Category: Olatunji Ololade

  • Before anger tips to rebellion

    Before anger tips to rebellion

    If Nigeria eventually burns to a rubble, let it not be because we didn’t see it coming. Those who would incinerate our homeland, will do so “for the love of country.”

    For the love of country becomes our sexiest lie, the curvaceous plague of bleeding-heart activism. Everybody cops a feel.

    For the love of country, the call persists for Nigerians to resist President Bola Tinubu’s stringent reforms. The same love purportedly spurred the coalition of disgruntled politicians into a frantic opposition. And for the love of country, dubious demagogues call on the youth to march on the streets, in Nepali Gen Z-style, “to take back our country.”

    The call to insurrection spreads like wildfire across Nigeria’s civic space as the Gen Z, instigated by the so-called “old takers” romanticise the seizure of power from the incumbent ruling class, come October 1, Nigeria’s independence anniversary.

    Chaos agents have re-emerged in the civic space, baiting insurrection in a manner akin to rubbing a lantern to make a genie appear. What they fail to tell their mindless herds is that the revolution they incite will dawn in a vortex of storms.

    Beyond their poesy of agitation and the citizens’ inalienable right to protest, they offer no promise or assurance of security if the protest gets hijacked by anarchists.

    Of course, Nigerians aren’t unreasonable for demanding affordable healthcare, education, secure communities, functioning infrastructure, and opportunities to earn a decent living. But these demands while justifiable, must never be countered by ruling class condescension.

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    President Tinubu must avoid the pitfalls of talking truth to the people. In asserting the needs and urgency for tax reforms, for instance, his administration must avoid any language bordering on conceit and prone to misinterpretation. There are several ways that a terse and simple statement like, “If you want good governance,  you must pay your taxes” could be misinterpreted and  weaponised by cynical citizenry and desperate opposition.

    To manage widespread dissent requires greater patience and tact, particularly in the digital age, where misinformation and rage are easily weaponised and destruction rapidly escalates within hours.

    The recent toppling of Nepal’s government by Gen Z protesters may seem a distant horror of Himalayan politics, but it is a parable for Nigeria’s political class, that young people, if ignored and oppressed, become easily manipulable and spurred to violence.

    Tinubu governs at the risk of similar disorder. The call for a Gen Z-led “mother of all protests” slated for October 1, should not be dismissed with the wave of a hand, given that the target audience comprises a younger generation bruised by economic hardships.

    Although the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reported an unemployment rate of 6.5% among 15- to 24-year-olds in 2024, following a controversial change in the methodology for calculating unemployment, labour experts argued that the agency’s previous record, that pegged unemployment at 53.4% of 15- to 24-year-olds,. is more representative of the reality on the ground.

    When these unemployed youths band together, as witnessed during EndSARS in 2020, the “10 Days of Rage” in 2024, and more recently, the 2025 Nepali protests, they can destabilise any country.

    Already, major online platforms are abuzz with comparisons, with many openly musing about launching Nigeria’s version of the Gen Z revolution. While it is true that an insurrection may be sponsored by foreign interests and opposition parties, it is harder yet wiser, to use the threat of such to engage with the youths who are often targeted and conscripted as canon fodder for actualising the masterminds’ plot for a regime change.

    The same social media that galvanises discontent can also be the bridge through which trust is rebuilt, among other platforms. Tinubu’s administration must reengage with the youths, online and offline, with greater candour. His message must explain, in simple but concrete terms; why painful reforms are necessary, how their burdens are being shared, and what timelines citizens can realistically expect for relief.

    He cannot afford to let his reforms, however well-intentioned, be perceived solely as instruments of suffering. His administration has taken bold steps—subsidy removal, exchange rate unification, infrastructure investment—but for many Nigerians, the immediate impact is unbearable.

    Humane governance means not just announcing reforms but cushioning their impact, communicating their purpose with sincerity, and showing that beneath the government’s fascination with economic indices subsists an undying zeal to dignify human lives.

    If Nigerians must brave the constraints imposed by his reforms, let them not see his administration reject the bitter herbs it seasons for the populace. One of the most significant arguments against the ruling class is its predilection for obscene benefits while urging Nigerians to embrace, unquestioningly, greater sacrifice.

    Worse still, the flaunting of ill-gotten wealth by the political elite and their progeny, the so-called “Nepo-babies,” fuels resentment. This same phenomenon lit the fuse in Nepal, children of the political class flaunted ill-gotten wealth on social media. The spectacle of privilege rubbed raw against the economic wounds inflicted on the impoverished citizenry and what began as online mockery snowballed into a bloody protest claiming over 72 citizens and dozens of politicians and security officials.

    The prime minister was forced to resign, and in the wake of the upheaval, the youths chose a new interim female leader, Sushila Karki. The lesson from Nepal is clear: governments must never ignore the cries of the young.

    Tinubu must not wait for the streets to burn before he reengages with the youths. The presidency’s current reliance on so-called friendly press and social media influencers to court goodwill is both inadequate and counterproductive. Rather than command trust, they echo like hired choristers singing a banal hymn.

    The youth can identify authenticity and also perceive condescension. What they demand is proof, forthrightness and acknowledgment of their suffering, not rehearsed slogans.

    The president must be explicit about what he has done. He should tell Nigerians plainly how much has been given to each state to alleviate hardship, and he must urge citizens, especially the youths, to demand accountability from their governors and legislators. This is not buck passing; it is simply truth-telling. For too long, state governors have escaped scrutiny while Abuja carries the blame for every unpaid salary, road crater and failed healthcare. Tinubu must help redirect the anger of the masses toward constructive civic engagement, where the electorate holds local leaders accountable instead of collapsing all grievances into one Abuja-shaped caricature.

    Yet this redirection must be done with empathy. While the president enjoys the support of a small circuit of discerning citizens, who understand that economic reforms come with pain, the wider population live too close to the cliff-edge of hunger to appreciate abstract economics. They want food, jobs, security, and dignity. Today, not tomorrow.

    Nigeria is yet to fully recover from EndSARS  and 10 Days of Rage, yet the likelihood of another bloody protest looms ominously. Influencers cannot stop it and journalists will turn punching bag in the crossfire, as in Nepal, where the press was branded both by the protesters as government stooges and by the state as saboteurs.

    Tinubu must, therefore, forge alliances with credible segments of civil society, student unions, professional associations, and faith communities. These are the bodies that can carry messages of constructive engagement to the grassroots.

    By responding more proactively to citizenry dissent, Tinubu can transform potential rebellion into renewed allegiance. If not,  neither the National Orientation Agency (NOA)’s Explainer journal nor friendly editorials in the press will be enough to tame insurrection, if anger tips into rebellion.

  • Genocide, not wordplay (2)

    Genocide, not wordplay (2)

    After the colonists are done with Palestine, their next stop would be Africa perhaps. Occupying Africa will be easy. They simply need to flaunt a scripture to validate the siege and seizure of Africa’s most fertile tracts.

    Having successfully established and integrated religion as the most crucial element of colonial expansion, the psyops (psychological operations) that render Africans acquiescent to the eventual seizure of our land and resources will be easy.

    In Gaza, it’s Israeli Zionists murdering innocent civilians; in Africa, it would be the Christian Zionist pitted against the Muslim fundamentalist, and everybody else in a free-for-all.

