Kazuyoshi Miura, who turns 59 in February and is the world’s oldest professional footballer, has signed a loan deal until June with Japanese third division side Fukushima United.
The move means Miura could play in the J.League – the top three divisions of Japanese football – for the first time in five years.
The former Japan striker, who started his career with Brazilian side Santos in 1986, failed to score in 69 minutes across seven appearances last season on loan at fourth-tier club Atletico Suzuka.
“My passion for football hasn’t changed, no matter how old I get,” he said as he prepares for a 41st season as a professional footballer.
“I’m very grateful to be given this opportunity. I promise I will play with everything I have to make a contribution. Let’s make history together!”
Known as ‘King Kazu’ in Japan, this will be Miura’s fourth loan since 2022 from J2 League side Yokohama FC.
Miura, who has also played club football in Italy, Croatia and Australia, signed for the club in 2005 but has not played a minute for them since 2020.
He scored 55 goals in 89 games in an international career that ended in 2000, two years after his notable omission from the squad for Japan’s first World Cup finals appearance.
Miura, who has talked of playing until he is 60, said he was ready to “take on a new challenge” after being relegated last season to Japan’s regional leagues.
Fukushima finished 10th in the 20-team third division last season.
Amid Lagos’s Christmas lights and music, millions of Nigerians face a harsher reality of rising prices, unpaid rent, and empty cupboards. In the absence of reliable government support, churches and mosques have become de facto welfare providers, distributing food, covering school fees, and easing hardship. For many struggling families, faith-based aid bridges the gap between survival and despair, revealing both extraordinary generosity and deep systemic failure, reports Deputy Political Editor RAYMOND MORDI
A few days before Christmas, while traffic snakes through Lagos and carols echo from loudspeakers across neighbourhoods, a quieter scene plays out behind the gates of a Pentecostal church in Iju-Ishaga. Before the morning service, a small crowd gathers, lining up in calm, orderly rows. Volunteers call out names from a handwritten list, checking them off meticulously. Bags of rice, bottles of groundnut oil, and basic cooking condiments are distributed with quiet efficiency. No one asks for a voter’s card, a tax record, or any bureaucratic documentation—there are no forms, no background checks, just the simple act of giving.
Mary Okafor, a widow raising three young children, clutches a Bagco bag brimming with rice, beans, and tomato paste as she steps away from the church grounds. Her eyes glisten with relief. Only a week earlier, she had felt the familiar, gnawing anxiety of wondering how to put a Christmas meal on the table. Now, thanks to the Redeemed Christian Church of God’s annual food distribution, that burden has lifted—at least for a while. “This is God telling me He hasn’t forgotten us,” she whispers, voice trembling with quiet gratitude.
Across town, in Lekki, a similar story takes place within a very different religious context. After Friday Jummah prayers at the Lekki Central Mosque, dozens of men and women—some elderly, others pushing strollers or carrying small children—wait patiently in line. They are not here for a sermon, but for sustenance: bags of staples purchased with zakat, the mandatory alms prescribed in Islam. For Ahmed Garuba, a tailor whose small business shuttered earlier this year, this package of rice, beans, and cooking oil eases a month filled with uncertainty and financial strain. “When the world says there is no way,” he says quietly, “your faith makes a way.”
Poverty and faith-based welfare in Nigeria
Nigeria faces a profound and persistent poverty crisis. Despite being rich in natural resources and possessing one of Africa’s largest economies, millions of Nigerians live below the poverty line. Over 70 million people—roughly one-third of the population—survive on less than $2 a day, according to the National Bureau of Statistics. Rising inflation, currency instability and the soaring cost of food have further eroded purchasing power, making basic necessities increasingly unaffordable.
Structural factors exacerbate this crisis. Unemployment remains high, particularly among youth, and a large portion of the workforce is engaged in informal, precarious jobs that provide little security or social protection. Rural communities, heavily reliant on subsistence farming, face additional threats from climate change, flooding, and land degradation. Urban centres, meanwhile, are plagued by overcrowding, rising housing costs, and inadequate public services, leaving many residents in slums and informal settlements.
Government welfare programmes exist, such as the National Social Investment Programme (NSIP) and conditional cash transfers, but critics insist their reach is limited. Coverage is uneven, disbursement irregular, and bureaucratic inefficiencies and corruption reduce effectiveness. Social protection spending accounts for just 0.14 per cent of Nigeria’s GDP, far below the global average of 1.5 percent, leaving many families with little recourse in times of crisis.
In this vacuum, religious institutions have stepped in as critical providers of support. Churches and mosques across Nigeria distribute food, pay school fees, assist with rent, and provide emergency cash, effectively becoming de facto welfare systems. Their reach often extends into communities that formal programs cannot penetrate, offering immediate relief where the state falls short. For millions, faith-based aid is not merely charitable—it is a lifeline.
These programmes operate through both structured initiatives and informal networks. Large churches, such as the Redeemed Christian Church of God and Deeper Life Bible Church, have dedicated welfare ministries that manage monthly distributions, educational support, and housing assistance. In Islam, zakat—the obligatory alms—is redistributed through organisations such as the Zakat and Sadaqat Foundation, funding education, healthcare, and small businesses. Local mosques also organise food distribution and emergency aid, creating community-level safety nets.
The strengths of faith-based welfare lie in accessibility and local knowledge. Clerics often know families personally, allowing aid to reach those most in need quickly and efficiently. Programs are flexible, responding to urgent requirements that formal welfare schemes may miss. Support is delivered in familiar and trusted environments, fostering dignity and social cohesion.
However, reliance on religious institutions also has limits. Aid can be uneven, sometimes tied to membership, moral expectations, or visibility within a congregation. Vulnerable groups—such as people with disabilities, widows, and single mothers—may be unintentionally excluded. Sustainability depends heavily on donations and volunteer labour. Yet despite these challenges, faith-based welfare highlights both the extraordinary generosity of communities and the persistent inadequacies of state-led social protection. In Nigeria, it is not merely a supplement; it has become an essential component of survival for millions.
What does it mean when access to basic survival is mediated by religious affiliation rather than by rights guaranteed by the state? When help is conditional, given as charity rather than as a legal or civic entitlement, what vulnerabilities emerge? And when survival depends on proximity to a mosque, church, or faith leader, what does that say about the state’s role in ensuring the welfare of its citizens?
Nigeria lacks a comprehensive welfare infrastructure. Unemployment insurance is largely inaccessible. Health insurance, particularly for those in the informal sector, is rare. Social assistance exists in scattered programs that are underfunded, poorly coordinated, and often tied to political patronage rather than need. In such a vacuum, faith fills the gap. Churches and mosques are physically present, linguistically familiar, and socially embedded in communities where government services rarely penetrate. Clerics often know who has lost employment, who is behind on rent, or whose child has dropped out of school. Seeking help from them is not just natural—it is often the only viable option.
However, reliance on religious welfare subtly reshapes the social contract. Aid is dispensed at the discretion of faith leaders or welfare committees, often guided by membership, perceived moral character, or visible commitment to the congregation. This system, while compassionate, is inherently uneven. It blends spiritual authority with social influence, and the line between voluntary charity and dependence on religious power can blur. For the families lining up for food or assistance, these complexities may feel distant. What matters most is the immediate relief—food on the table, a roof over one’s head, the ability to send a child to school.
Faith-based welfare in Nigeria has grown not only in scope but in sophistication. Large churches have established dedicated welfare ministries to manage the influx of requests. A pastor at a branch of Deeper Life Bible Church in Lagos, speaking anonymously, describes how his church has created a welfare department to meet the “growing number of people seeking assistance of one kind or another.” The support offered is wide-ranging: food, cash, school fees, rent, even temporary housing. Budgets are flexible, records are often minimal, and the demand is relentless. “We attend to dozens of people every month,” the pastor explains. “There is never a shortage of need.”
Funding comes from the church’s main funds and occasional targeted donations. While most beneficiaries are church members, the aid sometimes extends to others in the community. “It is both a religious obligation and a way to fill a gap left by the state,” the pastor says.
Mosques operate similarly. Beyond the obligatory zakat, many mosques have organized food distribution programs, emergency cash grants, and educational sponsorships. These programs often rely on volunteers from the congregation who know the recipients personally, ensuring that aid reaches those genuinely in need. This personal connection fosters a sense of dignity for the recipient but also reinforces the idea that access to basic necessities can depend on being known or visible to a religious community.
At the New Nations Baptist Church in Maryland, Lagos, faith-based welfare operates with structure and intent. The church’s Benevolence Ministry, led by Pastor Sunny Udemba, forms the core of its social outreach. “It is an anomaly when people do not have food to eat at home,” Udemba explains. “Usually, anyone who needs help is directed to that ministry.”
