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Three nights Nigeria will not forget

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A hostel at Government Girls Comprehensive Senior Secondary School, Maga, Kebbi State, where bandits kidnapped 25 students, killing the vice-principal in the process.

ON three different days across three different states, Nigeria was pulled into the same widening circle of sorrow. A candlelit church was attacked in Eruku, Kwara State, on Tuesday.

Twenty-five schoolgirls were abducted from Maga, Kebbi State, before sunrise on Monday.

Brigadier General Musa Uba was ambushed and killed on the penultimate Friday in Borno.

Separate tragedies, yet bound by a single grim echo, the reminder that the country still walks through shadows long after midnight should have passed.

The night Eruku held its breath

Tuesday evening in Eruku began like a gentle hymn. Inside Christ Apostolic Church, candles flickered, voices blended in prayer, and worshippers leaned into the soft comfort of faith. The warm glow, the lifted hands, the familiar rhythm; all of it felt like a small pocket of peace. Then the doors burst open.

The first gunshot tore the hymn in half. Panic rippled through the sanctuary. Mothers threw themselves over their children. Candles toppled, casting frantic shapes across the walls. Screams clashed with the thunder of gunfire. Two worshippers fell dead where they stood. The pastor and several congregants were dragged into the night.

Eruku has lived on edge ever since. People speak in lowered tones now, as though the night itself leans in to listen. Some recall the sting of shattered glass against their skin; others cannot shake the memory of the ratatat of gunfire blending with the wails of women and children. The church remains suspended in its trauma; pews overturned, hymnals abandoned, dust settling softly on memories too heavy for anyone to lift.

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Yet as dusk falls each evening, Saturday Vanguard learnt that villagers still gather near the church, candles cupped carefully in their hands. They form gentle circles of prayer, their flames trembling but refusing to die.

A day earlier, in the early hours of Monday, another darkness was unfolding hundreds of kilometres away.

At Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School in Maga, the girls slept in their hostel, unaware that their world was about to break open. They dreamed simple teenage dreams: assignments, parents, school gossip, futures that still felt close enough to touch.

Then came the motorcycles. The gunmen slipped through the fence with ruthless confidence. They stormed the hostel, jolting the girls awake with shouting, torchlight, and the cold bite of fear. Twenty-five were seized and dragged into the night. A vice-principal who tried to stop the attackers paid with his life.

Now the school carries an eerie silence. Beds remain rough and unmade. Notebooks sit untouched. Slippers rest beside bunks that should belong to giggling, restless teenager girls. The air itself feels held in place, waiting for footsteps that do not return.

Parents sit outside their homes long past midnight, whispering their daughters’ names into the wind. Some clutch photographs until the edges fray. Others rock gently in silence, trapped in the slow ache of suspended time. In Maga, every second feels like an eternity stretched thin by hope and fear.

The fall of a soldier

And then there was the tragedy of the penultimate Friday, the loss of Brigadier General Musa Uba in Borno.

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He was a soldier who believed leadership meant stepping into danger, not standing behind it. He carried the burdens of his men with quiet dignity, moving through each mission with the calm resolve of someone who understood both the cost and necessity of courage.

But the ambush that claimed him was swift and merciless. He was taken alive. Days later, the country learned that he had been killed.

In his home, his uniforms still hang where he left them. His boots sit by the doorway, their silence almost accusatory. His family moves through the house like people navigating sacred ground, touching his belongings with careful, trembling hands.

Among the ranks, his name is spoken with reverence, a reminder of the sacrifices that rarely make headlines but shape the fragile space between safety and chaos.

A nation holding its breath

Nigeria feels like a nation holding its breath. Three days, three states, and one sorrow that stretches across the map like a single unbroken thread. In Eruku, a farmer startles at every slamming door, his nerves still raw from Tuesday’s terror.

In Maga, a mother has not slept since Monday, her thoughts circling endlessly around the daughter who never came home. In Borno, a widow moves quietly through her house, her gaze lingering on medals she cannot yet bear to hold.