    Consider the curious case of Nigeria, for instance; the magnitude of explicit and suppressed rage is enough to trigger the citizenry towards implosion. Here, the colonists need not actively get boots on the ground or soil their hands with the blood of innocents; Nigerians will happily slay each other in worship of imperial ‘gods.’

    Faith, as espoused by the Abrahamic faiths, teaches us to conquer our animal instincts, but caught in a fit of righteousness, we circumvent credo, that we may glorify our espoused and unarticulated sinful lusts.

    While it’s moral to rage against the bloodlust and carnage perpetrated by Boko Haram, ISWAP and other terror cells afflicting the peace and stability of Nigeria alongside her West African neighbours, shall we dare reproach the infamy and bloodlust flagrantly glamourised by the Christian Zionist across Africa and Nigeria?

    If we agree that only a mindless savage would applaud the mayhem fomented on the continent by Islamist terror cells, shall we also condemn, without equivocation, every African celebrating the occupation and daily murder of Palestinians?

    It’s horrid enough to witness – online and offline – the maniacal heckling of the Palestinians and their sympathisers by a people coming from a long history of slavery and colonist siege; it is even more alarming to see supposed ‘truth-tellers’ and leaders of thought dubiously pirouette, spinning words into apologetic shrouds for slaughter.

    We must be wary of validating the carnage we dread as just deserts for others, simply because they are of a different creed and civilisation. Brings to mind the curious case of my childhood friend, a Christian and proud son of Bokkos, who once defended Israel’s siege on Gaza. “It’s security,” he said, “self-defence.” Until his village was set ablaze and his cousin’s children were murdered and burned to ashes. “This is too much. There is no justice,” he cried. And I had no heart to say what I thought; that “Nobody savours the taste of the bitter herbs we season for others.”

    Lest we forget the reactions to the tragic fate of Apesuur Ukechia and Ward Khalil. On a Sunday morning, just after church, Ukechia watched as her husband and three children were gunned down by herdsmen in Aondona, Gwer West, Benue State. Months before, the same assailants killed her parents and all of her siblings. Ukechia’s loss is unacceptable, yet no more pitiable than Ward Khalil’s. The harrowing video of the five-year-old Palestinian girl trying to escape a burning Fahmi Al-Jarjawi School shelter in Gaza City after being incinerated by an overnight Israeli airstrike is heartrending. Although Khalil ambled through the flames to safety, her five siblings, aged two to 18, died in the flames along with their mother. “I was scared of the fire,” a teary Khalil told journalists, even as she had no words to relate her family’s massacre.

    Reacting to Ukechia’s loss, some Nigerians blamed the government for allowing the culprits roam free. They made a radical call to arms, urging every community hosting northerners to “evict them before they kill us all and take over our lands.”

    But these same anarchists, reacting to Khalil’s loss, described her as “collateral damage.” The tenor of reactions ranged from “Her people started it on October 7, now they must live with the consequences” to “Serves them right! Next time, they won’t attack God’s chosen.”

    This thought process is shamelessly propagated by many a bigoted Nigerian across the civic sphere and it catches like wildfire as you read, in Nigeria’s citadels of learning and religious faith. In an academic forum, some academics dismissed a video of  Zionist-Jews attacking Christian pilgrims in Israel, while claiming that it’s their divinely-ordained duty to kill every Christian because they are “idol worshipers.” They refused to condemn Israeli attacks on Christian brethren even as they justified the occupiers’ genocidal campaign in Palestine. “It’s a hard decision that must be taken,” said an esteemed Professor. These random reactions mirror our descent into moral atrophy.

    As of September 3, 2025, over 66,700 people (64,739 Palestinians and 1,983 Israelis) have been reported killed in the genocide according to the Gaza Health Ministry (GHM), Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs, media and humanitarian workers. Scholars estimated that 80% of Palestinians killed are civilians, of which 70% were women and children (OHCHR).

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    Yet, many Nigerians, armed with half-baked theology and deeply embedded bigotry, cheer the perpetrators with messianic zeal. More worrisome is the incursion of this murderous mentality into the Nigerian newsroom. Every editorial and commentary validating the genocide resounds as a mindless brushstroke in the mural of apology, painted for Israel as it ethnically cleanses Palestine. This is more the journalism of complicity than compassion. For it does not document the truth. Rather, it thwarts it.

    Never in modern memory has a genocide claimed so many journalists – at least 250 – as it has claimed in Gaza. But the bigoted newsroom would rather whip out alibis for the perpetrators, soullessly validating their siege, as a consequence of Hamas’s October 7 attack. Such pitilessness absolves the Israeli occupiers of ethnic cleansing and genocide perpetrated against their captive Palestinian hosts since 1948.

    How did we arrive here? Some say it is faith. But faith has been mutilated into idolatry. Zionism, as advanced by the African pulpit, has replaced God with a political state. Murderous Zionists command Christian Africa just as ISIS masterminds excite ISWAP allegiance. Proof-texts are dragged from Genesis and wielded like bayonets, as if the promise to Abraham to bless all nations could be warped into a license for ethnic cleansing and genocide.

    To watch journalists excuse the bombing of hospitals in Gaza is to see the rehearsal for the rationalisation of similar massacres in Borno, Kaduna or Lagos. To watch them amplify, even after being debunked, Israeli lies about “beheaded babies” is to understand how they will amplify the propaganda of local tyrants tomorrow. The “Hannibal directive,” which sanctioned the killing of its own citizens to prevent their capture, on October 7 and beyond, was once dismissed as fantasy until its grisly reality was exposed, but the newsroom is primed to conveniently ignore such disconcerting truths.

    The newsroom that celebrates Zionist tyrants will bend to domestic despots. What is denied abroad will be denied at home; what is excused abroad will be excused at home.

    There is a rhythm to atrocity, a choreography almost banal in its repetition. Palestine may seem a distant theatre. But it is a global mirror. Do we not see ourselves in those faces pressed against rubble? Do we not hear our own children in those cries? Or have we convinced ourselves that genocide is only real when it arrives at our gates?

    Imagine the first inhabitants of Lagos, Plateau or Benin rising to reclaim ancestral lands, citing scriptures or ancestral decrees. Would today’s cheerleaders of conquest by Holy Writ validate their siege? Would they call resistance, “terrorism” and couch dispossession in divine justification?

  • Fast money

    Fast money

    The lust for “ritual money” presages Nigeria’s ghastly nature. Its portents fulfill the grisly typecast that has become our fate.

    Despite our claims of morality and exaggerated spirituality, the recurrent arrest of teen ritual killers yanks the rug out from under our pretentious ideals.

    The most jarring message to date, rattles in Daniel Bamidele’s hymn of progeny as the new fiend. Consider, for instance, the sad case of Samuel, 18, who wanted to be rich. So, he strangled his mother to death and removed her briefs. Then he mounted her corpse and raped it.

    The victim, Christiana, didn’t see it coming. Perhaps because no mother ever worries about being murdered and raped by her own son. Samuel pounced on her while she slept, at her residence on Market Road, Ologbo, Ikpoba-Okha local council, Delta State.

    The youngest child of the deceased claimed to have acted on the instructions of One Love, a native doctor. He said, “I wanted to use her for money ritual. She was sleeping when I strangled her around 5 am. I was advised by One Love, a native doctor in Oghara, to kill her. After killing her, I slept with her. The native doctor told me to do so and keep her corpse for two days.”

