The lights in Zuru: A small shine in a dark time

By Kebbi Daily News on Fri Oct 17 2025

Rt. Hon. Muhammad Usman Ankwe, has rolled out the distribution of 150 solar streetlights across 10 wards in Zuru

Zuru, Kebbi State — For once, the news coming out of Nigeria’s rural heartland isn’t about bandit attacks, political grandstanding, or bureaucratic paralysis. It’s about something deceptively simple yet profoundly symbolic — light. Real, tangible light. The kind that pierces through darkness and makes a community feel seen again.

The Speaker of the Kebbi State House of Assembly, Rt. Hon. Muhammad Usman Ankwe, has rolled out the distribution of 150 solar streetlights across 10 wards in Zuru Local Government Area. Now, let’s be honest — that’s not the kind of headline that usually shakes up the national discourse. But maybe it should. Because in a time when too many leaders talk big and deliver little, this is the kind of leadership that actually touches lives, quite literally illuminating paths where government promises rarely reach.

When Rt. Hon. Ankwe stood before local leaders and residents in Zuru to flag off the installation, he didn’t come with empty rhetoric or media drama. He came with a simple gesture of service — to light up streets that have, for too long, been left to the mercy of darkness, insecurity, and neglect. In a world where symbolism matters, solar lights are more than bulbs on poles. They are defiance against decay.

The applause was loud and heartfelt — not the forced type you hear at political rallies, but the kind that comes from genuine appreciation. Hajiya Hadiza Musa, the Councillor representing Ciroman Dabai Ward, put it best when she said that the project “reflects current realities.” Indeed, it does. Because the reality is that when a street is well-lit, people walk safer, traders close later, and communities feel alive again.

Of course, critics might scoff — “150 solar lights? Is that what we’re celebrating now?” But that cynicism misses the point. In a state where electricity remains erratic, where rural development often sits at the bottom of the budgetary food chain, 150 solar-powered lights can mean the difference between fear and freedom. Between a market that closes at 6 p.m. and one that thrives till 10. Between a girl who walks home safely and one who doesn’t make it back.

This initiative isn’t a miracle; it’s a reminder — that governance starts with the basics. You can talk all day about infrastructure, economic transformation, and national growth, but if your people still walk in darkness, you’ve already failed them.

The event, held under the watchful eyes of community leaders, party executives, and local government officials, was a blend of pride and pragmatism. Among those in attendance were Hon. Samaila Abdullahi, Vice Chairman of Zuru LGA; Alhaji Abubakar Aliyu Abiola, the Zuru Local Government Party Chairman; Alhaji Mai Kudi Salah; Hon. Rabiu Bedi; councilors; and other party executives.

The message from everyone present was clear: place the lights strategically, not politically. That’s a subtle but powerful demand — that these lights should shine for everyone, not just for the favored few. It’s a lesson every government, from local to federal, needs to learn. Development isn’t about favoritism; it’s about fairness.

Now, let’s put this in broader context. Zuru isn’t just any local government. It’s a region that has, in recent years, battled insecurity, rural isolation, and economic stagnation. Roads are worn, power supply is patchy at best, and public infrastructure struggles to keep up with population needs. For many in Zuru, development has always been something that happens elsewhere — in Birnin Kebbi, in Abuja, or on television. So when a project like this arrives at their doorstep, it’s more than infrastructure — it’s recognition. It’s the government saying, “We see you.”

And that matters. Because one of the biggest problems Nigeria faces today isn’t just poverty or corruption; it’s invisibility. Entire communities have been made invisible — forgotten in budgets, ignored in policies, and erased from national conversations. Solar lights in Zuru may not solve unemployment, but they break that invisibility. They tell the people of Danko, Dabai, and Bena that they still count.

In a speech that was both measured and hopeful, Speaker Ankwe emphasized that the lights are part of a broader effort to enhance community safety and encourage evening economic activities. It’s a small but smart step — because where light goes, commerce follows. And where commerce thrives, security improves. It’s the oldest formula in urban planning, yet it’s one Nigeria keeps forgetting: the brighter your streets, the safer your people.

What stands out about Ankwe’s approach is not the number of lights but the intent. It’s not about grandstanding; it’s about groundwork. This isn’t one of those ribbon-cutting ceremonies where the cameras pack up and the project fades away. These are solar lights — sustainable, renewable, reliable. They don’t need generators, they don’t need constant maintenance, and they don’t rely on NEPA’s mercy. They’ll keep shining long after the applause fades.

Still, the symbolism goes deeper. In many ways, this act reflects a theory from political science — the “Incremental Model” of public policy. It argues that progress doesn’t always come from sweeping reforms, but from small, deliberate steps that accumulate into meaningful change. What Rt. Hon. Ankwe has done here isn’t revolution; it’s relevance. He’s chosen the path of incremental impact — a kind of grassroots realism that says, “Let’s fix what we can reach.”

It’s a refreshing contrast to the national mood, where politics often feels like theatre — where leaders chase viral headlines instead of verifiable results. In Zuru, the Speaker chose action over optics. And that, frankly, is revolutionary in its own quiet way.

But it’s also a test. Because projects like this thrive on accountability. The local authorities and ward leaders who were urged to “strategically” install the lights now carry the responsibility of ensuring they’re used wisely. A solar lamp that ends up in a politician’s compound instead of a dark marketplace isn’t just theft; it’s betrayal. The community must own this project — protect it, monitor it, sustain it. Development, after all, is a shared duty.

As the sun set over Zuru that evening, something poetic happened. The first batch of the solar lights flickered to life, casting a golden glow over dusty roads and quiet homes. Children stopped to stare. Traders smiled. Even the elders nodded in approval. It wasn’t a stadium or a flyover, but it was progress. It was hope you could see.

And maybe that’s what Nigeria needs right now — not another slogan, not another “transformation agenda,” but a thousand small lights scattered across forgotten places. Because real change rarely comes from Abuja pronouncements. It comes from men and women like Rt. Hon. Muhammad Usman Ankwe — leaders who choose to shine a little light where it’s darkest.

So yes, 150 solar lights might sound small in the grand scheme of governance. But for Zuru, it’s the beginning of something bigger — a signal that leadership can still mean service, that progress can still be practical, and that even in a nation as weary as ours, a single light can still cut through the dark.

In a world drowning in excuses, that’s worth celebrating.