Across the country, nights have grown heavier. Parents walk their children to school with wary eyes fixed on distant horizons. Communities stay awake longer than they used to, listening for rustles in the dark that might signal danger. Even soldiers move differently; tighter, more deliberate, as though the air itself has changed.

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And yet, beneath all the fear, something stubbornly human refuses to fade.

The heart that refuses to stop beating

In Eruku, neighbours now escort each other home from evening errands, their footsteps forming a quiet shield. In Maga, young volunteers sweep through bushes and backroads, driven by nothing but determination and the aching need to bring the girls home. In Borno, soldiers straighten their backs in honour of the commander they lost, carrying his courage like a torch through the shadows.

Grief is here, heavy and undeniable, but resilience has arrived with it, rising from the belief that sorrow cannot be the final sentence in Nigeria’s story.

When the sun returns

One day, Eruku’s congregation will sing again without checking the doors. One day, the daughters of Maga will return, perhaps; older, changed, but home. One day, Brigadier Uba’s family will speak his name with steady voices instead of trembling ones.

For now, the night stretches on; long, uncertain, thick with memory. But dawn is already on its way. Slow, deliberate, unyielding. And when it breaks, Nigeria will rise once more, scarred but unbroken, carrying both the weight of these three days and the quiet, stubborn hope that simply refuses to die.

Source: Vanguard News

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Why my people hate Nigerians — South African beauty queen, Ntashabele

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South African model and beauty queen, Phumzile Ntashabele, tells BIODUN BUSARI about the circumstances surrounding the murder of a 22-year-old Nigerian e-hailing driver, Isaac Satlat, in South Africa and the struggle to get justice for him

Can you introduce yourself?

I’m Phumzile Grace Nsabele. I’m a widow and a mother of two. I’m a model, an international queen with a master’s in business administration. I’m a motivational speaker and an author. I’m Mrs Global Universe South Africa 2025, who is always standing for justice.

Who was Isaac Satlat to you?

He was my son’s friend. My son is Kagiso. I’m like a godmother to him. Isaac was one of my son’s friends, so I take all of them as my boys. Contrary to what many think, I’m not his biological mother. I liked him because he was my son’s best friend.

So, they grew up under me. I went with them everywhere that had to do with modelling, though I stayed in Johannesburg, while they stayed in Pretoria. There were like 10 of them, because I helped them in modelling; all of them, including Ugandans and other nationalities.

I met Isaac in 2024. We met at Soweto Fashion Week. He accompanied his friends, who were models. I saw him as they were taking pictures with his other model friend, Emmanuel.

I told him that he could be a model too, and he said, ‘Mummy, I’m short.’ I encouraged him that his height didn’t matter because he was confident. He appreciated me, and that was how we knew each other and got along.

How would you describe him?

He was a young man who was full of life. He had a promising future. He was a 22-year-old young man. Isaac was studying Mechanical Engineering at Divine Favour Progressive College. He was due to graduate next month. His next birthday would be on March 12.

He was going to be 23 next month. Isaac was a loving and jolly boy. He was a champion to all his friends. He was respectful everywhere.

He attended schools from primary to tertiary level in South Africa and was leading a church. He was a God-fearing child, and he was just awesome.

What do you know about his parents?

His father is a Nigerian. He lives in South Africa. Isaac was staying with his dad because he raised him. His mother and two sisters are in Nigeria. There is another man, Mr Solomon; he’s a family member and their spokesperson. We’ve been working together to get justice for him.

Where was Isaac before he received a message that led to his death?

He was with his friends, including my son, because they stayed together. He came back from work, then went into the gym. After the gym, that was when he got a notification to go and pick somebody for his e-hailing business.

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His friends even asked him when he would be back and he told them that it was a short trip and that he would be back in 15 minutes. That was the last time his friends saw him.

You said he came back from work; did he have another job?

He was an intern. He was working as an intern at St. Julian. That’s where he was studying. He was not a full-time Uber driver. He was doing Uber only part-time and was also a model.

Was there any time he was attacked by criminals before the one that took his life?

No, I don’t think there was any record of such. These killers just acted like normal people and requested any Uber driver who was available.

He picked up the call and went to attend to them. So, he wouldn’t know they were criminals; he just got a notification from his place to the other place. It was a very short distance.