    According to him, One Love persuaded him to use his mother for money rituals, and promised to give him N50,000 if he could cut her ears and fingers, and bring them to him. But just before he disemboweled his mother, he got caught. His grandmother saw him with her daughter’s lifeless body and sounded an alarm, which led to the teenager’s arrest.

    Six years since the gory incident, Nigeria still grapples with the chimera of bloodthirsty teens as young as 15 years, prowling the country’s neighbourhoods for anyone they could kill for “fast money.”

    The National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) revealed that over 150 ritual killing cases were recorded in the six months leading to January 2025. NAN reports that the police apprehended many of the ritualists including a youth who killed his mother, grandmother, sister and her son on November 27, 2024 in Amaeze, Nsukka Local Government Area of Enugu State.

    On Friday, April 5, 2025, in Anambra State, Chidozie Nwangwu, Onyebuchi Okocha and Ekene Igboezekwe were arraigned before Justice Jude Obiorah on charges bordering on their claims to possess supernatural powers to perform money rituals and conspiracy to commit felony, to mention a few.

    The three suspects were reportedly arrested by the Agunechemba security outfit as Anambra sought to purge itself of ritual killings, armed robbery, kidnap for ransom, among other crimes.

    Interestingly, 18 suspected pastors out of the 53 mentioned by the suspects fled following the arrest of two of their members by the Agunechemba.

    “We went to the places where these people make the charms they call Okeite, bearing people’s names and pictures. We saw thousands of Okeite. Bad people have entered our land. They are not invisible like the air; they are human beings, and we know them. If you see any of them, just draw our attention to them,” urged the Anambra governor, Prof. Charles Soludo.

    Yet, the most jarring message to date, rattles in the hymn of progeny as the new fiend. Against the backdrop of the killings, Nigerian lawmakers have called for an intervention by the state. First, they must deal with the surfeit of incidents establishing  teenagers’ reckless lust for money.

    Recall that on January 29, 2023, in the misadventure of the quartet: Wariz Oladehinde, 17, Majekodunmi Soliu, 18, Abdul Gafar Lukman 19, and Mustakeem Balogun 20, who were arrested by men of the Ogun State Police Command for allegedly killing a girlfriend of an accomplice for money-making ritual.

    On interrogation, they confessed that what they were burning in the clay pot was the severed head of the girlfriend of their accomplice. They gang-raped her before beheading and cooking her.

    Their actions aren’t accidental; from plotting to execution, a hideous smattering of bestiality manifests as society’s just deserts. Yet the boys are neither freaks nor social accidents, they are simply karma coming home to roost.

    The frantic lunge for sudden wealth by teenagers and young adults establishes the fatal forming of Nigerian maleness, family and society. Toxic families produce toxic wards. Toxic children become toxic citizens. Toxic citizenry become poisonous to nationhood, in the long run.

    The interplay of excessive materialism, misandrist-feminism, and the absence of exemplary father figures has foisted upon us a generation of reprobate males.Economic forces aggravate their sense of disenchantment while corrupted gender roles and the denouement of masculinity afflict them with greater confusion.

    Masculinity flows from nature as an aspect of the birth mother, no doubt, but it is sculpted by society and a father figure into humane and effective manhood. The boy-child learns by instruction, counselling, and imitation.

    In an ideal setting, the father moulds his character by careful nurturing, awarding punishment for vice and reward for virtue. Where the father is absent or feckless, the child suffers exposure to degenerate blooming, like Afeez Olalere, who was encouraged to use his younger brother for money ritual by his mother; to embolden him, she fed poison to her younger son and watched him die.

    Boys are in trouble. They have become Nigeria’s trouble but society shies away from their plight, gagged by dubious gender politics and the notion that males enjoy greater socioeconomic advantages.

    Consequently, several boys are denied constructive counselling at home and necessary push through educational tiers.

    More boys drop out of school to become internet scammers (Yahoo Boys) disguised as bitcoin traders, I.T. and forex gurus. Many of them are casualties of dysfunctional families and the changing dynamics of the new global economy.

    That the economy has become less friendly to males is a global problem, however. Jacqueline King, of the American Council on Education in her group’s study of lower-income adults in college, discovered that men had a harder time committing to school. They reported feeling isolated and were much worse at seeking out fellow students, study groups, or counsellors to help them adjust.

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    The “protector” and “provider” theories of manhood and fatherhood are continually dismissed as credulous and crude, in a modern world where conservative ideals of masculinity are maligned and fiercely rebuffed.

    On the flip side, females enjoy patronage in crusader education and art. This slanted social complex has been adduced to a venomous leftist orientation.

    Responding to my query on the issue, a staff of the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) told me recently, that his organisation ignores Nigerian boys and adult males in its intervention programmes because the government has failed to make provisions for them at the policy level.

    “The Nigerian government and local NGOs do not consider boys and men worthy recipients of any form of intervention,” he lamented.

    It is pleasing to see girls and young women succeed. But it is wrong to neglect boys. This is a sure recipe for disaster, the kind that is happening in real time.

    There is a reason the ritual money credo is embraced by increasing number of boys. The exasperating nature of their lusts, dysfunctional families, poverty, misgovernance and societal corruption amplify their rationale for embracing a creed of cruelty and carnage.

    The situation is aggravated by the frantic fostering and cues from media and literature. Popular culture’s celebration of grotesque and increasingly infantilised versions of masculinity aggravates the malady – from Nollywood’s neurotic man-boys to the bestial and slacker dudes of feminist-misandrist literature.

    But this is a discussion we aren’t ready for.

  • On fair-weather patriots

    On fair-weather patriots

    It is a cruel jest that a nation in dire need of repair often turns to those who abandoned her at her most fragile hour, entrusting them with the mandate to redeem.

    It is hardly wise to appoint Nigerians who have ‘Japa’ to man public offices in the country. This is akin to luring the proverbial skunk from the wilderness into our royal chamber; if it doesn’t defile the quilted sheet with its faeces, it will ruin the palace with its stench.

    Those who had ‘Japa’ to escape the ‘hell’ Nigeria became should never be allowed to superintend our healing; ultimately because they lack the character and competence, native intelligence and maturity, selflessness and integrity, patience and sense of responsibility required to manage our healing process.

    It was disheartening to see a Governor’s recent appointee scoff at his fortune, stressing that he never needed the appointment, even though he barely survived as a canned fruit hawker cum cab driver who squatted with friends in the United Kingdom.

    He dismissed his new role as an “unsolicited appointment,” and something he accepted as “an act of charity,” flaunting his “lucrative businesses” overseas. Such disdain undermines the very dignity of public service. Governance is no playground for fair-weather patriots, who, when the tides turn, abandon ship, leaving chaos in their wake.

    Diasporan appointments often ignore a fundamental rule: the right person for a position must have prior experience or demonstrated expertise in that role. If we must invite a Diasporian Nigerian to serve as the country’s Petroleum Minister, one primary requirement should be his previous employment in a similar capacity. The same logic requires that only a seasoned General can become Nigeria’s Chief of Army Staff (COAS).

    That said, it is often ill-advised to appoint an overseas cab driver, who is contemptuous of Nigeria, as a federal minister or director of a public agency. When Nigeria needs cab drivers with international experience, we may recruit such individuals. Our public offices are best reserved for patriots who keep faith in the Nigerian enterprise. It’s about time we stopped appointing leeches to public office. When the going gets tough, they simply pack up and leave. Nigeria’s public office is not a rehabilitation camp for fair-weather patriots.