Each month, the ministry assists between 15 and 25 people, though urgent needs can expand that number. Support ranges from food and basic necessities to school fees, rent, and emergency expenses. When it comes to education, the church ensures that financial assistance targets genuine need rather than academic performance. “We may not pay 100 per cent,” Udemba notes, “but we will assist.” Church members are encouraged to contribute resources for the poor. Some donate food, others give cash, while referrals sometimes extend aid to non-members. “We regard it as part of evangelism,” Udemba says, emphasising that assistance is not conditional on joining the church, though some beneficiaries later do.
Islamic welfare operates on a similarly systematic foundation, with zakat—the obligatory alms—as its cornerstone. Organisations such as the Zakat and Sadaqat Foundation (ZSF) leverage this religious obligation to create an extensive support network across Nigeria. In 2025 alone, ZSF disbursed N653 million across 28 states, funding education, medical care, and small businesses. “Zakat is not just about wealth transfer,” says ZSF executive director Prince Sulayman Olagunju. “It is about restoring dignity and hope.”
Community-level efforts reinforce this approach. The Lekki Muslim Ummah distributed N162 million to more than 400 people in 2025. Its president, Dr AbdulGaniyu Labinjo, emphasises that recipients are expected to eventually contribute zakat themselves, creating a cycle of empowerment. Chief Imam Dr Ridwan Jamiu often reminds beneficiaries to use the funds responsibly, avoiding spending on celebrations, and prioritizing essential needs.
Such programmes are far from ad hoc charity. They are organised, predictable systems grounded in religious teachings and financed by tithes, offerings, zakat, and donations. For many Nigerians, these faith-based networks are more reliable than state welfare. Over the past 25 years, ZSF has distributed over N5 billion, benefiting more than 100,000 people, highlighting the scale and continuity of religious social support.
Government programmes, by contrast, remain fragmented and limited. Initiatives such as the National Social Investment Programme exist, but their reach is minimal. Many Nigerians cannot identify anyone who has benefited, and the processes for receiving aid are opaque. Social assistance is often tied to emergencies or political cycles, rather than being a sustained, predictable support system. A World Bank report in November 2025 highlighted the problem. Nigeria allocates only 0.14 per cent of its GDP to social protection, far below the global average of 1.5 per cent. The report noted that this “tiny allocation” reduced poverty by just 0.4 percentage points, and only 44 per cent of benefits reached the poorest citizens.
Experts warn that the system’s weaknesses are deep-rooted. Segun Tekun, a former UNICEF and ILO specialist, says Nigeria’s welfare apparatus is “too weak to combat poverty,” noting that reliance on donors—estimated at 60 per cent—makes social protection unsustainable.
Others are more direct. Emmanuel Gabari, a social worker, human rights activist, and UN Youth Ambassador based in Kano, observes that government responses are reactive rather than proactive. “Nigeria’s social welfare system is nothing to write home about,” he says. “The government only responds in emergencies.” Gabari recalls images of officials throwing bread from boats to flood victims in Borno, asking rhetorically, “How does that bread get to the people?”
Scandals further erode public trust. During the COVID-19 pandemic, hoarded palliatives led to food shortages, prompting people to break into warehouses. “People broke into warehouses because they were hungry,” Gabari notes. “That tells you everything.” For many Nigerians, these gaps have made faith-based welfare not just a supplement, but a lifeline. Churches and mosques provide predictable, community-rooted support when the state cannot. While this relief is vital, it also underscores the stark contrast between government provision and the capacity of religious institutions to meet basic human needs. In a country where millions live hand-to-mouth, faith-based welfare has become an essential part of daily life, offering both sustenance and dignity in a system where state support remains inconsistent, opaque, and often inaccessible.
For people like Mary Okafor, the debates over social policy feel distant and abstract. The hospital still demands payment, the landlord still expects rent, and bureaucratic forms remain a barrier she cannot navigate. When she needs help, it is the church that answers the phone, the mosque that opens its doors. Faith-based welfare is immediate, tangible, and familiar—a lifeline when official systems fail.
Yet even this lifeline has limits. Assistance is often conditional, whether explicitly or implicitly tied to belief, participation, or moral conformity. Those outside dominant faith communities may find themselves entirely excluded. Questions of dignity also arise: some beneficiaries hesitate to request help publicly, fearing judgment or stigma. Vulnerable groups, including people with disabilities, widows and single mothers, may be unintentionally overlooked, as many programmes rely on informal networks rather than structured outreach.
The burden on religious institutions is heavy. Clerics themselves acknowledge the strain. “We are seeing more cases than before,” says a pastor at Deeper Life Bible Church. “We worry about sustainability.” Not every religious leader embraces the role of social provider. “The church is not the state,” insists Pastor Sunny Udemba of New Nations Baptist Church. “If the system worked, we would have less to do.” Similarly, Imam Sadiq, speaking on zakat, cautions: “Zakat is not a substitute for public policy. It is a moral obligation, not a governance framework.”
Experts warn that leaving social protection entirely to faith-based organisations carries risks. It can deepen inequality, reduce transparency, and relieve the government of its responsibility to citizens. Welfare delivered solely as charity is fundamentally different from welfare guaranteed as a right. Without state involvement, access can remain uneven, arbitrary, and tied to subjective judgments about worthiness or loyalty.
At the same time, the solution is not to dismantle faith-based welfare. Rather, innovative collaboration between religious institutions and government agencies could harness the strengths of both. Structured partnerships—with oversight, transparency, and clear boundaries—could allow churches and mosques to identify and reach those in need, while the government provides funding, regulation, and guarantees of inclusion. “This can work,” says Emmanuel Gabari, a social worker and UN Youth Ambassador based in Kano. “But only with sincerity, accountability, and transparency. The intentions of both parties must be genuine. The government should not be giving out palliatives or empowerment programs only around election time. And the churches must ensure that resources reach those in need, not just enrich a select group within their congregation. The common goal must be to alleviate poverty.”
In the absence of reliable government support, Nigerians have long relied on resilience—finding ways to endure when systems fail them. Increasingly, however, that resilience is sustained not by public institutions, but by faith, community, and charity. Religious organizations provide predictability, familiarity, and human connection in a landscape where official welfare is fragmented, underfunded, and often politically influenced.
Back in Iju-Ishaga, Mary Okafor leaves the church with her bag of rice, beans, and tomato paste, and with the quiet reassurance that someone will check in on her. It is not a solution to all her problems, but it is immediate relief, a reprieve from hunger and worry. Across town, her Muslim neighbour will visit the mosque on Friday to receive similar support. In these small acts, the gaps left by the state are momentarily bridged. Nigeria’s religious institutions did not set out to become a parallel welfare system. They stepped in because no one else did. Whether the government will eventually reclaim this role, or learn to coordinate with faith-based organisations to ensure equity and efficiency, remains uncertain.
Until that happens, people like Mary will continue to line up, quietly trusting in the system that works where others fail. In a nation where formal social protection is insufficient, faith-based welfare is more than charity—it is survival. It reflects both the generosity of communities and the enduring fragility of public support, a duality that defines the lived reality of millions across Nigeria. In the streets of Lagos, in the mosques of Lekki, and in countless neighbourhoods across the country, the lines continue. People wait. They trust. They endure. And faith, in its many forms, remains the bridge between need and relief, between hunger and hope.
Lagos glows differently at Christmas. From Ikoyi to Victoria Island, streets pulse with cascading lights that transform bridges and avenues into luminous stages. Children pause in awe, couples stroll hand in hand, and the city’s usual rush softens beneath the glow. Sounds mingle—music, laughter, and whispered marvels—while familiar concrete corridors become magical spaces of celebration, connection and wonder, proving that seasonal light can reshape both the city and the way it is experienced, reports NTAKOBONG OTONGARAN
The lights announce themselves long before the bridge comes into view. On Alfred Rewane Road in Ikoyi, as traffic slows toward the Falomo roundabout and the span linking Ikoyi to Victoria Island, the glow of Christmas begins to seep into the night. Vehicles inch along beneath the broad concrete stretch of the Falomo Bridge, brake lights forming a thread of red that snakes into the distance like fireflies caught in motion. Above, festive bulbs flicker in gentle waves, softening the harsh edges of the bridge and surrounding flyovers that Lagosians traverse daily without notice. The illumination transforms the familiar into something intimate and celebratory, warm and inviting in a way that the city rarely permits.
Beneath the bridge, at the roundabout, attention is drawn to the spectacle. A small gathering lines the roadside railings, murmuring quietly while colours wash over the concrete below. Soft music hums from a portable speaker, punctuating the city’s usual din. Pedestrians pause mid-stride, taking turns posing for photos, their figures outlined by the ambient glow. In the creeping traffic, drivers lower windows, faces lifted toward the lights, tension easing in the unusual serenity. A danfo conductor steps off his bus to stretch, standing beside the road with an easy grin. The lights prompt a rare pause, a moment of acknowledgment in the constant rush of Lagos life.