Do you think it was one of the xenophobic attacks on Nigerians?

It was not a xenophobic crime. It was not Nigeria versus South Africa. It was just a crime that happened here in South Africa; it’s happening to people in many places, especially in Cape Town and Durban.

It’s been happening a lot. Apparently, this was the first time in Pretoria. Even the way they killed him was just so uncalled for.

Are you saying this was the first time a Nigerian would be killed in Pretoria?

Not only a Nigerian, but this was also the first time anyone that I know in the e-hailing business was killed. They’ve been robbing Uber drivers, but it was the first time in Pretoria where an Uber driver was killed.

Remember, nobody knew that Isaac was a Nigerian. I don’t think they targeted him because he was Nigerian. Nobody knew that he was Nigerian. They just wanted an e-hailing driver. They requested one, and it was so unfortunate that it was Isaac.

The sad part was that they did not even take anything, not even his phone. They only took his life. They found the phone near his wallet and his passport; everything was in the car.

Apart from this incident, why do you think Nigerians in South Africa are being killed by South Africans?

The truth is that a lot of Nigerians in South Africa are drug dealers. That’s what the South Africans are fighting against. They say that Nigerians sell drugs to their children. They are angry that Nigerians are destroying their children.

Many South Africans hate Nigerians because of drug dealing in South Africa. Meanwhile, it is not all Nigerians who are criminals. As a South African, I’ve been friends with Nigerians for the past 25 years.

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My late husband was Ugandan. My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by foreigners, and they’ve been good friends to me. There was not even one Nigerian who ever disrespected me or did me any harm or wrong. They are my family.

That’s why most Nigerians are my family. It was the reason I liked Isaac. It is the reason I want justice for him. He was such a good young man. He was hardworking and focused.

Even with what I was doing for him and his family, my own South African people have called me names on social media. I’m told to leave South Africa because I am siding with drug dealers and drug lords.

The problem with South Africans is that they think all foreigners are criminals in South Africa. I tell my people that the Nigerians I see around me are hardworking. They are specialists and professionals like doctors, filmmakers, and brilliant people. They have legitimate businesses.

So, that’s why I cannot relate to my fellow South Africans when they are painting all Nigerians as drug dealers. I always tell them that drugs were in South Africa even before Nigerians arrived here. South Africans are just using Nigerians as scapegoats.

Do you think South Africans hate Nigerians because they are successful in their country?

Not all Nigerians are doing bad things in South Africa. The same applies to South Africans. We have rapists who are South Africans. We have murderers, just like those who killed Isaac. But there are good people, too.

I’m South African, and we have many good people like me. I used to say that if we blame foreigners for our problems and pursue them, South Africans will still have internal problems. It will start as racial grudges. It will be white and black.

After that, it is going to be tribal. It would be, ‘This one is Ndebele, and this one is Zulu’. We are always having something to fight about. It’s not foreigners. It’s not Nigerians. We, as South Africans, have our issues to deal with. I think it is self-hate or something like that.

But when we talk and when we side with foreigners, we are told that we are sleeping with Nigerians or foreigners. They will say we must leave the country. I’m taking all the insults. But I know that I’m an African queen. I am the queen that I am today because of foreigners.

It was when I represented South Africa as Mrs Universe South Africa that I won Mrs Worldwide South Africa. I represented South Africa in Singapore. The people who were with us were Nigerians. There were white people also; there were Congolese. So, I became the queen that I am because of foreigners.

When I reached Singapore, I did not represent South Africa. I represented all Africans, and they supported me. That’s why I support Africa in all the things I do. There are just these little people who are hurt. They are painting all Nigerians with the same brush.

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How are the South African authorities treating the case?

Initially, a 25-year-old lady handed herself over to the police. Then, two other guys were arrested and there was a court case yesterday (Monday, February 16). It was adjourned till Monday, February 23, when they are going to appear again in the Pretoria Court.

The fourth suspect handed himself over yesterday. So, he appeared in court today (Tuesday, February 17). So, we have suspects. They are in the age group of 25 to 30.