    Yet, the allure of foreign-trained technocrats often blinds decision-makers. We have seen governors appoint internet fraudsters and human traffickers as cabinet commissioners. We have also seen supposedly first-rate technocrats flaunting Ivy-League certificates, sully our public offices with corruption, arrogance and greed. Our public offices demand more than empty credentials; they require stewards who embody resilience, moral integrity, and an unyielding belief in the Nigerian dream.

    We have Nigerians doing well back home, despite the odds. They are the type that stay the course when the going gets tough. They do not bend and sway to every favourable draft nor pack up and leave at the onset of a storm. They stay back and withstand its flurry, surviving with tact, perseverance, faith, goodwill and native intelligence. They understand that only by salvaging what we have and who we are can we achieve our Nigerian dream. These are the ones deserving of public office.

    Still, it’s everyone’s prerogative to either stay or flee from perceived hostility in our homeland. But hostile politics and economies aren’t caused by phantoms or poltergeists. They are the result of our lack of humaneness and frantic avarice. The looters prowling our streets and corridors of power did not fall from outer space. They are the fruits of our mother’s wombs, sired with seeds from our fathers’ loins. They are the monsters we raised in our families.

    Modern Nigeria is a product of the joint efforts and inactions of our families, schools, worship houses, the streets and the media.

    Japa nomads taking the education or scholarship route eventually find that their admission into elite schools overseas was purely a business decision by the schools and their host countries. The benefits are ploughed back into their host society.

    By the time they graduate, they are superbly conditioned for the drudgery of second or third-rate employment overseas. Some occasionally secure first-rate employment. But the very smart ones among them relocate back home to seek employment with Nigerian or multinational firms that prefer their foreign certificates.

    Many return to Nigeria as agents of metacolonialism. Hence, the preponderance of journalists, writers, teachers, economists, social workers, engineers, and health workers, to mention a few, who function as glorified stooges of the so-called developed nations of the world.

    At the heart of the Japa phenomenon lies a moral corruption not unlike that which fueled the transatlantic slave trade. It is a degeneracy rooted in faithlessness; lack of faith in Nigeria, her people, and the possibility of collective growth. To combat this, we must dismantle the social mechanisms that enable such disloyalty. And this can only be achieved through education. The Nigerian school must begin to impart more than money-making soundbites and status-conferring skills.

    Our schools must equally teach values and history with a didactic bent. If they do not, another transatlantic slave trade is possible; we have seen it happen in Libya, where Europe-bound Nigerian youths were bound and gagged, raped and murdered by African slave drivers cum human traffickers. It happens every day to thousands of Nigerians crossing to Europe through irregular migration routes from Agadez through Tripoli to the Mediterranean bight.

    President Bola Tinubu must understand that it is not enough to seek foreign investment and cooperation from abroad; such an initiative, while appreciable, could be doomed by a lack of quality personnel and citizenship required to nourish whatever benefits accrue from his nation-building enterprise.

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    If Nigeria truly seeks sustainable socioeconomic growth in the long run, we must groom generations of men and women capable of nourishing and preserving the Greater Nigeria enterprise.

    The true purpose of education is to make minds, not careers, and as Deresiewicz writes, only a small minority have seen their education as part of a larger intellectual journey or have approached the work of the mind with a pilgrim soul.

    Nigeria must furnish an educational system driven by the sweat and exploits of such pilgrim souls. The country’s education curricula must be overhauled to impart a Nigeria-centred educational experience that could resonate with the progressive social re-engineering of the country.

    It doesn’t matter what quality of degrees are acquired if the recipients are furnished to operate like mindless robots, praise junkies, fortune hunters and crowd pleasers. William Hazlitt notes how European society violently wrenches and amputates its citizenry, thus making them unfit for intercourse with the world, something in the manner that beggars maim and mutilate their children, to prepare them for their future pigeonholes.

     This imagery of beggars maiming and mutilating children is discernible in the fate of the Nigerian kids born abroad; some are shipped overseas as regular or illegitimate migrants, purportedly to grant them access to a better life.

    The lure of Japa validates Bulhan’s theory of metacolonism. The syndrome has taken so much from us, including our loyalty, language, history, and the cultural values that bound our community together. All that is left is our sense of attachment and moral responsibility borne of nostalgia. Yet Japa has corrupted even that.

    The time has come to redefine patriotism, particularly in public service. It’s about time we prioritised those who believe in Project Nigeria and are ready to make the sacrifices required to achieve it. Anything less is a disservice to the nation and its people.

  • Roses don’t grow in sewers

    Roses don’t grow in sewers

    Every Nigerian loves to howl at power, until it resides in the family.

    It hits differently when a corrupt administration is led by your father or mother, granny, uncle or aunt. Suddenly, theft becomes a forgivable misdemeanour. Dishonesty is rationalised as survivor’s instinct, and a prosecuted felon morphs into a misunderstood patriot.

    It’s easier to mount the soapbox just to spout off and be seen when power resides in a stranger’s lineage. What is excused in the familiar is despised in the other.

    This is the mentality of a sick person. It is what drives a university professor and supposed sanctuary of knowledge to wrestle in the cesspit of ignorance, in defence of a demagogue. It is what quickens the journalist’s mutation from society’s watchdog into Castiliogne’s proverbial courtier with a forked tongue.

    Yet, while it is easier to pillory them for serving as propaganda mercenaries for corrupt leadership, at home and abroad, it must be understood that they cannot be any different in psyche and sentiment from the society that raised them.

    This is equally true of the corrupt doctor, nurse, engineer, accountant, policeman, soldier, politician and public officer. This is true of the armed bandit, terrorist, serial killer, rapist, misandrist and misogynist, among others. It’s garbage in, garbage out. Nobody sows poison parsley and reaps pomegranates.

    Roses don’t grow in sewers; thus, no roach crawls out of a sewage scented roseate. Society births its own likeness. The corrupted citizen is in no way different from the cockroach birthed in sewage. His stench clings to his gait, and his actions assert the filth that bred him. We cannot command fragrance from a generation nursed on putrescence.

    The average Nigerian mirrors his roots or sewer bed. Thus, the brothel prostitute and her pimp, the rapist, political assassin, ballot robber, kidnapper, and bestial public officer, are as much the results of society’s savagery as its absence.

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    Degenerate Nigeria can only be cured by farming our loins for the hidden cowries of a nobler race. The family is the building block of society and civilisation. But circumstances of its breakdown and reduction to a dysfunctional nature often foist the responsibilities of raising a child on a single, ill-prepared parent.

    Yet, despite its significance, the family is simply one among social agencies essential to a child’s upbringing. Also crucial is the role of the school, government, and religious institutions; together, they determine the quality of education an individual is exposed to and the quality of human he becomes.

    Modern Nigeria is a consequence of the moral torpedoing of our families, schools, worship houses, the streets, and the media. No thanks to metacolonialism. The morally ambivalent youth has become today’s amoral nomad, superbly conditioned by Western education and the media to scorn native intelligence and wisdom of the ancient.

    Many morph into unthinking herds in real time; thus, the preponderance of skitmakers,  journalists, writers, teachers, economists, social workers, engineers, and health workers, to mention a few, who function as glorified stooges of the debauched world.

    The faithlessness and moral corruption that they personify are similar to those that drove African enablers of the transatlantic slave trade. This degeneracy remains largely unchallenged.