Across the roundabout, strands of white and blue cascade from the bridge, hanging like frozen rain. Under their shimmer, a brief hush settles over the space, and the usual noise of the city retreats. In this glow, a child in a bright red shirt clutches a mother’s hand, eyes wide with wonder. “I want to touch it,” the child insists. “It is light, not a toy,” the mother replies, laughter in her voice. “But it looks real,” the child counters, gazing upward.
Around them, the crowd shifts and mingles. Young men pedal bicycles slowly through the display, couples stroll hand in hand, and friends in matching green “Detty December” shirts cluster, capturing the scene on phones. Each visitor participates in the shared ritual, documenting and pausing, transformed by the interplay of illumination and imagination.
Once ordinary and overlooked, the space beneath the Falomo Bridge has been reborn as a Christmas tableau. Statues of Santa Claus and his reindeer share space with a manger and towering Christmas trees. Stars and snowflakes glow beside abstract shapes, each light a deliberate flourish in the city’s seasonal storytelling. The display forms a luminous garden of colour and creativity, framed by the low rumble of traffic and the mixed scents of evening: charcoal fires, roasted corn, exhaust, and humid Lagos air blending into a familiar urban perfume. The scene feels almost unreal, a pause in a city synonymous with noise, urgency, and struggle.
Families gather as if the under-bridge area were a shared living room. Toddlers toddle toward glowing sculptures, cautious and fascinated. Teenagers position themselves for selfies beneath the falling strands of light. Vendors call softly to passing pedestrians, offering roasted corn or small treats, their voices mingling with the subtle hum of music and murmured awe. Each gesture, each movement, reinforces a sense of collective enjoyment—a city pausing in unison to embrace a rare moment of wonder.
Amid the crowd, expressions mirror relief and delight. People accustomed to navigating the bridge at full speed linger, taking in the spectacle, the lights offering a tangible connection to the season. The display is not just decoration; it is a statement, a declaration that the city, for all its chaos, can yield spaces of beauty, pause, and reflection. The lights become more than ornaments—they become a language of celebration, recognition, and shared experience.
The Falomo Bridge, usually a mere conduit of movement and urgency, transforms under the illumination into a stage for human emotion. Children’s laughter mingles with the low hum of conversation. The scent of roasting corn drifts over the gathering, mingling with the exhaust and the evening breeze. Every visitor, intentional or accidental, finds a moment to stop, to watch, to capture a memory in the glow of falling lights. The spectacle embodies a paradox: a city famous for relentless energy and impatience slows, even briefly, to marvel. Every light, every sculpture, every reflection on the concrete beneath the bridge speaks of joy, generosity, and imagination. In the shimmer, Lagos appears simultaneously familiar and new—its character reshaped by the ephemeral magic of a holiday transformed into shared experience.
From Falomo, the drive winds through Victoria Island along Ajose Adeogun Street, a corridor transformed into a luminous wonderland. The road glitters for nearly a kilometre, every tree draped in cascades of lights. Branches curve and stretch, corners and curves illuminated in white and gold. The effect is not merely decorative; it is immersive. Vehicles slow to a near crawl, passengers leaning from open windows to drink in the spectacle. Soft gasps ripple through the street, laughter drifts on the evening air, and moments of silence punctuate the magic. A Christmas song plays from a Bluetooth speaker balanced on the roof of a car, and suddenly the street hums with the energy of a small, spontaneous concert.
Near Zenith Bank headquarters, a cluster of friends stands shoulder to shoulder, faces uplifted to the illumination. The street feels alive, breathing with an almost tangible spirit of the season. Lights flicker across the avenue, and the crowd absorbs the glow in quiet awe. At the Eko Hotel roundabout, the decorations rise even higher. Enormous Christmas trees tower over the gathering like glowing skyscrapers. Across the roundabout, the words Peace, Joy, and Love shimmer, spreading across the expanse like a gentle command to pause and absorb the moment.
The crowd stretches along the avenue, too numerous to count. Some walk slowly, others pause to take photographs. Children run freely through the lights as if propelled by magic, weaving between adults who stop mid-step to admire the spectacle. A photographer, camera strapped to his neck, waits patiently for the perfect shot. Weddings, birthdays, funerals—none of those occasions compare to this moment, he says quietly. People smile here without effort, as if the city itself compels joy. Nearby, a family of six gathers around a reindeer sculpture, phone cameras held high to preserve the memory. Laughter bubbles as poses are struck, tongues are stuck out in mischief, and passers-by become part of the frame.
Across town in Marina, the scene takes on a different hue, layered against colonial-era buildings and the pulsing business district. By day, the area is loud, fast, and unforgiving, but on this Sunday night, under the glow of Christmas, it softens. People drift between stalls selling soft drinks and suya, the light bouncing off polished vehicles and open bus windows. Music floats through the air, mingling with the calls of vendors. A woman selling second-hand cloth dances with arms raised, her voice rising: “One thousand five hundred naira… Christmas bonanza.” Rhythmic clapping follows, smiles are exchanged, and the city hums in a different, gentler rhythm.
Couples sit quietly on benches, sipping beverages. One man, shy, remarks that it is their first Christmas together, a visit inspired by tales of the city’s special lights. His companion lifts her eyes to the sky, breath caught in wonder. The city feels unfamiliar yet familiar, transformed by colour and illumination. Older men gather at the roundabout, their conversation a mix of English and Yoruba, laughter punctuating reminiscences. “Marina used to be dark,” one observes. “Now look at this. Even my grandchildren want to come.”
Christmas lights shape more than space; they shape behaviour. They alter the way people walk, speak, and regard one another. The illumination softens the edges of the city, allowing a pause in Lagos’s characteristic rush. At JJT Park in Alausa, near the State House of Assembly, this festive spirit continues. The park glows as if the night sky itself has been brought to the ground. Children dart through the open spaces, elderly couples stroll arm in arm, and teenagers congregate near the fountain, whispering and laughing over shared drinks. The display encourages lingering, conversation, and play. “I have lived in Lagos for thirty years,” remarks a retired teacher, observing the scene. “This is usually the most special time of the year. These lights are not only decoration. They make people feel alive.”
Across the city, the impact is the same. Christmas light in Lagos transcends symbolism; it resonates emotionally. The populace chases beauty because beauty is scarce and fleeting. When it appears, it is held close, savoured. The displays invite families and friends to pose for photographs and short videos, whether beside illuminated trees, reindeer sculptures, or tunnels of light. National concerns about rising costs or security fade into the background. Well-lit streets, a strong police presence, and the deliberate planning of public spaces create an atmosphere of safety and inclusion, allowing the city to celebrate collectively.
In every district, the transformation is profound. Streets that once carried only the business of transit now host moments of pause. Familiar structures are reframed in colour and light, and the city, usually relentless in its energy, slows for a season. Children, couples, friends, and strangers alike share brief, unguarded moments of wonder. In Lagos, Christmas is not confined to homes or shopping centres—it spills into the streets, painting the city with light, warmth, and a shared sense of magic.
Partnerships and sponsors behind Lagos’s Christmas illuminations
The festive glow that stretches across Lagos each year is far from a spontaneous flourish. It is the result of deliberate collaboration between private sector partners, corporate sponsors, and government agencies, all working in tandem to shape the city’s holiday celebrations.
On Victoria Island, Zenith Bank’s Ajose Adeogun Street installation has long been a highlight of the city’s seasonal decor. Now in its 19th year, the installation has become a cornerstone of Lagos’s festive identity. To accommodate the display, portions of the street are temporarily rerouted, with carefully executed traffic diversion plans implemented over several weekends. This ensures that crews can mount lights and structures safely while maintaining orderly vehicular flow, demonstrating how urban planning and event management intersect to create seamless public experiences.
At Eko Hotels & Suites, the Tropical Christmas Wonderland marks its seventh year as one of the city’s most anticipated festive events. In collaboration with Zenith Bank and tourism partners, the hotel transforms its grounds into a thematic seasonal destination that combines lights, music, theatre, games, and family-focused entertainment. The 2025 edition, themed “Kingdom of Lights”, offers immersive experiences that celebrate Christmas through family engagement, cultural expression, and community participation. Visitors encounter theatrical performances, live music, children’s activities, and expansive light installations, drawing residents and tourists alike to a single, vibrant space.
Public and private sector collaboration was underscored during the grand light-up ceremony, which featured the participation of Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu. The event highlighted how civic leadership and corporate investment can converge to elevate Lagos’s festive culture and tourism appeal. Beyond providing visual spectacle, such initiatives position Lagos as a city capable of hosting large-scale cultural celebrations that generate economic activity while fostering social cohesion.