In what ways have you sought justice for Isaac?

I posted Isaac’s pictures as seen in the video because if it were not for that video that was circulating on social media, we would not have been able to arrest these guys.

It was through this video that we managed to get this girl to hand herself in. People already saw who she was. That’s why she handed herself in. We are still circulating all the pictures and asking people to support.

We are asking Africans who are in South Africa to support, because this concerns all nations. It’s not only South Africans and Nigerians.

We are pleading with all Africans who are here to support us to get justice for Isaac. We are also pleading for financial assistance to take Isaac back home. There’s already a link where the connection has been made. We’ve been sharing that.

We designed something where people can make payments to help the father and Isaac go back home.

What kind of justice do you have in mind from the court?

First of all, they don’t deserve bail, which they were not granted. They are criminals. They deserve life imprisonment.

Unfortunately, in South Africa, there’s no death penalty. But if it were any other country, they would deserve the death penalty. Since there is no death penalty in South Africa, I think it should be life imprisonment. They do not deserve parole.

How can you be a woman and do this? If you see the video, Isaac fought for his life. He wanted to get out of the car. But for that woman to even hold his legs until his last breath, she is wicked.

Mind you, she didn’t even show any remorse, even yesterday in court. There was another guy among them who was smiling. They were not remorseful. That’s why their place shouldn’t be in society.

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Becoming a king won’t end my showbiz career — Okey Bakassi

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Actor, comedian and traditional ruler of the Umuihuocha Autonomous Community in Imo State, Okechukwu Onyegbule, popularly known as Okey Bakassi, speaks to NAOMI CHIMA about how he is balancing his career with his role as a traditional ruler

You have spent over three decades in the comedy industry. At what point did you realise that comedy was no longer a hobby, but your life’s calling?

Comedy is just one aspect of what I do. I prefer to describe myself as an entertainer. My work is a blend of acting, stand-up comedy and public speaking; all wrapped into one package.

It began as a hobby during my university days. But when I moved to Lagos for my youth service, I had to confront a defining question: what next? Do I get a paid job or pursue my interest in entertainment? Initially, I wanted to do it part-time because it came naturally to me and brought me joy.

However, I soon realized that entertainment is not something you dabble in. The industry wasn’t as structured as it is today. Roles weren’t waiting for you; you had to chase them relentlessly. It demanded the same level of commitment and energy as any full-time profession.

Toward the end of my service year, after deep reflection, I decided to pursue entertainment fully before considering paid employment. I was driven purely by passion. It gave me happiness and felt effortless. I told myself that if I could also make a living from it, then this was what I was meant to do.

Growing up, did you ever envision that you were a funny person destined for entertainment?

Not at all. I grew up in a close-knit family where we gathered in the living room to gist. My mother was an excellent storyteller. My father, though a military man, had a cheerful side when he wanted to. From a young age, we were encouraged to express ourselves freely, speak our minds and joke around. That environment shaped me.

As a child, I actually wanted to be a military doctor. I eventually studied engineering and somehow ended up in show business. Life has an interesting way of unfolding. At some point, I simply looked at life and said, “Let me do this first.”

Growing up as the eldest in a disciplined military home, how did that shape your humour and work ethic?

Life in the barracks influenced me tremendously. Any “barracks pikin” will tell you it’s a mini Nigeria; a melting pot of tribes, languages and cultures. You grow up with friends from everywhere. That exposure gives you stories, accents, behavioural patterns and perspectives you won’t easily find elsewhere.

Everything was around me — drama, diversity and humour. It all became material without me even realising it.

You’ve spoken about arriving in Lagos with nothing and even experiencing homelessness. What kept you going?

When I left Port Harcourt (Rivers State capital), my family was going through financial difficulties. I’m the first of five children, and I had never even been to Lagos before youth service.

What kept me going was understanding how tough things were back home. I had to choose my own version of “tough”: stay home with a false sense of security while still struggling, or face the obvious hardship in Lagos and fight to survive. I chose to survive in Lagos rather than add to my parents’ burden.

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The comedy show, “Night of a Thousand Laughs”, was pivotal in your career. What stands out about its birth?