    To prevent its recurrence, we must hinder the social mechanisms that render our youths capable of such. And this can only be achieved through education. Right now, the educational system produces clever parrots and rarely critical minds. It equips students with training essential to their deployment as systems managers, not creators of present and future breakthroughs. Students are schooled to pass exams, not to imagine alternatives. They are conditioned to perpetuate the very structures that impoverish them.

    Of President Bola Tinubu’s N54.99 trillion budget for 2025, N3.52 trillion was allocated to the education sector. While this is considered insufficient by local stakeholders and international standards (UNESCO recommends  15–20% benchmark) it marks a significant leap compared to recent years, and signals government recognition of education as a tool of socioeconomic transformation.

    If Nigeria truly seeks sustainable growth, we must commit greater resources to grooming generations of men and women capable of preserving the Greater Nigeria enterprise.

    It’s about time we cultivated education as Nigeria’s fertile field of rebirth. So far, we have done a bang-up job exploiting school as a factory for producing certificates and training graduates as process clerks and systems managers. We must bend the arc of learning away from rote recitation, towards character formation, patriotism, and humane citizenship.

    Nigeria’s curriculum must be stripped of barren obsession with cramming and reconstituted with value. And, sublime, isn’t it? That Nigeria flaunts so many PhDs but never an indigenised scholarly theory of things.

    We must quit teaching honesty, empathy, and civic responsibility as abstract ideals, but as living habits. The Yoruba notions of Omoluabi, the man of virtue, good character, and integrity, whose word is bond, must complement the Hausa-Fulani reverence for mutumin kirki, the upright man, and the Igbo ideal of nwanne di na mba, brotherhood across boundaries.

    These indigenous codes of honour, too long neglected and weaponised into manipulative soundbites, must be restored as the essence of national pedagogy. Nigeria must also reintroduce history into the classroom, stripped of bigotry, misrepresentation of context, dates and battles. The past must be recalled only to inspire pride without prejudice, and as a mirror of infractions and consequences.

    A child who grows up with fables of the tortoise’s greed and communal folklore learns integrity through melody and myth astride the theoretical grain. Arts and literature must be reimagined as moral laboratories where Nigeria perpetuates its better self. Alongside this, we must equip students with media literacy, teaching them to interrogate propaganda, resist manipulation, and discern truth from the lies that flood media channels.

    Ethics must be taught through living case studies of avoidable tragedies: bridges collapsed by corruption, lives imperilled by personnel greed cum inflated medical care, and court judgments bought by bribes. To raise humane generations, we must also school emotion alongside intellect. Children must be taught to manage anger, respect differences and listen with compassion. We must temper fixation with Mathematics, Sciences and English, with purposive and better structured Civic Education, comprising skills in dialogue, negotiation, and conflict resolution.

    What good are engineers who can build roads if they cannot build peace? Or medical personnel who can save lives but cannot heal themselves from tribal venom?

    Nigeria must re-imagine education beyond mere literacy and re-institute it as the foundation of model citizenship. Educational policies must shift from a culture of producing certificate-holders to furnishing nation-builders. Leadership must embody propagated ethics, as no classroom will believe that bribery is wrong while public officers flaunt mansions built with stolen funds. Nothing betrays pedagogy faster than a sullied example.

    The task may seem immense, but it is not impossible. This country can yet raise generations who sing the national anthem as a lived creed; who would never excuse larceny even in their own bloodline; and who’d always break kinship out of the jailhouse of tribe.

    This will not happen by accident, but by reinventing education as a forge of character, and for its overarching purpose to make minds, not careers or social cannibals.

    We must quit taking dormant theories and management techniques for unimpeachable wisdom and understand that the true measure of a civilisation is rooted in its empathy, and not its skill at acquisition or consumption. 

  • Minds behind bars

    Minds behind bars

    My truth is more convenient than yours. It doesn’t matter what you think. Whatever your version of reality, it’s resonance fades in the cacophonous clatter of my truth.

    In the self-righteous spirit of Nigerianness, you must appreciate why “my truth” resonates as a catch-phrase. Post truth realism  repudiates the argument that while we may have the right to our own beliefs and not our own facts. Knowing the truth after all, as Goedken would say, is less valuable than the prize of a shared fiction.

    Here goes my shared fiction or convenient truth if you like: in post-truth Nigeria, you are either a truthsayer, a truth-heckler, or truth-killer as your circumstances dictate. Everybody is in on the charade.

    Nigeria will not be destroyed by a single blow, but by the brutish chipping away in the dark, piece by piece, of thought and belief, until every citizen’s mind becomes a ghetto.

    The rot begins in the inner chambers of the conscience, where reason is surrendered to prejudice, and persists in the public sphere, where the body politic trembles beneath the burden of inherited hatreds. Citizenship degenerates from the disciplined commitment to a commonwealth, into the flag-waving of ethnic armies and the drum-beating of sectarian camps, as evidenced by the cutthroat rivalry and tribal resentments triggered during the 2023 general elections.

    Even in its aftermath, bigotry shrinks the horizon of the Nigerian mind, goading every citizen to see his neighbour as a rival and the nation as a battleground for primordial loyalties. En route to the 2027 general elections, the sentimentality persists, buttressing the belief that votes will hardly be cast for competence or vision, but for kinship and creed.

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    As it was in 2023, so it could be in 2027. Political participation will manifest as a tribal oath-taking. And the higher the stakes, the deeper the descent into intolerance. When such a culture spreads through millions, the democratic process itself becomes a theatre of resentments rather than a vehicle of collective purpose.

    Worse still is when social institutions, the very organs designed to nourish enlightenment, are themselves infected. When the press, the Fourth Estate of the Realm, becomes a pulpit for ethnic incitement; when academia, supposedly the fertile soil of critical thought, degenerates into a bazaar of ideological partisanship, the decay exceeds the political, and becomes civilisational. It perverts the truth and weaponises it to sustain prejudice.

    A recourse to historical truths is the natural antidote to prejudice, but this would be wasted on the bigoted Nigerian, who is deaf to reason and selectively accommodating of facts. This is why appeals to our shared struggles, from the amalgamation to the civil war; from June 12 to the present, are often met with cynical dismissal. The bigot’s political memory is a curated archive, stripped of any evidence that indicts his camp. He consumes only the myths that reinforce his tribal righteousness, repeating them until they harden to dogma. Bigots would rather clutch the lies that flatter their insecurities than confront the truths that unsettle them.

    To counter this monstrosity requires a collaboration of the political left and right. I reiterate Ralph Nader’s vision of a left-right alliance, to push back against toxic partisanship and political inertia. Such a coalition cannot thrive in a media landscape overrun by zealots and saboteurs. It needs a patriotic press and academia that treat Nigeria as a sacred ground to be defended with honesty and empathy, not as a battleground for clickbait and theorised artifice.

    Nigeria can never be rescued by one ideological camp. This is why President Bola Tinubu’s administration must welcome more brilliant minds and patriots from across political, non-partisan  and ideological divides. Salvaging Nigeria requires a coalition of conscience that transcends party lines, tribal tents, and religious barricades. This alliance must include the journalist, the academic, the artist, the civic activist, and every segment of Nigeria’s intelligentsia.

    Its goal must be to push back against the capture of the state and its institutions, reclaiming the press and the academia as untarnished public trusts. More practical steps include building independent funding models for journalism to end the tyranny of the funder’s leash; reviving the teaching of history to anchor citizenship in shared memory; and creating cross-regional civic platforms where Nigerians can debate, disagree, and still unite on matters of national survival.