Other brands have contributed to the seasonal cheer. Maltina’s “Live the Season” Light Up campaign invited Lagosians to engage with neon displays and community-centered installations that emphasise togetherness, joy, and shared festive experiences. The multi-city initiative spanned Lagos, Abuja, and Ibadan, turning public spaces—roundabouts, parks, and intersections—into hubs of celebration. By creating interactive environments, the campaign encouraged residents to gather, participate, and make lasting memories amid the lights.
This year’s festive illuminations carry a broader civic dimension as well. The Lagos State Commissioner for Tourism, Arts and Culture, Mrs Toke Benson-Awoyinka, formally launched the 2025 “Light Up Lagos” Festive Illumination at the Chief Obafemi Awolowo Monument on Obafemi Awolowo Way in Ikeja. The initiative aims not only to beautify the state but also to boost tourism, strengthen community bonds, and reinforce Lagos’s identity as a centre for culture, entertainment, and innovation. Government officials, brand ambassadors, creatives, and residents gathered to witness the ceremonial switch-on, marking the start of illuminations across key corridors and public spaces.
The commissioner highlighted that these displays go beyond aesthetics. They align with the state’s broader THEMES Plus agenda—an integrated strategy designed to promote tourism, enhance social cohesion, and position Lagos as a global cultural hub. The lights lining Obafemi Awolowo Way and other landmarks are intended to symbolize unity, shared joy, and collective pride. In addition, festive activations create safe, family-friendly spaces, stimulate local commerce, and provide exposure for creatives whose work benefits from increased public engagement during the holiday season. Maltina’s sponsorship was cited as a notable example of corporate social responsibility, demonstrating how sustained public-private collaboration can expand the state’s cultural and tourism economy. Residents are encouraged to explore displays responsibly, participate in organized activities, and support local enterprises that thrive during the festive period.
Street lighting and urban transformation
While seasonal decorations draw immediate attention, the ongoing transformation of Lagos’s street lighting has redefined the city’s night-time environment year-round. As Africa’s largest urban centre, Lagos has historically relied on noisy generators and an unreliable electricity grid. Today, solar-powered streetlights are reshaping the cityscape, providing safety, visual appeal, and sustainable energy solutions.
The initiative is part of a broader vision under Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu’s THEMES agenda. Through the Light Up Lagos Solar Streetlight Initiative, implemented by the Lagos State Electrification Agency (LSEA) under the Ministry of Energy and Mineral Resources, more than 22,000 solar-powered streetlights are being installed across the metropolis. These lights illuminate highways, bridges, and residential areas, transforming the nocturnal cityscape and enhancing public safety.
The convergence of festive illumination and permanent urban lighting reflects a strategic blend of culture, sustainability, and civic planning. While Christmas lights bring joy and draw crowds, solar-powered streetlights create a lasting impact, making Lagos brighter, safer, and more inviting beyond the holiday season. Together, these efforts signal a city investing in both celebration and long-term urban transformation, demonstrating how vision, partnerships, and technology can enhance the quality of urban life.
For decades, Lagos relied heavily on the national grid and diesel-powered lamps to illuminate its streets at night. The system was costly, erratic, and environmentally detrimental, often leaving major thoroughfares shrouded in darkness. The solar streetlight initiative represents a decisive shift, harnessing renewable energy to improve urban safety, visibility, and sustainability.
Each solar streetlight functions as a self-sufficient unit, capturing sunlight by day and storing it for illumination at night, independent of the grid or fuel sources. Designed to operate for multiple days without direct sunlight, the units address the chronic unpredictability of electricity supply in the megacity. Beyond simple illumination, the installations integrate modern urban management features: NightSUN solar units equipped with smart monitoring systems, GPS tracking, and extended warranties contribute roughly 6MW of renewable solar capacity and 24.5MWh of energy storage to Lagos’s infrastructure.
The network now spans major corridors, including Governor’s Road at the Alausa Secretariat, Mobolaji Johnson Way, Herbert Macaulay Way in Yaba, Bode Thomas Road in Surulere, Market Street Oyingbo, Iddo, Eko Bridge, Marina Bridge, and the Lekki–Ikoyi Link Bridge. Additional deployments are underway along Ikorodu Road, Mobolaji Bank Anthony Way, Ikeja Bridge, Western Avenue, and the Gbagada–Oshodi expressway. Under the policy guidance of the Ministry of Energy and Mineral Resources, led by Mr. Biodun Ogunleye, and the technical oversight of Engr. Kamaldeen Abiodun Balogun, the project reflects a long-term vision for clean, sustainable energy aligned with urban planning and the city’s broader energy policy.
Once notorious for poor visibility after sundown, the corridor from Third Mainland Bridge to Berger on the Lagos–Ibadan Expressway has undergone a remarkable transformation. Previously dim and unevenly lit, the route presented hazards for motorists, discouraged nighttime pedestrian activity, and forced street traders to close early. Headlights alone were insufficient for safe navigation.
Today, solar lamps line the artery, illuminating the entire stretch from Eko Bridge through Iddo, Yaba, Oyingbo, Surulere, and onward to Berger. The lights have converted once shadowed zones into well-lit thoroughfares pulsing with activity after sunset. Street traders, pedestrians, and commuters alike now experience increased safety and accessibility, while the steady glow of the lamps reshapes how the city moves and breathes at night. The presence of reliable illumination alters urban behaviour. The city’s edges soften, encouraging people to look around, linger, and interact. Movement becomes less constrained by fear, and public spaces emerge as vibrant, navigable environments even after dark.
During the Christmas season, the effect is magnified. Seasonal decorations layered across the cityscape shine against the steady white light of solar lamps, enhancing both safety and aesthetic appeal. Lagosians pause to admire displays, take photographs, meet friends, and move through the city with confidence. From Third Mainland Bridge to Berger and from Ikoyi to Victoria Island, the roads carry more than traffic—they carry life, commerce, and the joy of celebration.
The solar streetlight initiative demonstrates the intersection of technology, policy, and urban experience. By combining renewable energy with strategic planning, Lagos has not only improved night-time visibility but also created a foundation upon which cultural celebrations, community gatherings, and economic activity can thrive. In this context, Christmas lights do more than dazzle—they build upon a visible, enduring infrastructure that reshapes the rhythm of the city, proving that investment in sustainable illumination is an investment in safety, civic pride, and urban vitality.
Across Kano, Jigawa and Kaduna states, the Partnership for Learning for All in Nigeria (PLANE) is transforming education through over 200 community learning hubs. These safe, inclusive spaces provide foundational literacy and numeracy skills to more than 25,000 children, including many previously out-of-school. By combining flexible learning, community engagement, and practical support, the hubs are reintegrating learners into schools, bridging gender gaps, and fostering a culture that values education for all children, reports FRANK IKPEFAN
Across northern Nigeria, millions of children remain excluded from formal education due to poverty, cultural resistance, insecurity, and limited access to schools. For many families, survival takes precedence over schooling, leaving young children to trade, beg, or work instead of learning the basic literacy and numeracy skills essential for their future. One such child is 11-year-old Hussaina, who spoke with our correspondent.
Every morning, she sets out to sell yams, a staple given to her by her parents, at Kachako market, a suburb in Takai Local Government Area of Kano State. Selling yams had become her daily routine, and her dreams of receiving a western education were slowly fading—until help came through a community learning hub. “I was hawking yam. My parents did not want me to go to school, but later some people helped me get a uniform, and I started attending,” Hussaina said.
In communities like Kachako, quiet but powerful efforts are reshaping the narrative. Locally driven initiatives such as community learning hubs are offering children who once had no path to education the opportunity to learn, grow, and reimagine their futures. These programs operate with the support of parents, religious leaders, and volunteers who increasingly see education as a shared responsibility.
Resistance to formal education has contributed to a sharp rise in out-of-school children in northern Nigeria. UNICEF data show that, as of 2023, more than 15.2 million children in the region—about 85 percent of the national total—are out of school. States such as Kano, Katsina, Bauchi, Sokoto, and Kebbi face the greatest challenges, including poverty, insecurity, and inadequate infrastructure.
According to Rahama Farah, Chief of UNICEF’s Kano Field Office, northern Nigeria continues to face a daunting education crisis, with Kano alone accounting for nearly 900,000 out-of-school children, Jigawa over 330,000, and Katsina more than 300,000. Collectively, these three states represent 16 per cent of Nigeria’s estimated 10.2 million out-of-school children.
Many of these children lack foundational skills in reading, writing, and mathematics, leaving them ill-prepared for an increasingly competitive world. Despite primary education being officially free and compulsory, roughly 10.5 million Nigerian children aged 5–14 remain outside the formal education system, missing critical opportunities to develop academically and socially.