I was instrumental in creating Night of a Thousand Laughs. When I arrived in Lagos, I realised there was no defined comedy industry. There were travelling theatre groups and actors who did comedy within drama, but no structured platform for stand-up comedy.

Seeing comedians in Lagos who were as funny — or even funnier — than my friends in Port Harcourt made me realise talent was scattered across the country.

The question became: how do we bring them together?

At the time, I worked as Opa Williams’ production manager, alongside Reginald Ebere. We conceptualised a nationwide comedy reality platform to discover talent and bring them to Lagos to compete. Opa Williams embraced the idea. Reginald and I drafted the original concept, and it ultimately contributed significantly to the growth of stand-up comedy in Nigeria.

After acting opportunities slowed down, you reinvented yourself through stand-up. How crucial was that reinvention?

Reinvention was everything. Financial experts talk about multiple streams of income, but at that time, everyone focused on acting because stand-up wasn’t yet an industry.

After my first movie, I experienced what I’d call deliberate isolation from the acting space, and I didn’t understand why. It was a wake-up call. If one door closes, another must open.

I decided to take stand-up seriously, refine my craft and make it versatile. Eventually, I began earning more from stand-up than acting.

Which platform stretches your creativity the most?

Stand-up comedy. Acting and music are collaborative efforts. Radio is unique because you speak to people who can’t see you. But stand-up is just you, the audience and a microphone. There’s no safety net.

It requires presence of mind, sharp mental alertness and the ability to deliver a compelling and funny story in real time. Every audience is different. Their mood changes everything.

It’s intense. In my opinion, it’s the toughest art form.

You were recently crowned the Okwe II of Umuihuocha Obohia. How do you see yourself evolving with this role?

Life evolves in stages. You begin as a bachelor finding direction, then become a husband, a father, and now, in my case, a community leader.

When a community asks you to represent them, it means they see something in you. I see this role as an opportunity, not retirement. We’ve wrongly framed traditional leadership as something for people who are tired. It shouldn’t be.

While you’re strong and connected, you can leverage those connections to uplift vulnerable people and put your community on the map.

When I first “Googled” Umuihuocha, nothing came up. It felt like we didn’t exist. Today, there’s presence and visibility. By the time of the official coronation, the structures will be firmly in place.

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How will you balance comedy with the restraints of royalty?

Every stage of life comes with restraints. Marriage brings restraint. Fatherhood brings more. Public office demands another level of responsibility.

I have adapted through each stage. This is simply another phase. Change is constant. There’s nothing frightening about it.

Having spoken about the dangers of intolerance in leadership, how do you assess Nigeria’s present political climate, and what advice would you give both leaders and citizens?

Power reveals character. Give someone power or money, and you’ll see who they truly are.

Leadership should teach humility. History shows that many rise and fade quickly. The people who celebrate you today can withdraw their support tomorrow.

If you’re in leadership, your security matters, but the welfare of the people matters more. Don’t assume a God-like status. You’re not God.

Why do you think your people chose you to lead them?

Years in the public eye without scandal speak volumes. I have carried myself responsibly. I hold a degree in Agricultural Engineering, a diploma in Public Relations, and I’m committed to self-development.

I turn 57 this year. Life has prepared me. I have maintained a stable family life and remained grounded. People recognise consistency.

What role should government policies play in empowering entertainment?

Entertainment is one of the largest employers of youth. One creative person can support hundreds.

Government must create an enabling environment — stable power supply, security and grants for creatives. Without electricity, content cannot be consumed. Without security, creators can’t travel or research safely.

Partnerships can boost tourism, foreign exchange and cultural exports.

You have been married for over 25 years. What’s the secret of your enduring union?

Intentionality. I approached my career with focus and did the same with marriage. My wife is my childhood sweetheart. Early years were turbulent, but grace and intentionality built synergy.

Poverty puts immense strain on families, so working hard to provide is crucial. Respect, faith and shared vision matter.

As a husband, you must paint a future your partner believes in. Consistent progress keeps people together.

As a father, what are you intentional about passing down to your children?

