed not only for internal security but for regional power projection and multinational operations.

Burkina Faso’s military, by contrast, is compact and narrowly focused. Its air arm relies on a limited number of light attack aircraft, including Super Tucanos, and a small helicopter fleet primarily dedicated to internal counterinsurgency. There is no navy, no strategic airlift capacity comparable to Nigeria’s, and limited logistical depth. The Burkinabè military is stretched thin, fighting multiple insurgent groups while also managing the political consequences of repeated military takeovers.

This imbalance shapes behavior. Nigeria’s military posture is institutional, outward-looking, and anchored in regional frameworks such as ECOWAS. Burkina Faso’s posture is defensive, reactive, and inward-facing. Where Nigeria seeks stability through deterrence and cooperation, Burkina Faso seeks survival amid constant internal pressure. That difference explains why a technical landing could be perceived as a “serious security breach” rather than a routine aviation incident.

The incident also illuminates why Burkina Faso continues to struggle to regain political balance. Repeated coups have eroded civilian institutions, fractured command structures, and blurred the line between governance and militarization. The armed forces are not just security actors; they are political stakeholders. This creates a cycle where insecurity justifies military rule, and military rule deepens insecurity by weakening democratic legitimacy and regional trust.

Nigeria, despite its own security challenges, has managed to avoid this spiral. Civilian control of the military remains intact, democratic transitions—however imperfect—continue, and its armed forces operate within a clearer constitutional framework. This stability enhances Nigeria’s regional credibility and amplifies its military superiority beyond hardware alone.

The C-130 episode did not escalate into confrontation precisely because of this asymmetry. Burkina Faso could assert sovereignty, but not sustain defiance. Nigeria could have asserted its capability, but chose restraint. In the end, professionalism prevailed.

Still, the rift lingers. It is not about one aircraft or one landing, but about two countries moving in different strategic directions. Nigeria stands as a regional anchor with superior military power and institutional depth. Burkina Faso remains a state searching for equilibrium—politically fragile, militarily constrained, and acutely sensitive to every perceived threat from the skies above.

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Bizarre Epstein files reference to Trump, Putin, and oral sex with ‘Bubba’ draws scrutiny in Congress

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1 month ago

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November 14, 2025

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The latest tranche of emails from the estate of late convicted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein includes one that contains what appear to be references to President Donald Trump allegedly performing oral sex, raising questions the committee cannot answer until the Department of Justice turns over records it has withheld, says U.S. Rep. Robert Garcia, the top Democrat on the House Oversight Committee.

Garcia insists the Trump White House is helping block them.

In a Friday afternoon interview with The Advocate, the out California lawmaker responded to a 2018 exchange, which was included in the emails released, between Jeffrey Epstein and his brother, Mark Epstein. In that message, Mark wrote that because Jeffrey Epstein had said he was with former Trump adviser Steve Bannon, he should “ask him if Putin has the photos of Trump blowing Bubba.”

“Bubba” is a nickname former President Bill Clinton has been known by; however, the email does not clarify who Mark Epstein meant, and the context remains unclear.

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