Recently, Prof. Ango Abdullahi, Chairman of the Northern Elders’ Forum and former Vice-Chancellor of Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, described the situation as a national emergency, particularly in the areas of education, infrastructure, and economic inclusion. He criticised successive administrations for failing to address the North’s growing population of out-of-school children, citing inadequate funding and misplaced national priorities as major contributors to the crisis.
Abdullahi emphasised the scale of the challenge, noting that 80 per cent of Nigeria’s 20 million out-of-school children live in the North. “If even half of the N15 trillion national budget were allocated to education, we could ensure no child is left behind. That funding could provide schools, teachers, and learning equipment,” he said. The alarming figures and expert warnings underscore the urgent need for targeted interventions, increased investment, and policy reforms to ensure that northern Nigeria’s children have access to quality education, bridging the gap that has left millions uneducated and at risk of social and economic marginalisation.
Community learning hubs are beginning to chart a new path of hope. Supported by the United Kingdom Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO) through the Partnership for Learning for All in Nigeria (PLANE) programme, children in Kano, Kaduna, and Jigawa are gaining foundational literacy and numeracy skills. Although originally designed for in-school children, these hubs have attracted out-of-school learners, providing a platform to catch up on missed lessons. Many are eventually mainstreamed into conventional schools, where they can acquire further skills to prepare them for a better future.
In Kachako, Almajiri boys—who traditionally study under Islamic clerics—are also participating. Children like Hashimu, who paused formal schooling to attend Islamiyya, are now encouraged to return to school. Every Tuesday afternoon, dozens of children gather at the hub, arriving from all corners of the village and neighbouring communities. Some come straight from school, others from hawking or Islamic lessons. By 3 p.m., the hub buzzes with activity. Trained facilitators guide the children as they recite the alphabet, sing songs, chant poems, count numbers, and practice simple mathematics. Week after week, the Kachako hub has become more than a classroom—it is a space where children look forward to learning, playing, and growing. Here, foundational skills are no longer out of reach, and the cycle of exclusion is being challenged, one child at a time.
How an Islamic scholar champions western education
Convincing 57-year-old Mallam Ibrahim Abubakar, a respected Islamic teacher, on the benefits of western education was not easy. “Before, I hated Western education. Before the coming of PLANE, I hated it. I didn’t want any Westerners to come and interfere in my affairs, as I was focused on giving Islamic education to our children,” Abubakar admitted.
As an Islamic tutor, Abubakar’s strong preference for religious education over formal schooling was not unusual. Across northern Nigeria, religious education has had a significant impact, providing spiritual and moral grounding for children and instilling values such as honesty, hard work, compassion, and justice. It has also strengthened community bonds, giving children a shared cultural and religious identity.
However, relying solely on religious education without integrating it into the broader national educational system can limit children’s opportunities. Recognizing this, Abubakar gradually embraced the idea of blending Islamic and western education. Today, he has generously donated his compound for use as a community learning hub. “I was happy to give my space for promoting education in my community, as finding a place here in Kachako that is centrally located, accessible, and spacious enough for dozens of children is difficult,” Abubakar said.
Now popularly referred to as the Kachako hub landlord, Abubakar has witnessed the positive outcomes of combining formal and religious education. He notes that Almajiri children, who previously attended only his Qur’anic classes, are now benefitting from a broader curriculum. “I’m very, very happy to see that PLANE has so many plans concerning children’s education. I realise they are giving a good chance for our children to learn. Nowadays, it’s important for young ones to learn Western education together with Islamic education. They will grow up with wide knowledge, which will help them become good citizens and scholars,” he told our correspondent.
Results show children now learning and thriving
The Kachako community learning hub is a product of collective effort. It brings together the Kano State Universal Basic Education Board (SUBEB), which coordinates basic education in the state, the School-Based Management Committee (SBMC), which mobilises community ownership, Social Mobilisation Officers (SMOs), and volunteer facilitators who teach the children.
With Abubakar’s compound meeting the necessary specifications for a hub, the Social Mobilisation Officer for Takai LGA, Halima Shehu, and her colleagues were able to launch the hub with confidence. Parents, guardians, community leaders, and other religious teachers have also played critical roles in supporting the initiative and encouraging children to attend. “We started with only five learners. But with more sensitisation and community outreach, we grew to 20, then 50. Today, more than 200 children attend the learning hub,” Halima said, highlighting how advocacy and awareness encouraged parents to allow their children to participate.
Halima added: “Up to 70 out-of-school children approached me to be enrolled in a regular school. With the help of the SBMC, they have been enrolled in different primary schools. Some in Kachako, and some in Takai North. Meanwhile most of them still come here after school for the experience of the learning hub.
“As we all know, Islamiya is mainly religion based and they meet either in the mornings or evenings. The tutors were impressed by the idea that in addition to the religious instruction, the learning hub would provide an opportunity for learning literacy.”
Tasiu Sabo, 35, the main facilitator at the Kachako hub, expressed delight at the progress. He credited PLANE’s training, community outreach, Abubakar’s generosity, and the collective efforts of volunteers and local leaders for enabling previously underserved children to acquire essential skills. “The children have learned how to read, write, and do basic mathematics. Many of them, including those already enrolled in school, couldn’t read or write before. Some Almajiri learners had never been to school at all. Others return from hawking or Islamic lessons, and at first, some were reluctant to come. But when they saw us providing exercise books and pencils, they returned. Some children now refuse to hawk during lesson hours. They enjoy coming here to learn, and seeing their enthusiasm is very rewarding,” Tasiu said.
The children are not only gaining foundational literacy and numeracy skills, the aim of eventually mainstreaming the Almajiris and other out-of-school children into conventional schools is also being achieved through the hub. Through Abubakar’s vision and the combined efforts of the community, the Kachako hub has become a transformative space. It demonstrates how bridging Islamic and western education can provide children with a solid foundation for lifelong learning, preparing them to thrive in both their communities and the wider world.
Scaling impact across states
Across Kano, Jigawa, and Kaduna states, the Partnership for Learning for All in Nigeria (PLANE) has supported the establishment of over 200 community learning hubs, creating safe and inclusive spaces where children can gain foundational literacy and numeracy skills. Through targeted advocacy, flexible learning schedules, and strong community ownership, these hubs have reached more than 25,000 children, including many who were previously out-of-school. For numerous learners, the hubs have served as a bridge, helping them reintegrate into conventional schools and providing a foundation for long-term educational success. As more communities adopt this model, the initiative is not only improving literacy and numeracy but also fostering a culture that values education for all children, regardless of gender, background, or socio-economic status.
In Jigawa State, Hafsat Mohammed, a dedicated learning hub facilitator, described her motivation for volunteering: “The reason I give my time to help my brothers and sisters through the learning hub is to reduce their struggles and also reduce begging in the community. Since establishing this hub, more children are going to school now.” Hafsat’s commitment exemplifies how local ownership and personal investment can transform the educational landscape for vulnerable children.
“We started this community learning hub in 2022, with 30 pupils – 10 boys and 20 girls. With the help of our local government and also PLANE, our pupils are now 100. We really appreciate the kind of progress that we have made.
“The hub supported some children, about 30, to start attending school. These children were not attending school before. We are trying our best to see that they learn more with the help of the local government secretary who provided more materials to see that the children improve more.
“I have a passion for teaching in my community. It is part of giving back to my community. The PLANE training ignited my passion and interest and gave me an opportunity to serve my community,” she added.
In Kaduna State, the learning hub programme has also helped reintegrate out-of-school children and dropouts. Faiza Abdulmumin, volunteer facilitator for the Hauwa Cluster, shared the impact: “We made the parents of these children understand the importance of education and encouraged their children to go to school. In this learning hub, we currently have 200 children—120 girls and 80 boys.”
Faiza, who serves as the Social Mobilisation Officer in Sabon Gari Local Government, highlighted the tangible impact of the community learning hub programme. “Through the learning hub initiative, we have successfully reintegrated about 142 out-of-school children back into formal education,” she said. “Beyond enrolment, we have also engaged community philanthropists to provide school uniforms, writing materials, and other essentials for the children. For instance, the Vice-Chairman of Sabon Gari personally enrolled five children and provided them with uniforms and learning materials, while the District Head supported 50 children with school uniforms.”
She emphasised the hubs’ critical role in addressing gender disparities in education. “Through the learning hub, we have observed a significant increase in girls returning to school. Families are beginning to see first-hand the benefits of educating their daughters, and this is gradually shifting long-standing cultural perceptions around girls’ education,” Faiza explained.
Traditional leader and School-Based Management Committee (SBMC) Chair in Sabon Gari, Zaria, Kaduna State, Garba Galadima, described the initiative as a powerful catalyst for community engagement and self-reliance. “The Community Learning Hub has instilled a deep sense of communal responsibility. Local leaders are mobilising resources independently, demonstrating that impactful education interventions do not always have to rely on external government support,” he said.