    The path must be peaceful, through social mobilisation, patient founding of coalitions, and free, fair, and peaceful elections. The battle is not for the annihilation of opponents but for the reclamation of the republic.

    Yet, while journalists and academics occupy a sacred trust, we must understand, why many in these vocations, particularly in this post-truth era, have abandoned the rigour of truth for the expedience of survival. The fate of many a staff of traditional press is precarious; salaries are irregular, meagre when paid, and barely meeting personal needs, let alone sustaining a family. And contrary to romanticised belief that online journalism offers a purer alternative, the digital press is often no freer. Many of its practitioners, unable to monetise their content, depend on grants from foreign non-profits or “angel funders” whose money comes with invisible strings. On such a leash, the editorial direction is dictated from afar, bending coverage towards the ideological appetites of the funders.

    Plugging words into a browser window, as Tom Nichols would say, isn’t research. Thus even while glamourising the much glorified fact-checking, you’d find that the responses you generate are as credible as the answers fed to the programmable apps and machines. Little wonder some fact-checking and AI platforms have been known to generate doctored or dubious  truths. This is not to tarnish every vehicle or model of traditional and digital journalism. Kudos to those doing great work.

    Yet, more people are in on the charade as reportage and academic research resonate as part of a campaign, sometimes for noble causes, but more frequently for undeclared interests.

    At the heart of certain “hard-hitting” journalism or “groundbreaking” research is the quiet pulse of advocacy for economic imperialism, perverse sexualities, ill-advised gender wars, or the deepening of ethnic fault lines.

    It’s about time Nigeria’s academic and media platforms quit amplifying the country’s missteps for financial gratification while ignoring or underplaying visible progress. It is not that the nation does not stumble. It does, and sometimes, grievously. But that narrative is worn out now. We must quit feeding the citizenry an unrelenting diet of despair lest hope itself becomes perpetually suspect.

    The press and academia must broker, more responsibly, a coalition of the political left and right. Failure to do this will quicken the country’s slide into the swamp of sectarianism. Citizenship will persist as a marketplace of ethnic bargains and political participation will be reduced to a ritual of hate. Bigotry, in all its forms, is a poverty of the mind masquerading as loyalty. When it corrupts the media and academia, it poisons public discourse and amputates the nation’s capacity to imagine a future beyond the tribal fence. Nigeria will not survive such a famine of the mind unless its sentinels remember who they are meant to serve.

    To save the seed, the soil must be healed. And to heal the soil, the hands that till it must first be cleansed. Only then can our orchard of citizenship bear fruit worth eating.

    Until then, the press will keep peddling its curated despair, the academia will keep minting degrees for the unemancipated mind. And when the mind becomes a ghetto, the citizen becomes a prisoner unaware of his fate behind bars.

  • Ghosts of Mokwa

    Ghosts of Mokwa

    Saratu’s grief is a ghost no one can exorcise. Every evening, she still cooks for her sons. Three boys perpetually living in her memory, weeks after they were buried in a mass grave.

    Nigeria may have forgotten, but Saratu hasn’t. She still sets their plates on the bare floor of what used to be their home before it was ruined by the flood. On May 29, Saratu’s world shattered as a flood triggered by a downpour from the previous night surged through her home in Mokwa and swept away her three sons.

    Saratu watched death happen three times, under 30 minutes. That morning, as the water surged all over Mokwa, she watched her sons drown one after another, as if the river intended to drink her womb dry.

    What does it mean to survive, if survival comes at the price of one’s children? This is the nagging question left to mothers like Saratu, to widows whose breadwinners were carried off by the flood, and to children orphaned overnight. On that same day, a Quranic school in Tiffin Maza, the Madarasatul Tarbiyyatul Islamiyya, was submerged by the flood; the boys inside it were not spared. They were wandering scholars otherwise known as almajirai. The flood stole upon them while they were curled on their prayer mats; some of them in their school and the rest, in a masjid opposite it.

    AbdulMalik, 15, from Sokoto; Abba, also 15, from the same state; Lawwali and Salamanu from Niger, 16 and 18 respectively; Muhammadu, 20, were pulled like withered leaves from a branch.  Their names are now footnotes in receded waters, their memories drifting like flotsam in a nation that never learned to mourn with sincerity.

    About 207 people were confirmed dead in the Mokwa flood disaster, and more than 1,000 were declared missing. Hundreds were injured, entire villages got displaced, and the silence that now surrounds their suffering is even more devastating than the catastrophe itself.

    Why must we speak again of Mokwa? Because it is too easy not to. Because Nigeria has a pattern: we wail at the scene of disaster, and become silent once the waters recede. Once the television vans roll away and the tweets lose traction, what is left for Saratu, who lost all three sons to the floodwaters? What is left for the over 416,600 residents displaced and the countless others nursing physical, emotional, and existential wounds?

    What becomes of the widowed, the orphaned, and the maimed when the world stops watching? We have seen this before. We saw it in Hurti, Bokkos LGA, Plateau State, where villagers were massacred and the news cycled out in a few days, drowned in political headlines. The bereaved wailed into the void and, when no justice came, learned to bury their pain in silence.

    We saw it in Benue, where murderous herdsmen reduced farming communities to ash and carcass. The same template is playing out in Mokwa: grand declarations, flurries of humanitarian attention, and then, nothing.

    We treat disasters like dramas. Once the curtain falls, the audience departs, and the victims are left stranded on a ruined stage. This must not be our script. Not anymore.

    President Bola Ahmed Tinubu must lead a shift in national consciousness. Disasters, whether natural or man-made, should not be reduced to photo opportunities or soundbites. They demand long-term action, transparent systems of relief, and above all, compassion with structured support.

    Tinubu’s administration must surpass the issuance of condolence messages with a more concrete system of intervention. Nigeria needs a dependable national framework for disaster response that includes structured monitoring, targeted relief evaluation, and a publicly accountable system of rehabilitation and reintegration for victims.

    For too long, Nigeria has operated without an effective mechanism to track relief materials or the billions supposedly allocated for disaster response. Where is the roadmap for recovery in Mokwa? Who is keeping track of the displaced? Who has audited the relief funds promised? Who is ensuring that mothers like Saratu are not merely left to mourn in tatters, while government officials return to ribbon-cuttings and press briefings?

    Victims are not mere statistics. They are citizens. They are human.

    Every flood victim is a citizen owed dignity. Every massacre victim is a Nigerian whose blood must not vanish into statistical abstraction. There must be a real-time, verifiable system for disbursing compensation, not filtered through bloated bureaucracies or compromised middlemen, but directly to the afflicted. In Mokwa, that means establishing a local registry of verified victims inclusive of names, households, and identities.

    It means deploying federal monitors, not appointees of politicians, but trained humanitarian actors, to assess and report progress. It requires a disaster victims’ welfare board, independent of political control, reporting directly to the presidency, with audited results published every quarter.

    What is justice if it is delayed until the dead are forgotten? In Benue, where hundreds were displaced by floods and bandit incursions, women still sleep on mats beneath battered roofs. In Hurti, survivors still stare at burnt compounds, waiting for homes that will never be rebuilt. If we are not careful, the disaster victims of Mokwa may suffer a similar fate.

