Yusha’u Shuaib @57: Happy Birthday to a Leader of Men, The Man Who Gave Me a Chance
By Ozumi Abdul
It all started on April 28, 2022, when I was tired, frustrated and totally worn out. It was during Ramadan, just four days before Eid-el-Fitr. I was struggling to survive, barely holding things together, and wondering how long I could continue to shoulder the responsibilities of a young family without a stable source of income.
It was barely two years after I relocated to the ancient city of Kano with my wife. We had no relatives in the city, no family members to lean on, no familiar shoulders to cry on and no one we could confidently turn to for help. We were on our own, trying desperately to find our feet in a place where we knew very few people and understood even less of the language that governed everyday life.
Like poet Syl Cheney-Coker’s description of “wandering like a Fulani cow” in his poem, Freetown, we were practically left in the cold, wandering without direction, struggling to find a sustainable means of survival. The uncertainty was suffocating. Every day came with its own burden, and every new morning presented another question about how we would keep going.
We were a young couple who had arrived from Lagos, unable to speak Hausa, the dominant language of communication in Kano. In many everyday interactions, our inability to speak the language made us feel like strangers and vulnerable in a place where we desperately wanted to belong. English, the language we understood, often seemed inadequate to bridge the cultural and social gaps around us.
I was a journalist, a profession I loved passionately, but passion alone could not put food on the table. I had established an online news platform, Nigerian Trumpet, and was doing everything possible to keep it running. I searched for stories, wrote, edited and published, hoping that somehow the platform would become a sustainable source of income. Unfortunately, it was not bringing in the money needed to sustain my family.
Then came that afternoon in April 2022.
I was surfing Facebook, searching for news stories for Nigerian Trumpet, when PRNigeria, the flagship news platform of Image Merchant Promotion Limited (IMPR), appeared on my screen.
I was already familiar with PRNigeria. Before then, I had regularly sourced security-related stories from the platform, giving the appropriate attribution. I admired its authority, credibility and consistency in breaking security news.
What I did not know was that the same platform I had been using as a source of information would soon become the bridge between my struggles and a new professional beginning.
Something within me urged me to search for the organisation’s contact details. I was job hunting, desperate for an opportunity that could give my family some stability. I knew that my online platform was not paying the bills, and I could no longer afford to pretend that passion alone was enough.
I searched the internet, found a telephone number and, without hesitation, dialled it.
I did not know what to expect. I did not know the person who would answer the call. I had no connection to pull, no influential person to recommend me and no assurance that anyone would even listen to my story.
But I called.
Behold, the voice that answered was warm, friendly, respectful and remarkably modest. There was something disarming about the manner in which the person on the other end of the line spoke. The humility in that voice was difficult to reconcile with the reputation of the publisher of one of Nigeria’s most authoritative platforms for security-related breaking news.
That person was Alhaji Yusha’u Shuaib, the publisher and Editor-in-Chief of PRNigeria.
With deep nostalgia, I can still recall, almost word for word, how that conversation unfolded on that afternoon.
Me: Hello, good afternoon.
Alhaji Yusha’u: Good afternoon, Siiiir!
He stretched the word “Sir” in that familiar, friendly manner that made me feel as though I had known him for years.
Me: Is this PRNigeria, sir?
Alhaji Yusha’u: Yeses, sir!
That was how it started.
I introduced myself as a journalist and told him that I was looking for a job. He did not dismiss me. He did not ask who had sent me. He did not demand to know the powerful person behind my application. Instead, he began asking questions about my academic background, course of study, year of graduation, institution, class of degree and professional experience.
He also asked where I was based.
I told him I was in Kano.
His reaction remains unforgettable.
“Oh, we have an office in Kano. In fact, we just finished investigative journalism training there a few weeks ago. I wish you had called earlier,” he said.
Those words carried a mixture of surprise, regret and possibility. Here was a man who did not know me personally, yet he was already discussing an opportunity I had not even imagined was within reach.
Finally, he asked for my byline.
I suspected he was searching for my published works online while we were still talking on the telephone. I had no idea what impression my stories would make on him, but I knew I had done my best to establish myself as a journalist despite the difficulties confronting me.
The call ended, and I returned to my uncertain reality.
Two days later, just two days before Eid-el-Fitr, my telephone rang again, this time with a story from Alhaji Yusha’u for me to edit.
It was a story about a former governor.
I edited it and sent it back.
Later that afternoon, he sent another assignment, an article about the director-general of a federal agency. I edited that one too and returned it promptly.
I remember vividly that I was in the mosque for Zuhr prayer when I received one of those assignments.
Looking back today, I realise that those two assignments were more than editing exercises. They were the beginning of a relationship that would fundamentally change the course of my professional life.
Weeks later, Alhaji Yusha’u called to tell me that my appointment letter was ready.
No elaborate interview. No prolonged screening process. No endless waiting for someone to remember that I had applied for a job. No connections, lobbying or familiar faces pleading on my behalf.
Just an opportunity.
I had been given a job with one of the leading public relations and strategic communication firms in Nigeria.
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The news came in the evening. I remember screaming with excitement, and my sudden outburst jolted my wife from her siesta.