Family values. Without values, a family collapses. We raise our children with the fear of God and a strong sense of identity.

They must understand that their achievements reflect on generations before and after them.

My wife and I operate as a team. The children see that unity and understand its seriousness.

You’ve spoken about polygamy. Would you consider it as a traditional ruler?

I believe polygamy is a valid African system of marriage. Every system has challenges; monogamy included. Divorce rates prove that.

Many modern arrangements are already functionally polygamous; we just don’t label them as such.

The key is responsibility. Marriage systems should protect families and children. The conversation should be honest, not emotional.

Has fatherhood changed you?

Completely. “Daddy” is the highest title a man can hold.

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Fatherhood makes you accountable. A traditional African father is wired to protect and provide, sometimes at the expense of emotional closeness. That’s something men must be careful about.

Can you compare parenting across generations?

Technology has changed everything. I won’t say this generation is worse, because every generation says that about the next.

But today’s children face higher exposure to trauma and digital overload. Less outdoor interaction reduces empathy and connection.

That worries me. The world is different, and we must adapt wisely.

Beyond entertainment and a royal title, what legacy matters most to you?

My greatest legacy is the example I set for my children. My primary responsibility before God is to raise people who will become blessings to society, not curses. Every terrorist or criminal out there is someone’s child who was poorly raised and eventually became a scourge to society.

You cannot fail at home as a father and claim success as a leader. Charity begins at home. If you cannot manage your household, how can you lead a community?

At the end of the day, my personal mantra is the pursuit of happiness. I want to be remembered as a man who came, who saw and who was happy.

As a veteran, what is your advice on competition and rivalry in the entertainment industry?

Competition and rivalry are natural in any industry. The important thing is to keep it healthy. Someone else’s failure should not be the foundation of your success.

Rivalry can be intense, but there is no need to harm or sabotage anyone to move forward. Focus on improving your craft. Let your growth speak for you.

You recently served as master of ceremonies at an event in Imo State. How do you respond to those who question a traditional ruler continuing to work as an MC?

Nigerians are still learning to appreciate the dignity of labour. We tend to rank professions unnecessarily; looking down on some and placing others on a pedestal.

In other societies, janitors and fast-food workers are respected because they are earning an honest living and contributing to society. Anyone who works legitimately to serve humanity deserves respect and can aspire to any position.

That mindset is something I hope to challenge. Becoming a king does not mean retiring from meaningful work. As long as I can balance both roles effectively, I will continue. The only time I would reconsider is if one responsibility becomes so demanding that I need to scale back.

Besides, kings are public speakers, and that’s what I do professionally. So I’m well within my lane.

What’s your favourite food and sport?

Football, and I still play to this day. As for food, I enjoy swallow with any good soup.

How do you relax?

I relax by watching sports or movies and by reading. I set a goal to read at least three books a year.

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Rest every four hours, FRSC issues safety guide for fasting motorists

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The Federal Road Safety Corps, on Friday, urged motorists who are participating in the fasting periods, to ensure that they take rest at intervals, to avoid road crashes.

The FRSC Commander in-charge of the Sagamu-Ore-Benin Expressway corridor, Mr Nasir Mohammed, gave the advice in an interview with the News Agency of Nigeria in Ota.

He noted that the advice had become expedient following the commencement of fasting periods by both Christian and Muslim faithfuls.

NAN reports that Catholic faithfuls had commenced lenten season with the distribution of Ash on Wednesday, which period is marked by 40 days fasting.

In the same vein, Muslim faithfuls had also began observation of Ramadan in the Islamic calendar, which period is also marked by fasting.

Mohammed urged motorists to be cautious of fatigue and possible dehydration during the fasting periods, and ensure that they take hours of rest before returning to the steering.

He also warned motorists against over speeding and wrongful overtaking, which could lead to tragedy, adding that drivers must strictly adhere to all safety rules while on the road.

“We are appealing to motorists, especially Muslims and Christians who are fasting, to always observe the rest after every four hours of driving, to prevent avoidable loss of lives.

“Also, all motorists are enjoined to drive to stay alive; Wishing all safer roads and fuller life.” he said.

(NAN)

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