In 2017, I began a series of letters to men I know have made a difference in women’s lives. I challenged myself and other sisters to do two things every March 8, International Women’s Day (IWD);
a. Celebrate a sister whose strength has borne you through the years.
b. Write an open letter of affirmation to one male champion who has been a firm handhold and foothold on life’s journey.
This year, it is an honor to celebrate Priscilla Ikos Usiobaifo – a formidable mentee turned mentor and SGBV prevention titan – and to write to Idris Abdul Miliki, honoring them both this 2026 IWD.
Dear Miliki,
In 2020, Abiola Akiode-Afolabi and I edited a policy brief for the Centre for Democracy and Development (CDD-West Africa). It reaffirmed a simple but enduring truth: politics is local. And so is anything that truly lasts. Being rooted changes everything. We overlook the local at our own peril.
The bottom of the pyramid is important because it sustains the pyramid. It is, in fact, the substructure that holds up all the energy we see. All the possibilities that become begin with the roots. There is so much more going on at the local level than we know enough about or can imagine. Much like an iceberg, we see on the surface just about 10 percent of all that awesome raw power beneath.
We clamor for the center, which is important because it represents our collective aspiration and a place of power where liquid gold trickles. Still, from the centre, it goes back to its source, the root, the origin, the beginning.
Dear Miliki, you are one of those brothers of mine in civil society that I have known since ‘Imo River’ expanding the space at the community level. Our paths first crossed in 1999. Since then, I have treasured what your person has meant for creating and enabling voice and safe spaces at the community. You are a lesson in how to push back against the closing civic space, staying steady, keeping the course, and making sure those of us removed from the bottom of the pyramid know about it and contribute our share to keep you going. Afterall, it is in our best interest that you live, work, win, and learn where you are – deep in the soils of Lokoja, Ijumu, Kabba, Anyigba, Mopa, Obajana, all in Kogi state, and beyond.
You continue to demonstrate that community matters. It is where most people live out their daily lives in homes, carrying out forms of labour often unrecognised and unrewarded while defending their dignity. It is the level of society where government is meant to be closest to the people and therefore at its strongest. Yet it is also where government is often most balkanised, distant from lived reality, losing sight of the individuals who make up the whole. The forest is visible, but the trees are too often forgotten.
You have stood constantly in the path of danger, of disrespect, of deprivation, and pushed back against the might of a sometimes ruthless State power with as little as words and collaboration with allies. One of your favourite channels for that is the radio. You have helped duty bearers clear their lens so they can better ‘see’ the reality confronting them and the people they were charged to protect.
Your reports are like newsfeeds of what’s happening at the grassroots. You insist we hear, listen, and engage. Your monthly magazine The Perspective finds us whether we like it or not. If you visit Abuja and miss me, I will have a few copies waiting. I am happy to note that you have now, very strategically, moved the magazine to an online resource.
A one-man army.
I have deep respect for your insistence on being heard, knowing that when your voice carries, it creates space for countless poor, especially women, children, and persons with disabilities to be heard as well. Even those on the supply side listen and take notice. You have refused the false comfort of silence, choosing instead to speak your truth with courage and purpose.
What is most inspiring about you is how, with meagre resources, you hold the space strong, persistently, and consistently in Kogi, while staying connected with what is going on nationally. A few times, you would drive out to Abuja, and the car would break down. Even your body broke down, and from the hospital you would return to the frontline.
In recent years, Kogi State has witnessed some of the worst flood disasters in Nigeria’s history, destroying farmland, homes, and infrastructure, cutting off access to schools and health centres, and leaving families, especially women and children, in temporary shelters with limited relief supplies. In October 2024, more than two million people across 200 communities in nine local government areas were displaced. This highlights the recurring vulnerability of communities along the River Niger and Benue confluence and the urgent need for stronger flood control and disaster preparedness measures.
Through your Conscience for Human Rights and Conflict Resolution Centre platform, numerous radio appearances, and your publications, you continue to shine a light on the misappropriation of resources in your beloved home state, keeping the recurring floods and resulting displacement firmly in public view. By simplifying state budget documents and producing accessible flyers and materials, you have educated citizens on resisting election violence and voter apathy. Your work exemplifies public service of the highest order and merits national recognition.
Just when I thought you were already focused on the bottom of the pyramid, you further surprised me when, since 2020, you have consistently spent your family holidays in the village, as you call it, in a bungalow that has been undergoing construction for years. This is the good old pure way where we lived within our means, unashamed to use an old car or live in a ramshackle house or a half-finished one. We wore our money poverty with pride and the confidence that we were rich in other currencies that matter – integrity, humility, knowledge, a strong network, and a giving of ourselves beyond the call of duty.
I am always struck by your audacity and your fearless disregard for English Language syntax and sentence structure. To you, it is simply another vernacular, hardly a reason to abandon your own. Instead, you therefore make the English language your own, adapting and adopting it as needed, and leaving the rest of us to decipher the meaning behind your words.
Miliki, I see you. I hear you. I understand you.
Thank you for your brand of friendship through the years. Thank you for the prayers said in your country home masjid for friends and country. May the Almighty reward you. Whenever I get a call or see a text message, I know it is because ‘wahala dey’ but it is a good kind of trouble, the kind that dares us not to act on what we know to be a genuine and urgent need.
On the days when work feels lonely, remember that more people than you may realise are watching, standing with you, and recognising the value of what you are striving to do in Kogi State and beyond, for the poor and the communities you continue to serve with courage and care.
Happy International Women’s Day, 2026. May every day be Women’s Day, someday.
#GiveToGain
– Amina A Salihu, PhD, mni
Feminist. Farmer. Philanthropist.