Galadima, a dedicated reading ambassador, recounted the transformative impact on children and families. “The provision of uniforms, sandals, and learning materials, achieved entirely through community effort, underscores the potential of grassroots initiatives to drive sustainable change. Parents, after returning from farms or daily labour, often gather to observe the learning sessions. This involvement fosters a sense of shared responsibility and pride.”
He elaborated on the unique advantages of the informal learning environment: “The learning hub, by its very nature, allows children the freedom to showcase their talents, intellect, and creativity. They are not inhibited by the rigid structures of formal classrooms. Children who might have taken a year or more to grasp basic literacy and numeracy concepts are now performing at levels comparable to primary three or four students. It is remarkable to see their confidence grow as they explore and express their abilities.”
Galadima also reflected on the broader social and psychological impact of the hubs. “One of the most profound experiences has been witnessing physically challenged children engage in reading, writing, and artistic activities. These children, often marginalised, have found in the learning hubs a platform for inclusivity and empowerment. Their achievements bring immense joy and challenge the societal neglect they have faced for years.”
He further emphasised the lessons learned by the SBMC through the PLANE programme: “The greatest impact has been our ability to advocate and mobilise local resources. We have realised that we do not have to wait for the governor, commissioner, or high-level officials to intervene. The programme has equipped us with the skills to address minor challenges locally. This approach is essential because government resources are often limited and stretched across competing priorities.”
Galadima observed that the initiative has also created a meaningful channel for understanding community sentiments. “Engagement at the grassroots level has revealed unspoken expectations and concerns among residents. We have seen that interventions like PLANE can indeed catalyse positive change, not just in education but in social cohesion and community confidence. It empowers communities to recognize their own agency in shaping outcomes for their children.”
In conclusion, both Faiza and Galadima stressed that the Community Learning Hubs are more than educational spaces—they are incubators of hope, empowerment, and communal pride. They are transforming perceptions of education, nurturing the talents of marginalized children, and proving that when communities are mobilised and supported, sustainable progress is possible. “These hubs remind us that change begins at home, within our communities, and that every child, regardless of circumstance, deserves the opportunity to learn and thrive,” Galadima said.
By combining community engagement, advocacy and practical support, PLANE’s learning hubs are demonstrating a scalable model for inclusive education. They are not only restoring access to education for children who had missed out but also reinforcing the broader value of education in communities across northern Nigeria. With continued investment and local ownership, these hubs are poised to transform the educational prospects of thousands more children, creating a future where learning is accessible, equitable and empowering for all.
On the night of Christmas, 16 tomahawk missiles cruised through the Nigeria airspace from the Gulf of Guinea and landed in southern Sokoto, signaling a sort of climax to a radical posture by United States President Donald Trump’s threat that he would strike gun blazing to stanch what he saw as Christian genocide in the country.
But the strike has been misperceived in some circles as a unilateral action. Rather, it was a congress of decisions between Nigerian and American governments. This should not be a surprise because when President Trump issued the threat in October, the Nigerian President, Bola Tinubu, had categorically denied any charge of Christian genocide and he made it clear that the series of attacks from the lairs of bandits were agnostic forays that recognised neither Christians nor Muslims, but killed, maimed, raped and lay waste vulnerable persons and communities.
What followed was a flurry of diplomatic activities. Led by the National Security Adviser, Nuhu Ribadu, the Nigerian delegation comprised military and diplomatic hierarchs that included Chief of Defence Staff, Gen. Olufemi Oluyede, and Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, Bianca Ojukwu. The team engaged top American office-holders and legislators like Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth and Congressman Riley Moore.
Moore led a delegation to Nigeria and undertook sightseeing tours of North Central, especially Benue State. The mutual visits underscored transparency and a spirit of reciprocity between both countries.
The attack was therefore a consequence of a methodical and painstaking handling of the relations between both countries. In his response to the guns-a-blazing statement on X, President Tinubu said Nigeria was open to help from the United States and other partners who love peace and would want to put an end to the insurgency in parts of the country.
While we await the result of the attack on the terrorist stronghold in southern Sokoto, some facts are clear. It was not intended to harass or destroy lawful persons and there are no reports from any community that the strikes hit innocents in any part of the country.
Tomahawk missiles are not only expensive for each cost as much as $20 million; there were reports of debris and shards from the weapon as it cruised along. This is not abnormal. The missiles often shed innocuous parts. It sheds weight for renewal like a snake sheds its skin. Places like Jabo and Offa witnessed such debris, but the residents in those places have been disabused of any notion that they were targets.
Tomahawk missiles are smart weapons and they are precision-guided and go exactly where they are asked to hit. Hence it was a responsible action.
It makes sense that the United States can now understand that the Nigerian state is not complicit in the flare of violence in parts of the country and intelligence reports have shown that they are rag-tag groups running at their own tangents of greed and cynical zealotry. Cynical zealotry because they do not represent genuine Muslims, and tend to exploit tropes that mark them out as soldiers of pious belief. If they are anything, they are soldiers of fortune of the basest sort seeking to make money out of the misery of their fellow country men and women.
It must be noted, too, that the weapons used demanded American taxpayer investment. It would cost this country an arm and a leg to launch 16 such expensive weapons in one sortie. We do not have tomahawk missiles in our armoury, and it is a favour that we can enjoy such a high-grade advantage from the U.S.
The U.S. has been in talks with Nigeria to make available some of the weapons that we have spent hundreds of millions for but their top officials have expressed fear that they may be targeting the innocent. That has restrained our hands and let the bandits roam free with the malignancy of their defiance. The Tucano aircraft were given to Nigeria on the proviso that they cannot be deployed outside of the Borno area.
Even though President Trump framed the attack as a plus against Christian genocide, it saves the country from the threat of those hoodlums and both Christians and Muslims will enjoy its security. After all, the many girls abducted by the goons from a secondary school in Kebbi State were hijab-wearing Muslims.
Some persons have tried to poison the minds of some Nigerians that it was an attack on our sovereignty. They tried to demonstrate without proof that the Nigerian government was not aware of the move and therefore President Trump acted without respect to international law and decorum. Defence Secretary Hegseth has put such fiction to rest and the foreign affairs ministry issued a statement that very Christmas night stating the series of engagement that culminated in that barrage of missile onslaught in the Northwest.
We wrote an editorial after the Trump threat in October that we did not only welcome help from President Trump. We noted that we wanted the administration to work with our government by making available information about the funding network that is the lifeblood of these vermin in our world.
The reason for this is clear. If their funding is cut off, they become impotent. Not long after that, former attorney general and minister of justice under President Muhammadu Buhari, Abubakar Malami, was nabbed for a slew of charges including terror financing. We are not sure if it was based on U.S. cooperation, but it is significant that a major official and politician has fallen under such searchlight.
We also noted that the fight against the bandits is not a Nigerian fight alone. The terror ring targeted on Christmas night is known as Lakurawa and they are populated by recruits in the Sahel region, including Mali and Burkina Faso.
When ISIS infested the Middle East and Gulf regions in the aftermath of the Iraq war, hordes of bandits pillaged and ruined communities until the U.S. deployed resources and its airstrikes to bring them to their knees.
Those who wonder why Americans can come to our neighbourhood and help us lack a sense of geo-political cooperation. Nigeria has helped countries in need in the past. We were the backbone of ECOMOG in Liberia and in the forefront of the soldiery in Sierra Leone. We had been in the Congo in the 1960s and have joined the United Nations peacekeeping forces around the world. It was in that spirit that the Benin Republic called for Nigerian help a month ago to quell a mutiny.
If others deserve our weapons and troops, we, too, deserve help when we need it. We have been our neighbour’s keeper and part of the guarantor of world peace for decades. We should enjoy tranquility within our shores even if we cry for help.
Sir: Kidnapping has become a thriving industry in Nigeria, not because criminals are too smart, but because the system allows it to pay. The repeated success of ransom collection raises a disturbing question Nigerians can no longer ignore: is this a failure of security capacity, or a failure of integrity?
A recent rescue operation in Mali provides a revealing contrast. There, security agents tracked traffickers who had switched off phones and changed numbers, identified locations through intelligence tools, monitored movement discreetly, and rescued a 16-year-old victim without a single ransom call or negotiation. Criminals could not make repeated calls without being detected.
In Nigeria, however, kidnappers operate with shocking confidence. They make multiple calls, negotiate for days or weeks, move victims across large areas, collect huge sums of money, and often escape without arrest. In some cases, victims are killed even after ransom is paid. This pattern suggests more than incompetence; it suggests deep systemic failure.
If similar intelligence tools and methods are effective elsewhere in Africa, Nigerians are entitled to ask why they appear ineffective at home. Either security agencies lack the required technology despite massive budgetary allocations, or there are internal compromises that allow criminal networks to flourish.