Imagine the relief of a man who had spent months wondering how to provide for his family. Imagine the joy of someone who had begun to question whether all the years spent studying, writing, reporting and editing would ever translate into a meaningful opportunity.
A telephone call had changed everything.
And the man who made that possible was Alhaji Yusha’u Shuaib.
Till today, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had not made that call. What if I had ignored that inner prompting? What if the number I found online had led to someone who was too busy to listen? What if Alhaji Yusha’u had dismissed me after hearing that I was an unfamiliar journalist searching for employment?
And here is something that still makes me smile whenever I remember our first conversation: I am not even certain he ever established whether I truly possessed a degree in Mass Communication or a diploma in the discipline, as I explained to him at the time.
That is Alhaji Yusha’u Shuaib for you.
He saw something worth exploring before all the formalities could be exhausted. He gave me a chance to demonstrate what I could do. He allowed my work to speak, and in doing so, he opened a door that changed my life.
But the story did not end with an appointment letter.
Alhaji Yusha’u gradually entrusted me with greater responsibilities. He assigned me to the politics desk as a staff writer. He later moved me to the fact-checking desk, where I worked as a senior fact-checker. I also contributed to the entertainment desk and eventually became the editor of Arewa Agenda, a platform dedicated to issues affecting Northern Nigeria.
He did not simply employ me and leave me to figure things out on my own. He continued to stretch my capacity, trusting me with assignments that demanded greater discipline, broader knowledge and stronger professional judgment.
When Adnan Mukhtar, the former manager of IMPR’s Kano office, resigned, I was among those who understood the demands of running the branch because I had served as his deputy and maintained a productive working relationship with him for more than two years.
Alhaji Yusha’u entrusted the responsibility of managing the Kano office to me in an acting capacity.
It was another demonstration of his confidence in my ability.
Interestingly, I repeatedly declined his offers to become the substantive manager of the branch. My reason was straightforward: I could not speak Hausa, a major limitation in managing an office whose operations required effective communication and engagement within the local environment.
I did not want to accept a position simply because it was offered to me. I wanted the office to function effectively. I therefore promised to continue supporting whoever emerged as the substantive manager, just as I had enjoyed a productive relationship with the previous manager.
That experience taught me another important lesson about Alhaji Yusha’u. He understands people. He recognises their strengths, appreciates their limitations and often finds a way to deploy their abilities for the benefit of the organisation.
He does not necessarily expect everyone to be good at everything. He knows that people can make meaningful contributions in different capacities.
A few months ago, Hajiya Zainab Okino, publisher of Verity News and Vice Chairperson of Blueprint Newspaper, told me something that has remained with me: “There is something for everyone in Abuja.”
Whenever I remember that statement, I think of Alhaji Yusha’u. In his own way, he operates with a similar philosophy. There is something for everyone. No one should be written off simply because they lack a particular skill or have not yet found the right opportunity.
Find what a person can do. Give them room to grow. Place them where their abilities can make a difference.
Some people describe Alhaji Yusha’u as a man who can squeeze water from a rock. Others call him a man of many sides, a man of letters or a man overflowing with ideas.
All those descriptions have their merits.
But I prefer to describe him as a leader of men and a builder of people.
His commitment to developing younger professionals is also reflected in the PRNigeria Young Communication Fellowship (PYCF) introduced by his organisation about three years ago. The programme has provided a platform for young people in Abuja, Kano and Ilorin to acquire knowledge, practical skills and professional exposure in communication.
Even when resources and institutional support were limited, the initiative represented a willingness to invest in the next generation.
That is important because building people requires more than speeches about mentorship. It requires time, trust, patience and a willingness to allow young professionals to learn by doing.
It requires someone to look at a young person and see possibilities beyond their present circumstances.
I know what that means because I was once that young journalist, searching for an opportunity and wondering whether anyone would notice the work I had done.
Alhaji Yusha’u noticed.
He gave me a chance.
And that chance became a turning point.
I have also followed the challenges surrounding his academic journey at the National Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies, Kuru, where he encountered difficulties completing the programme that would have earned him the prestigious MNI distinction.
Whatever the final outcome of that chapter, I do not believe that any single professional recognition can adequately measure his contributions to the development of younger people.
Honours are valuable. Titles have their place. Academic distinctions can be important milestones in a person’s career.
But there is another kind of distinction that cannot be conferred at a ceremony. It is earned in the lives of people who become better because they encountered you.
It is found in the young journalist who can now provide for his family because you gave him employment. It is found in the reporter who has acquired the confidence to investigate difficult issues because you gave him the tools to do so. It is found in the communication professional who can stand independently today because you once gave him a platform to learn.
It is found in people who may never be able to repay you, but who will remember what you did for them long after the details of your own achievements have faded from public memory.
Thank you for being part of the reason I can look back at my professional journey and see how far I have come.
May Allah continue to bless you beyond measure.
Barka da ranar haihuwa, Alhaji. Allah ya kara lafiya, tsawon rai mai albarka, hikima da nasara.
Happy birthday Sir leader of men as I fondly revere you.