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    This is not just about structures, it is about heart. We must begin to feel again. We must see the pain of our fellow citizens as a collective wound. When the almajirai drowned in Mokwa, there was no state funeral. No candlelight vigil televised or national day of mourning was declared. These were children; poor, yes, but children nonetheless. What does that say about us?

    Somewhere, a widow in Tiffin Maza is still spreading a wet wrapper on an unmade mat, an orphaned child is still waiting for parents who will not return. Nigeria must not leave them to heal alone.

    If President Tinubu truly seeks to write a redemptive legacy, he must pay good mind to the ordeal of those rendered homeless and bereaved by the Mokwa flood disaster, the Plateau and Benue massacres among others. Good governance is not merely the construction of roads or the expansion of tax bases, it is also the healing of wounds. And Nigeria is bleeding.

    Mr President must direct the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), the Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs, and the Ecological Fund Office to adopt more transparent systems of intervention. The Office of the Vice President, under whose purview social investment and humanitarian oversight supposedly lies, must inaugurate a citizens’ panel to track post-disaster interventions. The affected states, too, should be held accountable through emergency task forces made up of civil society members, local religious leaders, and professionals drawn from the affected communities.

    Too many disasters have ended with slogans and forgotten press releases. But to forget Mokwa is to rehearse failure. It is to rail at every victim, dead or alive, that their lives do not matter. That the flood is their fate, and their sorrow is no one’s responsibility.

    Nigeria must no longer be that kind of country. We must stop writing elegies for children drowned by our neglect and start writing policies that save the next generation.

    So, we remember the drowned almajirai. We remember Saratu’s sons. We remember the unnamed boy whose body washed up like driftwood, faceless but no less human. It’s about time their tragic demise provoked action.

    The flood may have drowned their lives and bodies, should we let their memories drown too?

  • Scapegoat republic

    Scapegoat republic

    As foreseen, Nigerians bared their hearts, graveside of Muhammadu Buhari.

    The polity became loud with folk unrestrained in grief and brazen in triumphal gloating. A curious theatre unfurled across the Nigerian mindscape as digital timelines and comment threads became moral coliseums. The dead had barely stiffened, yet the young and old, educated and illiterate, privileged and underdog, rushed to spit on his memory.

    Some truly mourned. While a defiant mob crooned: “You can’t tell us how to respond to his death.” And so doing, resorted to arrant mockery, dancing on the grave of the dead with shoes muddied in their own complicity.

    Of particular note was a senior investigative j0urnalist; this self-glorifying grandma was unexpectedly loud with venom, relishing the death of the former President. Things, however, got to a head when she accused him of corruption. Promptly, a younger female colleague, retorted:“You lack the moral right to talk ma…You, who extorted an impoverished and blind, elderly man of N30,000 in May 2015, before reporting an injustice done to him. President Buhari was never corrupt. You are the corrupt one ma.”

    Livid, the senior journalist attacked her for being “too disrespectful” even as she gaslighted her claim. She did not consider her bribe-taking as a moral baggage. And she will “never reveal her private dossier” on Buhari’s alleged corruption for “security reasons.”

    Many castigated the younger journalist saying she “wouldn’t go far in the profession” for daring to disrespect a senior journalist. The same senior journalist who maligned a late President, without evidence, for sport.

    Let’s say we are all just broken inside – unable to distinguish fabricated contempt from merited disdain. Let’s say the villainy in us thrive on the victimhood of others, especially folk we have been taught to hate. Let’s say victimhood and villainy are simply abstract labels we feverishly impose on those we’d love to suffer for our enjoyment.

    Buhari was no saint. He was deemed austere, aloof. Sometimes, embarrassingly so. His administration superintended economic hardship, insecurity, a failing Naira, and the growing sense that Nigeria was slipping into institutional twilight. But to declare him the sole architect of Nigeria’s ruin is dishonest and cowardly.Much of what Nigerians blamed Buhari for—terror, infrastructure rot, deaths in hospitals, epileptic power supply, failing education—are neither the doing nor undoing of one man. Yet, at his death, the very people who helped build that flawed system brandished hashtags like flaming pitchforks, declaring their disdain for Buhari.

    Some called it speaking truth to power. But I call it performative rage. The self-proclaimed truth-tellers of social media recalled their pain under Buhari’s reign with poetic indignation. “We were in hell,” they cried, “and no one can tell us not to curse him in death!”

    What we witnessed wasn’t righteous anger, but a morbid exhibitionism; a dark joy over the demise of a man already diminished by time and illness. Their statements were phrased as bravery. But what I saw was the insecurity of a generation addicted to performance;  products of a culture that mistakes loudness for honesty, and vulgarity for courage.

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     Buhari wasn’t perfect. Neither was he a miracle. He was a man, fallible and finite, working with the implements available in the toolbox of a severely broken state. His government did not descend from outer space. It was born of our choices, our ideologies, our tribe-first, truth-last tendencies. And even now, long after his demise, we continue to mask our complicity behind critique.

    Perhaps because Buhari did not die a man. He died an effigy, scorched by the flames of national disillusionment. He was once the Apollo of our republic, fashioned into a figure of marble discipline and anti-corruption rage. The general returned, many thought, to drive out the Dionysian chaos of excess and impunity. He was the god we made in our hunger for form and order. When the sculpture cracked, and the wind of national suffering exposed the clay beneath the marble, we turned on him with a sculptor’s fury, and smashed our idol to pieces.

    Buhari did not ask for worship; we gave it freely. Then we withheld it cruelly. He was blamed for everything and praised for nothing. An all-powerful figure in our collective myth, omnipresent in failure, absent in success. We called him tyrant when we meant disciplinarian; we called him deaf when he did not echo our contradictions. We hated him as a god we could not command, not as a mortal with limitations. He became a totem that failed to perform magic.

    Those who will not mourn Buhari seek to punish him for not being a better version of who they are. But to blame Buhari alone for Nigeria’s rot is to mistake the statue for the temple. Every failing we heap upon his name is the fault of a million faceless hands. A woman dies in childbirth because the diesel meant to power the theatre generator was sold in the black market by hospital staff, and anesthesiologists were never employed because some hospital board member diverted their salary into his wife’s boutique.

    Death by terrorism, also, was often blamed on “Buhari’s failure” while we conveniently ignore how billions earmarked for defense vanish yearly in a maze of kickbacks and inflated contracts. Who exposes how state governors divert security votes, or how military generals and police chiefs profit from the chaos they are paid to contain? The rise of terror comprise a federal calamity and system-wide rot, from the state capital to the village checkpoint.

     Why blame Buhari for our collective inability to build a society that works? In mocking him, we seek to mask our own failures. Even  the mythical Greek gods, for all their fabled hauteur, never suffered such graceless vilification.

     Buhari’s silence was his boundary. His distance was his restraint. His refusal to seduce us with false eloquence was the very reason we once loved him. And now, it is why many revile him. It’s about time we looked inwards and stop pretending that each leader is our redeemer or our ruin. We must equally begin to hold accountable the desks and counters of every office where public trust is betrayed. We must teach our children to ask better questions, not just recite better slogans. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It demands participation, vigilance, and sacrifice.

     Nigeria’s problems, certainly, has many faces. Some smile at us in our mirrors every morning. Some sign contracts, forge receipts, sell hospital drugs, and vote for the highest bidder. The question is not whether Buhari failed us. It is whether we, as a people, ever gave him, and indeed, any leader, a working system to govern.