Kidnapping will not stop as long as it remains profitable. And it will remain profitable as long as accountability is absent. This is not an attack on honest officers risking their lives daily, but a call for serious institutional reform, transparency, and investigation.
Nigerians deserve a security system that rescues victims, not one that negotiates with criminals. Until the hard questions are answered, public trust will continue to erode—and kidnappers will continue to win.
Sir: ISIS terrorists operating in Nigeria got a fitting and perfect gift on Christmas day from the US President Donald Trump when their command-and-control centre in Bauni Forest of Tangaza Local Government Area of Sokoto State was reduced to rubbles by airstrikes launched by the United States military from a naval warship in the Gulf of Guinea.
While unpatriotic elements and enemies of the nation were quick to criticize the airstrikes as a violation of Nigeria’s sovereignty, further lampooning the Nigerian government and military as impotent, the moves made by the Tinubu administration since the country was designated as a country of particular concern with the infamous “guns-a-blazing” tweet, due to alleged genocide against Nigerian Christians, have shown that the Nigerian government has been secretly working in collaboration with the US government to address the issue of terrorism in Nigeria.
The bilateral cooperation was evidenced by reciprocal visits of senior government officials representing both nations, and reported sightings of US military planes flying over Sambisa Forest and other terrorists’ enclaves in the last one month. The most obvious tell that Tinubu was in the know and fully briefed on the impending airstrikes was his Christmas day tweet celebrating Christians in Nigeria where he tagged the US president’s personal handle on X. This was a novelty and obviously a go-ahead signal.
Since 2009, Nigeria has struggled with the issue of terrorism and banditry which according to Vice President Kashim Shettima, has claimed over 100,000 lives. It started with the popular Boko Haram in Borno State. Today, we now have several groups like ISWAP, Ansaru, Lakurawa, Mahmud, and other Islamic militants’ factions which have not only pledged allegiance to ISIS but also sometimes engage in violent and bloody struggles for supremacy among themselves.
Some have wondered why the Nigerian military seems incapable of defeating the terrorists even when they excel effortlessly in international assignments e.g. in putting down the recent coup in Benin Republic. There are many reasons for this and this is what has spurred some pundits and keen political watchers to call for collaboration with foreign powers to stem this ugly tide.
Aside from it being an asymmetrical warfare with different rules of engagement, there are tales of terrorist’s sympathizers in the military either for religious or pecuniary reasons. Also, tacit backing from certain political and religious elites, the absence of political will due to the need for electoral victories, and foolish policies like incorporating repentant terrorists into the Armed Forces are some of the reasons why the military cannot win this fight without external help.
President Tinubu must not rest on his oars. While the Americans are dealing with the bandits from the sky, he needs to rally the military and intelligence community to strike while the iron is hot. Our borders should be monitored with drones for surveillance to prevent an influx of foreign fighters, to mop up those who escaped the airstrikes, and to prevent a migration towards safer areas in the country.
In 2021, the United Arab Emirates (UAE) released a list of Boko Haram sponsors. Six Nigerians were convicted in Dubai for funneling millions to fighters. Now is the time for the government to take another look at that list as many of the names on that list are still roaming around freely in Nigeria. Military victory against the terrorists will be easily attained once their source of funding is cut off.
The Global Terrorism Index of 2018 ranked Fulani herders as the third most violent terrorist group in the world. Over the course of a decade, they have become a terror force against farming communities. The solution is ranching and legislation against cattle herding in Nigeria.
Sir: It is no more time that the impending succession to the revered stool of the Awujale and Paramount Ruler of Ijebuland has reignited intense historical and legal scrutiny, with mounting evidence indicating that the next monarch should emerge from the Bubiade section of the Fusengbuwa Royal House. Historians, customary law experts, and concerned Ijebu stakeholders argue that such a choice would complete a long-overdue rotational cycle and restore equity among the ruling houses.
The Awujale institution, one of the most enduring traditional thrones in Yorubaland, is governed not only by influence and seniority but by deeply rooted customs, lineage, and rotational justice. Central to the current debate is the unfinished rotation among the descendants of Oba Jadiara, whose lineage forms the foundation of the Fushengbuwa Ruling House.
Historical records traced the royal lineage of Fushengbuwa ruling house of Ijebu-Ode to Oba Jadiara, who reigned between approximately 1680 and 1695. From his dynasty emerged three principal royal houses: Fusengbuwa, Tunwase, and Bubiade. By long-standing Yoruba custom, these houses are entitled to present candidates to the Awujale stool in a rotational sequence designed to promote balance, peace, and fairness.
Although the name Fusengbuwa Ruling House gained official recognition during colonial administrative reforms between 1957 and 1958, scholars noted that it comprises several sub-lineages, including the Bubiade family. Importantly, Bubiade is historically recognised as the senior, first-born line descending directly from Oba Jadiara—a fact that carries significant customary weight.
Oba Jadiara begat four children, Bubiade, the first child, Adeberu, Adelubi and Funsengbuwa, the last born. Historical data reveals that the Fusengbuwa himself became the 41st Awujale between 1790 and 1820, while the Tunwase, from the second lineage of Fushengbuwa Ruling House ascended the throne between 1886 and 1895. Despite being the eldest lineage of Oba Jadiara, the Bubiade Royal House has never produced an Awujale.
Observers describe this as a glaring anomaly that contradicts both customary Yoruba succession principles and historical fairness. Under customary law, the passage of time does not extinguish an unfulfilled rotational right. As such, the exclusion of Bubiade is widely viewed as an unresolved injustice rather than a settled matter.
The Chiefs Law of 1957, particularly Section 4(2), formally recognises four ruling houses in Ijebu-Ode — Gbelegbuwa, Anikinaiya, Fusengbuwa, and Fidipote. This declaration was approved on August 25, 1959, and was subsequently registered. Earlier scholarly works, including those by Badejo Adebonojo (1947) and Tunde Oduwobi (2017), document the reigns of past Awujales and affirm the legitimacy of the Jadiara lineage, which includes Bubiade.
Historical records further shows that several Awujales from the broader Jadiara/Fusengbuwa lineage ruled after Oba Jadiara, including Mekun (1712–1722), Oniyewe (1745–1750), and Fesojoye (1765–1769). After the Fusengbuwa reigns ended in 1820, Oba Tunwase (1886-1895), Oba Adekoya (1916) and Oba Adenuga (1925-1929) also ascended the throne – all from Jadiara/Funsengbuwa Ruling house. They all came from two of the three sections of Fushengbuwa ruling house. Bubiade line, however, remains the only branch yet to be represented.
The legitimacy of Bubiade’s claim resurfaced prominently in June 1983 during the political crisis surrounding the attempted deposition of the immediate past Awujale, Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona, by the late Ogun State governor, Chief Bisi Onabanjo.
At the time, respected Ijebu prince, Adeoye Odedina warned in the National Concord newspaper, Wednesday, June 29, 1983, that appointing another Awujale from the Funsengbuwa section would be “customarily wrong,” insisting that such a move would violate the rights of other royal lines—particularly Bubiade. He maintained that the Jadiara Royal House, with Bubiade as a central lineage, was customarily next in line.
As discussions intensify, the Ogun State government, kingmakers, and elders are being urged to uphold the principles of rotational justice that have historically sustained the Awujale institution. Advocates warning at disregarding Bubiade’s claim risks legal challenges, social unrest, and reputational damage to a monarchy widely respected for order and adherence to tradition.
Stakeholders argue that recognising Bubiade’s turn would reaffirm Ijebuland’s commitment to fairness and prevent the concentration of royal power within a single lineage. Also, analysts conclude that history, customary law, and documented precedent converge on one point: the rotational process for the Awujale stool remains incomplete without the ascension of a candidate from the Bubiade Royal House. Honouring this claim, they say, would not only correct a historical imbalance but also preserve unity within Ijebuland and uphold the legacy of Oba Jadiara.
Now this is 31-12-2025 New Year’s Eve, NYE, for 2026. It is a time of turmoil if you are a known terrorist no matter how strong your political protection. It is one of cautious optimism if you are one of the 2,500,000 documented Internally Displaced Persons, IDPs, in camps or one of the probably another 2,500,000 undocumented IDPs across Nigeria seeking work and education, self-respect and dignity denied them by the evil takeover of their ancestral lands and homes by the terrorists.
Pray for the emotional recovery of the thousands of kidnap victims.
Nigeria’s terrorist/herder mayhem is not a small matter or fallout among friends. What has friendship got to do with wanton killing and destruction of homes and livelihood be it farms, crops or work opportunities?
Today’s NYE is one of celebration if you are alive, well, expect or have money, or a job or a pension which pays more than the naira value collapse.
It is one for good riddance if you or yours suffered stress or loss especially related to kidnapping, terrorism or the economy.
