Imagine going through something as heavy as this ,the embarrassment, the pain, and then someone you call a friend is out there typing it like gossip for strangers to laugh at on twitter
These are the kind of friends that can finish someone emotionally without even touching them
I want to make it abundantly clear to the world that, as a Muslim and a Northerner, Sheikh Gumi does not speak for me on matters of insecurity in this country. Whatever he says about insecurity is solely his opinion and does not represent my views or that my family. Thank you.
How about the long-overdue freedom of Sheikh Abduljabbar Nasiru Kabara?
I was supposed to meet him in prison, and it is heartbreaking and utterly unacceptable that a religious scholar remains behind bars simply because his teachings or interpretations differ from those preferred by those in power in Kano State.
The era of religious persecution in Nigeria must end NOW.
A LETTER TO MALE GYNAECOLOGISTS: FROM A MALE GYNAE WHO HAS WORKED IN SAUDI ARABIA.
HOW TO EXAMINE WOMEN INCLUDING WOMEN ON HIJAB AND NIQAB.
And Then The Curtains Drew Close: A Woman, Her Body, and the Quiet Politics of Being Seen
Dear Anonymous Woman,
Asalamalekum,
And let me begin, as any honest storyteller should, by saying I am sorry, sorry that what should have been a moment of care became a moment of shock, sorry that the sacredness of your body met the unpreparedness of a system that should have known better.
Because, my dear, a vaginal examination is not merely a clinical act, it is a conversation between trust and tenderness, and it must never feel like an ambush. And you have every right to feel the way you do. And to the husbands, we know it isn't easy, so we carry you along, make you like a family.
And yet, here we are, living in a country where many still do not understand that Gynecology is not stumbled into, it is chosen, arduously, after years of exams, sleepless nights, and sacrifices that sometimes squeeze the soul dry. Many women, who must juggle motherhood and medicine, drift toward specialties with gentler hours, and so the corridors of Obstetrics and Gynecology continue to echo with the footsteps of men. We need more women in Obstetrics and Gynaecology!
And still, this is not an excuse, merely a truth that must sit beside your own truth.
Having worked in Saudi Arabia, a place where modesty is not merely culture but law, wrapped in hijab and niqab, I have seen how systems can be firm and gentle, strict and surprisingly accommodating. And so, walk with me through what should have happened to you, what could have protected your dignity.
You should have been told during antenatal visits that your care team might include male doctors. You should have been prepared, gently, so your heart would not leap in shock.
You should have been asked, not assumed. You should have been allowed to undress privately, with only a female chaperone beside you, holding dignity like one holds a fragile bowl of water. You should have been draped, covered first before anyone else entered.
And yes, you should have been given the simple, powerful gift of choice.
In Saudi Arabia, even with their stricter laws, male gynecologists thrive, not because women do not care, but because women are prepared. Because consent is not a whisper, it is a full sentence.
And here in Nigeria, our women deserve that too. They deserve education before examination. They deserve privacy before procedure. They deserve dignity, always.
My dear woman, your discomfort is not imaginary. It is valid and it is human.
And it is a reminder, a peeling back of the curtain, that our system must do better.
And so I say to our young women: step into Obstetrics and Gynecology if your spirit calls you. But come knowing that this path demands a piece of you, time, energy, and the soft ache of responsibility. For truly, uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.
Yet crowns must be worn by someone. And perhaps, by more women.