     The real demons walk among us: driving our ambulances late, hoarding power cables, doctoring school records, falsifying election results, stealing medical supplies, inflating military contracts, and forging government receipts. These are our anomalies and they are citizens. Until we confront them, Buhari will die again and again in different faces and different names.

    Yet, we must learn to treat our dead with dignity. Whether we liked Buhari or loathed him, his death is a national moment. A chance to reflect, not gloat. We owe ourselves the maturity of measured silence, the courage of critical introspection, and the grace to grieve, even when the deceased did not meet our expectations.

    For in the end, how we treat our dead says less about them and more about us.

    And right now, we are not looking very well.

  • Poetics of enlightened self interest

    Poetics of enlightened self interest

    Patriotism thrives by cultural standards. Progress too. Thus the songs that every Nigerian knows by heart, the lore of nationhood, and the politics of suburban, boondocks poetry should, normally, manifest the kernel of indigenous culture and political sovereignty.

    But all these flounder and fade where Nigeria subsists as a cultural whore. Beyond the powder and blush of its republican label, should Nigeria subsist as a neocolonial brothel? Or recaptured colony, if you like.

    Should Nigeria remain a settlement of internally displaced persons (IDPs) whose nativities are embowered and restrained in a mental jail cell? To assert independence is to be labeled as too radical, too conformist, too rebellious, too conservative – and confined in a cultural straitjacket by imperialist design.

    Caught in a maelstrom of economic, political and cultural interests, Nigerians frantically seek escape via a specious remake of persona – political theater’s wooden mask – into a survivalist totem that is at  once functional yet sculpted to preserve shady alien interests.

    The resultant decadence, inventive in pleasures yet originative in malice, is amplified as leftist satire in mainstream literature and revolutionist chant across multimedia platforms. Ultimately, it is spruced up as a “liberal” revolt against the perceived austerity and tyranny of Nigerian personae, a desecration of ancestral origins.

    Society thus sidles from a multiplicity of morals to unity in depravity. Our veneration of Euro-American interests has assumed the ruckus of a ghastly orgy, far removed from fertile nature. This validates the Euro-American propagation of vulturine psychology as a specialty cum arbiter of diplomacy and the human experience.

    Hussein Bulhan’s treatise on metacolonialism brilliantly addresses this phenomenon and its deceptive psychology. During classical colonialism, psychologists and psychiatrists embarked on racial comparisons on the size of the brain, concluding from biased measurements that Africans belonged to a lower evolutionary phase.

    With the rise and growth of globalisation, the calculus and dynamics of colonial domination have assumed more subtle and treacherous forms as superpowers of the so-called “First World” redesigned their conquest expeditions to suit the poetics and arithmetic of their “enlightened self-interests.”

    Apollos Nwauwa posits that Western education produced a contradictory elite in West Africa; one that served as both an agent of colonisation and nationalism. But nationalism, in our case, rather than mature into sovereignty of thought, hardened into mimicry. We changed flags, not philosophies. What we call modernisation has often been little more than domesticated colonisation—metacolonialism.

    Also, a conditioned mass passion for consumer goods imported from abroad and effective dissemination of the belief that this stage of colonialism aka globalisation represents a great advance in human history continues to be the bane of industrial and economic growth in Nigeria and other parts of Africa.

    By sustained assault on the world of meaning, metacolonialism also penetrates the psyche and social relations. Nigerians are, of course, vulnerable to this scourge of culture, politics, and personae – they are fawning and defenseless before its oppressive hierarchies.

    And there is a structure to the indoctrination. For instance, the journalist plays the proverbial role of the primitive town crier cum interpreter, who ditches good sense for witlessness. He stifles intellect as he inhales the carnations of mindlessness. Should the press slip into trance like the Delphic Oracle?

    Being part of the orgy requires corruption of intent and mystic loss of self. To keep the stream of indoctrination flowing, journalists and activists contort into a purulent faucet. But if Nigeria’s best minds must season decadence for profit, who would guide the country through the trials of dystopic revel?

    As globalisation flourishes, the dynamics of Euro-American imperialism become more pronounced yet camouflaged in our lives with devastating consequences. As long as Nigeria and Africa worship the dollar and the euro as the primary means of international exchange and measures of human worth; as long as we venerate Euro-American norms as indispensable edicts of civilisation, Nigeria will remain poorly heeled in the global commune of recaptured colonies.

    The current system, nourished by subtle and aggressive programming through the media and academia, projects nations of Europe and America as unimpeachable models of humanity and freedom, not minding their buccaneer exploits and abrasive presence in  the middle-east and “recolonised” territories of the developing world.

    To counter this metacolonial complex, Nigerians must partner as progressive social actors to reinvent our national narrative in the language of patriots and deeds of an exalted ethic. In covering the next general elections, for instance, the civil society and the press must desist from inflaming the polity through sponsored disinformation and psyops comprising dubious analyses and pronouncements by questionable “foreign observers.”

    This isn’t a call for self-censorship but over time, several activists, journalists and political actors have been conscripted by foreign interests. Their intent is to destabilise the country, by predicting and influencing a groundswell of conflict tailored to fulfill the “enlightened self-interest” of their sponsors. Nigerians must shun their factious quotes and counter their doomsday portrayal with tact and patriotic intent.

    The next general elections won’t be perfect. No election is ever perfect all over the world. At least the United States’ scandalous elections of 2016, mired in claims and counterclaims of tampered ballots and sexed-up results, shows clearly that there is no perfect system or nation in the world.

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    Nigerians must resist the impulse to sensationalise perceived shortcomings of the ongoing dispensation to suit the purpose of enemies of the State, at home and abroad. Heaven didn’t fall and Nigeria didn’t collapse simply because the outcome of the March 2023 elections contradicted the run of doomsday predictions by frantic foreign consulates and political interests.

    It’s about time we committed with a clearer conscience and altruistic intent to the analyses of the conditions that victimise Nigerians as pawns and minions of the political class and shady colonisers.

    Civil society, the press and other social actors must quit talking down at Nigerians and instead identify with the citizenry as discerning, self-determining political actors. The press must alert the citizenry to self-defeating electoral quirks and enlighten them about the benefits of progressive partisanship in the electoral process.

    Decolonised psychology advocates change using a bottom-up rather than a top-down approach. The top-down approach is imperialistic and arrogant. Many political interventions or programmes of social change fail because they are imposed top-down by local and international actors with ulterior motives – thus they are often supported by the threat or instigation of mayhem as a tool of revolt.

    En route to the 2027 elections, the Nigerians must resist every token and leash from foreign interests, rights groups and non-profits inclusive. But for a very few, they are all part of the metacoloniser’s poisoned chalice. The change they promise is oft insincere, self-serving, and borderline.

    Beneath their claims that they alone know what’s best for Nigeria, they only seek to hinder our progress march and infantilise the Nigerian mind, using psyops that foster hostilities and aggravate conflict. It’s all frantic, soulless posturing. In the end, they will claim victory for negligible successes and blame Nigerians for perceptible failures.

    True, fancy repute and ghostly online clout may earn venal activists, journalists and NGOs patronage in the short run, but they will lose it all in the long run to the same elements that taught them to be soulless mercenaries and hobbyists.

    We have used the soapbox and our presumed intellect as a mirror to reflect society’s hypocrisy, moral corruption, and injustice. It’s about time we walked our talk in the interest of Nigeria.