The seemingly disgracefully huge number and high monetary value of corruption cases revealed this year especially with the ‘trusted’ top echelon of the recent past government are probably the tip of the ‘corruption iceberg’ which has repeatedly hit and threatened to economically sink Nigeria. We all, unknowingly, suffer from every kobo stolen. It reveals past government political suppression and underfunding of EFCC, ICPC and Police, crippling effectiveness of any preventive measures, pre-emptively discourage, detect and prosecute office holders until after they have left office. We should be able to ensure the collection of all our stolen money.
Sadly, there is even repeated controversy over the fate of recovered funds and items bought with stolen funds like vehicles, houses, cash, clothes and contents of recovered homes and offices…little or no transparency.
Some claim the original thieves get much of the recovered property back ‘through the corruption-ridden secret auction or opaque corrupt plea bargain backdoor’. These need transparency and better monitoring.
Even if we cannot collect all our stolen wealth and property from 2025 and earlier, and we should, surely, we must, in 2026 resolve to, and implement every corruption-preventive and early corruption-detection means to prevent forever one individual, minister or military or messenger from stealing a kobo while in office. They are already so well paid.
Nigeria is at war. Certainly, Boko Haram, ISIS and other terrorist groups, bandits etc. and certain violent herder groups are at war with Nigeria. The evidence is in plain sight, five million IDPs, are not there by choice but by fear.
A country at war cannot fight the enemy and also the giant corruption enemy within. This is why every effort must be made to curb the already demonstrated unbridled ‘Corruption Lust’ of many of our big men and women and even down to the extortion of transport workers by union and uniformed road security organisations. They have repeatedly proved that they are untrustworthy. They steal tooooo much, leaving too little for services and developmental growth.
What possesses fellow Nigerians, elected or selected, to sit in office of service, shouldering grave responsibility and knowingly, willingly and cruelly delay, pad and inflate budgets and contracts, demand enormous bribes and expect briefcases of forex just for sitting in the office? Yes, corruption is worldwide but there is low liveable corruption worldwide and maniacal corruption devouring Nigeria. Each person answers individually to God who will weigh the effect on the poor and punish accordingly.
Your ‘Honesty vs Corruption’ policy is personal and depends entirely on you, not any other human being. Simple test: If you would be ashamed if your action was announced on NTA, it is probably a corrupt action. Stop!
For 2026 we should step back and think about why Nigeria is not where it should be. We all agree that one of the reasons why we have failed is that the corrupt people have failed us. This is easily correctable. ‘Theft from one Nigerian is theft from us all.’
Thieves in public office, corrupt individuals, cartels and even corrupt stop-and-search checkers constitute the ‘Corruption Army’ which has held sway for too long. Like it or not, this thievery, this corruption, can cost more than a war effort and it is cumulatively crippling Nigeria from year to year and must stop or be stopped before there is nothing left to steal. It has taken two years of current government’s CBN efforts to recover the dignity of a decent foreign reserve which can easily be squandered and stolen again. The naira value is still a national disgrace.
Nigeria cannot afford to lose its ‘Nigerian Sustainable Development Democracy Dream-2026’ yet again to forces which are motivated, to systematically re-enforce corruption and take that 2026 Dream from Nigerians. The ‘Corrupt Persons Army’ ignores the fact that every naira stolen, every budget not met, every project not completed or below standards has in the past and will continue to punish by depriving babies of their mothers dying in childbirth, depriving pupils of adequate teaching, depriving workers of a living wage, depriving travellers of pothole-free roads, and depriving hospitals of quality equipment.
The president can stop the corruption war against Nigeria. Set up a pre-emptive and proactive EFCC and ICPC and stamp out the public face of Nigeria’s corruption- road corruption.
It is a good thing that the executive branch and the National Assembly have finally put in place the top echelon of our diplomatic corps as President Ahmed Bola Tinubu recently submitted the full list of career and non-career ambassadors and their subsequent clearance by legislative branch.
With the conclusion of the process, our country will be able to handle many of her diplomatic challenges which turn to prop up every now and then. The latest is the military collabo between the USA and Nigeria to deal with ISIS and the other terrorists’ threat in some parts of our country.
However, while the process is being finalised, this reporter wishes to draw the attention of the relevant authorities to some of the murmurings, grumbling and complaining of a key portion of the middle level foreign affairs officers who are currently posted abroad. The aim of this to get the relevant authorities concerned to do what is necessary to urgently address the genuine plight of the above-mentioned officers so that their being on postings abroad will not be just in name but in the actual work they are expected to do on behalf of the country for its goodness and greatness.
The first major trouble the diplomats have is with their salaries. At present, all is not well at all financially with some, if not all, members of the foreign service staff as a result of which some, if not all of them, owe their landlords up to 8-12 months’ rent. These officers are in this embarrassing state of affairs because they have not been paid their salaries for the past six months. Surely, this is not good enough. Whether here at home or over there abroad, it is not pleasant to owe landlords rents. When that happens, relationship between the two parties becomes soured with the foreign tenants suffering the greater pain. None of them will have the necessary peace of mind to live their lives and carry out even their routine functions. And landlords are the same all over the world. To put it diplomatically, some of them are not gentlemen.
In most cases, they seem to be mean, desperate and unforgiving individuals or corporate entities who build houses as a way to earn a decent income or something to supplement their earnings from some other sources. And if it is very unpleasant to owe a landlord at home here his rents, it is more unpleasant to do so abroad especially when you are a diplomat, a person sent purposely to create a good image for your country. That will be a contradiction in purpose and action. I think that it is mightily better not to send a diplomat to live abroad in another man’s country at all than send him in a manner or state that he is likely to ultimately bring shame and reproach not only to himself but to his country as well.
Apart from the difficulty in paying rents, another issue which the diplomats contend with over there is fulfilling their other socio-economic responsibilities. It needs no stating to say that a person who owes his landlord will also be likely to be unable to take proper care of the education of his children or dependents even in countries where education is virtually free. The issue of education is even more humiliating and destructive of progress than the shame of inability to pay rents.
As if all these stated deficiencies are not enough, the career foreign service staff in particular also suffer deprivation from a particular policy of government which they have no control over but which has created in them an intense jealousy and loss of morale. During the Muhammadu Buhari days, the federal government approved the monetization policy for the foreign service personnel. Unfortunately for the career foreign affairs officers who are the core staff in the diplomatic work, they do not enjoy the monetization benefits while the Finance Attaches and the Immigration Attaches who are considered support staff, do enjoy those benefits.
The diplomatic officers are human. Their jealousy is not founded on, or rooted in, a bitter, hateful and unreasonable ground. Rather, it arises from the human reasoning that it is unfair and unjust that they, for whatever reasons, are not or cannot, enjoy what their colleagues who are supposed to be support officers enjoy. Whatever is the reason or logic behind this particular reality/anomaly, those concerned should think quickly about what right and fair thing to do, and very urgently too, to ensure fairness and equity among all staff members.
Another grievance of the diplomatic service staff posted abroad is that some of them have been waiting for over a year now without their families joining them and the reason is that the government has not released the flight allowances for their separated family members to undertake the trip of re-joining their spouses or family heads. This forced separation, so to say, causes not a little hardship and emotional pain for both parties involved and need to be addressed as soon as possible in order to boost the morale of those who are abroad to fight our many diplomatic fights for us and emotional stability to those left behind who have endured the pain.
What some of the key figures in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs comfortably seated at home here do not know is that when some of the career foreign affairs officers on posting abroad did when they realized that the flight allowances will not be released in time for them to take every member of their household with them abroad was that they borrowed huge sums of money to ensure that their spouses and dependents go along with them. Those monies borrowed are attracting huge interest which keeps growing by the day so long as the principal is not repaid.
Whatever needs to be done now must include an emphasis on equal and fair treatment of all officers abroad. You cannot have a group of officers facing the same or similar challenges together abroad while policies are made which benefit others while others are deprived. It is not good enough. Let no one be made to regret that he or she was not a Finance Attaché or an Immigration Officer on posting abroad. Any one charged with the responsibility of correcting these anomalies should act swiftly to ensure that all Nigerians on diplomatic posting abroad enjoy a fair and equitable benefit of full diplomatic service.
In the eyes of many Nigerians, the Tinubu government is an offshoot of the Buhari government before it. Measures should, therefore, be taken urgently to implement the approved funding policy of the foreign missions done by President Buhari.
As far as I am concerned, what the Nigerian government has done or fails to do to our diplomatic missions abroad and the officers who man those missions is a thing of great disgrace. This problem did not start yesterday. It has been so since when our country started witnessing the weak hands of administrators in the administration of our affairs. Ultimately, the poor treatment brings harm to those on posting abroad. But the greater harm comes on the image of our potentially great country. Something ought to be done to correct things. We have had enough of these problems.
